#make the shelves primary colors

[autoneurotic]

look at my cute studio. very pleased with the hanging zines! won’t lose any pieces now and they won’t get all marked up

[hometoursandotherstuff]

It's been a long time since I found a home made of recycled material and this one is exceptional. You gotta see this ecologically friendly, unique home, known as The Treehouse. Built in 1943 in Oak Ridge, Tennessee, it has 3bds, 2ba, and is only $299,900.

If you've never seen one before, an upcycled home made of architectural salvage and recycled material is an interesting mix of various unique salvaged elements.

What an appropriate sign- "Humble." It's just a house made of humble inexpensive or free discarded and reused material. Note the 3 different colored glass windows. I bet they have some interesting stories.

The fireplace could be made from leftover bricks.

On the other side is the kitchen with an island made of window panes, and miscellaneous wood, plus a counter. You have to be creative to put all the pieces together to make a home like this.

Oh, I like the red cabinets on the right.

The cooktop is in the island and it looks like pieces of quartz or marble. Note the interesting cabinets and shelves. The ceiling has a delightful configuration.

They've got a water dispenser next to the fridge. I love houses like this.

Looking from the kitchen to the dining area. Wow, they even scored a double red sink. Note the cabinet that the cook top is in- things don't have to match.

The kitchen is large and has a nice leaded glass window and tile on the floor. Closeup of the counter shows how it's pieced together.

I love the pitched ceiling and windows.

This room appears to be a home office with a built-in counter.

One of the bedrooms has some mirrored doors on the closet.

Bath #1 has some lovely tile and a bowl sink.

Even the recycled cabinets match the color scheme.

This looks like a large primary bedroom.

It has a matching en-suite.

2nd story roof top deck that makes this home really look like a treehouse.

Even the exterior of these homes are made of salvaged material.

On the lower level there's a covered deck.

A cute wood burning heat stove in the corner.

Love the windows- one looks like a mushroom.

The house is on a 9,147 sq.ft. lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/94-Outer-Dr-Oak-Ridge-TN-37830/66905561_zpid/?

[smallgodseries]

[image description: An eight-armed figure in a blue dress and shoes, a striped blue and white apron with the tine figure of Small God Hummel sewn on, feathered headdress and blue bakelite bracelets stands in front of a dark larder – in which outlines of food jars and dishes can be seen. They bear 5 glowing jars that seem to be candles in primary colors. Text reads, “50, Kitsch Annette ~ The Small God of Organized Pantries”]

If she could make people understand one thing and one thing only, it would be this: that food has no moral value, and that anyone whose pantry can be considered “full” is a virtuous person in her eyes, regardless of whether that fullness is kale chips and quinoa or Girl Scout cookies and pre-mixed buttercream frosting.  She cares about the quality of the shelves, their fullness and fineness, not their contents or what the latest diet craze has to say about those contents.

If she could make people understand two things, it would be that a well-stocked, well-indexed pantry is a palace beyond price, a lofty cathedral filled with miracles waiting to be mixed.  Cakes to be baked, potatoes to be peeled, spices and seasonings over which people have so very often gone to war, ready to be sprinkled over meat or folded into casseroles.  Holes in the shelves are not to be borne; a regularly updated shopping list is worth a thousand impulse buys or once-a-year stocking runs.  Every household should, in her eyes, be able to shut its doors and sustain itself for as long as plausible.  She understands all too well that not everyone can afford the luxury of a proper pantry, and she weeps for those outside the warmth and light of her hearth, whose stomachs are too often empty, whose soups, when they exist at all, are too often unseasoned.

She would feed the world, given rice enough and time.

If she could make people understand three things, it would be that another cup of water can always be added to the pot, that one more potato can always be diced into the hash, that one more egg is not so great a sacrifice, for look, the poorest among her following understand these things, make their offerings both wise and wide, fill the bellies of those around them.  For even the fullest shelf will be empty in a moment if placed before the starving, and so she will accept no hunger among her faithful that could be filled, will believe no table full when a single plate more could be placed upon it.  There is always room to feed your fellows.

She was a god of harvest once, and plenty.  She still is.

But seriously, replace your spices every four years, or they won’t be anything but faintly scented powder, and that is a blasphemy in her sight.

[havecourage-darling]

Teenage Dirtbag

Pairing: Eddie Munson x short, plus-sized, girly-ish, female reader.

WC: ~9K

Warnings: cursing, eddie being a lil bit of a horndog, unrequited but not unrequited love

A/N: This song screamed Eddie Munson to me and I had to write it, I don't know what to say for myself lmao I thought it was going to be 1K at most. Welp.

Masterlist || AO3

Eddie Munson knew he wasn’t the smartest person in town. He was far from the dumbest, Jason Carver took that title by a landslide.

In fact, Eddie would dare to say he was actually pretty intelligent. He wasn’t book smart, not with subjects he didn’t give a shit about, but he had common sense. Which, clearly, wasn’t so common – especially in Hawkins.

However, even Eddie had to admit that he was the dumbest son of a bitch on this planet sometimes.

The primary example was when he managed to fall in love with you, his English tutor. 

After Eddie had bombed the first major test – on his second go at his senior year – his teacher had assigned him a mandatory tutor.

“I know you think I don’t like you,” Ms. O'Donnell said, her sharp eyes softening when Eddie snorted, “but I want you to succeed. You’re smarter than you let on and I can see that.”

“Don’t feel bad. All teachers hate me,” Eddie joked, a thread of truth to it.

“Well not me,” she said, “and to prove it to you – I’m going to assign you a tutor.”

What? “Aw, come on,” Eddie groaned, “I’ll do better on the next one!”

Ms. O’Donnell rolled her eyes. “That’s what you said all last year. I was the one who signed off on you using my classroom for Hellfire Club you know. It’s been four years and I’ve seen some of the things you come up with. You’re good at writing, Mr. Munson. You just need to apply yourself.”

Wait, she knew about some of his campaigns? “Which I’ll do from now on!” The comical expression on her face indicated that Eddie was not getting through to her.

“Trust me,” she said, “she took my advanced placement course as a sophomore. She’s a senior, like you, and she’s willing to do it as a favor to me.”

“Is this mandatory?” Eddie winced when his teacher’s sharp gaze returned.

“Yes,” she said, her expression softening when Eddie slumped. “I’ll make you a deal, just let her tutor you for the next quiz. If you get higher than a C, with genuine effort, you can opt out.”

“Deal,” Eddie sighed.

And now here he was, four months later and definitely more than one aced quiz later, with you in your first sundress of the season. Eddie had been waiting for you at the library, the same table in the back – hidden behind the cookbook shelves – when you walked in. The thin straps drew his attention first, his eyes trailing down to the neckline which exposed the swell of your breasts in a way that had Eddie shifting nervously in his seat.

You’d apologized, sitting down hastily, your breath coming out in quick pants. Your car hadn’t started this morning so you had to ask Dustin, your neighbor, to borrow his bike to get here.

The image of you biking in that dress was something that he didn’t know he needed.

Like always, you pulled out your battered copy of The Great Gatsby and got to work. Eddie had read the book, you’d been right – he did like it – but spent most of the first hour watching you explain the chapters he’d been assigned.

There was just something about the way your eyes lit up when you started rambling about literary terms and characterization. You tended to speak with your hands, cherry-colored nails flying as you waved a hand in the air.

Oh, you were saying his name. “Are you listening Eddie?” You asked, eyes shooting him a knowing look.

“Shortcake, I always listen to every word you say,” Eddie joked, winking. A flustered expression overtook your face and Eddie watched your fingers come up to your hair, a sure sign that his comment had hit. He hated the rush of serotonin that gave him.

See? Complete dumbass behavior.

“Pay attention, you have a quiz next week and then we start working on your final paper,” you said, tapping his hand softly. The warmth of your skin sent an electric current up his arm and straight to his chest. “Here, I brought an outline of what I thought would be good topics for you to choose from. I’m partial to Shakespeare – oh don’t give me that look – but I listed other options too. Let me see if they finally got that book that I was looking for.”

Eddie nodded and failed to avert his eyes as you walked away. Your hips swayed as the black patterned dress rippled with your movement.

It wasn’t his fault, not really. Eddie glanced at the paper you’d handed him, your handwriting neat and precise. He’d been dreading meeting you when Ms. O’Donnell had mentioned your name. You weren’t a cheerleader but you basically friends with the whole squad. He’d seen you at parties when he was selling, you always seemed nice but Eddie knew from experience that the popular crowd were just vultures waiting for a sign of weakness. Eddie wasn’t going to be stupid enough to expose any.

“Oh, hey, Lucas!” Your voice carried from a few shelves away. Eddie straightened. “I haven’t seen you since the last campaign!”

Eddie couldn’t hear what Lucas answered but your quiet laughter sent the equally stupid butterflies in his ribcage into chaos. Eddie fought a groan and pinched the bridge of his nose. Honestly, he could hardly be at fault when you had the audacity to have a laugh as cute as that.

“Did you look over the outline? Oh, are you okay?” You asked, eyes pinched in concern. Eddie shook his head, his hair settling around his shoulders.

“I’m fine, just a little tired,” he lied. “Was that Sinclair I heard?”

You beamed at him and Eddie swore he felt his heart stop in his chest. Jesus H. Christ, he was going to send you the bill when you sent him to the ER. “It was! I can’t believe he’s taller than me now,” you said, wrinkling your nose when Eddie laughed, “oh shut up. I meant, I used to babysit them. They were all little munchkins a few minutes ago. Now they’re freshman. That’s wild.”

“Calm down there, grandma,” Eddie retorted as you rolled your eyes, “besides, it’s not exactly hard to be taller than you nowadays shortcake.”

Eddie could tell you were trying your best to bite back a grin. “You know, I’m the one who brought your grade up from a F to a B minus, you should be nicer to me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I offend you your highness?” Eddie swooned, hands on chest, as he leaned back in his chair. “How can I ever thank you for saving me?”

“By passing your last quiz of the year,” you said dryly, eyes lighting up, “and maybe picking Macbeth for your final essay.”

Eddie snorted. “Not likely.”

“And that’s how you treat your hero?” You asked him, batting your eyelashes.

Fuck, those should come with a goddamn warning.

“How about I make you a mixtape?” Eddie joked, chewing at the end of his pen and giving your outline another look.

Your face, however, completely lit up. “Deal!”

“What?” Eddie stammered, dropping the pen from his mouth.

“No take-backs Munson!” You laughed, shrinking when the librarian shot you a look. Eddie huffed a laugh at your contrite expression and watched you turn back to him. “You get a passing grade on these last two assignments and you make me a mixtape as a physical form of your eternal gratitude.”

“Shortcake, I don’t think we have the same music tastes,” he said, eyeing the Walkman you’d left at the corner of the table with your bag.

A haughty look cross your face and the stupid butterflies slammed into his small intestine painfully. “How would you know?” You asked. “You barely ask me anything outside of English.” The second part was quieter, almost involuntary and Eddie was suddenly struck by something.

Eddie had never pushed for anything more than you had freely given. He tried not to ask about what you were doing, what you liked, or what your weekend plans were. You’d smile to him in the hallways at school but you had completely different schedules so you rarely saw each other. Besides, Eddie had an ingrained self-preservation intuition and vehemently avoided any contact with the popular crowd.

While Eddie was not a betting man, he took calculated risks. You were – beyond the ability to analyze. But…the way your face had twisted, maybe he’d gotten his signals wrong? Had you wanted him to be your friend? He’d always assumed you were doing this to fulfill some extracurricular activity. Wouldn’t you be…embarrassed to be seen with him?

“Alright sweetheart,” Eddie said eventually, “educate me then.”

You stuck out your tongue, breaking the tension and tucked your Walkman into your bag. “Too late. You snooze you lose Munson,” you said, packing up your stuff. Eddie glanced at his watch and was once again astounded to realize two hours had flown by.

“I’ll see you next week at the same time?” You asked. “Drop your paper outline in my locker and I’ll take a look at it so we have something to cover.”

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am,” Eddie saluted.

“Oh,” you said, hand elbow deep in your bag, “you see Mike tomorrow, right? At Hellfire?”’

Eddie frowned, unsure. “Yeah?”

“Can you give him these?” You asked, dropping a set of die in his hands. “He wanted to borrow my old set.”

Glancing at the well cared for set in his hand, Eddie gaped. “Are these holographic?”

You grinned and pulled your backpack onto your shoulders. “Yeah! Dustin got them for me for my birthday a while ago. They’re custom! He painted them for me.”

Eddie felt his throat dry up and was almost positive he’d floated up into the stratosphere. Seriously, a semitruck could’ve trampled him and he would’ve been less surprised.

“You coming?” You asked, totally unaware of how close Eddie was to offering you his heart on a platter.

Spurred into action, Eddie pocketed the set carefully and grabbed his bag. “Yeah, I- I’m coming.” He took in your carefully stacked bracelets and dainty necklace. Your pink sandals echoed in the hallway as you made your way to the familiar bike chained outside. How did someone like you play dnd?

“Dustin taught me,” you said as you walked the bike next to his van.

“What?”

You laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and squinting a little at the sun in your eyes. The air in his lungs caught at the sight of your skin in the light. Were you holographic? “Dustin and the other kids I babysat taught me how to play. I’m not very good,” you admitted sheepishly, “that’s why I never told you.”

“Oh,” he said, because his brain still wasn’t totally back from its trip into space.

“I’m an elf rogue,” you said, shrugging, “Will said it suits me since I used to practice archery.”

Eddie bit down on his cheek hard enough to almost draw blood. He fought every nerve in his body to not glare at the sky. Really universe? Really? Was his daily pining not enough?

“You’re a box of surprises, aren’t you, shortcake?” Eddie said, rocking on his heels.

You grinned. “I’m rusty at that too. My aunt lives in Indianapolis and she’s won a few competitions in archery. I’d stay with her over the summer breaks and she taught me. It was fun to run around thinking I was some kind of mini-Hawkeye or something.”

At that, he couldn’t hide his surprise. “Marvel?”

“I told you,” you said, looking incredibly flustered, as your eyes went down to your feet, “I babysat Dustin. For years. Some of it stuck.”

Say something, he urged, voice stuck in his throat.

“Uh, so I’m going to go,” you said, bright smile back on your face.

Eddie scratched the back of his neck. “Do you want a ride?” He asked, gesturing to his van. Great, that’s the best he could come up with?

You turned your smile in his direction and Eddie almost stumbled at the power of it. Jesus, he really needed to get a grip on himself. This couldn’t be healthy.

Nodding, you’d taken a step towards him when a loud honk popped the bubble you both were tucked into. Eddie glanced over your shoulder and felt reality sucker punch him in the throat.

“Hey baby!” Nick shouted, torso almost hanging out that stupid Camaro window. “I’ve been looking for you. Your sister said you’d be here.”

Aaaand that was the second reason he was a complete dumbass.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, looking embarrassed. “Thanks for the offer.”

“Mhmm, see ya,” Eddie said, darting towards his van and completely missing your look.

Eddie started his van and shot out of the parking lot. He risked a glance in his rearview mirror and immediately regretted it. You were tucked into the quarterback’s arms, his face ducking down to yours, and Eddie tightened his hold on the steering wheel.

You had a boyfriend – a jock no less – because of course you did, since when did life ever like to be fair to him? Why would it ever start now? Eddie scrambled for the cigarette carton in his passenger’s seat and lit one up. Nick Jackson had been the one who almost broke Gareth’s nose last year in gym class. Nick Jackson would absolutely kick his ass if he knew how gone he was on his girlfriend.

What type of asshole had two first names anyway? And how the hell had he managed to land someone like you?

He knew the answer, obviously, but he was still in shock despite the fact that Eddie had seen you two together for the past month.

Whatever. Fuck high school. The second he had that diploma in his hands he was driving out of here and not looking back.

Eddie was over school. He’d finally gotten the news that he’d been given the green light to graduate and the first person he wanted to tell was you.

So, to mediate that, he decided to skip his last two classes and gone out to the picnic table in the woods behind the school to smoke. Taking another drag, Eddie leaned back onto the rough wood table and snorted. Who would’ve thought? He’d known ’86 was going to be his year.

Although it was in no small part thanks to you. Eddie had seen you this morning – dressed in a blue ruffled skirt, with a cardigan and a shirt that hid absolutely none of your curves. He’d felt like someone had slammed a locker door in his face, blood rushing to the bottom half of his body.

The sound of a branch snapping had Eddie jumping up, instinctively flinging the joint off towards the trees. He turned towards the sound, excuse on the tip of his tongue, when his throat closed. You stood there, shy smile on your face, hands gripping your bags strap tightly.

“Hey Munson,” you said, motioning to the table. “Can I join you?”

“Uh, yeah shortcake, please,” he gestured grandly to the old, rusted table like it was worth a million bucks. “Welcome to my hide out. Uh, sorry for the smell and the smoke.”

You laughed, eyes wrinkling and mouth turning up like he was hilarious. “I actually wanted to ask if I could buy some off of you,” you scrunched your nose and Eddie felt his heart stop. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“What?” Eddie smacked his hand to his chest exaggeratedly. “Me? Make fun? Of you? I’m insulted.”

“Ah yes, because you’re so friendly,” you joked. “I’ve never smoked before so could you sell me something already rolled?”

Eddie grinned. “You’re in luck shortcake,” he said, patting his denim vest for the bag he knew was keeping for later, “I’ve got some for you right here.”

“How much?” You asked, searching for your wallet.

Waving off your offer, Eddie dropped it onto your bag. “Consider it a thank you for helping me get to graduation.”

You froze, eyes darting up to his and Eddie couldn’t help the grin that grew on his face. “Oh my God, Eddie, don’t joke with me about this.”

“I’m not!” He laughed, opening his arms and throwing his head back. “I’m finally fucking out of here!”

Without warning, you threw your arms around him. Eddie stumbled, more than a little surprised, and stilled for a second. His arms, however, were much smarter and quicker than the rest of him because they settled immediately on the curves of your hips. You squeezed him tightly, your fingers scratching almost subconsciously at his back in soothing circles. “I’m so proud of you! I knew you could do it Eddie, I knew it.”

Eddie leaned back to see that you were beaming, eyes bright and smile so wide it looked like it could crack your face in two. The sun pierced through the shade of the trees, landing on you like a natural spotlight – because of course it did. “Well, it’s mostly thanks to you. I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said. Which, was a hundred percent true.

He watched your eyes drift down his face, and for a millisecond he could’ve sworn they landed on his lips, but before he could confirm – you’d darted away. Hands fluttering down your pink cardigan, you soothed out the non-existent wrinkles and frowned.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, “I didn’t mean – I know people hate when I – I’m sorry.”

“When you what?” Eddie furrowed his brows, confused. “Don’t be sorry.”

You wrung your hands together and Eddie hated how small you tried to become. “I – uh, Nick hated when I just hugged him out of nowhere,” you sighed, “I’m sorry.”

Reason number one that jock was a dumbass. If Eddie had the chance, he’d cling to you like a goddamn koala.

“Hey, what’d I say? We’re friends, right?” Eddie asked, ducking to try and catch your eyes.

“Are we?” You said, surprised.

Eddie clutched his heart, looking down at his hands as if there were blood, and blinked at you. “I didn’t know you came here to shoot me straight through the heart.”

A beat of silence echoed in the clearing before you laughed, delighted by his antics. Eddie smiled at your joy; you were one of the only people in his life that never complained about his general over the top flair. “I’m sorry,” you said, tone adorably earnest. “I didn’t mean it like that – I thought, well, I thought you didn’t want to be friends with me.”

He couldn’t help it, he really couldn’t but he let out an unattractive laugh and shot you a look. “Shortcake, if anyone was embarrassed to be seen with the other it’s definitely not me.”

An indignant sort of expression settled in your entire body. Eddie watched you, fascinated. He’d never seen you be anything but a human personification of a sunbeam.

“I’m not embarrassed to be seen with you,” you huffed, crossing your arms and Eddie’s eyes darted to the top of your head. Jesus Christ. He was not going to stare at your chest like a fucking pervert. He was not. Completely oblivious to his plight, you continued huffing. “I’ve tried to say hi to you like three times since I started tutoring you. You always looked like I was a lion who’d caught a mouse.”

“Because popular kids don’t talk to the outcasts, sweetheart. Don’t take it personally,” he sighed, “it’s a self-preservation tactic.”

You blinked at him. Eddie cringed internally – of course he fucked this up not even two minutes in. He scrambled to think of a way to rectify it when you sighed.

“Nick said he didn’t want me tutoring you anymore,” you said quietly.

Eddie didn’t know he could hear a heart shatter but he was positive that his just fell to the floor beneath him. That asshole. Didn’t he have enough? Thanks a lot universe.

“He said it wasn’t becoming of me to keep doing this so he wanted me to stop. I knew it was because he didn’t like you though,” you admitted.

Sighing, Eddie sat back down onto the table and pulled out another joint. Lighting it up he took a drag and blew the smoke towards his left. “So, I guess this is goodbye?”

A bird nearby sang, as if knowing he needed a soundtrack for this car crash waiting to happen. “No, you idiot,” you snapped, “I broke up with him.”

Everything tilted sideways and Eddie was sure someone had smacked him in the head with something. Maybe his hearing was off? “I’m sorry, I think I had a small seizure. Did you say you broke up with him?”

You nodded, coming over to sit across from him. “I never really liked him that much anyway. Chrissy thought we’d be cute together but I’m pretty sure I’m not his ideal type.”

“What, why is perfect too intimidating for him?” Eddie asked, the words out of his mouth before he could stop them. Jesus fucking – just take him out. Universe? You can take me out now! He screamed internally.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, ducking your head. Eddie saw the pleased smile on your face before you hid it away and it sent a stupidly happy pang through his body. “I meant, well – you know.”

“I really don’t.”

Sighing, you motioned to your body. “You know, someone skinny enough to be a flier on the cheerleading team.”

Eddie felt his spine solidify. “Did he…did he say that to you?” He asked, his vision darkening. “That absolute fucking shithead.” What an asshole. Not only did he have the hottest girl in the entire fucking town but he was taking jabs at you? Eddie wanted to punch something.

“Wait!” Your cool hand wrapped around his wrist and Eddie hadn’t even realized he’d stood and walked in the direction of the school. “Munson! It’s okay – he didn’t say it out loud! Holy shit you’re a lot stronger than you look.”

Eddie felt you wrap your torso around his arm in an attempt to stop him. Your chest pressed against his bicep and Eddie had to close his eyes and think of his great-aunt. A soft poke to his cheek had him looking down at you, amused. You looked like a squirrel clinging to a tree. With a slow nod, he let you walk him to the bench.

“Was that a dig at my body?” He asked. “Do I look weak?”

A mortified expression settled on your face and you immediately shook your head. “That’s not what I meant at all! I just – I meant, I’m – oh, you’re teasing me,” you said, exhaling a loud breath. “I hate you.”

Smiling, Eddie bumped your shoulder with his. “No, you don’t.”

“There’s no hurt feelings, I promise,” you told him, referring to Nick, “I wasn’t what he wanted and he wasn’t what I wanted.”

“Yeah?” Eddie took another drag of his discarded joint. “What’s your type? Swim team? Basketball team? Wait, soccer player.”

You rolled your eyes and bumped his shoulder again. “No,” you said, crossly. “I don’t know. For starters maybe someone who doesn’t think Metallica is just random noise.”

Eddie sighed. He looked up at the sky, a common occurrence at this point, and wondered if whoever was up there was having fun torturing him. You played dnd and you liked Metallica. Sure. Why not? He hoped Mother Nature or God, or whoever, was having a great laugh at his expense.

“I had you pinned for a Madonna girl,” he said eventually, reeling in the affection that seemed to be pouring off him in waves.

“I am, I like a ton of music,” you said, “I’m not condescending with my music tastes.”

Gaping, Eddie shot you a look and fought his smile at your mischievous look. You were going to be the death of him.

“Hi Wayne!” Your voice floated through the front door. Eddie straightened, eyes darting around the room to make sure anything embarrassing was hidden away.

“Hi honey. You know you don’t have to bring me something every time you come over,” he said, sounding pleased. Eddie rolled his eyes. In the past two months, you and Eddie had become fast friends. In fact, Eddie didn’t know how he’d gone almost the entire second half of the school year without bombarding you with questions.

He wanted to know everything about you – he’d take any crumble you’d give him. You’d shown up to Hellfire a few times, went to movies together, and religiously showed up to the Hideout to see him play. Eddie wasn’t sure he remembered his life before you. So, obviously, like nephew like uncle and Wayne had instantly loved you the way Eddie had.

“Munson, you better be decent,” you said, not waiting for an answer and kicking the door down.

“If you really want to see me in a state of undress so badly, all you have to do is ask shortcake,” he said, loving the flustered expression he could draw out of you so quickly.

“I hate you,” you said, daintily sitting on his bed and handing him a napkin full of cookies. You’d made it a habit of baking on the days you were coming over and while Eddie definitely appreciated it – he knew you were bringing them to Wayne. Who, like Eddie, completely fell for your sincerity.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself to get to sleep at night is fine with me,” Eddie said, eagerly throwing half the cookie into his mouth. “Denial isn’t healthy though.” He winked.

“Jesus, does this have an off button?” You grumbled, flopping down onto his bed.

Eddie gave himself five seconds to appreciate the way your skirt hitched up higher on your thighs as you laid down, the bright purple material easily the most colorful thing in his room. He felt his eyes glaze over a little, imagining his teeth sinking into the meaty part of your inner thigh, the noises you’d made. Suddenly, you shot up, and Eddie tried his best to look like he wasn’t just being a goddamn pervert.

“Oh, I love this song!” You said, eyes lighting up.

His heart tripped over itself at the sight but he tilted his head and realized he’d left his stereo on as he was stitching a new patch, one you’d gotten him last week onto his vest.

When you know that your time is close at hand

Maybe then you'll begin to understand

Life down here is just a strange illusion

“That’s Iron Maiden,” Eddie said, stupidly.

You rolled your eyes. “I know, shithead,” you joked and Eddie blinked – he didn’t know why the way you cursed like a sailor was still so strange to him. Someone who wore pastels, bright colors, was in track to be valedictorian, and had a smile that rivaled the sun wasn’t someone who he’d thought would be ready to swing at the first sight of conflict. “We’ve been over your music superiority complex already, remember? I’m a woman of many interests.”

Eddie grumbled. You were right – you’d been the one who had bought him Metallica’s new album at the record store downtown when it’d just released. He thought he’d have to fight his way into getting his hands on it but, like always, you were there.

“So, do you remember how much you love me?” You asked, teasing. Eddie’s pathetic heart thumped against his ribcage and he glanced up at you.

“Why does that sound like the prelude to something I’m going to hate?”

You smiled, batting your eyelashes, and pressing your folded hands under your chin. “I need someone to go to the mall with me on Saturday. Pretty, pretty, please? I’ll do anything you want!”

Eddie’s brain short circuited for brief moment, imagining the list of things he’d both dreamed and would trade his soul to be able to do to you before he realized you were waiting for an answer. “Shortcake, I treasure our friendship but there are some things my fading sanity can’t take.”

You quirked a brow and Eddie had to fight not to visible react to your pout. He often wondered how it’d feel if he bit down on it. “Eddie?”

“Sorry, what?” He shook his head, returning back to the present.

“I said, and the mall would zap the last bit of sanity you had?”

Eddie nodded emphatically. “I’m not that strong.”

“Well, despite your complete betrayal,” Eddie rolled his eyes, “Nancy said she’d go with me and helped me find a dress. I just wanted to see if you’d come with.”

“A dress?” Eddie asked. “You going somewhere fancy?”

Laughing, you shot him an incredulous look. “Wait, are you serious?”

“Yeah, where are you going?”

“Prom, Eddie,” you said with a weird look on your face, “aren’t you going?”

At that, Eddie snorted. “Me? At prom?”

“I mean, I’ll be there – so will Robin and Nancy. Gareth and Jeff told me they’re going too,” you mumbled.

“I – do you want me to go?” Eddie asked, confused. “I can drop you off and pick you up if you want. My chariot is your chariot.”

Something flashed across your face but it was gone before Eddie could decipher it.

“Oh, no, thanks. I think Robin’s getting a ride from Harrington and they’ll give me a lift,” you said.

Eddie hated how well you and Steve got along. He shouldn’t have been surprised, considering he ran in the circle you did, but when he introduced you to his friends, he hadn’t expected how quickly you bonded. It’d taken him four and half months to hurl himself out of the acquaintance zone and Steve did it in five minutes.

“Sure,” Eddie said, going back to sewing a new patch onto his vest and trying not to stab himself.

“Would you go if I asked?” You said after a beat of silence.

He was almost sure he’d snapped something important in his neck with the speed in which he turned to you. At his expression, you straightened. “I mean, like would you go to prom and hang out with us? You don’t need to go with me.”

Deflating, Eddie tried not to let it show. Of course, you hadn’t asked him to go with you. You probably had a date or at the very least someone interested. Even then, he didn’t want to lie to you.

“Yeah, shortcake, I’d go if you asked me to.”

The smile on your face was small and grew gradually into something blinding. His heart flipped, the butterflies yawned awake, and Eddie sighed. He was pathetic.

Eddie knew his strengths and weaknesses. Thanks to Wayne, he was pretty decent at fixing cars. He knew more about music than most people he’d come across. And when it came to guitar? He wasn’t humble enough to deny how good he was. However, he was blatantly aware that math and science were subjects from the depth of hell. His driving had been criticized once or twice, and, he wasn’t that great at sounding particularly eloquent.

He'd never been more aware of that than in this exact moment. Eddie was leaning against Steve’s car. His red BMW was recently cleaned and Steve was hanging out the driver’s window, telling him about his most recent date. The tie around his neck felt like it was choking him but he wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t due to the anticipation.

Wheeler and Byers stood by their car, fumbling with her corsage and his tie. Robin’s front door opened and she came bounding out, her suit a bright blue that fit her perfectly. Her hair had been curled and she only seemed to wobble once on her heels as she made her way to the car.

“Man, if I don’t break my ankle before the end of the night,” she muttered, leaning on Eddie for support. He helped her catch her balance and smiled when she flushed at the compliments from everyone.

“You look good Buckley,” he told her, nudging her with his elbow.

Robin beamed. “You clean up well too,” she said, pulling at the suit he’d borrowed from Wayne. It was a little too big but Nancy had assured him no one would be able to tell. “I see you couldn’t resist,” she said bumping his converse with her pointy heel. “Why do you get to wear comfy shoes? She wouldn’t let me go in mine!”

“Because it ruins the look, Rob!” Your voice said from the front steps. Eddie glanced up and immediately felt the world freeze. Your dress was…molded onto your body. It was a long, lavender, flowy thing. It dipped low in the back and Eddie sighed. If the neckline was enough to give him a stroke, the back was going to have him flatlining. Your heels clicked against the stone as you hugged Robin’s parents goodbye.

“For fuck’s sake,” Eddie said under his breath, “that’s just not fair.”

Robin and Harrington, clearly heard him, snorted. “Careful there Munson, you’ll drop too much of a hint of how deeply in love with her you are if you keep that up.”

Eddie’s jaw snapped and he turned to glare at Robin. “What?” She said after Harrington snorted. “It’s true. They’re idiots.”

“Let them figure it out themselves,” Steve said. “We promised.”

“It’s infuriating,” Robin said, narrowing her eyes. “You’re both infuriating.”

“Alright, I’m all set,” you said, leaning forward to squeeze Steve’s hand. ���Thanks for the ride, Steve.”

“No problem, you wanna ride with me or Byers?” Steve asked, settling into the seat.

Turning to him, he saw the question in your eyes and he cleared his throat. “Uh, wherever you want to,” he croaked.

Robin snickered and headed towards the passenger seat. Eddie shot her a glare but was interrupted by your hand on his arm. “You look great,” you said quietly as you waved to Jonathan. They honked at you as they took off down the street. “Thank you for coming.”

“For you? Anything,” he said, his tone a little too sincere than what he meant it to be. The blinding smile on your face after though, made it worth it. “You look…incredible,” he finished lamely. He heard hushed laughter from the car and fought the urge to scratch the back of his neck.

“Thanks,” you said, picking up the bottom of your dress in one hand. “I was worried I’d look dumb but Nancy was adamant this was my dress.”

Eddie needed to get Wheeler a gift. “Remind me to thank her because, shortcake?” You glanced up at him. “That dress was made for you.”

With a shy and pleased smile, you slid into the backseat and settled close to Eddie. Holy shit, you smelled amazing. Eddie barely managed to keep from dropping his nose to the crook of your neck. He slowly dropped his arm over your shoulders and grinned when you leaned into him.

Grabbing a parking spot near the entrance, Steve pulled into the school. Hopping out, he offered his arm to Robin who took it gladly.

“Are you guys ready for the last night of your high school career?” Steve asked, eyes on the doors.

“Yeah,” Robin said, “fuck this place.”

Eddie bumped her fist and you grinned. “After party at your house, Harrington?” You asked.

He knew you had to have been invited to a few afterparties – Robin had promised to make an appearance at the house of some kid from band. He’d heard you tell Nancy that you’d be going with Robin. Steve had assured him that they’d tag along too.

“More like the after after party when you two are drunk off shitty vodka,” Steve said motioning to Robin, who rolled her eyes and made a silly face.

“It happens one time…”

Nancy waved a hand in the air before disappearing through the doors. “Come on!” She shouted over her shoulder. You huffed a laugh and linked your arm through his.

“Ready?”

“Not really, but I’ll follow you into hell apparently.”

“You say the sweetest things,” you told him, deadpan. He snorted, other hand coming to squeeze the one you were resting on his forearm.

Eddie immediately squinted in the cloak of darkness that was the gym – he had to give it to the committee, he hardly recognized the place. A ridiculous pop song came on just as you waved to a few of your friends. “Look, Nancy found a table. Want to drop off our stuff and dance?” You asked the group. Robin nodded, already making her way towards the table and Eddie had to admit he felt a little out of place.

The itch under his skin yelled at him to run but the happy smile on your face when you patted the empty seat next to you kept him tethered to you – because how could it not? Eddie was sure you could ask for the disco ball and he’d risk his diploma to get it for you. 

“Drinks?” Eddie asked, overwhelmed by the five nodding heads. Byers, with a small smile, got up and offered his help.

While Eddie had grown, no matter how reluctantly, close to Robin and her sidekick Harrington. Jonathan had only recently become a new addition. His family had just moved back and he seemed too quiet to really like the chaos that Eddie knew he tended to attract. His kid brother however, Will, was one of his favorites. Not that he’d ever tell Dustin that. The kid had a jealousy streak a mile long.

They had both just settled into their seats, everyone with a drink in hand, when another pop mess song came on. Robin and you straightened, eyes going to each other before you scrambled to your feet. “I’ll be right back,” you said, dropping a kiss to his cheek that had him stunned for a moment. Robin grabbed your hand and you both ran towards the dance floor.

“It’s their favorite song,” Steve explained, watching them wave over a reluctant Nancy. You both bounced around, heads shaking, and zero care that a few people were shooting you looks. “You gonna ask her to dance tonight?”

Eddie shot Steve a look and hated that Steve felt comfortable enough now to ignore him.

“Don’t give me that look man,” Steve laughed, “you came together! You can’t not ask her to dance.”

“We didn’t come together,” Eddie muttered, taking a sip of the disgustingly sweet punch, “she made that pretty clear.”

“Or you heard what you wanted to,” Nancy said, finally standing with Jonathan’s and in hers. “Because from what I know, she thinks you’re here together.”

“Wait, what?” Eddie shouted at Nancy’s retreating back. He turned to Steve, who looked like he was hiding a laugh, “What the hell does that mean?”

“That you both have your heads stuck in the grass,” Steve sighed. “I promised Dustin that I’d let you two figure this shit out on your own but I’m giving you a needed shove. Come on Munson, we’re going to dance.”

He opened his mouth to protest but Steve put a hand under his arm and all but shoved him in your direction. Robin cheered when she saw him, her head bobbling wildly. You beamed, hands coming up to his and twirling prettily around him. His eyes were drawn to you like magnets, he couldn’t help it. You danced with abandon, graceful but chaotically at the same time. Eddie shouldn’t have been surprised but, he really wasn’t sure how much more in love with you he could get.

“I’m thirsty!” Robin shouted, pointing back to the table. Steve let her take his hand and dragged him off towards the sides.

You turned to Eddie, smile wide, and he watched it falter when the faintly familiar pop song turned slow. His feet froze and he glanced towards Wheeler – finding her arms around Jonathan’s as they swayed slowly. She widened her eyes and looked pointedly towards you.

Alright, he could take a hint. He wasn’t that stupid.

With a flourish, he bowed deeply and outstretched his hand. “Can I have this dance milady?”

Your laugh was muffled by the music but the electricity across his skin crackled as you took his warm hand with your cool one. How were you always so cold? He pulled your hands between his and tried to let some of his heat sink in. You grinned up at him, eyes soft, and he placed his own at your waist. “Okay?” He asked.

“More than,” you said, leaning your head onto his chest. He was worried you’d hear how fast his heart was racing but by the small, happy, sigh you let out – he didn’t think you’d mind.

“If you would’ve told me last year that I’d end up graduating this year, with a grade higher than a C, and that I’d be at prom with you – I would’ve laughed,” Eddie said.

You wrinkled your nose at him. “Am I that bad of a date?”

Date? Holy shit, was Wheeler being honest?

“Shortcake, you’re the best date. I just didn’t think you’d want to hang out with the likes of me,” he clarified, “I’m either invisible or a cult leader. Take your pick.” He tried to play it off as a joke but he knew you’d hear it.

“I’ve always noticed you, Eddie. You’re not invisible to me,” you said quietly, your big eyes looking up at him beneath your lashes. Jesus Christ, how much more of this could he take? For once, you seemed to share his sentiment because you took a step back, out of his arms and excused yourself. He watched you dart across the gym, grab a bewildered Robin, and pulled her into a solitary corner.

Mystified, Eddie walked back to the table and Steve raised one of his brows. “What’s happening? We’ve only been here for like an hour.”

“I have no idea,” Eddie admitted. He started to worry when he saw your purple nails from the distance flailing left and right as Robin’s hands came down on your shoulders. She said something that clearly stunned you. After a beat both of you turned towards him and he darted his eyes away to act like he wasn’t being nosey.

“Uh, that doesn’t look good,” Steve muttered. Eddie glanced back up and watched as you made your way quickly over to him. A determined expression was etched onto your face and Robin followed at a slower pace, a smug look on hers.

Without a word, you grabbed his sleeve and pulled him into the hallway when a teacher had their back turned. “Uh, shortcake?”

“Shh!” You admonished, still leading him down the hall. You don’t stop until you find an empty classroom, the lights were on and door unlocked but it was clearly deserted.

He watched your chest rise and fall quickly, like you’d run a mile, and before Eddie could ask you what was wrong – you all but chucked an envelope at him. He’d almost ducked instinctively but he managed to catch it in his hands. Where the hell had that even come from?

“What’s happening right now?” He asked, holding the envelope in his right hand. “What’s wrong?”

“Open it,” you said, your fingers went up to tug at a lock of your hair – a telltale sign that you were nervous.

“Sweetheart-”

“Eddie, open the envelope,” you stressed.

With a wary glance towards you, Eddie flipped the hastily taped tab and slid out a pair of tickets.

IRON MAIDEN, JULY 1ST INDIANNAPOLIS, IN.

“Holy shit, are these floor tickets?” He squawked, hands shaking. You had Iron Maiden tickets! How the hell had you managed that? “Shortcake, where did you get these? I thought they were all sold out.”

“My dad knows someone,” you said waving a hand like it wasn’t important. Like you hadn’t just handed him a priceless gift. “I got VIP passes too.”

Eddie’s soul was gone. That’s it, it was back up on the moon, throwing a party.

“It’s not my birthday, you know,” he said, barely containing his excitement. He rocked back and forth on his heels. Holy shit, he was going to see Iron Maiden! With you!

“I know,” you said, biting your bottom lip. Eddie’s soul slammed back into his body and he realized you were wringing your hands again.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“These are for us,” you said, pointing at the tickets.

“I assumed so,” he joked.

You closed your eyes, shoulders tense. “No, like… a date.”

Eddie snorted and immediately regretted it when he saw your head duck down. Shit, you’d been serious? You couldn’t have been serious. He knew Steve and Robin gave you both shit for it these past few months but there was no way in hell that you’d ever want to go on a date with him. He would’ve noticed. He absolutely would’ve noticed the signs.

“Oh,” you said, you voice incredibly sad, and Eddie wanted to slap himself. Okay, maybe he wouldn’t have noticed.

Eddie scrambled forward; tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. “No, wait – I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, words jumbling together. “I didn’t realize you were serious. I thought – I thought you were joking.”

You winced. “I get it. I’m not…your type, we’re friends, it’s fine. You can take both tickets and take one of the guys.” The expression on your face was enough to make him want to face plant. You turned on your heel and walked to the door.

Eddie’s heart dropped to his feet and he lurched forward, hands reaching for you. “Wait, wait, that’s not what – please. Shortcake, let me speak. I just need a moment to process.” You tried to wrestle your wrist out his grip but Eddie clung on for his life. You were not just going to turn and run after dropping a bomb like that on him.

“It’s fine, Eddie. I promise I’m not – I’ll get over it.”

“I didn’t even know you liked me!” You shot him a contemptuous look and he refused to cower back. You were scary when cornered but he knew you had a soft, gooey center. Whatever he said now was important. He had to get this right.

“Sweetheart. Look at me,” he said, pulling you away from the door. “I swear, I didn’t think you felt like that towards me.”

Your hardened look softened a little when he ducked down to catch your gaze. Blinking, you frowned a little and straightened. “You’re not joking?”

“I have never in my life been more serious,” he huffed, “and I really mean that.”

Exploding, you waved your animated hands in the air and Eddie jerked back to avoid being smacked by one. “How the hell did you not notice? Everyone noticed! Even the cheer squad knew. I asked you to go with me to prom!”

“What?” Eddie’s voice cracked. “You said not with you – to hang out or something!”

“Yeah, I only said that after you looked like I had smacked you over the head!”

Eddie groaned. “Because I didn’t think you’d ever want to go with me!”

You crossed your arms and rubbed one of your temples. “It’s against school policy to tutor a student for longer than a month or two. It’s not fair to the program so we swap consistently. It’s a way to make sure everyone gets the coverage they need from the different tutors. Didn’t you question why we went from meeting at the school to the public library?”

“Uh, no?”

“Well,” you huffed, looking a little embarrassed, “I liked you from like the first session. You, obviously, looked more interested in watching paint dry so I thought I could win you over. After the month I told Ms. O’Donnell that you just needed some guidance and I’d sign off on your paperwork. I told you that we needed to start meeting at the public library instead.”

“But, what about Nick?” Eddie was so confused. Had he entered an alternate dimension again? He glanced around for any sight of the dust. “You had a boyfriend up until like three months ago!”

“Because I thought it would make you jealous!” You huffed, exasperated.

What.

“Well, it did!” Eddie shouted back, the words falling before he could stop them. “I wanted to punch his goddamn face in.”

You blinked. “But…you didn’t seem all that eager to be my friend. You barely asked me about my weekend plans. I couldn’t have dropped more hints!”

“Shortcake, you’re not only out of my league – you’re in a different dimension. I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable!”

“Well, you didn’t!”

“Great!”

“Perfect!”

“Amazing.”

“Stupendous.”

“Are you going to keep trying to have the last word?” Eddie snorted.

You rolled your eyes but he saw your hands reach up for your hair. “I know I don’t dress like those girls at the hideout and wear too much yellow and pink and you think I’m popular and that my taste in music is overrated – which really proves my point that you’re pretentious – but –”

Eddie barely heard a word you were saying, his eyes watched your hands dance in the air, and your eyes dimming the more you spoke. How the fuck could you have ever believed that he wouldn’t like you? You still believed that, his mind supplied helpfully, anxiety evident in the rigid set of your shoulders. He knew from experience that if he let you keep going, you’d go on for hours. So, he grabbed your arms and pulled you into his chest. Startled, you stumbled and glared up at him.

“Shortcake?”

“What?”

“Please stop talking,” he said and dropped his lips to yours. Without hesitation, you wrapped your arms the best you could around his neck and pressed your body against his. Your cool fingers tangled themselves in his hair and he shuddered when your nails dragged along his scalp. Eddie, finally, bit down on your bottom lip and the low groan you let out shot straight to his dick.

Shit, even after imagining this moment for months – it really couldn’t compare. You tasted like punch, strawberries, and faintly of candy. He pulled back for air, your breath coming out in quick huffs. Eddie smiled, his heart racing at the sight of your dazed look. He did that. You liked him. He’d shared his life with you and you still liked him. Did shit like this really happen?

“So, you want to go to the concert with me?” You asked lightly, smile twisting your mouth.

Eddie threw his head back and laughed. “I want to go everywhere with you, shortcake.”

“Everywhere is good, I like everywhere,” you babbled, “...well, Steve’s house has a lot of rooms. Maybe everywhere can include that at the end of the night?”

Shutting his eyes, he valiantly tried to exercise self-control and not imagine you naked on a bed squirming beneath him. Failing, just a little, he nodded enthusiastically. “Should we go right now? Because I’ll grab Steve if we need to.”

You laughed, the sound warming him even further. “We still need to go with Robin to that afterparty.”

Eddie let his head loll as he groaned. “Conformity is so much work.”

“I’m sure you’ll be okay,” you teased, kissing him again. “Come on, someone’s going to catch us if we stay away too long.” Honestly, Eddie was willing to risk it but he knew you didn’t want to miss this.  

As you both crept back towards the gym, your hand tucked in his, Eddie wondered if he was dreaming. He passed one of the wide windows in the hallway, the gym only a few yards away, and he pulled you to a stop.

“What?” You asked, peeking out through it.

Eddie ducked to look out the glass and caught sight of the dark sky and the full moon. He winked and pointed up at it. “You had me going there for a while, but this makes up for it. We’re even!”

“Who are you talking to?” You asked, glancing around.

“The moon. Or God. Maybe the universe?”

You nodded. “Okay,” you said, shrugging like it was completely normal.

Jesus Christ, he loved you.

The familiar chords of Kiss floated out of the open doors to the gym and Eddie perked up. “Is that…”

Tonight, I want to give it all to you

In the darkness, there's so much I want to do

“Kiss?” You asked, grinning. “Yeah, I promised the DJ half a gram from you if he’d play a few songs you like.”

Yeah, he was gone for you. Totally gone. If he had any dignity or pride left, he’d be a little embarrassed but he really couldn’t work up the energy.

“Come on!” You said, tugging him back into the gym and onto the dance floor. A few jocks looked disgruntled at the change of music but Robin and Nancy were out on the dance floor, so were a few others. You immediately jumped around, eyes bright, hips swaying, and Eddie’s heart felt like it’d jump out his chest at any moment.

“And I can't get enough of you, baby. Can you get enough of me?” You sang, turning to wink at him. Steve and Robin waggled their eyebrows, shooting him knowing looks and he shook his head. Nancy laughed, offering up her fist and Eddie couldn’t help but bump it.

Alright universe, he thought, you win, you totally win. I owe you for the rest of my life.

Eddie wrapped an arm around your waist and beamed when you leaned into his touch. Your lips came up to his jaw and he sighed. Maybe the shit show that was the entirety of high school was worth it if you were waiting for him at the end.

I was made for lovin' you, baby

You were made for lovin' me

[bomberqueen17]

kitchen status

ok well. so. we're at the point now where the countertop guy (his name was Ken and he had a cool laser thing and confessed he often enjoys playing with people's cats with the laser thing when nobody's paying attention; alas our cat is not home and missed her chance) has come and measured, and now the countertops are due on January 4th.

Today the electricians are finishing the installation of all the outlets and such, which is exciting.

My mother advised me that the one thing she regrets about her kitchen remodel of, gosh more than ten years ago now, is that she didn't immediately install shelf liners. So I am going to do that. A cursory websearch told me that you can in fact make your own from fabric, but I think I am going to mostly buy premade ones, since they're not very expensive and I want this to get done.

BUT I do have a lazy-susan corner cabinet that's got these big round shelves that the liners won't easily fit, so I am going to make my own slightly-padded lil quilted guys to go on those, I think that's the most expedient thing. i intend to fill that cabinet with my saucepans and baking dishes, so it doesn't need to be spillproof and grippy and all that.

ANYWAY the next thing I need to think about is COLORS. I found a bunch of my notes from when we first started thinking about remodeling the kitchen and my big conclusion was "i don't want gray! i don't want a kitchen all in shades of gray!" and guess what my new kitchen is all shades of gray. BUT. that's because I realized that getting brightly colored cabinets would lock me into one color. Like blue-- a lot of bright blue options in cabinets or countertops exist, but then you're locked into that specific shade of blue. And what if the cool accessories you wanted don't coordinate? No.

So I figure, i will pick ONE very bold color, and will paint the east wall around the window, the window trim, and the west wall and entryway that color, and then perhaps a secondary bold color will be what the dishes, spoon rest, and other replaceable accessories will be in. (I think some floor rugs too, at least in a couple high-traffic areas.)

But I need help choosing colors, so please do weigh in.

The kitchen is all in shades of gray with both warm and cool tones. The floor is grayish-mottled faux stone vinyl with a kind of warm cast. The cabinets are warm wood washed blue, which comes out to a fairly cool grayish color. The countertop will be a mottled mostly-white quartz composite. The backsplash will be (boring, I know, I know) white subway tiles.

The neighboring room, the living room, which the kitchen is now wide open to, is bright, saturated buttercup yellow, with royal purple trim. (The bedroom is deep royal purple with bright scarlet trim.)

I don't like pastels or desaturated colors. The colors I prefer are primary or secondary colors in jewel tones.

So I'm currently considering cobalt blue, emerald green, pthlao green, deep teal, mermaid blue, royal purple, or bright crimson as my main color, with the smaller secondary color being either goldenrod yellow, bright scarlet, bright orange, bright turquoise, or metallic gold.

My everyday china is in the classic Blue Willow pattern, and a few of the pieces are mended with gold kintsugi from the time period in which Dude was into doing that. We also have some CalamityWare because his sister bought us a bunch of that-- and that includes some soft furnishings, a pair of kitchen towels and a hot dish mitt and an apron and such.

Middle-Little advised me that the Pantone color of the year is "Peachfuzz(TM)" and that a pale peach or bright coral would be great colors for the kitchen, and she is correct, but that is not in the slightest bit to my personal taste so I won't be doing that. Alas. She's super correct though. But I have discovered I am allergic to those types of colors. What category is that? I don't know but I know my answer is No. And I feel like anything on-trend will soon be dated. (Also, and I do know this by chance, the Pantone Color Of The Year for like 2018 was a coral color, and like, why. Why do they keep coming back to this.)

I don't know what that means but that's my story and I'm sticking to it, LOL.

[papasbaseball]

Raphael x Tav (Clubs and Spades: Chapter 3)

Pairing: Raphael x F!Tav

Rating: Mature (Rating to go up next chapter)

Warnings: Alcohol, Affairs, Violence

Summary: Tav finds herself on the bad side of the President of the Fae Run Country Club. She agreed to work there as a favor, but he's determined to make her life a living hell. Will they both make it out of the summer without catching feelings?

Chapter Summary: Astor brings Tav to the Hope residence for a movie night and maybe something more, promising that Raphael won't be home for a while. Promises are meant to be broken.

Word Count: 3,782 (Total 8,683)

Notes:

AO3 Link, Prev Ch: (Tumblr) (AO3)

Astor’s car had a mountain of Redbull cans that grew from the floorboard of the backseat, creeping further like a moss as he tossed another one into the back.

“Ew,” I said.

“My car, my rules,” he returned.

“Have you considered not being disgusting?” Pink drops decorated the back seat upholstery from many a careless can fling. A little darker, and it would have looked like a bloody crime scene.

“Darling, you’re much more attractive with your mouth shut. Do try to remember that when we get to the house, yes?”

The gear shifted in three quick thwacks and Astor whipped the car out of the Fae Run Country Club parking lot. I clutched the door. It was missing the interior panel and I was not entirely sure that it wouldn’t swing open while he was cruising through the maze of the country club neighborhood. The wind whipped through the windows and smacked locks of hair into my eyes and across my lips. Still, I gripped the door tight.

I’d never driven around the surrounding neighborhood. There was a fear that nested within me that if I took even a wrong turn in the subdivision I would have the cops called on me and quickly. I tried to relax knowing that Astor prowled these fastidiously kept streets with hunger and confidence.

In his jerks and drifts, we came upon the house in the three times the hair had blown out of my eyes just enough to see. It sunk back upon the great lawn, an old book too small and shoved back on the bookcase of houses. The house was built in an English style, feathering creeping greenery hiding its face like the fan of an old dame. Astor pulled his car up and through the porte-cochère, tucking it behind the garage.

“Shouldn’t we park down the street?” I asked.

Astor sucked his teeth, slamming the gear shift into park. “Raph doesn’t park anywhere but the front circle,” he said. “He says he doesn’t want people turning around in his circle drive, as if the house isn’t a mile back from the street.”

I follow his lead out of the car, holding my car keys and water bottle close to my chest. I’d had some wealthy friends in high school, but they’d always lived in the enormous houses in new development tracts. This was… not that.

Astor slipped us in through the servants’ entrance and into the kitchen. When I had pictured the interior decorating preferences of Raphael Hope, I had imagined heads of college girls that he’d gotten tired of toying with and decided to mount on his golden walls, not Antiquing in the Hamptons. A collection of porcelain tea cups proudly declaring the countries they had come from lined the wet sand of a granite backsplash. Each monstrosity of primary colors was placed carefully on what looked like custom-built shelves.

Why do the people with the worst taste have the most money?

The fridge opened adding its own little bit of chill to the already freezing house. My sports bra had been a faithful companion all through high school field hockey practices, but at that moment it seemed to have all but disappeared. The cool air tugged my nipples until they poked through worn cotton and white polo, aching to be warmed again. I crossed my arms over my chest as I watched Astor help himself to an open bottle of wine from Raphael Hope’s fridge, fetching a wine glass from the cabinets as if he lived there too.

“Want some?” he offered, shaking a crystalline glass in my direction, a little too roughly for my comfort.

I shook my head, popping open my water bottle for a sip of warm clubhouse water. The new hand on my shoulder was too warm, too heavy, and it caused me to choke under its weight.

“Don’t start without me,” Harry crooned. He’d been carrying a kitchen towel and was kind enough to muffle my pleas and coughing into the soft terry before they could escape.

“You’re scaring her,” Astor said. He took the towel from Harry and offered me his glass in trade. Astor tutted as he swatted Harry on his polo-covered chest with the towel, a roll of his eyes almost necessary. “Is that any way to treat your house guests?”

Harry leaned in and placed two chaste kisses on Astor’s sharp cheeks. I put my lips to the wine glass, refusing to sip as I watched them dance and break the steps their classes and life had set for them. As long as they kept me out of it, I could play my part as spectator— for Will’s sake. I raked my hand through the rough strands of my ponytail.

Astor rewarded the sweetness in kind with a brief brush of his lips, a smile curled across his as Harry leaned in for more.

“You’re a tease,” Harry breathed, eyes fluttering halfway open.

“And you’re a bad host,” Astor said. He returned to the cabinet to grab two more glasses. “You wanted his dog? I caught her for you.”

“I am not his dog,” I said as they reminded me that I was part of this sordid soap opera too. Oh, if only I could have swallowed those words back. Their eyes turned to me, amusement lighting them in force. So much for being a spectator.

“Of course not,” Harry said, his smile practiced and condescending.

I tried to block him out with my glass, drinking the sickeningly sweet Moscato. The sugar burned the emptiness of my stomach, my limbs already feeling less coordinated and more willing to grab onto others. If I kept drinking like this — and I didn’t expect to be allowed to forgo the alcohol — I knew I would kick myself later for getting swept into their dance of affairs. I winced as I forced the words out, “Do you have anything to eat?”

Harry opened the fridge, rustling around for bits and bites. The counter soon became piled with clear containers of meats, cheeses, vegetables, and pickled products.

“Astor,” he called from the clean light of the fridge, “I set up the theater for us. Would you go get some blankets from the closet upstairs? Brigitta insisted on washing them all after our last movie night.”

“Ha!” Astor barked. “I can’t imagine why.”

I wrinkled my nose at the thought of cum-encrusted blankets. As much as I was growing to hate my job, I couldn’t help but to feel like I’d won the employment lottery next to Brigitta. The gratitude fizzled out of my wine-clumsy body when I found myself alone in the room with Harry.

The silence was only allowed for as long as it took Harry to get a wooden cutting board down from a high cabinet. He watched me as he arranged the nosh in curls and shingles, the muscle memory of homemaking as solid as his own bones.

“Do you love him?” he said.

I wanted to spit my drink for the second time in that kitchen. Love and Raphael had found different coasts within my mind, the gray matter in its valleys and mountains of sensibility intent on keeping them separate.

“If you count hating his guts as love: Sure, I guess,” I said.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to mess with married men, darling?”

“I’m not messing with him,” I said, setting the wine glass aside. “And I could ask the same of Astor.”

Harry slapped a half-finished salami rose onto the cutting board. “He is not the one trying to take my husband.”

To be clear, I had no interest in Raphael Hope. The thought of him fucking me in his stupid vintage Ferrari that he insisted on showing off at every possible chance was the farthest thing from my everyday thoughts. However, if anything had gotten me into trouble without fail, it was telling me what I could and could not do.

Harry left the cutting board, weaving around the kitchen island until he was close enough to tuck a stray strand of hair that had whipped out of my ponytail on the ride over. His wrist smelled of the same sour cherries that I’d been assaulted with the other day on the golf course. The answers I’d been looking for the day I’d seen him on Raphael’s arm at the pool came and then went with a new slew of questions.

“You would look so pretty under me.” His words were low. There was a cold mist to them that flooded the immediate vicinity of him and me and worked together with the chill of the house in making me shiver. “I’ll make you scream and cry and beg for me to put you out of your sweet misery. A pretty little whore like you has been fucked before, I’m sure, but I wonder just how well I could ruin you.”

It was an awful instinct, but I leaned into his touch just for him to pull away his tender hand, dragging his nails down my cheek.

“The theater is ready,” Astor said.

My head turned through the swamp of lust that Harry had affected me with just quick enough to see Astor’s own head turned away out of courtesy for the disaster he had walked in on. I pushed off of my stool and scurried over to his side. He had brought me to the house of a viper, and I could only hope that he was able to find the way out unbitten.

Harry grabbed the snacking board and quickly we were escorted down to the theater. He had picked some art film and situated himself on the couch, Astor flocking to his side. I moved to sit down on Astor’s other side.

“Don’t be such a tease,” Harry said. He tugged my wrist until I fell into their laps, my tennis skort riding up enough that I was sure the shorts underneath were on full display.  I looked up at Harry from where my head lay against his crotch and the panic of his desire for me to have a similar view seized me.

I tumbled off of the both of them, Harry smirking in his triumph, Astor indifferent to his private humiliation ritual.

“I,” I stuttered, “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Upstairs and to the left is the guest bath,” Harry said. His eyes didn’t even meet mine, instead focusing on the much more important task of playing with Astor’s shock of white hair.

I raced up the stairs and was about to lock myself into the guest bathroom when the black glint of a Lexus pulled into the driveway.

Fuck. There was no time to go back downstairs and grab Astor and still make it out of the house in time. Maybe he’d come back and get me, but for the sake of my own life and my job at the country club, I needed to hide immediately. I ran up the stairs toward the upper level of the house and managed to close myself into a bedroom just as the front door opened.

He was talking on the phone with someone, I think I could understand that much through all of the drywall and carpet that separated us. The words were shapeless like clouds, never fully able to be grasped. I pressed my ear to the door to see if I could make them out better, happy until I realized that they were becoming too clear.

The sliding mirror doors proved to be for more than decoration and vanity in the bedroom as they revealed to me a large walk-in closet. Suits cut neat parallel lines around the entire closet except for one wall that showcased accessories. Amongst the watches and belts and shoes was a display of riding crops. I hoped that Raphael was an equestrian, grimacing as I grabbed a solid-looking one for defense. The wool, linen, and seersucker, that lined the wall provided enough coverage that as long as he didn’t reach for a suit I thought I would be safe in my crouched position, clutching the purloined crop.

“I want him fired, Tom,” he said, entering the closet. “I don’t care that he’s your nephew. Wasted time cannot be bought back, not like he could afford my rate anyway.”

Tom chattered something inaudible across the cellphone connection. I squeezed the crop tighter and curled my toes in the confines of my battered tennis shoes as if that would make them less visible. My head bumped against the back of the wall and I inhaled, desperate for breath in the suffocation of the folds of fabric. Instead, I got a lungful of mothballs. I coughed into a fistful of pants.

“Tom, I’ll call you back,” Raphael said. The camel tips of his shoes arrowed into the pants as the phone chirped the tone of hanging up. “A little mouse has lost its way in my house—“ The tips of the shoes pivoted into another direction. “— and has stolen something along the way.”

He walked away and soon a soft metal tap let me know that he had shut the mirror doors. A deep sigh of… exasperation? Excitement? Thrill? Filled the too-quiet closet. “You are not getting out of here without going through me.”

That’s what he thought. I’d keep my mouth shut until the world died its messy death. I’d suffocate in this closet before I came into the clutches of the man who was hell-bent on tormenting me. He may not get me fired, but his twisted brain and power were capable of much worse fates. If I stayed quiet enough, maybe he’d talk himself into his mind playing tricks on him.

“I do have to say that I am surprised that you have taken one of my riding crops, the Hermès one nonetheless. Such taste. It was one of my very first.” He laughed and the shifting of hangers accompanied him. “I loathe thieves. I will not call the police until I have beaten you bloody for entering my home.”

The hangers shifted once more and I only had a moment to picture Raphael Hope flaying me on the expensive cream carpet of the closet before my hangers parted and I found him staring down at me, his glare of hate quickly fleeting into eyes wide in ecstatic sadism. “Oh, now this is delicious,” he said.

I shot up to run for the doors, but my toes had cramped in the confines of my shoes. The tangle of pants, the short height of the shelf, and the wall of Raphael Hope got me nothing more than a quick yelp as I tumbled for the second time that day, legs twisted and riding crop flailing. The crop landed with a pitiful thump against his chino-clad shin and he snatched it away without a word, turning it on me. The wood and leather lashed the backs of my thighs and I yelped.

“Come now, little mouse: show a little resilience,” he said before the stick cracked against my ear. The pain shot across my brow and sent my world spinning. Carpet slipped and scraped under my nails as I tried to right myself. Another smack of the stick, this time across my ass.

The whimper from my lips hadn’t registered to me as I still felt like I was in a clothes dryer, the linens and wools and ties spinning around me at a sickening speed. It didn’t register to me, but to Mr. Hope… I waited for another blow that never came.

“Do you like pain, Ms. Baldur?” He hooked the leather tip under my tennis skort and flipped it up. The fact that he was staring at my ass was the least of my concerns as I finally steadied myself on my hands and knees. Another smack and this time I heard the gasp and squeaked yelp from myself.

He traced the line of pain, exhaling seemingly in delight. “Why are you in my house?” he asked.

Ratting out Astor after he had threatened Will that day was not at the top of my priorities. Hopefully, he heard all of the clamor upstairs and left while Raphael was distracted. I had a feeling he needed his job more than I did.

Mr. Hope yanked me up by my ponytail, singeing pain in a thousand places on my scalp. “Answer me!”

“I don’t know!” I cried.

“What was it, hm?” he said. “Thievery? Did you think you could get back at me by stealing from me?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hope,” I said. “I don’t know why I did it.”

“The Waterford glasses are missing from the kitchen too,” he said.

I knew he was talking about the glasses that were currently in the basement, but I couldn’t tell him that without blowing Astor’s cover. “I didn’t do anything with them.”

He tilted my chin up to face him with the handle, and it was enough to free a trapped tear, gravity betraying me and pulling it down my face. “You’re a terrible liar,” he said. “What should I do with you?”

“Please,” my voice cracked. “Please let me go.”

“It seems as if I should never let you out of my sight if this is how you behave.” He turned my jaw with the handle, getting a better look at where he’d cracked me upside the head. “Breaking into strange men’s houses, what would your parents say?”

I felt acutely aware of how the vein on my neck betrayed the galloping pace my heart set with just the turn of the riding crop. He seemed to see everything about me, even down to the memories that flashed in the back of my head of phone calls made to parents from well-kept county jails. I bit my tongue to save whatever little left I had of my privacy and advantage.

Raphael brushed his thumb over my ear. It was almost a shame when he showed me the blood that had collected on the pad of his finger. “You need to be more careful,” he said. “Now: where are the glasses? The only people who have been in my house in the past 24 hours have been you and our maid Brigitta. If it wasn’t you, then it was her.” He turned me back to face him, his amber eyes saddling me with the choice. “What did you do with them?”

In all of my secrets seemingly written on my face, I wondered if he could see the debt that I owed to Will. If he could, his cruelty was unmatched, knowing I had no choice but to hold my tongue. I looked into his eyes, hoping that he could read my burden and show some mercy. Instead, he tucked the crop under his arm, pulled out his phone, and shot off a text in the silence. The click of the phone screen shutting off brought his eyes back to mine.

“I am looking for a new maid and personal assistant,” he said. “You can come after you finish your shifts at the clubhouse. The house needs to be cleaned every Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. You’ll show up on the other days to help me with any casework or errands I might need to run. You have your own car, yes?”

I couldn’t tell the difference between when he had been thrashing me with the riding crop a few minutes ago and the crush of knowing that I had gotten someone fired without saying anything at all. Words tried to come out of my mouth, but the brain damage of his blows seemed to be catching up to me.

“Do you have a car?” he said.

“You can’t make me,” I replied.

“I can call the police if you would like,” he said. I bit the inside of my cheek watching him retrieve his phone from his pocket once more. He clicked on the phone screen.

“Wait,” I blurted. My eyes went wide as I realized my hand had shot up and taken hold of his warm wrist, feeling the faint beating of his own heart. I pulled it away, hiding it behind my back so he couldn’t see how it shook. “I have a car, but I didn’t drive here. It’s in the country club parking lot.”

Raphael’s eyes darted back and forth across my face. “You walked here to steal from me?”

I shrugged, knowing that he’d see through any lie that I made up. I wasn’t so sure he’d believed the first lie anyway.

He rolled his eyes, put the riding crop back from where I had taken it, and grabbed me by the arm. He marched me out of the closet, the room, and then the house before holding open the passenger door to his Lexus. I told him I would be back out in a second, that I had left my keys in the kitchen.

I snatched my keys and water bottle from where they had been hidden by the back of a kitchen stool and noticed that Astor’s car was no longer tucked away in the driveway. That son of a bitch. He had left me here to my doom. I made up my mind on my way back to the car that I would have to find a way to get him back.

Raphael was still standing there with the door open when I came back. I slid in and he closed it, quickly taking his place in the driver’s seat. The car smelled like it was fresh off the lot and was clean as if it was never used. I hugged my water bottle to my chest at the thought of him making me clean it for him, undoubtedly letting perverted eyes roam and eat the way my body would sweat and toil over the machine.

“I’ll get you the day off of work next week, but I need you for the regatta,” he said, driving much more carefully than Astor had. The car purred perfectly under his hands, a panther compared to the wild diseased coyote of Astor’s car. I pressed my thighs together as I watched the veins in his hands cut the wheel around a corner.

We were in the parking lot sooner than I had hoped, and I fumbled for my words of goodbye, feeling eerily like it was the end of a date. I left the car without saying anything, trying to stomp out the urge to kiss Raphael Hope, and got in my car, peeling out of the Fae Run Country Club parking lot and away from my new boss.

[thelampisaflashlight]

Cirice

[Quincy meets Mountain and subsequently gets bullied.] Below the cut.

The abbey's library is absolutely stunning.

He'd said as much when Brother Elijah brought him there after his interview, and, even now, nearly a month into his work, Quincy finds it just as magnificent and fantastical as the first time.

However...

"20 down, 6 letters, an old English word for church..."

Although Quincy loves the library, it's not the most lively place.

Clergy come and go, and some linger to study books about this or that, Quincy isn't sure what the primary focus of their research is, but much of it involves skimming through heavy resource books that are all written in some archaic language he cannot begin to understand.

Thankfully, the spines are labeled in English, or, at the very least, Latin.

A bell tolls, signifying midday, and the assembled clergy begin closing their books, setting them off to the side, shuffling their notes and gathering their belongings to leave.

Quincy nods to them as they depart, and receives small waves and warm smiles in response.

The siblings are always very respectful and polite, to the extent that it makes him a little nervous.

Despite having left the faith years ago, Quincy had grown up Christian, and is still struggling to unlearn the more "us or them" teachings his church had beaten into his head as a child and young teenager.

It is not an easy thing to do, and his mind often swirls with negative thoughts and feelings that he tries not to let color his opinions of the people around him, but he has to try.

Quincy stretches, then stands slowly, rolling up his sleeves.

"Right, let's get to it..."

Tidying up the library requires Quincy's full attention, having not fully acquainted himself with the layout, he can easily sort the books themselves by their DDCs but...

"Why are none of these shelves labeled??"

"Mn, I believe it's because the late Papa Emeritus III found the placards too plain, and thought that they 'detracted from the aesthetics'..." Brother Elijah had told him during lunch one afternoon, "Which is... funny, considering I do not think he spent much time actually in the library... at least not to utilize the resources there."

"What was he doing then??" Quincy had questioned, "Just sitting about?"

"Ah, no..." Brother Elijah trailed off, "Well, kind of. He was fond of... roleplay so to speak."

Quincy is still not entirely sure what he meant by that.

What kind of so-called "roleplay" could you even do in a library??

He'd tried to ask Brother Elijah exactly that, but the older man waved him off, saying it was better if he didn't know.

The same day, whilst cleaning, Quincy found a desk towards the back of the library, out of view, with... decidedly nail shaped indentations on the surface, as if someone had been gripping it tightly.

He's still not sure what to do with this information, nor certain how or why he thinks it's connected to the dead guy's... roleplay.

Returning to the present, Quincy finds himself on the second floor, a single book remaining in his hands; It's old and worn, and the sticker label marking where it belongs has long since faded beyond his ability to read.

He flips it open, examining cover to cover trying to find some marker or indication of where it belongs, but everything written inside -and indeed it is written, handwritten in a brownish ink- is in an illegible cursive scrawl.

If he didn't know better, he'd think he accidentally snatched up one of the siblings' notebooks, but the book was simply too old for that to be the case.

The paper, the bindings...

It's a very old tome indeed.

Another bell tolls.

"I'll figure this out later." he tells himself, descending the staircase and depositing the book at the front desk beside his crossword puzzle, grabbing his bag and departing from the library... only to find the hallways packed with clergy members and much chatter.

Quincy hops to see over the crowd, but he can barely see passed the wall of people.

"What's going on?" he asks, tapping the shoulder of a nearby sibling.

"The ghouls have returned!" they announce excitedly, "They're finally back!"

"The what now?"

"The ghouls!"

Quincy blinks, "That... clears up absolutely nothing."

"The ghouls are high ranking members of the church." a now familiar voice explains, "They're essentially celebrities here."

Quincy tilts his head up in the crowd, making eye contact with Brother Elijah.

"So they're kind of like... the 'popular kids' here then?"

Brother Elijah chuckles, "Mn, not quite. They do have a rather large following, but that's only natural, they are musicians after all, and everyone gets at least a little excited to see their favorite ones."

Quincy hops to see over the crowd again, catching a glimpse of... well, more tops of heads, and one face towering above the assembled clergy.

He makes the briefest of eye contact with the man; He's lean and tall, with a narrow face and long brown hair, and when he locks eyes with Quincy, it may be his imagination, but there's the slightest hint of...

...Anger?

Quincy shivers, grateful, suddenly, for the wall of people between them.

He's certain the other had scowled upon seeing him.

It could just be nerves, or his mind playing tricks on him and seeing hostility where there is none, but he doesn't try to jump up to confirm ether theory.

"Are you alright?" Brother Elijah asks, peering down at him worriedly.

"Ah, just... wondering when the crowd will clear up." he says, waving off the other's concerns, "I wanted to go eat my lunch."

"If you say so." he hums, "Here, I'll clear a path. Stick close."

With that, Brother Elijah begins pushing his way through the crowd, and Quincy grabs the band around his cassock to keep them tethered together so he doesn't get lost.

It doesn't take long before they've popped free into the main corridor, taking the opposite path from the... the ghouls?

"Why are they called ghouls?" Quincy asks, letting go of Brother Elijah's belt, "Is that, like, a status thing?"

"In a sense, yes." he says, smoothing his uniform, "It's hard to explain, and I'm not entirely sure how much I can tell you about that, honestly."

"It's another one of those, 'You have to be in the know.' kind of deals, yeah?"

He nods.

"It's better if, for now, you just make yourself aware of their presence and avoid them when you can." he goes on to say, "They're not bad people, nor particularly dangerous, but they can be a bit... much."

"You forget I used to work in a bar, Brother." Quincy points out, "I've likely dealt with similar or even worse."

"Still... I think it would be better if you didn't involve yourself with them more than you have to." the other states, his brow furrowed.

He seems genuinely worried about the idea of him interacting with the ghouls, but that just makes Quincy... curious.

However.

"Mn, I probably won't see them, so it's fine." he says, "One of them, the really tall one, gave me a look and, frankly, I don't want to find out what it means."

"Ahh, that would be Mountain... He's a fairly easygoing person, but he is rather... abrasive at first."

"His name is... Mountain?"

"Yes. Actually, all of them have sort of... nicknames?"

"I se-" Quincy's stomach growls loudly, cutting himself off.

Brother Elijah smiles.

"Come on, let's get some food in you."

.

.

.

Returning to the library after lunch -mostly simple, easy to eat snacks like fruit or cheese for Quincy, and a sandwich from the kitchen for Brother Elijah- Quincy settles back behind the front desk, pulling out the book from earlier and tries to glean any new information from it that he can.

The letters seem to swirl on the pages nonsensically at first, but the longer he focuses on them, the more recognizable the shapes become.

He can tell which are meant to be lowercase 'q's, 'p's, 'g's, and 'y's now at the very least.

But none of the words are familiar to him.

He sets the book down again, taking out his crossword again.

"13 across, 7 letters, a rumbling during a storm..."

"Thunder." a low voice booms, "...do you always do puzzles while working?"

Quincy startles, almost falling out of his chair, but a long arm reaches across the desk, grabbing the back of it.

"You should be careful."

Quincy's eyes widen.

It's... It's the man from before.

It's Mountain.

"I-I... I'm sorry?"

"You need not apologize to me." the tall man sighs, "But, really, you should pay more attention to your surroundings, how could you not hear me come in?"

Quincy squirms in his seat, he feels like a little kid caught doing something wrong.

"I... I was distracted."

"Yes, by your puzzle." he states coolly, gesturing at the paper, now spread out across the floor behind the desk, dropped in his fright.

"I'm sorry." he apologizes again, "I-I... were you trying to get my attention? I'm sorry..."

Mountain frowns, righting the chair and pulling Quincy back towards the desk in one fluid motion.

Why is he so strong??

Why is he so... fucking tall??

Quincy gulps.

"I just wanted to say hello, but you seemed to be off in your own little world, so I thought I might snap you back to reality before someone more important found you goofing off on the job." he chastises, clicking his teeth for emphasis, "You haven't been here nearly long enough to get away with this sort of thing, so you have to be careful, yes?"

Quincy nods quickly, "Yes, Sir."

Mountain's face contorts more, if possible, becoming even more annoyed.

"Don't call me 'sir'."

"What... what should I call you then?" he asks, side-eyeing the massive hand still latched to the back of the chair.

"Mountain."

"Mountain... I'm..."

"Quincy Byrne." Mountain drawls, tilting his nametag upwards with a single, large finger from his free hand, "I want us to be friends, so, be careful not to get yourself into trouble, alright?"

Friends?

He-

With that, Mountain releases him, standing to his full height, and ascends the stairs to the second floor, leaving Quincy to babble uselessly.

"What."

What was that?!

Despite Mountain having righted his chair before leaving him, Quincy still bails out onto the floor with a loud crash.

"Ow..."

"...Are you alright?" Mountain calls from the upstairs railing.

"Y-Yeah, I'm great."

Quincy sits on the floor for a moment, trying to regain his composure.

What even...

Grabbing his paper from the floor, Quincy goes to stand, bumping his head on the underside of the desk.

Thud.

A loud sigh echoes through the silence of the library.

Oi.

"Be quiet down there, some of us are actually trying to get work done."

Quincy bristles, "I-"

"Shhhh-"

Did he just shush him???

Ugh...

Quincy picks up his chair and sits back down, about to toss his paper in the bin, when...

"Oh, 20 down..."

"Cirice." Mountain says from somewhere above, "And do learn to read in your head."

Quincy bites his tongue to keep from screaming.

[artheresy]

Zhuming Family headcanons ROUND TWO!!

I have more Zhuming family headcanons! I am ever so happy to provide because I love them so much

A mix of headcanons for each of them individually (Yingxing, Huaiyan, Ardens Regia, and Baiheng) and for them as a group/different dynamics within that little family group

This is actually a headcanon I have been considering for a while especially while trying to write the opening scene for the Yingxing fic, but I think Huaiyan, while he has a lot of experience with different weapons types both from a warrior and a craftsman’s standpoint, primarily fights with a tang dao that he crafted for himself a long time ago.

Huaiyan calls Ardens Regia “salamander” and he’s done it so much for so long that all of their subordinates know who he means when he says that. Flat out refuses to call him by his title, refuses to call him by his name most of the time. It’s just “Salamander” sometimes something insulting in front of it.

Ardens Regia has his own affectionate nickname for Huaiyan! It’s usually some form of “moron” or some other insult

Yingxing in the future ends up taking a bit after Huaiyan with “Lizard” being a nickname he has for Dan Feng that annoys him to no end

Jingliu ends up on the Zhuming, a bit after the Foxian pilots once most of the fighting has died down and communications are happening between the Yaoqing and the Zhuming for future plans. Baiheng ends up being the one who introduces Jingliu to Huaiyan and Ardens Regia as she and Yingxing lead Jingliu there. I don’t know how better to describe Huaiyan and Ardens Regia’s behavior than think of when you have like uncles or aunts who keep giving each other knowing smiles and looks while asking very vague questions… in very teasing voices as if they can 100% see what’s up. It absolutely embarrasses Baiheng while Jingliu and Yingxing have no idea what’s going on

Poor Yingxing will eventually experience that in the future and finally understand

I’ve talked about how I think Ardens Regia gives them all little trickets he makes in his free time. Before Yingxing leaves for the Luofu after he turns 18, Ardens Regia gives him two hairpins. One is more decorative and for special occasions with delicate glass pieces and overall very beautiful as the glass has a mix of colors to match the purples and blues in his eyes. The other is a simple silver hairpin with a flat portion near one of the ends that is engraved. Ardens Regia says it’s evidence that Yingxing is one of his people, one of their (The Zhuming, Huaiyan’s, etc.) people, no matter what anyone in the Luofu may say.

Baiheng takes time she has free over the years to visit the Zhuming for short amount of time before she eventually transfers over the Luofu, and the first time she leaves the Zhuming, Ardens Regia sends her off with a metal pendant with a lot of details, with the primary theme behind it centering around the moon. He sends her off with a few different things that end up more decorative, but her favorite out of everything is the pendant.

Huaiyan has SO many things from Ardens Regia over the centuries. He does get most of the rejects and the first attempts for practicing for projects AR usually ends up giving Yingxing, and Huaiyan makes a big show of complaining and acting all pissed off. But any belief in his anger being genuine fades away when you can see he keeps every single one, even the ugly, the lopsided, and half melted ones, all around his office. Some on his desk, some on his shelves, some in his drawers and on tables. Even a few in his personal quarters.

At some point, Yingxing wants to try glass blowing. And I mean, AR is happy and he believes in Yingxing’s ability to learn well and fast given what the kinds of methods and approaches to new forms of creation he’s been taught. But see… it goes so disastrously bad that Yingxing is afraid to ever try it again and when Huaiyan ends up hearing about what happened, either from AR or as a report because Yingxing’s lesson resulted in some minor property damage, he can’t stop laughing

I have more hcs, but it’s 1 am for me and I’m a bit tired so those will have to wait for another time!! Anyways, I love the Zhuming family they fill my heart with joy I adore them! I hope y’all enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it :D

[celestiall0tus]

Update Moving into February thru March

Hello everyone! It's been a hot minute since I did one of these updates, but I figured I would share what is going on and the content that I'm working on. So, let's crack into this.

Miraculous AU and Separate Worlds remains shelved. Sorry everyone. Absolution does as well until I enter a macabre mood, so hope for a wacky lunar cycle like October 2023.

Paradise is temporarily shelved while I work on other projects as the inspiration is flowing with them.

Into the Fire and Lady and the Scoundrel will be worked on periodically. I have ideas floating around for the progression of them, it's just a matter of finding the motivation to write them. The ideas are there, just lacking in motivation.

Salvation is going to receive some love. So, after reading the existing chapters to a young gremlin that wanted to hear the story, I was absolutely appalled by the quality of writing. I literally looked at my IRL friend and told her how shit the fucking writing was and how ashamed of myself I let it see the light of day. A few grammar errors are one thing, but Salvation was a chore to read. So, expect that to be edited down again and reblogged. That must be done before I consider continuing the story. I personally apologize for letting such sloppy writing be posted. Shame on me.

Amaranthine I want to finish. I had hit a small snag in the writing as I needed to reassign kwamis to the heroes for the final mission. I had ideas floating around, but it wasn't until chatting with a pair in my discord (which shoutout to @authorambermkestner and @adventuremaker21 for helping me gather my thoughts) that I was able to assign the team kwamis for the final mission. Designs are made for the four getting new kwamis that I may get colored soon, or after I write more of Amaranthine, we'll see. Just know I am in the home stretch, I had hit a small snag, but it's resolved and will be finished soon.

Court of Miracles I'm working on periodically (having a cocreator helps with the muse, thank you anon <3). As I work on Court, I will get designs out as I write as there are a lot of designs to make and have found that this is the best for me to get the designs done.

Scions is the current that I'm working on as the newest piece. Designs for this will be done as I move through the story. I have the primary designs done (save for Marc and his is coming). A lot of the cast will either be quest givers or enemies moving forward. I have some fun ideas lined up for the "campaign."

Siren's Song is... having a small change. I know I keep saying I want to do more just casual storytelling, but I end up lying to myself and y'all. So, here I am again to say that I will be writing it out because that's just me. However, I keep to this for Siren's Song. This is meant to be something of a collab of sorts. I have a skeleton of what I'm thinking for a lot of plot and plot points. I will be open throughout the entire story to suggestions for other ideas, plot points, etc. So, to anyone that want to participate in a zany, crazy au where we just let loose and indulge in madness (like my norm). As such, expect a little bit more detail on Siren's Song come tomorrow (it's about midnight for me as typing this, so sleep soon)

Now, I know that sounds really stupid to write this way and why not just "write what you want?" One, I've written a lot of what I want, which is extremely dark, angst riddled, and borderline macabre (ignoring Absolution that is a full on horror). Make no mistake, I've got such plans with Siren's Song that involve angst for you, my dear audience that eats that shit up (and for that I love y'all <3) So, I still am, but also am having a lot of fun doing a collab writing. So, since this whole Siren's Song, Ivangami stuff started by an anon just suggesting it and liking the ship, which grew from there, I wanted to involve my audience as the initial concept came from y'all and grew from y'all. It was honestly fun making something a little more catered to what y'all wanted to see while having my own fun. Again, more details will come in the morning.

That is all for the time being. I thank y'all for the support that y'all have given me and look forward to more devilish writings in the future.

[isfjmel-phleg]

Yet Another YJ comparison post: bedrooms! Because one's personal space can reveal a lot about them. I'm going to cover Tim's, Kon's, and Bart's rooms in this post and will look at the girls' rooms in another.

To keep this post from getting excessively massive (I've already maxed out the picture limit), I'm going to stick to bedrooms from before and during the run of YJ.

Tim

The earliest bedrooms we see for him are his dorm at boarding school and his guest bedroom at Wayne Manor. Since the former is rather generic by nature and the latter is not a space that Tim has creative control over, I'm going to skip them and concentrate on Tim's bedroom at Drake Manor, the mansion next door to Wayne Manor that Jack Drake buys shortly after he is released from the hospital after his wife's death and his injury.

This bedroom is therefore not one that Tim grew up in, and it reflects his current interests rather than his entire childhood.

An earlier view of the room that I ran out of space to include depicts it as light purple, but after that the décor becomes blue.

The furnishings are basic, but Tim's interests are represented in posters (basketball, football, and...a bikini-clad woman?) and the computer and research materials on his desk. He keeps a photo of his parents next to the computer, where he can see it while he works--he misses his mom and laments his parents' absence from his childhood, and he wants to keep them close.

(Robin 1993 #11)

With a change of artist comes a different layout. The window is now on the same wall as the bed. The poster has changed (NIN, for the band Nine Inch Nails), and there is now a dresser to the left of the bed with a golf trophy. Does Tim have any history playing golf?

(The girl here is Tim's girlfriend Ariana, who has crashed in his room overnight after some family conflict. Tim does the gentlemanly thing and sleeps in the guest bedroom, but the Drakes' housekeeper assumes the worst.)

(Robin 1993 #21)

Yet another artist, and while the layout is similar, the furnishings have changed. The dresser has been moved to the other side of the room and replaced by a wall of shelves containing books, a small TV, boxes, maybe some records, and a large speaker. Tim's bedspread is raspberry instead of blue. There's a nightstand with a phone on one side of the bed and another stand with a CD player and CDs on the other. An electric guitar stands in one corner. (Does he ever play it?) The floor is littered with laundry, magazines, a basketball, a tennis racket, shoes, a keyboard, a soda can, and CDs. A computer desk and stool are opposite the bed. The sports posters are gone; most of the posters seem to be for bands (Loaded, Westway, something about Gotham Beehive, and other names I can't make out--these seem to be fictional?), although there are one or two of women.

This room gives the impression that his primary interests are music and books. Notice that there are fewer sports-related items than before. Tim's interests are shifting, or he just doesn't have the time to stay invested in sports anymore.

(Robin 1993 #45)

The layout is similar here, but the floor is tidier, he has moved books to the phone nightstand, the band poster over the bed has changed (still a fictional group?), and the walls and bedspread are now in lifeless pale shades of green and blue. This room seems less occupied than previous views; Tim at this point is probably not home often enough to hang out here much.

(Robin 1993 #60)

The Drakes move briefly to an apartment in Keystone City. Tim's room here bears a lot of resemblance to the room he left behind. The walls are still blue. Note that the carpet has changed colors from beige to blue between issues! The red bedspread might be intended to be the same as the raspberry one, since exact shades vary by colorist. He even seems to have tried to recreate the arrangement of the furniture as much as possible. He prefers the familiar and misses home and thus is decorating his room accordingly.

(Robin 1993 #62)

(Robin 1993 #63)

After this, Tim is sent off to boarding school again, and his room there is pretty generic and not especially reflective of his interests (beyond a TV). As of #100, his family sells Drake Manor and moves back to their condo in downtown Gotham. We get a slight glimpse of Tim's room there, but it's not very detailed. It is blue.

Kon

His solo doesn't pay much attention to his domestic life, but we do get a glimpse of his room at the Compound, his home in Hawaii, when a school friend takes classmates on a tour of the house while he's away. It's a very generic room. Bed, dresser, desk, chair. Untidy piles of clothes and schoolwork. Blue walls, of course, but bright yellow, orange, and red bedding. The only evidence of his interests are in the ridiculous number of posters of women, and what might be a lava lamp? on the dresser.

He probably doesn't spend enough time in this room to be able to suit it to his interests beyond the minimum.

(Superboy 1994 #43)

However, at Cadmus, his room is much more personalized, probably to make up for its being basically a windowless metal box. There's a computer desk and chair. The desk and floor are littered with papers, food and drink containers, magazines, and a CD player. He has an electric guitar (which, like Tim's, we never see him play) and a large speaker, partially buried under a soda can and baseball cap. There's only one poster of a model now; instead the other posters are of Wonder Woman, Supergirl, Red Tornado, and maybe a band? Also a smiley face picture and the phrase "Step off!" (maybe a reference I don't get).

All very characteristic. Like Tim, he seems to be very into music. They're both messy, but he's messier and apparently eats in his room more often than Tim seems to. Who's to stop him? This room is the most privacy he ever gets.

Also note that probably most of his possessions are likely to be things he has bought himself from whatever allowance he's given from merch earnings and the salary Cadmus (hopefully) pays him. After all, he has no family to receive birthday and holiday gifts from.

(Superboy 1994 #68)

An new artist gives a different view of his room (and the dialogue demonstrates the difference between Kesel's Kon and Joe Kelly's Edgier take on the character).

The décor is entirely blue, very similar to what we've seen in Tim's room. He has a bed with a built-in shelf headboard and nightstands, as well as a shallow step around the perimeter of the mattress. He has a few books, a comic, various video game systems, a toy robot, some kind of gauntlet thing, loose papers, a teddy bear, abandoned slices of pizza, a phone, a lamp, a Pokemon ball, a CD player and lots of CDs, and a Superman alarm clock. His posters are of Final Fantasy XX (not a real thing!) and Nine Inch Nails, the same as Tim. There also seems to be at least one small drawing, which might be his work.

Notice how the posters have evolved! Music is clearly a big deal for him, along with video games. The Superman alarm clock is a suitable symbol of responsibility. I have no idea whether someone gave him that bear or he bought it himself, but I love that he has one item that is a child's possession, not so much a teenager's. He is, after all, technically very young. Despite all efforts of this artist to visually age him up a little.

(Superboy 1994 #83)

(Superboy 1994 #86)

After he moves to the Kents' farm, we get to see his room there when Cassandra Cain stops by to visit. It's probable that this is Clark's old room. The furniture might have been his, and so might the high school poster and pennants and books. But everything else is very Kon. He's got a TV, video game systems, a computer, and a CD player with headphones. Scattered about are a baseball bat, crumpled papers, books, a pen, a baseball cap, shoes and laundry, magazines, a baseball, CDs, an unidentified bottle, and a framed photo. The posters are of Wonder Woman, bands, video games, and a model (labeled as Cindy...Crawford, perhaps?).

Notably absent is food and drink (aside from the bottle). He's got parents now, and Martha Kent probably does not allow eating in bedrooms!

This is probably the warmest and most youthful of his rooms, a very different feel from his Cadmus quarters.

(Batgirl 2000 #41)

Bart

I ran out of room to share this panel, but the earliest living quarters we see for Bart are in Impulse #1, where there's a flashback to Iris rescuing him from the lab where he is being kept in VR. She is sitting and hugging him in a room where there appears to be only a bed. Bart owned nothing in the 30th century, but he will more than make up for it after moving in with Max.

His first room is in Max's house. Its most striking feature is the loft bed that has room for a mattress and extra living space on top, along with built-in bookcases, a desk, and a dresser. Max could just as well have provided him with an ordinary bed, but instead he gives him something unusual and fun. Was the bed purchased from a store? Or was it custom-built (perhaps by Max himself)? We don't know.

Bart has a lot of stuff for someone who at this point has probably only been in the 20th century for several months. Max and very likely Bart's family too have been very generous.

In the bookcases over the bed, there are egg-shaped objects (footballs? something else?), boxes, books, various containers, and sunglasses. The bookcase near the door includes a speaker, more books, binoculars, baseballs, a slingshot, a helmet, a baseball glove, boots, and other items I can't precisely identify. On the floor are a novelty lamp, a mop, and a skateboard. On the desk are books, a billiard ball, another lamp, and a framed photo (Iris? Linda?). There's a trash can by the door. Hanging up are a poster of what appears to be Cookie Monster, a Manchester street sign, another poster (of a girl? the only time we see anything like this in Bart's room--it becomes a mirror in later issues), and some sticky notes. The walls are blue, and he has a Star Wars bedspread that never shows up again.

(Impulse #12)

Here the bedspread is raspberry. Up on the loft are a tennis ball, magazines and books, an alarm clock, a boot, and some crumpled trash. There's a window with white curtains opposite the bed and a blue rug with raspberry trim on the floor. The room itself is quite narrow, which justifies the need for the space-saving loft bed. Hanging on the wall are a basketball hoop, a poster of a bird, and a Route 66 sign. Scattered on the floor are books, a baseball bat and ball, a box of cereal, a boot, CDs, laundry, a tennis shoe (three shoes and none of them match!), a Gameboy, a rolled-up paper, playing cards, a video game controller, a newspaper with the headline "Mars Attacks," a small trampoline, some electronics, a flashlight, a golf club, a skateboard, a baseball cap, a soccer ball, and a baseball beanbag chair, along with some other things I couldn't identify.

Tim is messy, Kon is messier, but Bart is messier than both of them put together! Note the prevalence of baseball-related items, which is surprising considering that he will play baseball for the first time two issues later in #20.

(Impulse #18)

Bart and Max eventually move into Max's daughter Helen's house, where they remain for most of the series. The design of Bart's new room becomes inconsistent from here on. The glimpse we get of it here shows an ordinary bed with a yellow bedspread. The walls are blue because heaven forbid a boy's room be any other color. The signs on the door--the Superman poster, "Bart's room," and "No Max Allowed!"--are one of the few details that will remain consistent later.

(Impulse #44)

A closer look shows that he still does not have the loft bed. The poster of the Flash and "Man...or Astroman?" are new. The floor is littered with laundry, shoes, a video game system, a baseball, magazines, books, a cup, and a robot toy. His tastes haven't really changed since the move.

(Impulse #46)

A different artist makes the room wood-paneled, with Superman and Flash posters, a bookcase, and a Birmingham pennant. Still no loft bed! His room never looks like this again.

(Impulse #50)

A few issues later, the room changes again. The floors are hardwood instead of carpeted, the walls are grey/beige, and the loft bed makes a triumphant comeback with some modifications. Maybe it took them a while to reassemble it in the new room.

The amount of stuff in this room (which is much larger than the room in Max's house) is staggering. We've seen the posters and the basketball hoop before. The beanbag is now blue. So is the bedspread. As for everything else, it includes but is not limited to:

a mouse cage on the dresser covered in cloths, a tube of toothpaste, a baseball, and a contain with a Batman logo

a lot of laundry

a cereal box and scattered bits of food

a video tape

a piece of wood...?

a basketball

a keyboard (which we've never seen him play)

a "Home Bungee Jumping Kit"

a game controller

a pneumatic tube from a bank?

a fast food cup

a dart gun and darts

a skateboard

playing cards

snacks

school books

a flashlight

a stuffed monster holding a hockey puck and covered in darts

an action figure (from Star Trek?)

board games including Candy Land and Monopoly

an electronic thing with a screen and antenna--a small TV maybe?

an acoustic guitar with broken strings (which he does know how to play)

a booklet on "How to build a flying machine from vacuum parts!" along with the vacuum and flying machine

a golf club

a box of blocks

a baseball, glove, and bat

a Visitor's Guide to Rocket City, Alabama

a checker/chess board

a model rocket

a Batman mask

a photo album

a car tire

a sled with the name "Rosebud"

These items reflect a wide variety of interests and distractions that he has flitted among.

(Impulse #56)

Another artist simplifies the room and returns to the regular bed.

(Impulse #58)

But it returns to its former state later on, with some recognizable features. The baseball beanbag chair, the rug (which has changed color, along with the now teal bedspread), the Monopoly game, the small trampoline. The walls are blue again. He has two Afterlife Avenger posters (his favorite comic book hero). There's a TV connected to a VCR and multiple video game systems on the loft. Scattered around are a baseball bat, a mostly eaten pizza, discs and cartridges, a basketball, comics, a Pokemon ball, laundry, marbles, the folded drawing Carol gave him, her necklace, and a diary.

Bart doesn't seem the sort to keep a diary, but Carol did refer to keeping her drawing of him safe in her diary after having to rescue it from his room. Could this be her diary that he has somehow got hold of and is keeping as a means of keeping her close now that she can't see him again?

Also note that the signs that were formerly on his door are gone and have been replaced by an orange sign simply saying "Bart's room." The absence of "No Max Allowed," which was last seen around the time of the Mercury Falling arc, suggests a change in their relationship.

(Impulse #76)

Shortly after this, Bart undergoes further horrors and sinks into depression. And his room is eerily tidy and uncluttered. What happened? Does it hurt too much to look at everything he used to get enjoyment out of, so he has put it all away?

(Impulse #78)

Whatever the case, the last time we see this room, it's full of packing boxes because Bart is having to move in with the Garricks. The loft bed hasn't been dismantled, so it might be staying at Helen's house. We do not get to see his room at the Garricks' place.

It's also worth mentioning that the room also changes while Thad lives there and it becomes his personal space. Almost all of Bart's belongings have been put away, except for anything hanging on the wall, the mouse cage on the dresser, desk supplies, and a framed photo of Bart with Max and Helen. The photo is absent while Thad is using the desk, probably because he didn't want to look at it!

Thad was raised in a computer-filled lair with no personal possessions or décor of any kind, so the clutter in Bart's room was probably annoying him enough to make him want to get it all out of sight. He wouldn't be used to living in such an environment, and he clearly prefers to function in practically spartan conditions. Other than tidying up, he makes no changes to the contents of the room to reflect his own tastes (reasonable, since he's playing a part).

(Impulse #63)

Carol's comment about not knowing about this desk is apt--we haven't seen it before, and it seems redundant with the desk under the loft bed.

(Impulse #65)

[privateanxieties]

the nearness of you (in my imagination) P.3

Summary: Working at a coffee shop is the simple choice. The safe choice. For a while, it even seemed like the promotion and the cute new coworker would make for a content life. But when you leave a mess behind, new ones tend to find you. And they don’t like complications. Peter Parker’s entire vibe is that of a complication.

Pairing: tasm!Peter Parker x Reader (she/her)

Words: 4.2K

Part 1: some people run on coffee... I run on borrowed time

Part 2: a last chance at... friendship?

Part 3: not until you ask me

Part 4: this really isn’t my year

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

When Monday dawns, the facts are settled: it really isn't easy being around Peter Parker, and spending all Sunday texting back and forth was a bad idea. Looking at him now is harder than it was just a day or two ago, because she keeps remembering all the times she's smiled at her phone. He's been cuter than cute - he's been covering all bases for an unfortunate outcome.

She may have a tiny crush. Teensy, tiny. Nothing to worry about. That's why she wears her prettiest clothes to work, because there's no desire to impress him. None.

She wore heeled boots to a service job. It is a new level of desperation.

If she's honest, it isn't just to look pretty for him. There's also a degree of insanity involved - however it may sound, she really doesn't want to die looking the way she normally does for work. If she's going to get murdered, the morgue will receive her body in mint condition. That is, if they receive her body.

"Are you taller today?"

One look at his shit-eating grin and she realizes two things: he noticed her appearance, and something made him remark on it. However, she'd hoped that that something would be intrigue, not amusement.

"I got hooked by your crime show. Chloe Decker is a style inspiration," she sasses, trying her best to appear unbothered. Lying is still not very easy, and bound to get harder the more she sinks into her newfound crush.

"And Lucifer isn't?" Peter asks, brow raised.

"I don't see you wearing a suit, so clearly, you weren't inspired enough."

She doesn't think her comeback was that funny, but Peter laughs like she's a budding comedian.

"I don't think three buttons is the ideal crime-fighting outfit," he says while wiping down the already clean counter.

"No? What would be your pick for investigating crimes?"

He appears to think on it some, tilting his head this way and that with a small pout. She tries not to let her eyes dwell on the lower half of his face.

"Something comfortable that I can move around in," is the answer he settles on, prompting her to inquire further.

"So, athleisure? Not sure it'd be very intimidating to criminals. Then again, Spidey runs around in a leotard and primary colors, and crime rates have gone down some…" she muses, not catching Peter's lip twitching.

"Not sure he'd refer to it as a leotard."

Curious, she looks away from her task again, almost finished stocking the shelves with the supplies that arrived that morning. Peter is trying a new coffee recipe he kept going on about last night.

"I mean, I saw the thing up close. It's bright. It's tight. It's thin. You can see everything." She pauses. "His ass looks incredible."

Peter laughs loudly, folding his arms over his chest as he waits for the espresso to finish dripping into the cup.

"You think so?"

She stands to full height, momentarily cursing how uncomfortable the boots feel. Something about his expression makes her wonder if perhaps she should continue talking up the local superhero. Maybe get a reaction out of him that she can analyze later for little details. Such inane concerns for the infatuated.

"Yeah. Solid booty. It must be if he's lifting cars, right?"

"Mm. Not sure that's how it works."

"You're right. His arms must be pretty nice too. Probably gives really good hugs."

"Hmm."

His face tells her nothing. Like the last time she mentioned him, Peter doesn't really seem to care much for Spider-Man, and despite wanting to ask why, she keeps it to herself. Was she hoping for some kind of reaction? Yes. Will she be annoying and press a matter that could ruin his impression of her? Not a chance.

"How'd your special concoction turn out?" she asks instead, peeking over at the cup he placed next to the coffee machine.

"First rule of science: never experiment on yourself. Would you do the honors?" he smirks.

Her breath catches. It's such a small, insignificant thing, but it's the catalyst for a series of moment-ruining thoughts. Never experiment on yourself.

We don't really… need volunteers for this.

I'm sorry?

Well, you know that saying: for the greater good? We're trying to do great things here. Science can't be stopped by something as petty as arbitrary rules.

"You alright?"

Peter's questions snaps her back to reality, blinking up at him like she wasn't just lost in memories. Her face probably looked concerning enough to warrant the deep-set frown on his features.

"Uhh… yeah. Yeah, I just - I'm not sure if I locked my door this morning. Just popped into my head."

It's a terrible excuse, but she isn't a particularly smooth talker.

"Do you have a neighbor you can ask to check for you? Someone you trust?" Peter asks.

Surprised, it takes her a few seconds to shake her head. It's nice of him to not dismiss her worry, pretend as it may be.

"Alright. Then I guess there's no choice."

"Huh?"

"I gotta walk you home." Peter smiles.

"What? For a silly thing like that? No, it's ok. Don't worry about it."

He might just be too nice for his own good. She doesn't let him protest like he seems to want to, motioning instead to the drink laid out on the counter. Peter nods in encouragement, and she takes a tentative sip from the foamy top, a note of star anise immediately infusing the coffee with warmth that reminds her of a soft winter day. It's good, but the holidays are over and January is rapidly disappearing too. Any comfort she might've gotten from the sugary invention is dulled by the knowledge of the threat looming, so she just smiles in approval and tries to busy herself with tasks that put a little distance between them.

The day sees a new low of customers, likely courtesy of the unending snowfall. Peter suggests they order lunch from a place nearby instead of leaving the café, and she acquiesces upon seeing how much the wind has picked up in the last few hours. They end up ordering enough food for five people, and Peter demonstrates an appetite worthy of at least three. The gyoza dumplings keep disappearing whenever she looks away, and there used to be a whole bucket of family pack noodles that is now on its way out. She has a hard time figuring out where he puts all the food. The fitted green sweater leaves no room for hiding his real physique, and the evidence that he eats like this all the time is nonexistent. His metabolism must be insane.

Closing time approaches before they know it, and she says nothing when he takes the same path he did on Saturday, walking with her to the subway station thirty blocks away without ever asking why she does it. She enjoys his company enough to allow it gladly, and when they part at 33rd St., he reminds her to be careful when she gets home. She's mildly embarrassed to have to go along with the lie one more time, but the way he's so serious endears him to her. She doesn't sigh pathetically on the way back to her apartment in an attempt to hold on to her dignity, but in her mind, it's all hazy rainbows and heart eyes.

She's so distracted that the only thing to bring her back to earth is the key. The key that doesn't turn in the lock. Or rather, that turns only one way, and it isn't the correct one. Her door is unlocked.

Swallowed up by the thoughts that invade her, the ping from her phone makes her jump and drop her bag. She quickly pulls the device from her coat pocket and checks it with unsteady hands, seeing Peter's name at the top of the screen.

Everything good? You get home ok?

She presses 'call' before she can even register what she's doing.

“Hey! Everything alright?”

She can't find the words to respond, and the more seconds go by in silence, the weirder she feels for having called.

“Who is this?”

His question startles her. The way he said it was downright threatening, and the words themselves sent her mind into overdrive. Why did he think it would be someone else calling?

"It's me! It's uh… I'm sorry I called. I'm just…"

“What's going on? You can tell me.”

The words flow without a filter.

"I'm outside my door, but it's unlocked and I'm scared to go in. Can you stay on the phone with me while I check?" she asks, voice not entirely confident.

“Absolutely not.”

Her lungs deflate on a shaky exhale, or maybe that was her heart. She hears prominent rustling on the other end of the line and is about to tell him goodbye and apologize for calling when his voice suddenly hurts her ear with how loud it is.

“Listen to me: do not go inside. Tell me your address and I'll come over right now. And get away from the door, yeah?”

Overwhelming. That's the attribute she would bestow upon the amalgamation of thoughts and feelings swirling around her brain.

Reassuring. That's what she'd call the gravity with which he's treating her fear. It's nice, being taken seriously. It's so enticing she doesn't even protest. She just backs away from the door like he said, heading downstairs where she can breathe a little easier. She gives him her address, feeling lighter as soon as she hears that he's ten minutes away.

It's only when she can see him round the corner of her building that it dawns on her she shouldn't have called him here, but something about the look on his face keeps her from going back on everything. His cheeks are bitten red and his eyes are wide and bright, alive in a way she hasn't seen them yet. Breathing somewhat labored, Peter stops in front of her with a huff that blows some snowflakes her way. They keep falling in alluring density.

"Peter, listen. Maybe I should've called the police or something. You shouldn't have - "

"If you called them they would've hung up on you."

He's not wrong. Police don't come because you have a suspicion someone might've broken in, especially with no evidence. They also don't take you seriously when you go to them with evidence, as she's learned.

"Yeah. You're probably right," she relents, but when Peter motions for her to step aside so he can enter the building first, she hesitates.

"Just… I wasn't expecting guests, so, things might not be super orderly and everything," she fumbles.

Peter looks just short of incredulous.

"Someone might've broken into your apartment and you're worried about that?"

"First impressions are important."

Jesus. What a lame reply. And his little smile feels mocking, but isn't. It's just the embarrassment in her head.

"You already got that down pat, don't worry."

She manages not to worry for two minutes, but then they reach her apartment door and the worry returns, albeit this time in a different form. What is she about to see? What if her home is wrecked? What if there is no excuse or story she can sell him about what's in there?

"Stay behind me."

He pushes the door open with surprising nonchalance. Peeking over his shoulder, she sees nothing out of order. So far.

Nothing in the living room and adjacent kitchen. Nothing in the bathroom. Nothing in the small bedroom except two bras she threw on the back of a chair in frustration, and she hopes Peter didn't see those - unlikely, since one is bright purple and the other a stark white against mostly dark colors.

There's nothing at all, and she sighs in relief once they get back to the living room. She's happy nothing overtly terrifying has happened, but the fact remains that her door was unlocked when that was just a lie she came up with to deflect an awkward moment, and especially when she was certain she did lock her door this morning. She's been triple checking every lock for days. Someone came here, but they left no evidence of their presence behind. The only reason she can think of is that they wanted to scare her, as if the threat Powell himself posed by showing up at her workplace wasn't enough.

It occurs to her that maybe they just want to fuck around for a while, maybe to get off on the idea that she can do nothing while she waits for them to move.

Another sigh leaves her tired and defeated, and she realizes just how tense she's been throughout this whole nonsense. However, when she glances back at Peter, she might just look the picture of relaxation in comparison. He hasn't said a word yet, even now that things are clearly in order. His shoulders are pulled tight, and he looks around as if waiting for a Halloween monster to pop out of an unexpected place.

"You ok?" she asks.

The question almost instantly changes his entire posture, like flicking a switch on an animatronic puppet. He inhales deeply before meeting her eyes.

"Yeah. I guess everything's fine."

A bout of silence falls over them both, and she isn't sure what to say now. Thank him for coming? Apologize for making something out of nothing? Apologize for the unwashed dishes in the sink? Apolo -

"Nice place."

"Oh… um, thank you?"

No, not like that, you idiot!

"I mean, actually thank you. You didn't have to come, but I'm… glad that you did," she says with the semblance of a smile.

She tries to think fast on her feet, but with a malfunctioning brain it proves a challenging task. This feels weird. Now that he's done what he came to do, it's strange to ask him to leave, and she doesn't even want him to. But how does she ask a guy already in her house if he wants to stay without sounding extremely inappropriate or making him uncomfortable? She doesn't do this. This isn't something that just happens to her.

Looking at him standing in her living room, hair disheveled as it often is and the red of his cheeks fading into pink, a thought pops into her head that may or may not work out.

"Would you like some hot chocolate?"

"That'd be really nice," he answers before she's finished talking.

She blinks in surprise, and hopes that the smile lighting up her face isn't too obviously infatuated.

"Yeah?"

Peter nods with a smile of his own, and she releases a pent up breath that relaxes her spine and unclenches her left hand.

"Make yourself comfortable then," she says, gesturing to the sofa. It's then that she notices the trail of mud and melted snow they brought in. His footprints and hers wind around each other, looking comically like maybe they were doing something other than checking for intruders. He notices her looking as he takes off his jacket.

"Do you have a mop?" Peter asks.

"Yeah. Why?"

"I mop, you make the hot chocolate."

"No."

"C'mon, it makes sense. Team effort. Like at work."

"Well, this isn't work. This is my house and you're a guest. Under no circumstances will you be touching cleaning supplies."

"Uh-oh. You got your manager voice on," he teases.

It should be funny, but isn't. That one sentence reminds her of an aspect she's been neglecting completely without even realizing it. They are coworkers, and she is his manager. His direct superior. Maybe she can't fire him, but the power scales are tipped in her direction. This is crossing a line she can now see clearly. It pours a bucket of ice cold water over the entire situation, and she freezes in her spot by the kitchen counter.

"What's wrong?"

Is she really that transparent?

She takes a deep breath, already deflated and wallowing in disappointment.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize this was wrong of me to ask. Not just coming here, but asking you to stay. I'm your manager. This is a weird situation. I appreciate that you helped me tonight, but I don't know if this is…" she trails off, unsure of what word to use.

"Appropriate?" Peter supplies, studying her curiously.

She nods hesitantly.

"Did you ask me to stay as my manager?"

"What? No!" She balks.

"Then why are you so worried?"

"Because…"

He waits with a raised brow. She's got nothing.

"Alright. Let's look at it this way: if we weren't working together, would you be hanging out with me?"

The question cuts right to the point of the matter, and for a moment she resents the fact that he's so perceptive. Not to mention, willing to dissect any confusion and problem solve. Peter Parker doesn't seem to shy away from confrontation - an admirable skill, were he not using it on her so frequently.

"Just be honest. It's easy. You won't hurt my feelings, I promise."

His eyes are sparkling with mirth. It's impossible to do anything but what he asked.

"If we weren't working together, I'd want to hang out with you." She pauses. "But I'd probably be too chicken to ask, so you'd have to take initiative."

With another easy smile, Peter comes closer until he's just an arm's length away, and she watches him wide eyed and expectant.

"Hi. I'm Peter. Hope you don't mind me asking, but I've seen you around a few times and something tells me we'd make good friends. What do you say?"

Her heart says he's endearing beyond words. Her brain is mush, so there isn't much input from that side. He's doing something he probably doesn't even intend to do just by being himself, having her spun around his gestures like cotton candy around that too-splintery stick of wood she used to get at carnivals. She should be careful with him, lest she end up pricked by misread intentions.

"I mop, you make the hot chocolate?" she asks in an almost-whisper.

"I don't know where anything is," Peter replies softly.

It's ok if he doesn't, she decides, because she can show him. Today and tomorrow and maybe next week also, she can ease up a little more and let him find his way around without worrying about what's out of her control.

"I trust you."

And so they go their separate ways, and when she returns with the mop she sees that his sleeves have been rolled up (dangerous) and he's pondering her kitchen cabinets like prize doors on a TV show.

"Are you trying to divine their contents?" she asks from the doorway.

"Shhh… I have a sixth sense about these things."

She laughs quietly at his determination, trying not to stare too long when she realizes how nice he really looks in just jeans, that dark green sweater and his - oh my god.

"Are those raccoon socks?"

Peter looks at her over his shoulder, and the little stammer he lets out has her biting her lip to keep from laughing.

"That is what they are."

With a grin that can't be contained, she leaves the room for a minute and returns with mischievous crinkles at the corners of her eyes. Peter has gone interestingly quiet, and she taps him on the shoulder with light fingers as he mixes the cocoa powder in a bowl. He hums quietly but barely turns around, catching her eye only briefly before turning back to his task.

Oh no. Did he think she was laughing at him?

Before she can change her mind, she nudges his right foot with her own, and that's when he finally looks down. It takes him a second or two to finally have the reaction she was hoping for. His soft 'no' is very precious.

Her feet are clad in the exact same pair of dull yellow raccoon socks, little rodents with an arched back and scheming hands strewn about in a haphazard pattern.

"Look at that. Little criminals," Peter says.

"Us or the raccoons?" she returns.

"Uh-oh. Do you have anything to confess?"

"That's very Lucifer of you," she points out with a quirk of her lip.

"No no no… that's not how he says it."

Peter leans away from the counter to face her fully, a waft of cinnamon infusing the air. A subtle change takes place that captures her attention and winds it tightly - trapped entirely by his sultry eyes and slightly parted lips, she almost misses the whispered question.

"Tell me, what do you desire?"

Whatever the answer may be in her head, her expression indicates only one possible want in that moment. With chocolate brown eyes, a smattering of freckles right above his cheek, Adam's apple bobbing enticingly, Peter Parker looks a dream. Her own lips part slightly, but no sound leaves them - not until he's leaned in and her breath stutters, a soft gasp consumed by plush lips that capture hers gently and too briefly for her liking.

She blinks up at him in a daze, and gives the unspoken question in his eyes a definitive answer by leaning in herself this time. Unsure what to do with her hands and unable to figure it out with a scrambled brain, she's happy when she feels Peter's own take hold of her, one on the side of her neck and the other resting at her hip. They're so warm she melts into him, leaning into the kiss a little more and letting instinct guide her. Romantic conquests not really being her thing, it's difficult to relax and not wonder if she's doing a good job. She's been insecure enough in the past that her thoughts have ruined otherwise nice moments. She refuses to let this turn out the same.

Whatever emboldens her now is welcomed with open arms, and she figures she can't be that bad a kisser if Peter keeps seeking more pecks each time she pulls away. A small laugh is shared between them, and the endorphins may or may not be responsible for the lack of care the following moments. It sizzles out quickly, and in its place, a dull ache settles.

It's nice, she thinks, but this crosses a line that really can't be uncrossed. Friendship is one thing, but what they're doing right now has the potential to blow up in their faces. And as if he can endlessly grasp her thoughts before they've even taken shape, Peter dispels her worry in a way that colors him with even rosier glasses.

"I know what you're gonna say… and if it makes you feel better, we can forget this happened. But I've been thinking about kissing you for a while and if it wasn't a problem before, it's definitely a problem now, 'cause I really can't stop thinking about it when I know what it feels like."

"I - That's really sweet, Peter. And I don't know what to say. I like you, but this is so - "

"Wonderful -"

"Weird, and we don't just work together. I'm technically your boss, which is beyond inappro-"

"Insanely hot - "

"Stop it," she laughs.

"What can I say, I love a woman in charge." He shrugs innocently.

"The point is, for this - " She motions between them, "to happen, one of us needs to quit their job, and I get the feeling that's not the right thing to do now."

"Are you putting your foot down?" he jokes.

"I'm serious. You're cute, and you're a good kisser, but you're not 'workplace misconduct' good."

"Ouch! I take offense to that. I am definitely ‘workplace misconduct' good. Maybe even 'might commit a crime' good."

Her eyes widen and she slaps his bicep with a gasp, hating how his boisterous laughter manages to coax one out of her also.

"I'm joking. I get what you're saying, and I respect that. This can stay between us, and we can just be friends. I won't kiss you again until you ask me to," he promises, making a tiny cross over his heart.

"You're so sure I'll ask you to?" she challenges.

His eyes sparkle with a mix of confidence and amusement.

"I think you'll ask me before the month is up."

And there it is again, another moment ruined by the knowledge of time and how it keeps moving forward. She tries not to let it show by agreeing to an unofficial bet, and quickly excuses herself to the bathroom, where disappointment can wash over her unrestrained.

Maybe she should've kept kissing Peter, because there's no telling if she'll get to ask him, even if she changes her mind. She doesn't know if she'll live through February. She could be selfish and go back out there, pull him by his ridiculously pretty sweater and mold her lips to his until she learns their shape by heart, but that would mean putting them both in an awkward position. If she dies, she won't have to deal with any of the repercussions and she gets to say she didn't die single, which is a plus. But if she dies, how weird would that be for him? He might show up to work one morning only to find a vacancy in her old post. Maybe a cop asking questions, if they care enough, or if they haven't all been bought off already.

No, she isn't doing that to anyone, but least of all to Peter. She'll play nice, be friendly, try not to look at his mouth too much and get through the rest of January without incident. And without kisses.

Only two weeks to go.

- to be continued -

A/N: Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated. Feedback is crucial for writers and if you like a story, don’t hesitate to let us know :)  

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This is a gorgeous historic 1917 home in Omaha, NE, but there's something about it that would make me feel "uncomfortable" about being there at night. 10bds, 7ba, $1.5M.

Not a bad entrance hall, and it's all original. The house is original, all the wood is the same, dark stain, not painted over.

Very formal sitting room.

Plus a sunny parlor.

The dining room is right off the main hall. They cleverly incorporated gray in the carpets, fabrics and wall coverings. I guess it's not as bad as solid gray, but everyone seems compelled to use gray in order to sell. Lovely light fixture looks original.

Lots of cabinets in the very white kitchen. $1.5M and the counters are laminate. Gray tile backsplash.

It's an eat-in kitchen with room for a table.

There's a nice big pantry. Odd, that they would put quartz counters in the pantry and not the kitchen.

Guest powder room behind the stairs in the main hall. Cute and vintage.

Lovely original millwork.

Sitting room w/a rooftop terrace.

There's a full bath off the sitting room.

Now, we're getting into solid gray walls in the bedrooms. I am so over this gray nonsense.

This one has an amazing enclosed wall of shelves.

The primary bedroom has a beautiful fireplace and moldings. All gray though, and I doubt if that was the color of the period.

The en-suite has lovely marble.

They made this small room with a door to the terrace, a dressing room.

The attic is finished with more bedrooms.

Full bath up here w/a cute little tub.

.70 acre lot and there's an apt. above the garage (carriage house).

It's a very nice 2 bd. apt.

Beautifully preserved historic home in modern gray.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/5201-Davenport-St-Omaha-NE-68132/75857686_zpid/

[kunal20feb]

Modular Kitchen Benefits, Design Types

Originally Posted On:- https://www.regalokitchens.com/modular-kitchen-benefits-design-types.php

In the realm of contemporary interior design, modular kitchen has emerged as a popular choice for homeowners seeking functionality, style, and convenience. Regalo Kitchens stands out among the many brands available as a shining example of creativity and superior craftsmanship. We explore the many advantages and creative options that modular kitchens provide in this in-depth overview, with a focus on Regalo's outstanding products.

Understanding Modular Kitchens

Modular kitchen is a modern solution to the traditional kitchen layout. They consist of pre-made cabinet parts or modules that are assembled together to create a customized kitchen space. These modules can include cabinets, drawers, shelves, and other storage units, all designed to optimize space and functionality.

Benefits of Modular Kitchens

Customization and Flexibility:

One of the primary advantages of modular kitchens is their inherent flexibility and customization options. Regalo Kitchens provides a wide selection of modules so that homeowners can combine and match parts to create a custom kitchen that meets their needs and tastes.

Kitchens are the perfect solution for modern living because they can be made to fit any size, whether you live in a large house or a tiny apartment.

Space Optimization:

Modular kitchens are designed with space optimization in mind. With cleverly designed storage solutions and ergonomic layouts, they maximize every inch of available space, ensuring efficient utilization.

With innovative storage features like pull-out drawers, corner units, and vertical storage systems, Regalo Kitchens offer plenty of space for kitchen necessities without sacrificing a tidy aesthetic.

Ease of Installation and Maintenance:

Unlike traditional kitchens, which often require extensive construction work, modular kitchens are relatively easy to install and can be set up in a fraction of the time. Regalo's modular designs are made with premium materials that are long-lasting and simple to clean, guaranteeing hassle-free upkeep and durability.

Aesthetic Appeal:

Modular kitchens offer endless possibilities in terms of design and aesthetics. Whether you prefer a sleek, modern look or a timeless, classic style, Regalo Kitchens offers a diverse range of finishes, colors, and materials to suit your taste.

From chic laminate finishes to elegant wood veneers, Regalo's attention to detail and craftsmanship elevate the visual appeal of any kitchen space.

Design Types in Modular Kitchens

Straight Line or One-Wall Kitchens:

The straight-line layout maximizes efficiency and minimizes footprint by arranging all kitchen components along a single wall, making it perfect for tiny rooms or studio apartments. Regalo is a well-liked layout among city people because of its space-saving features and sleek styling.

L-Shaped Kitchens:

L-shaped kitchens utilize two adjacent walls, forming an L configuration that provides ample countertop and storage space. This design is excellent for medium-to large-sized kitchens since it provides for seamless operations and customization. Regalo's L-shaped designs harmoniously blend form and function by fusing elegance and functionality.

U-Shaped Kitchens:

U-shaped kitchens feature cabinetry and countertops along three adjacent walls, forming a U-shaped layout that offers maximum storage and workspace. This modular kitchen design is ideal for larger kitchens with plenty of room for movement and multiple users. The U-shaped kitchens from Regalo are the epitome of elegance and sophistication, with custom features and high-quality finishes that enhance cooking.

Island Kitchens:

Island kitchens incorporate a central island or peninsula, adding an additional workspace and storage area to the kitchen layout. This layout makes a focal point in the room and encourages social interaction. With adjustable features like built-in appliances, sitting sections, and integrated storage solutions, Regalo's island kitchens combine flair and efficiency in their design.

Conclusion

Modular Kitchens offer a myriad of benefits and design possibilities that cater to the diverse needs and preferences of homeowners. It's never been simpler to turn your kitchen into a chic and useful area thanks to Regalo Kitchens, which is at the forefront of innovation and perfection. Every cooking experience will be delightful thanks to Regalo's modular designs, which will surpass your expectations whether you're looking for space optimization, visual appeal, or ease of maintenance. Explore the endless possibilities of modular kitchens with Regalo, where form meets function in perfect harmony.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

1. Are modular kitchens more expensive than traditional kitchens?

While the initial cost of kitchens may seem higher compared to traditional kitchens, they offer long-term cost savings due to their durability, ease of maintenance, and efficient use of space.

2. Can modular kitchens be customized to fit small spaces?

Yes, one of the key advantages of modular kitchens is their adaptability to various space constraints.Kitchen designs can be customized to maximize every inch of available space, making them ideal for small apartments, studio units, and compact homes.

3. How long does it take to install a modular kitchen?

The installation time for a modular kitchen depends on factors such as the size of the kitchen, complexity of the design, and availability of materials. Kitchens, however, usually take less time to assemble and install than standard kitchen installations.

4. Are kitchens easy to clean and maintain?

Indeed, maintaining a kitchen is a top priority when designing one. Kitchen countertops and cabinets are made of sturdy, stain-resistant materials that are simple to clean with water and mild soap.

5. Can I add or modify components in my modular kitchen after installation?

Yes, modern kitchens' ability to adjust to shifting demands and tastes is one of their main features. modular kitchen components such as cabinets, shelves, and countertops can be easily added, removed, or modified to accommodate evolving lifestyles and design preferences.

[regalokitchens]

6 Benefits Of Having A Modular Kitchen

Originally Posted On:- https://www.regalokitchens.com/top-6-benefits-of-having-a-modular-kitchen.php

In the ever-changing world of interior design, modular kitchens have emerged as a popular option for homeowners seeking to combine functionality and beauty. Among the plethora of options available, Regalo Kitchens stands out as a leading company, offering modular kitchen solutions that redefine your kitchen space. Today, we'll look at the top six advantages of having a modular kitchen and how Regalo Kitchens can change your cooking area into a modern, efficient, and elegant haven.

Space Optimization: Creating More Room for Creativity

Invest in Quality Cabinets:

The primary benefits of opting for a modular kitchen is the efficient utilization of space. Traditional kitchens often suffer from clutter and a lack of organization, making cooking a cumbersome task. Kitchens, on the other hand, are intended to maximize space use through clever storage solutions and streamlined designs.

Regalo Kitchens, with its innovative approach, offers customized modular kitchen designs that cater to the unique layout of your home. From smartly built cabinets to pull-out storage units, every inch of space is maximized, resulting in a clutter-free and well-organized cooking area. This not only improves performance but also gives your kitchen a more luxurious appearance.

Functional and Ergonomic Design: Cooking with Ease

Regalo Kitchens places a strong emphasis on functional and ergonomic design, ensuring that your kitchen is not only aesthetically pleasing but also a joy to work in. The kitchen arrangement is precisely engineered to speed the cooking process, with important items conveniently located.

Consider features like pull-out shelves, deep drawers, and adjustable cabinets, all meticulously integrated by Regalo Kitchens. These design elements simplify your daily cooking routine, eliminating the need to stretch or bend excessively. The end effect is a kitchen that not only looks wonderful, but also improves your cooking experience.

Customization: Tailoring Your Kitchen to Perfection

One size does not fit all, especially when it comes to kitchen design. Regalo Kitchens understands the diverse needs of homeowners and excels in providing customizable modular kitchens that suit individual preferences.

With an array of materials, colors, and finishes to choose from, you have the flexibility to design a kitchen that reflects your personal style. Regalo Kitchens can help you achieve a sleek and modern style or a more classic and traditional vibe. This level of customization ensures that your kitchen is not just a functional space but also a reflection of your personality.

Easy Maintenance: Keeping Your Kitchen Sparkling Clean

While cleaning and maintaining a kitchen might be difficult, Regalo Kitchens' kitchen designs are made to be simple to manage. Durability and resilience to wear and tear are ensured by the use of premium materials and finishes.

The smooth surfaces of modular kitchen cabinets are easy to wipe clean, and the materials used are resistant to stains and water damage. This makes it simple to keep your kitchen looking spotless even when there are spills and splatters. Regalo Kitchens takes pride in delivering kitchens that not only look good on day one but continue to impress with their longevity and ease of maintenance.

Enhanced Aesthetics: Elevating the Heart of Your Home

A modular kitchen's visual appeal extends beyond its practicality. Regalo Kitchens is aware of how important it is to design a visually arresting kitchen that serves as the center of attention for your house. The company excels in blending form and function, offering designs that are both contemporary and timeless.

From sleek countertops to stylish cabinet finishes, every detail is carefully curated to enhance the overall aesthetics of your kitchen. Because of Regalo Kitchens' dedication to fine craftsmanship, you can be sure that the style and aesthetic appeal of your kitchen will not only meet but surpass your expectations.

Increased Property Value: Investing in Your Home's Future

A well-designed modular kitchen is an investment that pays off not only in terms of daily convenience but also in the long run. Regalo Kitchens adds value to your home by creating kitchens that stand out in terms of design, functionality, and durability.

As prospective homebuyers emphasize modern and well-designed kitchens, investing in a Regalo Kitchens kitchen can considerably boost your home's market value. The sleek and contemporary look, coupled with the practical advantages of a modular kitchen, makes it a compelling selling point for potential buyers.

Conclusion

In conclusion, choosing a modular kitchen from Regalo Kitchens is a decision that goes beyond mere functionality – it's an investment in the heart of your home. The advantages, ranging from space optimization to enhanced property value, make it a practical and fashionable option for homeowners. Embrace the future of kitchen design with Regalo Kitchens, where innovation and aesthetics come together to redefine your culinary space.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

Q: Are modular kitchens only suitable for large spaces, or can they be customized for smaller kitchens as well?

Absolutely! Regalo Kitchens specializes in creating modular kitchen designs that are adaptable to any space. Whether you have a large or small kitchen, our skilled designers can customize the plan to maximize every square inch, assuring a great fit for your house.

Q: How durable are the materials used in Regalo Kitchens' modular kitchens, and are they resistant to common kitchen mishaps?

Regalo Kitchens prioritizes durability by using high-quality materials that are resistant to stains, water damage, and wear and tear. The surfaces are designed to be easy to clean, making them resilient against common kitchen spills and splatters.

Q: Can I choose a modular kitchen design that aligns with my personal style and existing home decor?

Absolutely! One of the standout features of Regalo Kitchens is the customization options available. You can collaborate with our designers to develop a modular kitchen that effortlessly blends with your unique style and matches your existing home decor, choosing from a selection of materials, colors, and finishes.

Q: How does Regalo Kitchens ensure that the modular kitchen design enhances the ergonomic aspects of cooking?

At Regalo Kitchens, we prioritize functional and ergonomic design. Our expert designers meticulously plan the layout to streamline the cooking process, ensuring that key elements are within easy reach. Features like pull-out shelves, deep drawers, and adjustable cabinets are seamlessly integrated to enhance the overall cooking experience.

Q: Can investing in a modular kitchen from Regalo Kitchens really increase the resale value of my property?

Yes, it can. A well-designed modular kitchen is considered a valuable asset by homebuyers. The sleek and contemporary features, along with the practical benefits of a kitchen, make it a compelling selling point. Choosing Regalo Kitchens is not just an investment in your daily convenience but also in the long-term value of your property.

[toxic-and-sydney]

Some random ass welcome home AU

basic context/ prolouge(????)

On the 4th of February, 1974, the famous American show, Welcome Home, had been cancelled. Americans across the country were hit with a wave of confusion. So many people, news channels, newspapers, and many more had been talking about this phenomenon.

Although, this concern wasn't just limited to people. The show's residents were just as confused. Even though they didn't know what was wrong, they felt something was definitely not right. Wally Darling, the shows main character, and Barnaby B. Beagle, his best friend, felt this more than others.

They tried everything they could but to no avail, they couldn't get their show up and running once more. Then, Wally had thought of a fabulous idea. However, Julie Joyful, Frank Frankly, and Eddie Dear would disagree. Knowing this, Wally recruited Howdy Pillar, and Barnaby.

Howdy knocked out Sally Starlet, drugged Poppy Partridge, and kidnapped Julie. Barnaby held Frank and Eddie at knife point. In Wally's basement, everyone lights candles and, Wally holds a book open in his lap and everyone holds hands and closes their eyes except for Wally who reads aloud a chant from the book. It reads as follows.

"Oh dear being who holds our sight, please wish us well within this night. For we have all been distraught, he wish for your help and lovely thought. In this circle, we hold eight, in this circle we give you bait. A bag and bow, for all that you know. A tie and comb, to help us back home. A feather and charm, we'll do you no harm. A bone and paint brush for your swift rush. With these items, we make you a deal, and if we break it, pain we will feel. So will you help, we beg of thee. Will you help, for you will see."

After the chant, the inside of the circle starts to glow brighter and brighter, causing Wally to shut his eyes. Wind swirled throughout the room and threw stuff off of the shelves. Papers, books, and paintings were flung from their spots and swirled around everyone's heads. Suddenly the candles are blown out and the brightness cuts off. Everyone slowly opens their eyes.

Standing before them was a tall slender figure, easily taller than Poppy, Barnaby, and Howdy. It's fur was a magnificent blue splotched with darker hues and brighter primary colors. Its hair and tail tip swirled a golden yellow. It wore a red cardigan and black pants that were striped with white. Its pupils turned to slits and it looked around the room. The wind stopped and the lights flicked on.

"I've heard your call, and here I stand. I've seen you all, and marked your hands." This had caused everyone to check their hands, and branded on the back was a rune.

End of chapter one

[andnatiabrosca]

cactus, edelweiss, nutmeg for the ask game? c:

cactus: something you're currently learning about?

so I'm learning Russian via duolingo and my partner laughing at me and (i assume) saying something totally offensive trying to say the simplest words.

(i did not learn the "right" way to form a lot of sounds because of a variety of disability in early childhood and now I struggle to learn to make new sounds. best right now is :can't trill final 'r': and :makes clicking noises trying to transfer from the soft 'ch' to 'l' sounds:. ask me a uvular trill and I'm your man tho)

I'm also learning requirements for an alternative teaching license for my state, and (re)learning doing java gui - I want to build a program that will let me streamline my dattrpg mage bc shes a Bitch to keep track of when I'm also running monsters. or maybe I'll make it run my monsters. just get something off my plate

edelweiss: how'd you come up with your url/whats its association?

i mean, on this blog it's just my primary oc's name lol. "and natia brosca" - giving her a space in the world. I'm really attached to it but am considering trying something new (i would make sure to toss it on a save blog to make sure i can get it back if I dont like the change lol

on my main, it's a play on quaking aspen . not really got much thought. i consider taking it back to nebulouswinds pretty frequently actually. which also doesnt have much meaning but I like it a lot

nutmeg: how's hour home/room decorated? do you have a specific style going on?

uhhhhh blue and desaturated purples? i try to be fairly minimal and with a generally clean but cosy vibe because I get overloaded really quickly sensory wise. i make most of my own blankets and decor & most of it is blue, white, or black. blue is pretty much the only color I cam always stand. i do like to use a lighter palette in general because I like dark wood a lot & my desk/drawers can weigh a room down a lot. oh, and i like to have a lot of stuff on open shelving bc my brain will disappear anytbing it cant see