#semi-outdoor living space
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Front Yard - Porch
Large transitional brick porch photo with a roof extension
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The Ghosts on the Table (1/2)
Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!reader
Word count: 10k
Warnings: nsfw! mdni! semi-public oral sex (f!receiving + m!receiving)
Synopsis: There are ghosts in the Restricted Section of the library. And then there are ghosts aka two horny teenagers living their best lives...
-- can be read on AO3 too --
-- read Part 2 here --
After The Ghost under the Table (Part 1 and Part 2) - I bring you: The Ghosts on the Table! Both of them! Still using that spicy Disillusionment charm! What are these horny teenagers up to now?
Last warning: There will be smutty smut smut below the cut! Beware!
The Ghosts on the Table - Part 1:
You had to stifle a giggle as he pulled you along quickly. You couldn't see him, but you felt his hand tightly wrapped around yours as the both of you traversed the empty rooms of the Restricted Section. It was way past midnight and you had successfully sneaked past the prefects patrolling the halls. Hidden under the Disillusionment charm, you moved deeper into the familiar space.
It'd been two years since you first set foot into these forbidden halls with the same boy now pulling you behind him. Sebastian was determined, eager to get to where he wanted to go, and as he knew his way around far better than you did, you just followed.
When you saw the large table in front of you, the same model you had found yourself kneeling under before, the same model he had crouched below, as you pleasured one another on two different occasions, you knew what was coming – and you certainly knew who was coming as well. You could feel it between your legs.
“Did you do what I asked of you?” you then heard his low whisper as he halted right in front of the table. You turned your head towards his voice and nodded, then noticed your mistake and said: “Of course.”
“Can I check?” Before you could reply, he let go of your hand and you felt him slowly inch closer to your body. His fingers ghosted, quite literally, over your leg, until they pushed beneath the hem of your skirt and felt their way around your inner thigh, gently caressing your soft skin. His other hand moved around your backside, the fabric of your skirt barely a hindrance to him.
Inhaling deeply, you stood on shaking legs as you felt his fingers meeting right between your legs, one set coming from behind over the curves of your rear, the other slipping up from your thigh. And as there was no additional layer protecting you from anything, his fingertips brushed right against your wet folds, causing him to hum in appreciation and you to take a shuddering breath.
“Good girl,” he whispered, his mouth close to your ear. He firmly squeezed your butt cheek as one of his fingers took a preliminary swipe through your slit, the quiet squelching sound making you shiver. “How was it?” he asked, his lips brushing against your earlobe.
It had been a weird sensation to walk the castle without any panties, both liberating and exhilarating, yet also quite terrifying every time you had to step outside. The wind had not been your friend, but luckily your time in the outdoors had been limited today. Sitting in stuffy classrooms however had been the biggest challenge. Your thighs had hurt from being pressed together that much, which simultaneously had aroused you only more.
“It's been a struggle,” you told him in earnest. His soft chuckle echoed through the quiet room. “But...”
“...you enjoyed it, I can tell,” he whispered and pushed his finger through your folds once more. “Have you been this wet all day?”
You felt your cheeks warm up and were quite happy he couldn't see your face. You couldn't possibly admit to that, but in all brutal honesty, the thought alone of following his wish to spend an entire day without underwear had made you giddy from the moment you had stepped out of your common room. At first you'd been a little appalled – what was the appeal of walking around pantyless when he wouldn't even be around all day?
You had spent your day mostly in classes he didn't take, so you couldn't even look at him, not have him touch you in-between classes or during. Yet his idea seemed to have been to occupy your mind no matter what – and it had worked. All day long you couldn't focus on anything but the prospect of meeting him later and finally getting the reward for your potential humiliation. And that thought alone, imagining his proud smile and his sparkling eyes and his eager fingers, had made the wet heat pool between your legs instantly. Luckily the fabric of your skirt was thick enough not to show any stains, otherwise it would have been a whole other ordeal.
“Have you?” his low voice vibrated through you and you let out a soft whimper.
“Yes...” you eventually confessed and leaned against him, your knees growing weaker.
He chuckled again and kissed your neck, his fingers leaving your wetness to close around your rear as he grabbed both cheeks almost forcefully and lifted you up with ease. Your arms wrapped around his neck, or so you hoped, you couldn't see him, but you felt his body heat right against you. Then he carried you over to the front end of the table and gently set you down, your skirt pushed up so your bare skin touched the cold wooden surface. He stood right between your parted legs and his hands felt around your body, sliding up from your arms to your shoulders until they grazed your neck and then cupped your face softly.
Soon after you felt his hot breath on your lips and eager as you were, you leaned forwards – at the same time as he did and your foreheads collided with a smack. Your surprised laugh echoed through the empty room, before he shushed you, his hands holding your head firmly in place. “Don't move,” he murmured and you nodded mindlessly. As you waited for him to make contact first, your eyes wandering through his invisible form towards the bookcase behind him, your breaths became slightly quicker.
When you finally felt his lips on yours as he carefully made his way closer, you gasped softly, your hands moving up and blindly grabbing at what you hoped was his waist. You confirmed it by digging your fingers into his sides. His kiss was gentle and still exploratory, the sensation of not seeing but feeling his mouth on yours was ten times better than you could have imagined.
Even though you missed seeing his handsome face, his calming eyes and that incredible smirk, feeling his gentle touches and his warm body and heated breaths was still enough to accelerate your heart and further increase the burning heat between your folds. You closed your eyes with a content sigh.
As he held your face, he really leaned into you, his tongue pushing past your lips demandingly as you met him with yours in a wild wrestle. Grabbing his waist, you pulled him closer and pressed your thighs against his legs, hooking your feet around the backs of his knees. He groaned quietly against you as you ground your centre against his crotch. His kiss pushed you further up the table, bending you backwards slightly, yet he kept you firmly in his grasp and sitting, despite your need to lie down and let him take you right there and then.
When he eventually leaned back, allowing you both to catch your breaths, you felt his hands moving down your neck towards the collar of your shirt. With quick fingers he undid enough buttons to then slip his hands beneath the stiff fabric and close them around your breasts, gently fondling them. Your hands left his waist and you quickly undid the rest of the buttons, letting your shirt fall open more.
You felt him lean closer, his lips brushing over your cheek, before he found your mouth again. His palms pushed against your soft flesh, before he moved his fingers lower to gently pinch your nipples, coaxing various muffled sounds out of your throat as you kissed him hungrily. Your hands felt around the front of his body, brushing against his trousers and you could not only feel, but sense the bulge in the fabric and the heat radiating from his obvious arousal. He breathed louder against you, the groping of his hands increasing in force and tempo. A soft moan escaped you and you quickly pushed your mouth firmer against his, trying your best not to make too many noises.
You might be alone in this part of the Restricted Section, but with the ghosts roaming the halls in unpredictable patterns, you never knew when one of them would poke a head through the ground or the ceiling. And if you couldn't remain quiet, you knew the Disillusionment charm wouldn't do a thing to conceal either of you. You'd barely made it through that one time he had pleasured you in the library, in the midst of other students and the stern eyes of the librarian, but you still couldn't quite trust your own body and the noises escaping it whenever he would touch you.
But you tried and with his mouth close by to potentially muffle your vocal declarations of pleasure, this shouldn't be too difficult. That was before he suddenly leaned away and slightly out of reach, and as you couldn't see him, you felt around a little helplessly, your fingers grasping at the air. “Sebastian?” you whispered, your heart pounding inside your chest.
“Shh,” he made and you felt him somewhere behind you. You spun around on the edge of the table, trying to see anything, until you felt him sitting down behind you, his thighs firmly pressed against your sides.
“What are you doing?” you murmured breathlessly.
“I have a proposal,” you heard him say quietly as he leaned his chin on your shoulder, his arms snaking around your upper body, holding you tightly pressed against his chest. “Hear me out, okay?”
You frowned, unbeknownst to him, but still turned your head slightly towards him. “I'm listening,” you replied under your breath.
“I've read something...” he started and you had to stifle a chuckle at his tone. He sounded almost timid, a little uncertain, but too eager not to go through with it – whatever it was. Whenever he said he'd read something, you knew you were in for a treat.
“Yes?” you whispered back, your head turned enough to allow you to ghost your lips against his cheek.
“In a Muggle magazine, one of those... filthier ones...” he went on, quietly, his voice low and breathy. You felt a familiar twist in your stomach at his words and bit your lip, waiting for him to elaborate. Yet he took his time.
“Tell me,” you urged, your hands grabbing his arms and pressing them firmer against your breasts. “Please.”
You felt him smirking against you. “It's about... well, using our mouths... on each other...” You could imagine how red his cheeks were by the sound of his voice and you felt your own warming up as well as you imagined what exactly he meant. “At the same time,” he then added and you furrowed your brows, trying to imagine that as well.
“How?” you asked a little confused.
His soft chuckle sounded almost embarrassed. “Like I said... at the same time... your mouth on me, my mouth on you...”
You were still a little unsure about the concept, but then he loosened his grip on you and scooted back. His hands pulled you along, turning your legs towards him and onto the table.
“Let me show you,” he whispered. “Or... well, let me guide you.”
You felt him retreating on the table and under the soft creak of the old wood you heard him lay down as you noticed his feet pushing against your sides. When did he have time to loose his boots? Mindlessly kicking your own shoes off your feet, you started to crawl towards him, guided by his outstretched legs.
“Wait,” he said and you felt him grab your hands. “Move backwards,” he then said and you stiffened slightly.
“What?”
He sat up, the table creaking again, and then his mouth was close to your ear again. “Come on, you're clever, think how this might be possible,” he teased in a low voice. “I want my mouth right here,” he added and you felt his hand slipping between your legs, imploringly brushing against your folds. “And I want your mouth,” he said and grabbed your hand to guide it towards the bulge beneath the fabric of his trousers. “Here.”
When you finally understood, your face was burning so much you were afraid it would melt right off your skull. Luckily none of you could see that and so you just nodded (issuing a deep little grunt to show him you understood). He lay back down on the table and you inhaled deeply, before you positioned yourself backwards on top of him, first sitting on his stomach, your hands firmly on his thighs, then slowly moving back until you felt his hands on your rear, guiding you the rest of the way.
You'd certainly never done anything like this before, but you trusted him, and how different could it be to do these things at the same time? The angle was a little unusual and combined with the fact that you couldn't see what was happening, it all added up to be an interesting experience nonetheless.
Once you settled down further, with your knees on either side of his head (you could feel his breath on your thighs, with his hands firmly gripping your hips to pull you closer), you were practically kneeling over him, your chest hovering over his stomach, your hands propped on either side of his hips. Despite the implications of what was about to happen, you didn't feel particularly happy in this position. While he was just lying flat on his back, you felt a little cramped, crouched like this.
“Can I... lie down on you?” you whispered, turning your head slightly back, even though you couldn't see him.
“Of course, make yourself comfortable,” you heard his quiet reply from somewhere between your legs.
When you did, you almost jumped right back up, because you had pressed your centre right against his face and the feeling of his warm mouth on your wet folds had made you flinch badly. But his hands grabbed your rear and basically pushed you right back down, apparently he wanted you to smother him like that.
Complying a little reluctantly, you tried to relax on top of him, your breasts almost flat on his stomach as you began to unbutton his trousers, your fingers feeling around a little helplessly. For a moment you wished you could see him, but then your position came back into your mind and you were rather glad that he decided to try this out with you while you were both under the Disillusionment charm.
You felt his fingers kneading your rear as he waited for you to finally release his arousal, he seemed to have found a position that would not completely smother him as his breath ghosted your sensitive skin. He had pushed up your skirt over your backside and you could feel the cold air of the room brushing over your skin, a welcomed feeling on your exposed wetness.
Finally you slipped the last button out of its loop and then you eagerly pushed aside the stiff fabric, before your fingers blindly felt around, quickly finding the hot, firm skin of his cock. You felt him shifting beneath you as you closed your hand around his length. He was already very excited about this whole situation. You would have loved to see him, confirm just how excited he was, but you had to imagine the protruding veins and the colour and texture of his throbbing skin.
And because you were eager to taste him, you leaned down and let your tongue take a firm swipe over his tip, feeling and tasting his precum. Licking your lips, you knew he was as ready as you were. And indeed, as soon as you made contact with his skin, he had pushed his face upwards against you, his mouth immediately closing around your clit, as it seemed closest to him. You hid your noises by gently pressing your lips against his heated skin, kissing and sucking, your tongue circling around his tip before you made your way down further.
With his lips sucking on your sensitive skin and his tongue firmly pressing and prodding against the bundle of nerves, you could feel his nose pushing right between your folds, almost teasing at your entrance. What a strange sensation. You couldn't help the movement of your pelvis against him as you moaned quietly against his cock. The hold of his hands on your rear tightened as he kneaded the soft flesh and simultaneously pulled your cheeks apart to give him more access to your centre.
You were quickly overwhelmed by receiving and giving all these kinds of pleasure at the same time, so you tried to focus on him first, as your mouth kept moving up and down his length, your lips brushing, your tongue lapping, your breath ghosting his skin. Your hands were hooked around his inner thighs, both to give you stability in this position and to keep his legs from moving. He was surprisingly lively beneath you this time, his noises muffled, his touches almost desperate as he kept stimulating your clit with eager movements.
With his hands firmly on your butt, his thumbs started to tease at your crack and when you felt them brushing against your other hole, you squirmed and almost sank your teeth into the side of his arousal. You could feel him chuckling into you, the vibrations of his voice causing you to shiver as you rested your forehead on his leg for a moment, your heavy breaths hot on his sensitive skin.
Once you recovered (and he had moved his thumbs), you leaned your head back up and continued your journey over his cock, your lips blindly brushing over skin and hair, before you found his tip again. As you gently closed your lips around his crown, your tongue teasing his slit and tasting more precum, you felt him move his mouth slightly up as he started to push his tongue firmly against your folds, licking up your wetness with deep grunts erupting from his throat.
Your own moans were muffled as you tilted your head to sink it down onto him, eagerly taking him into your mouth with your tongue pressing against him and guiding him further. At this angle you felt him slip in even further and when he hit the back of your throat, you squeezed your eyes shut and held your breath before you swallowed around him. The motion caused him to groan loudly against you and he almost bucked his hips upwards against you, pushing his cock even further down your throat, if you wouldn't have held his thighs down.
With a muffled moan you pulled your head back, feeling him slip out of your mouth with a wet plop, your saliva dripping from the corner of your lips. Breathing heavily, you licked it up quickly before you went down on him again, slowly taking him back in and repeating the motion a few times, before you started bobbing your head up and down gently, your lips strained around his hardening girth, your tongue beneath him as you felt the slight throbbing of his veins as more and more blood rushed to his sensitive member.
While you were occupied with giving him a good time, you barely noticed the movements of his mouth between your legs, he seemed to have retorted to a relaxing routine of licking your wetness and massaging your butt with his fingers, probably too busy trying to keep his own noises down. Though once you fell into a steady rhythm, he changed his up again, starting with pushing his tongue deeper against you, his face properly buried between your folds as he lapped at your sensitive skin.
Your combined moans and groans mixed with the wet sounds of mouths meeting wet skin echoed quietly through the empty room and with each bobbing of your head and swiping of his tongue the table below you creaked slightly. You started moving your hips against him as he kept licking you hungrily, the need for more friction growing with every rapid heartbeat. He complied by pushing the tip of his tongue right against your entrance as he angled his face in a way that made his chin press firmly on your clit.
Working his jaw against you, he deepened the experience and slipped his tongue in deeper, moving the muscle in ways you didn't know were even possible as he lapped at your walls and pushed against them, seemingly flattening his tongue deep inside you.
You moaned loudly against his cock in your mouth and halted your movements for a moment as the sensation made you shiver deeply, your entire body shuddering on top of him. As you sucked in a deep breath through your nose, you simultaneously hollowed your cheeks, increasing the friction against his length, before you kept bobbing your head, taking him in deeper with every downwards motion.
He kept hitting the back of your throat and even though the feeling of your throat gagging around him pushed tears out of your eyes, you kept going, feeling him throbbing and twitching inside your mouth. He was close, you could tell, and by the deep quivering of your own limbs, you were not far off either.
It was when he let go of your rear and moved his fingers around your inner thighs, pushing your legs apart a little more as his thumbs grazed over the outside of your folds with his face still buried deep between them, that he moved his chin harder against your clit, gently rubbing it as he moved his head slowly up and down, basically nodding you closer towards the edge by the continuous friction.
You felt your legs twitching, yet you were still lucid enough not to just press your legs together and smother him completely, even though the need was there (not to smother him, you still needed him, but to give yourself that extra bit of stimulation). Your noises were barely audible over the wet squelches both his cock in your mouth and his tongue in your tight channel made – and for the last sane moment you worried that someone might hear you.
But then he angled his tongue in a way that pressed directly against that spot inside you and with his chin firmly on your clit, you couldn't help but shriek and squirm against him, your hips jerking and stuttering and the sudden wave of pleasure (and you) came with such a force that you could barely contain yourself on top of him. You even had to lean your head back and release his cock from the clutches of your jaw as you buried your face in his pelvis, your body shuddering uncontrollably as your fingers dug deeper into his thighs.
You felt and heard him groaning against you, his hips bucking upwards as well as he writhed beneath you when your release pushed right against his face, your walls fluttering almost violently. Your long cry was silenced as you pushed your mouth against his heated skin, his throbbing and currently unattended cock twitching right against your cheek. It took you a long moment to come down from that high and you barely felt him leaning back and putting gentle kisses against your folds as he once again grabbed your rear and kneaded it through the tremors of your orgasm.
When you were finally able to breathe again, the tension in your body all but gone, you lazily resumed your movements against his arousal. With the help of your cramping fingers, you guided him back into your mouth and took him in as deep as possible, squeezing your eyes shut and using your light-headedness and numbingly intense aftershocks to force him past your gagging point and deeper down your throat. You could feel him shuddering beneath you, his noises louder now that he was no longer buried face-first in your wetness.
His hands moved to your waist, almost as if he wanted to pull you off of him, but he endured and you endured before you leaned back with a sputtering cough, letting him slip out once more, saliva and some of his juices already spilling out onto your chin. Not even bothering with wiping any of it away, you dove in again, taking him in, straining your lips around his girth, working your jaw open as wide as possible, with your tongue pushing and swiping against his heated, pulsing skin, and when you moved one of your hands to gently massage his balls, he bucked his hips firmly upwards.
You moaned against him, trying to hold your head still as he started pushing his pelvis upwards and his cock deeper and deeper into your mouth and down your throat. You held your breath, tears streaming down your face, as he kept thrusting his length in and out, faster and faster, harder and unrelenting, until his hips halted and a loud groan escaped him. To further heighten the moment you pushed your head down until your nose was pressing against his sac and you felt him twitching violently inside you as he finally found his own release.
He emptied himself with throbbing twitches and lazy thrusts of his hips, filling you up to the brim until most of it pushed past the small gap between his heated skin and your swollen lips. You tried to swallow around him, but you were so full, you couldn't do it. Gripping his thighs firmer to show him your slight discomfort, he quickly pushed his hips back down onto the table and you leaned your head up and felt him slip out, spent but still throbbing, leaving thick ropes of cum on his way out of your full mouth.
As you took several big gulps to get it all down, your hands caught his heated flesh and you felt his release still spilling from his tip – and you couldn't help yourself, you had to lean down again and lick up all of it. Your head was fuzzy and your body tingling, and all you needed was more of his taste. If there would have been a single thought in your clouded mind it would have been one being glad that you were both still under the Disillusionment charm. With your bodies invisible, your mess was too, luckily.
Once you finished licking his length clean, you exhaled loudly and rested your head on his hipbone. You could still feel his hands on your rear as he breathed equally exhausted against your quivering folds.
Both of you remained like this for another while, before it was him who shifted first. Gently grabbing your waist, he made you sit up slowly, your pelvis flush against his chest before you moved further down his torso. Somehow you managed to throw a shaking leg over him and turn your body around so that you were lying side by side on the wide table, both staring up at the cobwebbed ceiling, your invisible hands finding each other for a tight embrace as his fingers slipped between yours.
Your breaths were as laboured as his and your heart wouldn't calm down if you forced it to. Turning your head to the warm body beside you, you wished you could see his content smile, his half-lidded eyes, his messy hair and even the glistening shine of his face, as embarrassing as the thought of your release on his skin was to you, it was still something you'd like to see very, very much.
But he remained invisible, unmoving, so not even a trick of the light. Yet he was there, right beside you, squeezing your hand. “How do you feel?” he whispered and his voice caused you to shiver contently.
“Amazing...” you whispered back, barely audible over the rushing of blood in your ears.
His soft chuckle echoed through the empty room. He then shifted beside you, apparently rolling onto his side as you suddenly felt his free hand on your face, gently stroking your cheek. “You were amazing,” he said quietly and leaned closer until you felt his warm mouth on your jaw. “Is your throat okay?”
You laughed at that and immediately felt the strain on that part of your body. “I'm sure it'll be alright,” you replied hoarsely. You raised your free hand to touch your neck and slide your fingers over your throat – and imagining having him this deep in there caused you to shiver all over again.
He kissed your cheek and when you turned your head towards him to meet his lips, you smelled and tasted yourself on him, your cheeks quickly warming up some more. Your hand felt around to grab his face and as you kissed him, you started wiping your wetness away mindlessly.
“Don't worry about it,” he said against your lips, something he had told you before and that you still felt a little apprehensive about. Then again, even though you had seen it last time, you didn't now, and under the cloaking charm nothing seemed to really matter. For all you know you could still be covered in his cum as well.
Snickering silently into his mouth, you rolled onto your side as well and snuggled against him. “So what else did you read in that magazine of yours?” you asked after a moment of lazily kissing him as you both tried to calm your heartbeats.
“Wouldn't you like to know,” he teased and gave you a firm peck, before he leaned back again, his fingers brushing over your cheek.
“Always eager to learn, you know that,” you confirmed quietly.
His chuckle vibrated through your entire body as he pulled you even closer to him. Beneath you the table creaked loudly. “Well, do you think this table can handle more of us or should we find another one?”
(Part 2)
Notes: Also this was again just a little smut writing exercise that got a little out of hand. If there are any anatomy issues, well, deal with it, I tried my best! >_>
And I don't know if there were filthy magazines in the 1890s, there are now! XD And you know that if there were, Sebastian would have read them! 100%!
Reminder: this is a four-part-series!
The Ghost under the Table (Part 1 and Part 2)
The Ghosts on the Table (Part 2)
#sebastian sallow#sebastian sallow x reader#sebastian sallow smut#hogwarts legacy#hogwarts legacy smut
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I'm going to call this 1999 castle house in Eugene, Oregon a fixer-upper. It hasn't been well-maintained and needs a good cleaning, among other things. 3bds, 2ba. They were asking $1M, but have recently reduced it to $950K. What do you think?
In the spacious living room there's a terrazzo floor that's in good shape, but notice the splotches on the walls and ceiling. What is that?
In the family room I'm seeing a worn floor and is that mold where the floor meets the wall, in the arches, and niches? If it is, it's starting to come thru the walls, too.
The dining table is set up in front of sliding glass doors and windows in the living room. Off to the side is a baby grand piano, so it's quite a large space.
The door to the large powder room is nice, but why did they put that window in it? On the right is chipped plaster and what looks like mold on the floor. Opposite on the left, there's some staining that could be moisture and more mold developing.
The sink counter needs refinishing or replacement, and are the stains in the wall mold?
Large semi-circular kitchen cabinetry on a terrazzo floor. The description says nothing about mold remediation, but look at the stains on the ceiling.
There's so much staining that if it's mold, the walls will have to come down, and if it's water, it's still a big problem. Even if it just needs paint and crack repair, it's going to cost a lot.
Cute little office/library.
Hall to the bedrooms and bath.
A chunk of plaster is off the beam. This bath really needs an update, and there's a water stain in the upper corner of the shower.
There are supposed to be 3 bedrooms, but it looks like there're 4.
Bedroom #2. Maybe it's a guestroom or den.
I thought that they were making repairs in this room, but it's just a ladder going up to a loft. It's a nice room, though.
The primary bedroom is huge and opens to a patio and yard.
The primary has a very large en-suite bath with a nice claw foot tub.
Outdoors there's a beautiful pond with a waterfall.
Home is on 6.84 acres of land.
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Living Spaces for Artists: Interest Survey
Hello tumblr, my name is Arina, and I have considered for several years now creating a living space in the US for artists and creatives alike just starting out on their respective journeys. My idea was to purchase a large house and rent out rooms for incredibly cheap, so that the struggling artist would have a means to live on their own while they focus on their career. In my search for a starter house for myself, I stumbled across two properties that would help me realize this dream even sooner than I realized. However, as with all things, nothing is perfect, and there are a few caveats. The first is that both properties are in the northern United States, which means hot summers and harsh and cold winters. The second is that one is located far from metropolitan areas, and are mostly surrounded by small towns. It would not be impossible to find a regular job in these areas, but may require a commute.
Both properties are in need of renovations. There are several rooms that are structurally sound, which I would be willing to rent out in the case of emergency, but for the most part the buildings would not be available until at least mid-next year.
For both properties, I would rent the rooms out at $200/month, and yes that would include utilities. You would be allowed up to two people per room, and two pets per room. Property descriptions below the cut.
The first property is located in Wisconsin, near the Great Lakes and the Canadian border. From the looks of it, this was a caretaker home for the elderly, and as such has handicap access and multiple entrances. My idea was to rent out the top floor to residents, and then airbnb the bottom floor rooms. From what I’ve been told this area is high in tourism for outdoor activities and the like, so I may even be able to make an arrangement to have a few people have free room and board in exchange for maintaining the rooms, or cooking or cleaning up after guests. (This is a rough work in progress idea.)
As you can see, most rooms still need renovations, but several rooms can be considered move-in ready.
Has a large functional kitchen, and walk-in cooler, which would allow multiple people to use it at once, or hypothetically, sustain a semi-hotel set up.
Several bathrooms are functional and in working order, but would need to be shared. There is one bathroom for every two rooms, and I would need to decide whether to convert a couple bedrooms into bathrooms to accommodate everyone, but at the moment, consider these like dorms where you have to share bathrooms.
And that’s it for the first property! Onto the next one:
This next property is located in Chariton Iowa, about an hour south of Des Moines. Finding a job here wouldn’t be too difficult, though it would require a bit of a commute.
As far as I can tell the whole building is in need of renovations, so this wouldn’t be move-in ready until next year. I would also need to convert a couple rooms into bathrooms, because having 4 bathrooms between 15 rooms isn’t feasible for many people.
And that just about sums it up! This post is for me to see if anyone else is even interested in my idea, but if no one bites, then I will likely buy these properties to convert them into a bed and breakfast/motel type situation.
Or, if people buy these properties before me, I’ll find a smaller property to start small with my idea.
So, that being said:
If you’d like to be updated on the progress of whichever project/endeavor I end up taking, go ahead and follow this blog.
And if you can, please reblog this, or tell anyone you think might need this, so I can see if there are any interested parties. Thank you <3
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A Semi-Detached Victorian House in Midtown Toronto
Dubbeldam Architecture + Design unveils Flow House, a semi-detached Victorian house in midtown Toronto that has been reconfigured for a creative couple and their children. The transformation of the 130-year-old home included adding additional living space on the back and top of the home, improving connections to the outdoors, and updating the interior and rear yard for contemporary living.
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North To The Future [Chapter 7: King Of Wishful Thinking]
The year is 1999. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.
Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, discussions of sex, outdoor excursions, Trent being the Hulk, Sunfyre sightings, emotional outbursts, a late-night phone call, a wild traumatic backstory appears! Also I have bronchitis and wrote this while very heavily medicated, in my Aegon Era you could say.
Word count: 6.7k.
Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.
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When you return from helping to deliver a calf on Mr. Campbell’s reindeer farm, you find Aegon in the vet clinic lobby. He is squaring up with Jennifer; the heap of twenty-dollar bills he stacks on the counter are crisp and uncrumpled, very much unlike his usual currency. He counts until he gets to $300 and then tucks his thin, tattered wallet into the back pocket of his jeans. He’s wearing half of his hair in a man bun again, along with his long-sleeve shirt that’s striped with black and white: night and stars, ink and snow. He startles when he turns to leave and sees you.
“How did you get that?”
“I told you,” Aegon says. “I sold a kidney. The slicing part was unpleasant, but I feel so much lighter now.”
“No, really.”
He shrugs nonchalantly. He seems mostly sober. “I pawned something.”
“Pawned what?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does.”
“It honestly doesn’t.”
“What do you own that’s worth that much…?” You glance through the window. His green Nova is straddling two spaces in the parking lot, illuminated by dim melancholy streetlights. If it wasn’t the car, what was it? What the hell was it?
Aegon holds his hands open, empty. “You wanted me to pay you back. Now you’re mad that I paid you back. I don’t know how to win with you, Appletini.”
The words themselves are irritated, he should sound irritated; but he just sounds sad. A heavy quilt of silence settles over the lobby. Your gaze is tangled up in his: blue, oceanic, mottled like a bruise. Jen watches from behind the front desk with huge, zooming eyes. She clears her throat to get your attention. Bear mace! she mouths, pointing at your purse.
You shake off your paralysis. “I’m sorry,” you tell Aegon. “Thanks for the money.”
He rubs the back of his neck anxiously. “Do you want to get a drink or something? Maybe talk…about…things…?”
“No. I’m covered in reindeer placenta.”
“Fine.” He blows by you, yanks open the front door, and is gone before you can take it back.
What’s there to talk about? you think, trying to convince yourself that you made the right decision. He’s still with Kimmie, I’m still with Trent, his time in Juneau is still ticking down towards zero. And yet, as his Nova swerves out of the parking lot, you feel an ache in your bones like a fracture.
“You okay?” Jen asks.
“Yeah. Can I get that $300?”
Confused but ever-compliant, Jen hands you the $300 in twenties.
“Do I have any more appointments this afternoon?”
“No, Ms. Flynn just called to reschedule Hyacinth’s yearly checkup.”
Oh yes, Hyacinth the semi-tamed opossum. Not your favorite client. “Perfect. Let’s close up a little early. I need to go home and scrub the blood out of my hair.”
In the midst of the steam and the pounding rainfall of the shower, you turn it over and over again in your mind: What did he pawn? What did he risk losing to pay me back? Reindeer blood, viscous and lifegiving, turns the soap bubbles dark pink as they are sucked down the drain. It’s not until you step out onto the bathmat and catch a glimpse of your reflection in the fogged mirror—of the foamy white flecks of soap still dappling your throat like pearls—that you remember the gold chain necklace Aegon wore to Thanksgiving dinner.
$300? you think doubtfully. A pawn shop will only loan someone a portion of the value of the item they hold as collateral, rarely more than half. Usually much less. Is that chain worth $600, $800, $1,000? Maybe. If it’s real gold. You don’t want to imagine how Aegon ended up with something like that. There’s no honorable answer. You throw on jeans and a chunky royal blue sweater and head out to your Jeep Cherokee.
There is only one pawn shop in Juneau, which makes things easy. You arrive ten minutes before closing time. Sure enough, store owner Mark Morehouse confirms your hypothesis: a peculiar white-haired out-of-towner showed up earlier today, offered a gold chain, received cash in return.
“But I didn’t give him $300,” Mark says. “I gave him $500.”
“$500?!” you exclaim. “You really think that necklace is worth a grand?”
“A couple grand, more likely. Haven’t gotten a proper appraisal yet.”
“Well…” You count every last cent of cash you have in your purse. The cannister of bear mace clatters as you dig through gum wrappers, pens, tissues, strawberry Creme Savers, crinkled receipts. “I can give you $410 now and a solemn vow to settle the balance later. Plus interest, of course.”
Indisputably, it is a breach of pawn shop ethics to let one customer walk out with another’s collateral before they’ve had adequate opportunity to pay back the loan. But Mark grew up with your parents, just like Dale did, and Heather’s parents, and Joyce’s parents, and half of your vet clinic clients, on and on until Juneau feels less like a city than an inescapably embroiled web. Everybody knows everybody…though not well enough to recognize the face of a killer. You explain to Mark that the white-haired out-of-towner is in fact a friend, and one that you are trying to do a favor for. He gives you the gold chain necklace in exchange for your cash and your word. It’s worth a lot around here. Vince and Debbie are good, honest people; surely their daughter must be too.
“Be careful,” Mark calls after you as you depart. “Until they catch that murderer, you shouldn’t be running around town alone after dark. And you definitely shouldn’t be getting too cozy with strangers.”
“Aegon’s not a stranger,” you say, smiling a little as you linger in the doorway. “Not anymore.”
Once you’re back in your Jeep, you turn on the heat and the interior light and inspect the chain more closely. It definitely feels expensive: heavy, flawless, golden links that are smooth like butter when you thread them between your fingers. On the long rectangular clasp, you find this engraved in artful cursive letters:
Happy birthday, dearest Aegon!
You flip the clasp over. There are three more words on the back, accompanied by—however bizarrely—a tiny praying mantis.
Much love, Helaena
“Helaena?” you say to no one as your Jeep idles outside the pawn shop. “Who the fuck is Helaena?!”
You have no right to be jealous, and yet you can feel the dark green poison of it growing into you like ivy: needling through joints, cracking bones, drinking up rust-scarlet marrow. You hate how much you want him. You hate that so many people on this planet carry pieces of him that you will never know. You shift your Jeep into drive and glide through the night towards his apartment building.
You shouldn’t go up there, you tell yourself as you park under a streetlight. He might be busy. He might not be alone. He might be with Kimmie.
But maybe that’s what part of you is hoping for. Maybe you’re looking for a chance to interrupt them, to stop them, to work up the courage to tell Kimmie the truth. She would listen if you told her, you believe that wholeheartedly; Kimmie has never been malicious, only self-involved, only shallow in a way that can be frustrating but also somehow pure. You always know exactly what Kimmie’s intentions are. She is as clear as still water, as glass.
As it turns out, Aegon is alone in his apartment. When you turn the spare key he gave you in the lock and open the front door, you find him sprawled on the couch and three rum and Cokes deep. He’s watching reruns of the X-Files. He yelps in surprise, flails, rolls onto the floor with a loud thud.
“Hi,” you say. Sunfyre frolics over to greet you, barking gleefully. You stroke his silky amber fur and scratch his ears, admiring the neat faint line of the scar on his muzzle. It was excellent suturing, you have to admit to yourself. It was a job well done.
“Jesus Christ, I thought you might be…” Aegon shakes his head as he lurches to his feet. “Never mind.”
“Kimmie?”
“No. Kimmie wouldn’t break and enter. And she doesn’t have a key.”
You stare at each other across the sparce room, silent except for the X-Files, the clacking of Sunfyre’s nails on the hardwood floor, the swishing of his tail. Then you toss Aegon the necklace. He grabs it out of the air, the shock blatant on his face. “You lied again.”
“About what?” he says, puzzled.
“You are married.”
Aegon remembers the engraving and then chuckles in relief. “Helaena’s not my wife. She’s my sister.”
“Oh.” This is interesting. This is a rare divulgence; you don’t intend to waste it. “Older or younger?”
“Younger.”
“Is Helaena your only sibling?”
“Too many questions.” He holds up the necklace. “Why did you pay to get this back?”
“I decided I didn’t want your money. You don’t seem to have an abundance of it, and I wouldn’t want to deprive you and Sunfyre of anything. Food. Rent. Condoms. Rum and Cokes.”
“That’s very thoughtful. My nonexistent illegitimate children send their regards.” He considers you. “I can’t give you the rest of the $500 yet. I don’t have it on me anymore.”
“Forget about the money. You need it far more than I do.”
He seems to find this amusing, though you aren’t sure why. “That’s fair, I guess.”
“Why do you hate Microsoft so much?”
Aegon is taken aback; he wasn’t expecting that. He finds his footing. “With computers and the internet, there are no more secrets, no more mysteries. I think the world is a more interesting place when you still have room to wonder. You shouldn’t be able to get all the answers to life’s thorniest predicaments from a cold white screen. You should have to go out and find them yourself. You should have to pay sweat and blood for them.”
“How contrarian. Self-righteous, even.”
He smiles. “That’s the Aquarius in me.”
You smile back, unable to help it. “Are you coming tomorrow?” Tomorrow is Saturday, December 11th. Heather has planned a hiking excursion in the Tongass National Forest; it’s forecasted to be unseasonably warm, 40 degrees by noon, practically balmy by Alaskan standards. You’ll have a few hours of daylight to enjoy before sunset around 3 p.m. And since the Juneau Police Department is adamant that no one traverses the trails alone until the Ice Fisher is apprehended…a group outing is both a welcome excuse to socialize and the only sensible option.
“I don’t know.” Aegon is avoidant; he stuffs the chain necklace into his jeans pocket and reties his man bun. “Do you want me to go?”
“No.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“I mean, I don’t not want you to go, but I also don’t want you to go. I don’t care, that’s what I mean. I have no preference.”
“Okay…?”
“I want you to do whatever you want to do.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to intrude, so I don’t want to go if you don’t want me there.”
“I’m not saying I don’t want you to go hiking, I’m just saying I also don’t not want you to go hiking.”
He sighs dramatically. “You are being remarkably unhelpful.”
“I’m sure Kimmie would like you to attend,” you jibe.
He throws up his hands, exasperated. “She probably would!”
“She hasn’t mentioned it?”
“Kimmie and I don’t do much…um…talking.”
You frown sullenly at the scuffed, dusty floor. “Awesome.”
“Oh yeah, I’m sure you and Trent have lots of profound conversations when you hang out,” Aegon snaps. “You talk about science and animals and Ricky Martin and travelling the world and he talks about…what? Commercial fishing? Godzilla?”
“Steak tacos, mostly.”
That’s supposed to be a joke, but no one laughs. You actually wince at it. Aegon swallows noisily. He starts to say something, stops, starts again, gives up. He comes to you and points to your left hand. “Do you mind?”
You offer it freely. He massages your hand until it is supple and relaxed, gently bends and flexes your fingers, and then runs his calloused fingerprints down the lines of your palm as he studies them. You feel it everywhere: a cool tingling that shoots up your forearm, a jolt down your spine, the quickening of your heartbeat, a fresh wave of longing that crashes into you like the ocean against rocks. Why do I still want this? Why can’t I, after everything that’s happened, just learn how to hate him?
Aegon smirks crookedly. “It says you want me to go hiking tomorrow.”
“Who am I to disagree with an illustrious Taco Bell medium?”
Aegon drops your hand. “Is Trent going?”
“Yeah, that’s the plan.”
He nods. “I’ll be there.”
“Okay. Fine.”
“Fine.”
You give Sunfyre a parting kiss on the top of his head and turn to go…but your eyes catch on the magnets that clutter Aegon’s refrigerator, the vestiges of cities and experiences and women that he’s collected like seashells from the types of beaches you’ve never been to.
San Diego, you think vaguely, wistfully, looking at the splashing dolphin magnet. That’s where he said his favorite beach is.
“…You alright?” Aegon asks tentatively, following your eyeline.
Not really. Not anymore. You leave without answering him.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Truth or dare?” Kimmie asks, grinning from across the flames.
You’re gathered around a crackling campfire, sitting on stumps and felled logs; Trent rolled over an impressively massive one for you and him to share. Aegon is next to Kimmie, Joyce is next to Rob, and Heather is once again lamenting her awkward singleness. There’s snow on the ground, though it’s squishy and melting under the short-lived midday sun. There are hotdogs and marshmallows being roasted on sticks; bags of hotdog buns, graham crackers, and Hershey’s chocolate are passed around in a never-ending rotation. As far as drinks, mostly everyone is sticking to Surge and Snapple. Trent has had a few Heinekens. Aegon is pouring spiced rum from a Captain Morgan bottle into his half-drank cans of Coke. Heather’s battery-powered yellow Sony boombox is playing a Go West cassette tape. Their biggest hit, King Of Wishful Thinking, thrums through the forest of towering pine trees. Sunfyre—wearing a jacket and dog boots so snow doesn’t get impacted between his footpads—romps blissfully around the woods, eating fallen bits of hotdogs and graham crackers whenever the opportunity presents itself.
“Seriously?” Heather says. “Are we twelve years old? We’re not playing truth or dare.”
“Come on, please?” Kimmie presses her palms together as if in prayer, like she’s the patron saint of indecent party games. “It’ll be fun. It’ll be so fun.”
“I’m game,” Trent says.
“Me too!” Rob adds, gnawing on his fourth hotdog.
Joyce bites into a s’more, gooey chocolate-stained marshmallow oozing out from between the graham crackers. “I decline to participate.”
“You can’t decline,” Kimmie pouts. She peers around for inspiration, then spots the creek babbling a few yards away. She announces triumphantly: “You can only surrender!”
Joyce blinks at her. “Explain.”
“If anyone refuses to play, they have to dunk their face in the water for five seconds.”
“But it’s freezing cold!”
“You are a menace to civilized society,” Heather tells Kimmie. “You should be on the FBI’s Most Wanted list. Right next to Osama bin Laden.”
“Who?” Trent asks.
“He’s behind bombings of U.S. embassies in East Africa,” you explain. “Killed hundreds of people.”
Trent smiles at you proudly, drapes a heavy arm across your shoulders, pulls you in close and kisses your temple. “You’re too fucking smart, you know that?” You giggle dutifully but lean away from him, mortified. Aegon mixes more rum into his Coke can. “She’s so fly. I’m always learning new stuff from her.”
“Oh yeah? Getting some quality anatomy lessons?” Rob teases.
Trent brays out laughter and flips his hair. “Man, I wish. No anatomy lessons yet. But, you know…Christmas is right around the corner…it’s a very romantic time of year…maybe I’ll find her wrapped in a bow under a Christmas tree.”
“Please shut up immediately,” Heather says, disgusted. “You’re my brother. I don’t want to know about your sex life. I barely want to know about your non-sex-related life.” Aegon casts her a rare glance of approval, of gratitude. You can relate; you’re feeling pretty grateful too.
“So we’re playing truth or dare?” Kimmie prompts.
“I’m willing if everyone else is,” you say. Kimmie, ecstatic, leaps out of her seat and sprints around the campfire to hug you before returning to her log.
Aegon slurps on his unorthodox rum and Coke. “Same.”
Joyce groans. “Fine, I guess I’ll play.”
“Okay,” Heather relents. “If it will make you happy, Kimmie, then I’ll mentally transport myself back to the dark days of middle school and play this asinine game with you.”
“Yay!” Kimmie cheers. “Okay, I’ll start.” Her mischievous gaze travels around the circle. You try to appear inconspicuous by focusing your attention on your s’more. “Rob, truth or dare?”
“Dare,” he says, sitting up straighter and grinning enthusiastically.
“Go lick a tree.”
You burst out laughing; this really is so middle school.
“A tree?” Rob says, already scoping out the selection.
“Yup. A tree. Any tree.”
Rob stands, plods through the snow to a monstrous pine tree, and takes a long, slow lick of the bark. Everyone applauds his commitment. He returns to sit beside Joyce, who gives him a smile so swift it’s almost imperceivable. Joyce likes to pretend she’s above silliness—and maybe she is most of the time—but she’s still human.
“So you choose the next victim,” Kimmie instructs Rob.
“Okay, let’s see…” He makes a great show of scrutinizing everyone else before coming back to Joyce. “Darling Joyce, truth or dare?”
“If you try to make me lick something, I’ll stab you with your own hotdog stick.”
Rob smiles placidly. “Does that mean you’re choosing dare?”
“Yeah, I’ll choose dare. Only because Heather thinks I wouldn’t.”
“I am shocked,” Heather says, deadpan. “My heart just stopped. Someone resuscitate me.”
Rob thinks, tapping his bearded chin. “Hmm. Okay, Joyce, I dare you to stand on this log and serenade us with the entire Friends theme song.”
“No,” Joyce gasps, horrified.
“She can’t,” Heather says. “She’s allergic to fun and spontaneity.”
“I’ll do it,” Joyce huffs. She balances on top of the log and sings—even managing a few reluctant dance moves—while the rest of you clap at the appropriate moments: “So no one told you life was going to be this way…your job’s a joke, you’re broke, you’re love life’s DOA…”
“Who do you choose, Joyce?” Kimmie asks when the song has ended.
“Heather, obviously.” She is delighted, anticipating revenge. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” Heather says primly, winking as she sips her can of Surge.
“You bitch! Who’s allergic to fun now?!”
“So ask me a fun question.”
Joyce sighs in defeat. “What are the five best books you’ve ever read?”
“You’re pathetic.”
“I need new reading material…!”
Next, Heather dares Kimmie to get a Sharpie tattoo drawn on her face—producing a black marker from her hiking backpack—though she gives Kimmie the generous courtesy of choosing the artist herself. Kimmie asks Aegon to do it. He sketches a cartoonish little dragon on her right cheek. He’s wearing all black again: black parka, black turtleneck, black jeans, black combat boots. You pet Sunfyre while Aegon draws on Kimmie’s cheek with his right hand, holding her face still with his left. You hate seeing him touch her. The blood burns in your own face, in your throat, in your lungs, all over.
“It’s getting warm by the fire,” you say casually, and start taking off your parka; you still have a turquoise sweater and white thermal T-shirt on underneath.
“Here, let me help you…” Trent reaches over and tugs at your parka, his large hands forceful and intrusive somehow.
“I got it.”
“Just let me—”
“Trent, I got it!” you insist. He lifts his hands away in capitulation. Aegon has stopped drawing Kimmie’s dragon and is watching Trent, who fortunately doesn’t seem very offended. You finish taking off your parka and fold it up neatly, setting it beside you on the log. Sunfyre whimpers until you resume petting him. There is an uncomfortable lull; Joyce assembles another s’more, Heather pretends to inspect her chipping nail polish, the hotdog Rob is roasting catches on fire and he flings it into a snowbank. Aegon looks back to Kimmie and finishes her dragon, tucking the Sharpie absentmindedly into his jeans pocket once he’s done.
“Trent,” Kimmie says. “Truth or dare?”
“Dare, totally!”
“Hmm…” She wordlessly deliberates. “Oh, I know! I dare you to make out with the most beautiful girl here.” She beams, sweetly, innocuously. She thinks she’s giving you a compliment. Aegon’s jaw falls open and he glares at her, furious. Before Kimmie can notice, he clears his face and takes a swig of rum straight from the bottle.
Trent chuckles. “Easiest dare I’ve ever agreed to.” And then he turns towards you.
“Wait, right now?” you say nervously. “In front of everybody?”
“Or Trent can always dunk his face in the creek,” Heather suggests. Joyce nods along.
“Not necessary at all,” Trent replies cheerfully. “Right, babe?”
What can you say?
No, you think abruptly, jarringly. I don’t want him to touch me. I could say no.
But there’s something that stops you from refusing…or, more accurately, several things. Firstly, you can’t really refuse without making it evident to everyone that you are less than smitten with Trent. Secondly, if you’re going to be forced to watch Aegon have his hands all over Kimmie, the least you can do in return is stop pushing Trent’s away. And lastly…
I don’t want to make Trent angry. I don’t know what he’s capable of when he’s angry.
You can’t bring yourself to believe that Trent is a serial killer, his size 12 L.L.Bean boots notwithstanding; in your estimation, he lacks the brutality, the cunningness, the strategic thinking. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of hurting someone. That doesn’t mean you have no reasons to fear him.
“Okay,” you tell Trent, conjuring up a timid smile. “But, like, thirty seconds tops. PG-13, not R.”
“You got it.” He flips his hair off his forehead, grips your face rather roughly, and kisses you. His lips are soft and warm, but ravenously hungry; his tongue pushes into your mouth and explores you like a conqueror. He doesn’t try to feel you up—thank God—but one hand drops down to slink around your waist. You try to act like you’re enjoying this; but when Trent finally pulls away, your expression is palpably ashamed. You chug half a can of Surge to wash him out of you.
“Aww, no, she’s embarrassed!” Kimmie cries. She rushes over and squeezes in beside you on the edge of the log, constricting you in a familiar and theatrical embrace, stroking your hair. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You can’t help but feel better. Kimmie has no boundaries, that’s true, but it’s not universally a bad thing. Aegon takes another swallow of his rum. He looks shellshocked; he looks despondent.
“My turn to pick someone now, right?” Trent says.
“Right,” Kimmie concurs.
“Babe,” he says to you. “Truth or dare?”
“Oh, definitely truth.” Everyone laughs…well, everyone except Aegon. He’s watching you now, chewing the corner of his bottom lip. His eyes are intense, dark, seeking. His wayward lock of white-blond hair rests on his cheek.
Trent asks you: “What is your ultimate fantasy?”
“Stop!” Heather begs her brother. “Stop being so…so…so slutty!”
“He didn’t say sexual fantasy,” Joyce counters. “She could tell us that her ultimate fantasy is moving to Los Angeles and becoming a vet to celebrities. She could work on those tiny purse dogs all day. Maybe she could even meet Ricky Martin.”
“Yeah,” Trent agrees, though perhaps halfheartedly. “Whatever kind of fantasy.”
You ponder this for a while before you speak. “I want to lie on the beach in San Diego, California. I want to hear the waves crashing and feel the sun beating down on me. And I want to throw fish to the sea lions and watch them waddle around, barking like dogs. That’s my fantasy. Oh, and I want to eat like a million tacos. Not Taco Bell tacos, real tacos.”
“Okay, but Ricky Martin would be there too, right?” Rob jokes, eliciting laughter from everyone except Aegon.
“Naked,” Joyce adds.
“Sure.” You smile a little pensively, a little mournfully. “Why not? Ricky Martin can be there too. It’s just a fantasy, after all. It’s not real.”
“Why haven’t you gone there yet, babe?” Trent asks sympathetically, scoring himself several good boyfriend points.
“Well, you know…there’s the vet clinic…and my family…the timing has just never been right.”
“You’ll go to San Diego one day,” Heather promises.
Kimmie nuzzles against you, resting her head on your shoulder. “She hasn’t gone yet because she’s a mature, responsible person, truly the best of us.”
“Because she’s a coward,” Aegon mutters.
Everyone goes quiet and stares at him. Aegon looks stunned, like he hadn’t intended to say that out loud. Sunfyre snorts and canters off into the woods.
“What?” you say.
Aegon shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“No, really. What did you just say?”
Rob tries to broker a peace. “It doesn’t matter—”
“It does matter.” Your voice is dark like night, cutting like glass. “You think it’s cowardly to have responsibilities? You think it’s cowardly to care about other people?”
Aegon gulps down more rum and glares at you through the campfire flames. “I think it’s cowardly to blame other people for your lack of a spine, yeah.”
“Aegon!” Kimmie scolds harshly, incredulously.
Trent begins: “Hey, man, not cool—”
“You know what’s really cowardly?” you level at Aegon like the barrel of a gun. “Spending your entire life running away from things—things that are worthwhile, things that you want, things that you are desperate for—because you’re too fucking weak to cope with the possibility of losing them.”
And then you stand, tearing away from Kimmie and Trent when they try to stop you. You flee into the trees, scalding tears brimming in your eyes. Branches rip at you; one carves a shallow gash across your cheek just below your left eye. Snow collapses under your boots.
Faintly, you can hear Aegon saying to the others: “I’ll go, I’ll go, I’ll apologize.” And a few moments later, rapidly approaching: “Hey! Stop! Hey!”
“Leave me alone!” you scream over your shoulder. You run until you trip over a gnarled tree root and fall to the ground, sobbing, wet, cold, miserable.
Aegon catches up to you and bends over, gasping for air, his hands on his knees. Even from several feet away, you can smell the rum sweating out of him. “Are you psychotic?! You can’t just run off into the woods by yourself, there’s a killer on the loose!”
“Like you’d care if I got murdered!” you shout up at him. “It’d be the best day of your life, then you’d be free to fuck whoever you want and drink yourself to death without the inconvenience of having to be around me, boring, uptight, accountable, revoltingly cowardly me—!”
“God, you’re so fucking stupid—”
“Why are you even still here?! You could be jetting off to some other city, some other new adventure, you could leave anytime you wanted, so why if you hate me so much are you still here?!”
“Because I’m stuck here now!” he roars.
That doesn’t make any sense. That’s incompatible with absolutely everything about him. “Why?!”
He stands up straight and rubs his face with both hands. He’s calmer now; he’s trying to compose himself. His eyes are glistening, you realize. His cheeks are flushed. “Because of the Ice Fisher.”
“What are you talking about?”
He struggles to get it out. “I can’t leave…you…here…alone…until they catch whoever the killer is.”
You gaze up at him, not understanding. “Why do you care about what happens to me?”
“I think the answer to that is really obvious.”
“No, it’s not, because you don’t like me, you don’t respect me, you don’t want me—”
“I want you all the time,” Aegon says, and the feverish words in your throat vanish. “All the time. I pass out at night wanting you, I wake up hungover wanting you, I want you all the fucking time. I want you in the vet clinic, I want you in the bar, I want you in my apartment, I want you in the middle of the woods, I never for a single solitary goddamn second stop wanting you, and it’s hell, in case you’re wondering. But that’s not good enough for you. So now I’m the idiot. I’m never the one who gets left. I’m the one who leaves people, I’m the one who packs my bags in the middle of the night and catches a flight to the next city, I’m the one who runs away. It’s always me. But I showed you who I am and you couldn’t leave fast enough.”
Oh god, you realize. I can’t stop forgiving him. I can’t stop wanting him. I love him, I love him, I love him. “I wasn’t leaving you, Aegon. I was trying to fix you.”
“I’m not fixable!”
“But why?”
“I’m just not, I never have been, I’m never going to be. I can’t magically transform myself into the person you wish I was. Believe me, I would if I could, but I can’t. And I can’t stay here forever. I’m on a clock, I’m always on a goddamn clock. I’m just hoping they arrest the Ice Fisher before…before…” He trails off, staring vacantly into the wilderness.
“Before what?”
He says nothing. You haul yourself out of the snow and go to him. “Your face…” he whispers, touching the cut just beneath your eye.
“Before what, Aegon?” you ask, you plead. “I want to help you. I want to understand. What are you so afraid of? What is it? What the hell is it?”
He takes several steps away from you, looks down at his boots, stays that way for what feels like forever. “Okay,” he begins at last, his voice shaking.
Oh my god, he’s finally going to tell me. He really is. You brace yourself for the inevitable: he’s married, he’s a father, he’s being pursued by drug lords he’s indebted to, he’s a criminal, he’s a con artist, he’s a killer.
“My dad was the first investor in Microsoft.”
Your mind goes blank like a chalkboard wiped clean. “Microsoft…the…the company that’s worth $600 billion…?”
“Yeah. That one.” He gestures randomly. “My dad is a venture capitalist. So he owns equity stakes in a bunch of different businesses. When Bill Gates was just starting out, he and his partners needed money, so my dad invested and they gave him equity in return. A healthy slice of equity, because they weren’t worth anything yet. And so…as the company grew…”
“Wait, you’re a…?” You gawk at him. “You’re a…billionaire?!”
“Not me,” Aegon says. “Them! They’re the billionaires. Not me. I’m just a guy.”
“You are them, Aegon, because you’re the same people, you’re…you’re…”
“No, I’m not, because I left. I left when I was nineteen and I’ve never been back since. That was six years ago. Almost exactly six years ago.”
“You grew up in Miami,” you say, your voice sounding very far away.
“Yeah. Gorgeous mansion on the ocean, boarding schools, yachts, golfing, parties with lobster and prime rib, all of it.”
“And you left…because…?”
“Because I was the oldest son and the heir to the empire, and I didn’t want any of it. I didn’t want to live in a suit, I didn’t want to stare at a screen all day, I didn’t want to spend my life scheming, counting, networking, grasping. And I was no good at anything. I was an abject failure by any possible metric, and everyone knew it. All I ever wanted to do was work outside where I could see the sun and the stars, drink, get high, play guitar and sing punk rock songs. All I wanted to do was live. So I left. There’s more to it than that—a lot more to it—but now you know where I came from. I’ve never told anybody that. Not once in the last six years.”
“You don’t talk to anyone from Miami? Ever? No letters, postcards, phone calls, nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“You don’t ever miss your family?”
He smiles grimly. “I’m glad that you’ve lived the kind of life that makes it next to impossible for you to comprehend why someone would want to run away from home and never look back. Really, I’m genuinely happy for you. But that’s just not my reality.”
The revelation hits you like a fist. “They’re still searching for you.”
Aegon nods. “One of them in particular.”
“Helaena?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“I don’t want to tell you that.” He glances at your cut again and shudders. “I don’t know how he’s finding me. But he is. I’ve seen him twice.”
“Twice? Since you left home…?”
“He didn’t see me, but I saw him. From a distance both times. Once in Phoenix, once in San Francisco. Both around the six month mark. If I stay too long in one place, he finds me. And if he ever gets ahold of me, I won’t be able to stop him from dragging me back home. Nothing on earth can stop him when he wants something.”
“How can you be so sure it was him?” you say. “If it was from far away, maybe you were just imagining it…maybe you saw someone who looked kind of like him, and because you’re so afraid of being found you thought it was him, but it wasn’t really—”
“He’s very distinct looking. Very, very distinct looking. There’s no mistaking him.” Aegon picks up a handful of clean snow, takes a small clump of it between his fingers, wipes the length of your cut with it gently, carefully. It soothes the stinging. It cools the roaring blood in your face. “Every year there are less and less people without internet. If someone Googles my last name, my family is the first result that pops up. Articles about my father’s success, my mother’s grace and beauty and philanthropy, the socialite daughter, the degenerate eldest son. One day there will be nowhere left to hide.”
“You never tried to change your name?”
“To legally change my name, I’d have to publish a public announcement so creditors—or anyone else—can come forward and object to it if they have a reason. The media would pick it up. There would be headlines, news commentators, maybe even court hearings. My family would find out, and they would come get me.”
“They’re that determined? They’re that capable?”
“One of them, yes.”
“You can’t stay in Juneau,” you say, your voice splintering like thin ice.
“No, I can’t. Not forever. But hopefully long enough make sure you’ll be safe once I’m gone.”
You look at him. “Do you have any idea who the Ice Fisher could be?”
He shrugs, like if he ignores the possibility he can make it disappear. “Not really. I guess…I guess have one person I’m concerned about. I don’t really think it’s him, I can’t bring myself to believe that, I never thought he was capable of violence before, but now…now…something about him worries me. It keeps me awake at night.” He pauses. “It scares the hell out of me, because he’s so close to you.”
Trent. He means Trent. And I can’t disagree. “I don’t know what to do about him.”
“Don’t make him angry,” Aegon says urgently. “I’m not saying you have to do anything with him that you don’t want to, no, he doesn’t own you, he shouldn’t bully you into anything. I’m just saying to avoid confrontations. And try not to be alone with him.”
“I understand. I won’t make him angry.”
Aegon takes the Sharpie out of his pocket. “Here. Give me your arm.” You do so without any hesitation. He considers your left palm, then decides against it: too noticeable, too easy to get smudged. He pushes your sleeve up to your elbow and writes a phone number across the soft skin of your forearm in black ink. “This is for if he ever tries to do anything that you’re not cool with. Or if you just need to talk. Okay?”
“Okay,” you agree quietly.
He puts the cap on the Sharpie and tucks it away again. Out of the trees appears Sunfyre, panting and jubilant to see you both. He accepts pats and scratches and then heads back towards the campfire. You and Aegon follow him, walking close enough to touch each other but not daring to.
“You’re alive!” Heather rejoices when she sees you. And then she glowers at Aegon. “Get over here. I’m going to gut you like a deer, Greek boy.”
“It’s fine,” you say. “We talked, we’re friends again, everything’s good.”
“Really?” Kimmie asks hopefully.
“Yup,” Aegon says, standing beside her but making no eye contact.
“You better be.” Trent grins, hugs you—lifting you clear off the ground—and then notices where the branch gashed your cheek. “What happened to your face, babe?”
“Just a tree. I ran into it, it’s my fault. I can clean it up when I get home.”
“That’s the great thing about being a doctor,” Trent says brightly. “Even an animal doctor. You can fix almost anything yourself.”
You glance at Aegon, heavy with a steely grey fog like grief. “Yes. Almost anything.”
You ride home the same way you arrived to the hiking expedition, with Trent and Heather; Aegon and Sunfyre leave in Kimmie’s pink Land Cruiser. When you get inside, the first thing you do is write down Aegon’s phone number on a Post-it note and stick it inside the top drawer of your nightstand. You shower, tend to your shallow cut—“not too bad, ladybug,” your dad offers supportively, “not too bad at all”—and help your mom make dinner: reindeer sausage from Mr. Campbell’s farm, mashed potatoes, glazed carrots, broccolini, homemade chocolate bread for dessert. Not quite prime rib and lobster, you think dazedly, your mind swimming.
Hours later, as you lay in bed gazing up at your ceiling, you can’t stop hearing what Aegon said, his voice deep and raw and achingly beautiful. I want you all the time. I never for a single solitary goddamn second stop wanting you.
You get out the Post-it note, pick up the phone on top of your nightstand, dial the number for Aegon’s shabby little apartment on the other side of Juneau. He answers almost immediately. He’s very tipsy, but alert.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” you say softly, and only silence follows. You wring the phone’s blue spiral cord between restless fingers. “It’s—”
“I know who it is.” Now you can hear that he’s smiling. “What can I do for you, Appletini?”
“Tell me about San Diego.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything,” you say. And then again: “Everything.”
And that’s exactly what he does: he paints a vision with his words, he tells you about driving through the Mars-red canyons and peaks of the Laguna Mountains until you crest the top and see the Pacific Ocean, endless and sapphire blue and glittering under sunlight that bakes the shadows from your bones. He tells you about the surfers, the dolphins, the cliffsides, the sea lions, the sailboats, the hot air balloons and kites and parasailers, the historic district of the city that still remembers its origins as a Spanish fort and mission. You can almost see it; you can almost reach out and touch it.
You listen to Aegon until you fall asleep, the phone tumbling out of your grasp and onto the pillow beside you; and even then, your dreams are filled with him.
#aegon x you#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon ii targaryen#aegon targaryen#aegon ii#aegon x y/n#aegon x reader#aegon ii x you#aegon ii x reader#aegon targaryen x you#aegon targaryen ii x reader#aegon targaryen ii
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keeping objects as pets #1: backpacks!
hi there! in this series, i’ll be going over basic descriptions of commonly-kept object species (and some rare ones too!), facts about them, why you might want one as a pet, their basic needs and necessities provided you want to house one, and things you should NEVER do. to start, we’re going with backpacks! backpacks are a great starter object in my opinion because they’re both hardy and also very friendly creatures. alright, let’s get started!
description
backpacks are a common domesticated object species. their limbs are typically fabric- or leather-like, commonly (but not always) furred, with powerful digitigrade legs built for running and walking long distances. each hindpaw has three toes with non-retractable claws. their forepaws have four fingers with semi-retractable claws and thin pads. the first finger on each forepaw is somewhat comparable to human thumbs, though this is a case of convergent evolution and they are not ‘true’ thumbs. body shape does not vary too much; subspecies include school backpacks, hiking backpacks, travel backpacks and rucksacks, among others. colors can be anything you can imagine, as can patterns. their bodies, when not mimicking leather, typically have a very thin, fine layer of fur.
facts about backpacks
backpacks in the wild are pack animals. they live together generally in groups of four to six, but sometimes will stay with only one other object, or in even larger packs. a group of backpacks is called a carry. backpacks are omnivores, and have been observed in the wild eating a wide variety of things such as fruits, small rodents, grubs, fish, and even carrion. as far as object biologists can tell, backpacks evolved so many compartments as a way to store food during the winter. think a squirrel’s hoard of nuts, if the hoard was inside its body! or perhaps like a hamster’s cheeks cranked up to eleven. while they’ve evolved past the need for using these pockets out of necessity, they still enjoy collecting treats such as berries and seeds to be stored away for later.
why as a pet?
i’m often asked why i believe backpacks are the ideal beginner species, and i have no idea where to start because the reasons are so numerous and vast. fortunately i have time to think about this here!
backpacks, by nature, are a social species and need companionship to function. without at least one carrymate, they will become severely depressed. this means that, provided a backpack accepts you into its carry, you can function as that carrymate, and the relationship is mutually beneficial. backpacks are known to be naturally bold, loving, affectionate objects. they aren’t strangers to cuddling and grooming each other, so if you like a pet that you can hold and hug, backpacks are both the perfect size and shape in addition to being loving in nature! not only that, their body language is unusually easy to read, even for beginners to object keeping. their charming, docile personalities make them great housemates if you have other objects as well. they typically live peacefully with non-object pets such as dogs and cats, and may bond with other pets if you have them. they do well with children as well.
housing necessities + do’s and dont’s
if you’ve decided a backpack is the right companion for you, wonderful! i’ll use this section to tell you what you need in order to make your house object-friendly as well as their basic needs to be happy and healthy.
firstly, backpacks needs lots of space; if you can’t walk your backpack every single day for at least 30 minutes and you don’t have an open fenced-in yard, you absolutely cannot have a backpack for a pet. they will get bored and this may lead to self-destructive actions in an attempt to entertain themselves.
outdoor-only backpacks, despite what some may tell you, are bad. why? because they are natural climbers and will escape pens if left alone for long enough.
backpacks are a naturally curious species, and will often take things they find interesting or valuable to be put in their pockets. before bed each day you absolutely MUST open each pocket, inspect carefully, and close back. i’ve had friends who’ve never had an object before ask me why things kept going missing and why their backpack was so sluggish and withdrawn, only to have a massive amount of ‘stolen’ things stuck in their pockets where they can no longer reach them. this can lead to sickness, depression, agitation, and even death if allowed to happen for a prolonged period of months.
that’s all! hopefully this helps educate anyone who is considering this species!
#speculative biology#spec bio#spec evo#speculative evolution#object shows#osc#backpacks#species info#object husbandry#object biology#hfjone#hfjone liam
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Aw, bud I'm so sorry to hear you're having a rough time :( But know that you are loved, after all, who else could we go to with all of our horny ideas and get as good of a response? Speaking of!
Catboy Dream isn't technically allowed to go outside. Not because Hob wants to keep him locked up, but mostly because Dream doesn't look as tough as some of the toms around the neighborhood look. He's tall but lacks the strength due to living such a pampered life in Hob's home. Also, why would he go outside in the cold when he's got a warm bed and a loving master?
Well, after his first heat, he gets the confidence to go outside! He needs some form of territory after all if he wants to prove himself as the best cat on the block. So he takes a few steps out and finally gets a good look at the local colony. They're all neutral to him, he's very clearly got an owner and won't be a permanent part of the colony. If anything he's just another pretender, which wound his ego some so he traipses around the neighborhood trying to find some bit of land to claim as his own.
He enters the wrong backyard. Cori is a semi-feral catboy. He hangs around the neighborhood bc the old lady four houses down always sets out food for the poor ferals but other than that he is exclusively an outdoor sort. They end up hissing and spitting at each other before fighting. Dream gets his ass handed to him and he goes crying home to Hob. Who is less sympathetic, he warned Dream after all! So after bandaging his wounds and giving his pet a solid spanking, he sets out to capture this feral beastie.
He sets up a trap with some of Dream's special wet food and waits. At first, the trap goes off and it's a raccoon. He resets the trap and it goes off again, this time sans Cori. He doesn't give up hope though and this time sets it to go off a few seconds later, which results in an overconfident Cori becoming trapped.
Then comes the socialization process! He lets Cori loose in a spare bedroom with everything a catboy needs. Dream is growling at the door, but Hob knows his precious pet would love to have a friend. So he gets to work trying to tame this wild animal. At first, it's slow going. Cori likes to hiss and scratch when Hob sits in the room, but he doesn't give up. He then tries to claim various bits of the room as his, but Hob is quick to replace blankets and other things. He takes things slow, but Cori refuses to budge and he's spent the better part of a week ignoring Dream and his needs. Time for more drastic measures.
He puts Cori in a cage and brings Dream in. Dream is wearing his collar which he rarely does. He tells Cori that he's given him no other choice since he doesn't want to play nice, he'll just have to see what he's missing out on.
First, he gives Dream some very special treats for being such a good boy, which Cori finds ridiculous even though his mouth is watering at the smell. Then he pets and grooms Dream til he squirms with all the attention. Cori can't help but notice that he's very dirty compared to the luxurious skin and fur of that waste of space on the bed, and he wants his fur to be even better than that kitty pet.
Then comes the piece de resistance. He rolls his pet over to face the carrier, still squirming from all the attention and praise, and gently licks him open. Dream is a needy little boy from all the time Hob spent with Cori and not giving him orgasms every night. He carefully works his pet open with his tongue and a few fingers until he's begging for it. Then he fucks Dream so slowly and lovingly that he near forgets about the other cat boy in the cage. Cori whines and cries as he listens to Dream's moans and Hob's praises about how good of a pet he is and how much he loves Dream. By the end of it, Dream has come more than enough to make up for lost time and Cori is crying in his carrier. He wants to be a good boy! He wants treats and cuddles! He'll be the best boy Hob has ever seen!
Hob knows then that he won, and Cori will keep to his word. So he lets him out and allows him to join their cuddle session. Dream hisses slightly but one little look from Hob has him cooperating. They settle down and enjoy the feeling of the newest addition to their family.
That is until Cori ruts against Hob's thigh and he soon realizes that he has two pets now to care for.
- 🤜 Anon
Thank you so much for saying nice things, friend! I appreciate it!!!!
And I also appreciate this scenario SO much. House catboy Dream and feral catboy Cori are a match made in hell, and I sure hope that Hob knows what he's got himself into.
They constantly fight for Hob’s attention, but the fights are more like Dream rolling onto his back and yowling before Cori has so much as scratched him - when Hob comes running into the room, Cori looks like the guilty party and Dream gets cuddles and kisses. This lasts for approximately 3 days before Hob clues into what's going on, and he gives Dream a stern telling off for being so deceitful.
Hob decides that his boys clearly need some serious socialising, so he takes them both to a kind of catboy play centre where they can mingle safely with others. It's there that Dream and Cori form an uneasy alliance against the other catboys and proceed to wreak absolute havoc. The management politely request that Hob should not bring them back again.
After that there is at least some peace in the household. Dream even shares his favourite cuddly raven toy with Cori! Cori also finally submits to the indignity of grooming (he's so desperate for his blond fur to be sleek and smooth like Dream’s, even though he HATES being brushed). He gets a special reward for that: he finally gets Hob’s cock inside his hole! He's been begging for ages but Hob was holding out on him. When he finally gets fucked he's so loud, mewling and squirming like the pathetic little kitty he truly is. Dream pretends not to watch but his little cock is so hard afterwards, of course Hob can't resist. He bends over and lets Dream fuck him, and he tells Cori that if he carries on being a good pet then he'll be allowed to do it too!
Hob’s kitties are the most spoiled in the entire neighbourhood. They're so soft and shiny. And they only get the best food, and so many treats. Each night they squeeze into Hob’s lap, purring happily. Sooner or later one of them squirms down to nuzzle his cock, and he gets a hot little mouth to fuck into. Its not exactly easy having two big, headstrong pets in his bed but he wouldn't have it any other way <3
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Any understanding of class that derives from mid-20th century Britain, United States, or Canada is probably wrong. And that’s a problem because that’s where most people get their ideas about class.
If you look further back, middle housing (townhomes, condos, apartments, triplexes, quadplexes, etc) are where the middle class historically found themselves living (usually, there are exceptions). Suburbs are mostly new and they are extremely wasteful. The idea that people lived in single family homes or even semi-detached housing with large green outdoor spaces (as opposed to shared courtyards) just strikes me as very, very silly and very, very American.
A better, more honest, more accurate description of the decline of the middle class is not just the disappearance of middle housing—it’s how much middle housing has deteriorated qualitatively. We no longer consider that apartments can be big enough to raise families in. Nor do we consider that they should be well-made enough to hold up to decades of uninterrupted housing.
“Luxury” condos have nothing on early-20th brownstones of the working class. And that’s the problem.
I am having trouble reconciling the same people who rightly said that density over space are now claiming that the birthright of the middle class is the ownership of implied single family homes, presumably with spacious yards. No.
There is no class worth establishing that pines for the trappings of the rich. And there’s no need to establish it anyway, it already exists. That’s the upper middle class.
I cannot believe people are saying that waste is the only sign of being middle class that matters again. But, what’s worse, I can believe people are buying it.
Anyone who says that is no better than the TikTokers who insist that $500 Shein hauls are a necessity and excess clothing (to the point of never wearing the same outfit twice) is a human right.
#off topic#not fiber arts#politics mention#this discourse is#made as a magic shield to protect the upper middle class and their tens of thousands of unused items#bc people see upper middle class hedonism as aspirational but more within reach than riches or wealth#class dynamics#post wwii 1950s two and a half kids and a fenced yard propaganda nonsense#you guys are basically buying into house flipping culture#and are mad you don’t have the capital to buy in for real#class divide#class differences#class division
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Log 10: Pizza and the Balance of life
It had been a few good minutes since the whole ordeal. It's calm now, silent even.
Me and Fjord were just sitting in the kitchen, he was watching me intensively. Probably wondering if I was ok. He was left behind by Sten and Toke so that he could continue his duty.
I wonder if he felt that he had failed on the first day.
"Lass, i-", I gently put my hand on his arm resting on the table.
"shhh...no it's ok.", I let out a releaved sign. "So....are you hungry?", he lifted his head. "I have a few frozen foods for a quick meal. The meat is going to take a long while to defrost anyway....so you want pizza?".
I swear he was more animal than man. Anticipating the menu for the evening.
"Yes. I want some....what is it?", first chickens and now pizza. This must have been an age of discovery for him.
"It's a flat bread with tomato sauce and cheese, you can put a bunch of toppings on it, you can't go wrong with it.", I get up to see if we had any boxes. Considering his size, I was going to have to make more than one. "I have cheese, a meat lovers, and pineapple and ham...and if you're not too impressed about the cheese one, I have some canned fish and some olives if you want those instead". I take out the cheese and meat lover's box.
He sat there gleefully, "Yes."
"yes to both?", I ask.
"Yes.", he responded, still unspecifying.
He was definitely hungry. "I'll get the canned stuff then, if you want to, you can relax a little and take the armor off. It must be exhausting wearing it all day".
"Oh that would be appreciated lass, but would it be ok with you if I could...well, let's just say I don't think you'd be wanting to smell several months worth of blood, filth and sweat under this suit.", he gave an embarrassed smile.
"Oh! Ok then, hold on let me see if I have some towels for you.", I place the pizzas to defrost a little. I head to an extra storage space near the hall and find one large towel. "Hmm, hope this one is big enough...", I grab another one in case if he needed another. I head to the shower to see if there was enough soap.
Turns out, the shower was smaller than he was. "ah oh. Fjord, ugh, the shower is a bit small....it's an old shower too...", I shout to him.
I can see him peaking over the doorway, ".....oh.... wouldn't happen to have a lake or a pond nearby? That's what me and the others have been doin this whole time.".
I turn around and double check if he really was too big. Yep. "ok...ugh....I don't want you to take a cold hose shower outside. I mean, it would kind of suck.".
He thought about it for a little, "hmmm actually I don't think I would mind it at all, is it radioactive water?".
Well that's something I wasn't expecting to hear, "ah...no...it's well water. It's relatively clean? It's just cold and smells like leaves."
"Ah than perfect!", he contently answered.
"One second, let me find a bucket for you to collect the water and a bar of soap too.", I grab a fresh bar of soap for him and head off to the lower garage.
One of the best factors of my cabin was it was a little bigger than a normal log cabin. It's a two story house with a ground level living space and a basement level floor with a 'boat garage' of sorts. Grandpa's first wife was the daughter of an accomplished architect, so the cabin is more than a comfortable size for me.
The garage for some reason was bigger than the second floor, going down there to find a bucket, sparked an idea. "Fjord! The outdoor spigot is near the garage! You can take a bath down here!".
He went out to the deck and headed to a semi-hidden garage down the hillside. He gently knocked on the garage door for me to open it. As the the door opened, I was brooming the dusty floor. The boat in question is long gone, leaving a space for anyone to use. I moved some boxes to other side of the garage so nothing gets wet, placed an old mat for him to stand on. I felt bad having to hash out old things for him to use, at least this is giving me a good reason to get some extra supplies tomorrow.
"Ok, I know it's a little last second, but I was able to make space for you near the door so you can clean yourself up. I'll get the hose an-", as I turned around, he had taken off the metal parts of his armor.
The rest was a rubber-like wet suit and his whole, muscular body.
"It's fine, lass. This more than I can do with.", he was ready to zip the back down.
This whole time I thought the armor was contributing to his mass, I was wrong. The armor was essentially a carapace.
"oh m-*ahem* well, one second I'll turn the spigot on.", I awkwardly pass by him. Oh no the smell came back....this time....it was driving insane.
Fjord could tell something was going on, "Lass are you ok?". It was a bit pointless to hide it if these guys had their senses are notched up to 11 than I am just going to pretend I don't know what he's talking about.
"Oh yes I'm fine.", my face felt hot, I must have been blushing, "oh here's some soap and I'll call you when the food is ready.", I quickly trot to the spigot, "ready!?".
"Ready lass!", he shouted from the garage. The hose goes off and who's knows what was going on by that point.
I head up back to the kitchen near the deck. "Oooooooooh my god. I need help.", I prepared the pizzas to heat up, it should take a few minutes.
A few minutes pass and get everything ready. I brought out bier too in case if wanted a can of two.
"well, I'll go see if he's done.", I was just then I could hear that the water shut off, he must have found the spigot. "Fjord! Dinners ready!", I head towards to the stairs leading to the garage, "Fjord?", I knock softly. "Hey big guy, pizzas are ready."
I didn't hear him answer or anything. It was then I noticed the floor as a little wet, he must have gotten back into the house?
"Lass! Do remember where I put those ol' clothes?", he called from what sounded like the bathroom.
I opened the garage, the water shut off and saw that he wasn't there. Closing the garage, I head up stairs. "I think you left them in the living roo-", the second I set both feet on the hardwood floor, bumped into his wet, hairy chest.
"oh wh-", I was looking up towards his face. Either he was clueless or he knew actually what he was doing.
"Oh hello, sorry about that.", you couldn't make this stuff up, he was innocently apologizing for this situation.
"ugh..ugh", he was firm, his musk now had added lavender into the mix, his body hair was practically the same color as the now partly wet mane on his head and was stuck and underlining every curvature of his muscles.
"Ugh...", I tried to concentrate back to my previous train of thought. "...Ah the clothes! Yes the clothes, your clothes *cough* let's go find them!". Wow I sucked at hiding it.
He knew it too.
"Hehe, ok lass, lead the way.", he followed behind with heavy footsteps.
I quickly sped walked to the living room, the bag was laying on the couch. "Ugh Fjord just um, stand there please.", I was embarrassed by the crack in my voice. I shuffle through the bag and find clothes from several decades ago. However, I was lucky enough to find a pair of large boxers and an old triple large shirt. "Here put these on.", hopefully they fit.
As I pass the clothes to him, I could see even my largest towel was struggling to cover everything. It looked like a short skirt had ripped up his thigh.
"ah thanks lass.", he left to another corner to put the clothes on.
All I could do is cup my hands to face, hiding my embarrassment. "Oh.....", I set the clothes out to breath after what likely was decades in storage. They had a musty smell, sort of a mixture of mothballs and old detergent. From what I can see, most of the clothes look like they were either old blue collar work clothes for construction or mining, business formal and a set of under clothes to last a week or so before having to throw them in the wash.
Fjord comes from the corner, "let's eat than?", he was watched me unfold probably the most aesthetically interesting piece here is a leather aviator jacket with a wool collar. "Hm, not bad....".
As I put it down, I was surprised to see that the clothes actually fitted him rather well. "Oh good, I was worried if they were too tight.", if it were for his extra fuzz, he would have been indistinguishable from a normal over muscular guy. "Ugh yes, let's go I bet you're hungry."
"always am in a way, lass.", I almost lost it at his wink.
After enjoying our pizza and random items dinner. We get back to conversation and I decided to lay a few ground rules.
"ok, hopefully, Sten and Toke will come back within the week, so in the meantime. We need to be low profile. No threatening to kill people, just relax and play it safe, and stick close to me ok?", these rules were mostly for him to behave himself when he was in public.
"alright, no threats, not lollygagging....stay close.", he took a bite out of what I could assume was a sandwich made of a meat lover's pizza and canned sardines. With a bit of a mouthful, "so. Who else is on dat little list the chaplain gave you?".
Taking the paper out of my pocket, "well, Mr and Mrs Bellcaller, my boss James and nurse Amila are on this list. However, I have no idea what are the other names though.", I put the paper down and search up one of the names, "Holten Wade".
As for Fjord, he opens one of the biers and chugs the whole in just a few gulps. I'm not certain why but I was impressed about that.
"Hmm, oh, interesting.", I could see he does live within the area, he own an auto shop near Mr. And Mrs Bellcaller's corner store. The other names were "Francis Pubert Mary" and "Vincent Arnold", none of these names were searchable as businesses, in social media or anything. "Hmm... hopefully these two aren't dead.
Cracking another can, Fjord chugs the whole again.
"ugh, that's quite a bit of alcohol there.", I wasn't sure how he would react with two cans of fruit rattler bier.
He licks his lips, "actually, this is nothing it's closer to water than a drink. I'm use to more heavy stuff. Mjord, and occasionally a cocktail of Rotgut and something else. It's a shame me and the others haven't found a plant equal to some of the plants back home to even make Mjord. It's tasty though.".
"Mjord? Sounds pretty good.", the drink sounded oddly similar sounded to mead, I was wondering if it was close to it.
"oh you wouldn't be able to enjoying lass, it's toxic to mortals, the fumes themselves would do you in. Fermented grain, roots and plants of Fenris are one of the most potent things any Astartes can have. It's the best and finest drink."
A toxic concoction of fermented 'grain, roots and plants', unbelievable. "Ugh....is ...there are reason why you guys drink, from what I understand, is closer to a liquid chemical?".
He finished off the last of the pizza, "well ye see lass, we have an implanted organ that helps us Astartes process poisons and other nasty things. However, it gave one unfortunate side effect. Permanent Sobriety."
Considering the harsh realites of his world, sobriety is closer to punishment one can ask for. "Oh...hmm I can see why that could be a problem.", it wasn't but for anyone living a hard life, i can understand why someone would employ the vices of alcohol.
"so, the great ancestors on Fenris had created a miracle ale, to provide a solution to everyone's problems.", he gave just gave this half lidded look, I can tell he was being humorous about it.
The more he talked about his world, the more the dark implications started to buzz around my mind. "....life must be terribly difficult for you guys.". I felt genuine pity for him and pretty anyone who had to live in such a world where you need to drink toxic chemicals to stay drunk.
His grin shrunk a bit, "well...it's not all that bad lass, I have plenty of battle brothers to share victories with, a chance to make the emperor's dreams of helping humanity a reality and so much more. In fact, probably one day if any of the Astartes comeback, I bet this planet will put on the top priority list for protection....at least I think there's such a thing....".
There are benefits to being as lost as me when hearing all of this....for starters, Fjord probably is thinking more expensively about his life in perspective to mine, I have bills, a family that misses me a lot right now and what little hope I have in having anything better than what I currently have to aspire to.
"....sounds nice to have a... government....that is willing to preserve something....my work literally consistents of convincing lobbyists to not remove our funding every few months so poachers and game hunters don't slaughter our wildlife to oblivion.", I was being rather whiney about this but it's something for him to chew on.
He looks at me with a confused glance, "what? Really? What's makes the wildlife here that unimportant?".
"...it's more for everyone's sake really.... everything is interconnected in this complex, beautiful web of life, death, existence...and whole slew of things. For instance, do you want to know what makes a keystone species important?", casually as one would ask.
"hmm...ok...what is a keystone species?", he asks as one should do.
"well....", I get a notepad and pen from one of the drawers, "there is the circle of life, we have not a caste system but a natural chain of predation, that is naturally designed to continue life.", I draw a wolf, then a deer, rabbit and a fox underneath, underneath those animals I draw their preferred 'prey' so to speak. "You see, like a keystone, that holds everything together from falling apart, it is an essential part of the ecosystem. If all the wolves go extinct, then the deer over populate, then get sick, die and could spread disease. But much like removing the wolves, if you remove the deer, than the wolves....will after prey they shouldn't go to.", I than draw a sheep, "this.... represents human intervention...."
Fjord's at this point more impressed at the drawing rather then the explanation, "....is that a cloud with a face?".
"it's a sheep, anyway, the sheep represents the farm, wolf eats the sheep, the farmer gets mad, assumes wolves are evil for ruining their farm...they tell others...then others spread their ignorance and...well...it can lead to destruction...then everyone who doesn't like this fight and called "tree huggers" because idiot from the medieval ages and whatever~.", I was so tired at this point I may as well lost my point.
He looked at the notepad, "....hmmm. You have a strange...yet.... commendable job.", he glanced at the wolf doodle I made, "...hmm.".
I huff a little from the existential dread I've just imposed on myself. Here's me worrying about wolves, then there Fjord....who probably relates more to a war veteran.
"I'm sorry for boring you.", I play around with an empty can.
"No no. You are not boring me....not at all.", he than just crosses his arms, lays on the table to look below my eye level.
A smile inches a little from, "ready for bed? We have a bunch to do tomorrow."
He straightens up, stretches his arms up. "Oh yes. I say a goodnight's sleep is needed.".
After putting everything in the kitchen away, prepping for tomorrow morning. I find a place for him to sleep for the night. I look into grandpa's room and well, oddly enough his bed is smaller then the couch. "Hmm...where would you like to sleep?", I ask him.
Fjord looks around the room full of old belongings from Grandpa, "hmmm....the bed is a wee bit small."
"well, my bed is the same size actually. The coach is the closest thing to a bigger bed then both. I don't want you sleeping on the floor either.", I look up and he's just towering over me in the doorway.
"hmm....I guess I will be taking the couch.", he decides.
After I move the clothes off to the table, we both prepare for the night.
"Goodnight Fjord, sleep well."
"Goodnight lass.".
Lights out until tomorrow.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I had to wait until Lorey went to sleep. After all, when has an angel of the emperor needed sleep? I head out and see the moon out, still puzzled how I even got here to begin with.
It was like a feverish nightmare, only to be interrupted by peace.....I was not sure if I disliked it.
The fists at the fort looked a lot healthier than their brothers back home.
The chaplain was nothing but a caged dog, bored with treats, wanting to let that instinct to kill out. To be let loose into battle.
Yet....my brothers and I have been enjoying this wild place. Big enough for all of us. Wild, free ...sure it's a wee bit warmer than we like ....but this planet has polar caps....I'm sure we will find something close....
What if we can not go back?...... would it really be such a problem?.....from what I see....chaos hasn't even tainted this world. It is a paradise world....but it's untainted....and the lass .....
Well....she's most definitely starting to rub off on me....I wonder if ....she feels the same.
End of log 10
@kit-williams @barn-anon @egrets-not-regrets
#space marine husbandry#warhammer 40k#space marine#survival log#space marines#space marine husbandry sentience#space wolves
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It's truly amazing to me how much easier my weeks are and how much more relaxed/less stressed I am when our lives aren't boxed into the 500sq ft of an inner city apartment with no access to outdoor space.
My week has flown by, I have been able to attend to intensive client needs all week without burning out, I've even eaten food during the day other than just dinner more than once this week! I took regular showers, I slept well and restfully, the dogs have been getting routine command-response reminders (although not yet training sessions - we'll have to work on that as we have more time once we settle in), and the cats are calmer and more social than I've seen them in literal years.
We're all doing so well here and I can't help but think that we're finally making a home that works for us. The wifey and I have tried a lot of different home lives over the years, and many have been difficult, many have been semi-functional, but nothing has ever felt like this - truly home.
I called my grandparents yesterday to wish them happy birthdays (their birthdays are two days apart and they are celebrating together because my grandma is in her 90s now, and my grandpa never really got to have birthdays when he was younger, so they both like to spoil each other over birthdays, isn't that so cute?) and my grandma even said that my voice has changed and I sound different, calmer and more confident. I think she's right. Being here makes me feel so secure and safe, and I haven't had a single nightmare since we arrived. Nor flashbacks either. I'm sure they may come with time and settling, no change can eradicate my PTSD, but the fact that a change in my environment could have such an impact on my sense of safety that it immediately reduced my symptoms is so incredible to me. Even as someone in mental health who understands the role environment plays, I didn't expect it to matter this much this quickly.
I'm so ready to make a life here. It feels like it's coming together so much more smoothly and quickly than I ever believed possible.
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Kinktober2023 Day 14: Formal Wear + Deep Throating
banner art by @/auroblaze
Impromptu Consummation
contains: oral sex/fellatio, semi-public sex, cis/trans, angel/demon
Kinktober2023 Prompt List & Neocities Page
Tips are appreciated!
For his first—and most likely only—human wedding, Pride thought he was doing a fantastic job of keeping his shit together. It helped that it was a celebration of two of his best friends and that the ceremony wasn’t in a church, but having to sit still for hours made him itch. When the reception rolled around, he praised the presence of alcohol, but even that was a short-lived gift. So many people wanted to talk to him, for so long, practically shouting over the music. He smiled through gritted teeth, acting polite and civil, pretending to enjoy every second of it. In truth, he wanted to tear his skin off.
Halfway through the reception, he retreated into the corner of the room to brood. Staring daggers at everyone who came close solved that problem, but created a new one. He couldn’t find Justice. And if he stood up to go looking, he would invite the small-talk vultures back.
Much more of a social butterfly, Justice fluttered off to have a dozen conversations right after dinner. Pride did his best to keep up, determined to stay glued to his side no matter what, but it was just too much. They got separated when Pride tried to drink himself into sociability, but only managed to have a glass of wine before he got swarmed. And now he was here.
He scanned the shifting crowd. Justice had his hair up tonight, tucked into a tight bun on the crown of his head, which should have been a beacon for any search, but Pride had no such luck. He played with the zipper of the clutch that dangled off his wrist, disappointed.
It was such a waste to get separated—they even coordinated their outfits. Justice wore a deep teal three-piece suit, to match the wedding theme, but picked out a black tie to match Pride’s glittery dress. Pride, on the other hand, adorned himself with teal jewelry, letting his hair down to swing around his shoulders. They looked incredible together, but now he was just wearing a necklace. Not to mention that the idea of anyone in this crowd ogling Justice made him want to flip tables.
“Pride?"
He jerked up, and immediately melted at the sight of someone tolerable. Sofia floated down into a chair across from him, her billowing white dress filling enough space for three, dirty blonde hair still pinned up with a beautiful flower crown.
“What are you doing over here?” she asked. “Is everything okay?”
“I lost Justice somewhere,” Pride admitted, waving into the crowd. “I’d go look for him but I—cannot talk to any more people, you know?”
“Of course, of course!” She jumped out of her seat, determined. “I’ll see if I can drag him over here for you.”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime.” She pressed their cheeks together and made a kiss sound into his ear. Then she darted off, the crowd easily parting for one of the two brides. Pride slouched back in his chair. Sometimes, having friends was really nice.
Sofia came back a few minutes later, leading Justice by the hand. She brought him over, excused herself to go find Ollie, and whirled away again.
“I was looking for you too,” Justice said, sitting down next to him. Pride latched onto his arm immediately, pressing his face into the sleeve of his suit jacket. “Are you feeling alright?”
“I need a break,” he said.
“We can talk a walk outside.”
“Yeah, that works.”
They snuck out the back door. The outdoor half of the venue was beautiful, a manicured garden full of seasonal flowers and trees. It was perfect for any wedding photoshoot. Or, in their case, an escape from the party.
Pride clung to Justice as they made an idle path through the garden. It was a pleasantly warm night, crickets chirping in the grass, full moon and stars twinkling above. But most importantly, it was empty. No hordes of people, no forced conversations. Just the two of them.
They made a circuit around the garden, silently walking. Already, life and energy bled back into Pride’s mood. In the dark and quiet, he could finally breathe. Now he held onto Justice not out of fear he would slip away again, but to be close to him, like they should always be.
“Are you proud of me for behaving myself?” Pride asked.
“You’ve already exceeded my expectations,” Justice replied. “Not a single drunken fistfight all night. Good job.”
He glimmered from the praise. He was doing a good job. “Did I tell you how hot you look in that suit yet?”
“Four times, but thank you.” He bent over to kiss the top of his head. “You look beautiful too.”
Pride squeezed his arm, gazing up at him adoringly. His compliment wasn’t for nothing—Justice wore his suit extremely well. The blueish teal made a perfect contrast to his skin, lighting up the golden brown. His broad shoulders filled the jacket easily, cutting a handsome silhouette. The vest underneath it slimmed his waist in a way that Pride in particular found very tempting. It dragged his eyes down, urging him to follow the lines of his body. And maybe it was because Pride knew what was underneath those slacks, but the way they hugged his hips made him salivate.
“Can we kiss?” he asked.
Justice responded by scooping his cheeks up to give him what he asked for. Pride threw arms around his neck the moment their lips touched, drinking him in like he’d wanted to do since they left the house. Since he’d first seen Justice in this suit at the fitting, when his jaw dropped and his eyes nearly rolled out of his skull. It took every ounce of willpower not to jump on him right there. But now they were alone.
Pride dragged Justice to the wall of the venue and pushed him against it. His breath hitched, and stopped altogether when Pride sank, raking his hands down on the way, until his knees hit the grass.
“W-what—why?” Justice stammered.
“Please?” Pride begged. He tugged on the empty beltloops. “I want to choke on you so bad.”
“I—I’m renting this!”
“Don’t worry.” He squeezed the soft bump where he knew Justice’s cock would be, and he gasped. “I won’t be messy.”
Justice blinked down at him, not buying it, but ultimately relented. He nodded once and Pride raced to open his fly, drawing his cock out semi-hard. He pumped it a few times, Justice squirming against the wall, watching him grow and thicken in his hand. Pride shakily licked his lips, staring down his shaft.
“Oh, wait!” he remembered. He unzipped his clutch and produced a tube of black lipstick.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t make me messy,” Justice reminded him.
“I won’t.” Pride smeared on a thick layer and popped his lips. “This is for me.”
Before he could ask what that meant, Pride slid his cock into his mouth. Justice slapped a hand over his mouth, but Pride could hear the moan he muffled. Halfway down, Pride folded back his fly and pressed his hands over the fabric, protecting his slacks from what would follow.
Pride sucked gently and dragged his mouth up, tongue pressed against his shaft. Justice whined behind his hand, eyes hazy already. He pulled off, swirled around his tip, and sank back down. Salty pre-cum hit his tongue and mixed with the taste of lust. Pride muffled his own moan at the combination.
The garden around them was quiet except for that. Whether it was Justice trying to stay quiet, or Pride with no choice, their muted sounds cut through the peaceful night. Pride licked, sucked, and curled his tongue to paint even more of the nightscape with their escapade. He hoped nobody would come out to investigate—Sofia and Ollie probably wouldn’t care, but their guests might. But if they did, oh well. Pride wasn’t going to stop.
He bobbed his head on Justice, pulling his lips into a tight ring. When he got to the top, he laved the tip of his cock, licking and sucking on it, then plunged back down. Justice panted into his hand, the occasional whimper slipping between his fingers. Pride went lower and lower each time, letting it fill his mouth a little more. The more of Justice’s heavy, warm cock sat on his tongue, the faster the excitement built.
Pride licked patterns on his shaft, played with his tip, sucked him over and over, and Justice shook. His pants turned into wheezes, moans getting louder behind his fingers. He slid all the way up his cock and teased his tip until he whimpered. Desperate, his hips twitched off the wall, begging for more.
Finally unable to resist, Pride took a deep breath and sank back down. He swallowed every inch of Justice, taking him until his tip hit the back of his throat, and his nose dug into his curly bush. Justice froze. His eyes went wide, reflecting the silver moon and dozens of stars. Pride held his breath, relishing the feeling of a mouth full to bursting, holding his hard cock in his throat like a prize.
Justice slid a shaky hand into his loose hair, combing it back from his face. Pride shuddered, getting to the end of his air, and pulled back. He sucked hard, hollowing his cheeks to give Justice everything at once. A long, broken moan leaked from behind his fingers, hand fisting in his hair. Pride moaned with the last of his breath, popping off his cock to gasp.
Not a minute had passed before Pride was down on him again. Every bob hit the back of his throat, licking and sucking every inch of his cock. Justice twisted and gasped, shaky keening floating off into the night. Pride moaned around him as he fucked his own throat, dripping from both ends. Drool and pre-cum leaked from his mouth, dripping past his lips, but he only stopped to lick it back inside. He bobbed fast and sucked hard, frantic with lust.
Justice clenched his hair hard, and Pride moaned. Urgent whines met his ears suddenly—Justice was close. Not backing down, Pride buried his nose in his bush again, taking his cock all the way, and swallowed around it.
Cum shot down his throat and he choked on it. Justice trembled through his orgasm while Pride reeled back coughing, adding another disparate sound into the night. Justice dribbled onto the grass at his knees, and only when he was spent did he realize what happened.
“A-are you okay?” he asked, trying to sound worried through his breathlessness.
“Fine,” Pride rasped, grinning. “I said I wanted to choke.”
Before he could be exasperated, Pride licked up the mess on his cock, and tucked the flaccid thing back into his underwear. As promised, the slacks were perfectly clean. On the contrary, Pride’s face was a complete wreck, lipstick smeared and drool shining on his mouth. Exactly as he planned—because now they had to go back into the venue to clean him up.
That was attention he could handle.
#kinktober#kinktober 2023#original writing#original smut#original fiction#original characters#queer characters#trans character#mlm#bi4bi#smut#queer nsft#trans nsft#annika talks#P&J#Pride & Justice
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Incredible property for sale in Kurmond, New South Wales, Australia is a home, the coolest business, a farm, and much much more. Priced at $1,125,600, you’ve got to see this.
The main residence has a very roomy living room. The main house has 4bd. & 2ba.
It also has large crescent-shaped kitchen.
The main bd. has access to one of the decks on the upper level.
One of the decks overlooking the beautiful property.
It’s lovely, isn’t it? But, this is just the house. Let’s get to the other spaces.
It has a picturesque farm area- look at the ancient shed.
Nice, right? Let’s move on.
This is the star of the property. I would live here and rent out the main house. This building has a bath, 2bds., dining/living room, kitchen, plus a showroom, 2 gift shops, restaurant, a display room, an incredible commercial kitchen, and storage rooms.
Welcome. Look at the antique motorcycle under glass. (It comes w/the property)
So, this is the display area- it’s an auto museum. The business’s name is Crusty’s and is a popular attraction. Oh, and it’s all included!
More display area.
And, here’s the retro restaurant decorated in a vintage Coca Cola theme.
Here’s the amazing commercial kitchen that even has a walk-up window that serves a large outdoor deck.
And, this is one of the gift shops.
https://www.realestate.com.au/property-acreage+semi-rural-nsw-kurmond-141624656
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bracket 1 FINAL BATTLE
RUSTY versus PRISSY
RUSTY
Rusty used to be a stray and then he had An Accident and now he has three legs (he had been living at a vet's office for a month when submitter adopted him). But he's doing great! Submitter taught him how to climb stairs and built him some steps out of cardboard boxes so he can get on their bed whenever he wants. They think he could be anywhere from 6 to 12 years old, it's hard to say ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. To their pleasant surprise, he does not mind wearing a harness at all, which is good because he still loves the outdoors. He often gets his ear turned inside out while bathing and weirdly prefers dry food over wet.
PROPAGANDA
breaking: semi-feral baby learns to cuddle, becomes addicted to laying on my face
and here he is chillin on the patio with me!
vote for rusty #1 best at sticking out leg
when i first got Rusty he could not go up stairs... but he could go down, so he would get stuck at the bottom of them and meow for help. Of course he also hated being picked up and carried up the stairs.
but now he just goes ZOOP up the stairs doing audible damage to my carpet the whole way, which is so valid of him because i hate carpet on stairs
and something that is not quite propaganda for rusty but important words from rusty's human nontheless
For this semifinal I am going to do a different kind of propaganda.
Next time you are looking to adopt a pet, please consider getting an older animal or one with special needs, if you are able, or even just a shy, timid one. The reason my vet friend came to me about Rusty was because cats like him are usually overlooked in shelters. It wasn't just his injury--behaviorally, it was like he didn't know how to be a pet. For about three months he spent 95% of his time sitting in one spot, doing nothing, mostly indifferent to human attention. And now, after less than two years, he is super active and follows me to bed every night for cuddles. There are so many pets like Rusty who just need somebody to give them a chance, and give them time. If you can be that person, it is the most amazing thing to see what they bloom into!
Thank you for reading my spiel, now here is a picture of Rusty sleeping in the cat equivalent of a T-pose for some reason:
PRISSY
If she's quiet she's either sleeping or somewhere she shouldn't be. Or Both. Openly favors submitter, tolerates others. Very autistic cat: anxious of bad noises, very picky eater, kneads with her right paw out for no reason, must walk a circle around the room before going somewhere, has Specific eating spots for mealtime, etc. She probably knows more English than she lets on. Disobeys authority when she's bored or hungry. Loves the outdoors but she needs her pretty pink harness or she'll run; her favorite activity is playing with grasshoppers. She's a little brat but you can't help but love her when she squeaks at you.
PROPAGANDA
As you can see, she likes tight spaces (it's the 'tism -u-). She has access to larger, roomier sleeping spaces, but she always gravitates to places where I can't understand how she could possibly be comfortable. That round thing in the top right pic? She sleeps on top of that for the night even though a whole leg falls over the side. We've debated getting her a bigger one, but I don't think she'd like it.
She is also a lover of people food; we tried not to get her used to it, but somewhere along the way she broke down our walls. Whenever I snack on cheese puffs on the couch, she's always gotta get up in my face to try to get some of that delicious cheese dust, going so far as to stick her big face in the bag right in front of me while I'm holding it. And if you've got salmon, she will go nuts. I think salmon is her favorite food with cheese as a close second. ...but she'll also beg for chicken nugget.
[Image description: a photo of OP sitting at the dining table over a plate of chicken strips and ketchup, OP on one side of the chair and holding a piece of bitten chicken and Prissy sitting on the other side of the chair with one paw on the table eyeing the bitten chicken strip. OP's face has been painted over with a black spot.]
As for speaking English, I've caught her saying Hello and Mama clear as day, and is working on pronouncing Outside and Water (I mean it, just from her tones and "syllables" of her meows, it's like she's trying to speak).
Sorry for the spam, but she really is that photogenic. And also sorry for the stuff on my bed, but my legs were injured at the time and needed extra support. While they were injured, I also spent a lot of time on the couch, where Prissy frequently sat by my side and especially on my lap. Now that I'm better and not sitting there anymore, she now claims that specific corner of the couch as her own; she's even stolen that spot from me when I get up to do something really quick.
I've also trained her to hop on my lap when she wants to eat, instead of jumping on the table, but at the end of the day she still does what she wants lol. She's always been by my side, from the first day she got here at 3 mos. old and took a nap on my lap right in the hallway.
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Nature’s Prescription: The 20-5-3 Rule for Spending Time Outdoors
We’re big proponents of getting outdoors here at AoM.
Spending regular time in nature comes with a whole host of benefits. It reduces stress, fights depression, improves focus, and can even speed up recovery from injuries and illness.
Spending time outdoors is also just good for a man’s soul. The wild can induce awe and wonder, which keeps us humble and grounded.
So, how much time in nature do you need to get these benefits?
In The Comfort Crisis, Michael Easter (check out our podcast interview with him about the book) highlighted research from Dr. Rachel Hopman, a professor of psychology at the University of Utah, that provides a prescription for spending time in nature to improve our health and well-being.
Hopman based her prescription on the idea of a “nature pyramid,” first developed by Tanya Denckla Cobb at the University of Virginia. Hopman simplified the nature pyramid idea into an easy-to-remember rule: 20-5-3.
The 20-5-3 Rule for Spending Time in Nature
The 20-5-3 Rule translates into the following guidelines for spending sufficient time in nature:
* 20 minutes in green space, three times a week
* 5 hours in a semi-wild environment, once a month
* 3 days completely off-grid, annually
Let’s delve further into how to fulfill each segment of this formula and the benefits of doing so:
Your Weekly Dose: 20 Minutes X 3
According to Hopman’s research, you can start to get the health-boosting benefits of nature by spending 20 minutes in a green space at least three times a week. These short outdoor jaunts can lower cortisol levels, boost cognition, and improve mental health.
Here’s the good news about this component of the 20-5-3 Rule: your thrice-weekly jaunts in green space don’t have to take place in a wilderness area to reap the benefits. You can spend your 20-minute allotments in any natural environment nearby — a pocket park, a community garden, or even a tree-lined street. So, even if you live in a city, getting in an every-other-day dose of nature is very doable.
That being said, the more leafy and bucolic and the less cement-covered and civilized the setting of your outdoor interludes, the better they’ll make you feel.
Regardless of where you take your thrice-weekly dips into nature, put your smartphone away when you engage in them; Hopman found “that people who used their cell phone on the walk saw none of [the] benefits.”
Use your lunch break for a walk through a local park or stroll around your neighborhood after dinner (the benefits of an after-dinner walk extend beyond the nature exposure!). Make it a daily part of your routine, and start reaping the benefits of vitamin N.
Monthly Immersion: 5 Hours in Semi-Wild Nature
Think of your thrice-weekly 20-minute green space doses as the bottom of the nature pyramid. To start ratcheting up the benefits of nature, Hopman’s research suggests that we should aim to get 5 hours a month in semi-wild nature — a place with minimal urban intrusions. As mentioned above, the wilder the space you spend time in, the greater the effect it has on your health and psyche, so the aim as you move up the nature pyramid is to get a progressively deeper connection with the great outdoors. The higher the level of nature exposure, the happier and less stressed people feel.
To get your more immersive monthly dose of nature, take a hike in a state or national park, spend the day at the beach, or go fishing at a local lake.
Annual Reset: 3 Days Off the Grid
This is the top of the nature pyramid. Once a year, go somewhere off-grid — with few signs of human civilization and hardly any human contact — and spend three solid days there.
Research has shown that spending three days off the grid can relax the brain and boost creativity. Military vets with PTSD who spent four days in the wilds saw a 29% reduction in symptoms.
Spending this much time in the wild is like rebooting your brain to its factory settings.
An annual backpacking trip can get you your yearly three-day nature reset.
You can also… http://dlvr.it/T3zHMY
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Art in HotD - Episodes 1x06 & 1x07
(more art in Westeros) (more art in HotD)
I’m merging the past two episodes not only because I’ve fallen behind on my own account, but because the show has slowed down with the new locations and artifacts - for the moment, at least.
The most notable new location in episode six is the castle Prince Reggio of Pentos gifts Daemon and Laena. It is in fact a real location, the Castillo de la Calahorra in Andalusia, Spain. It’s a fortress/palace built in the early 16th century with the outer walls in the Moorish style and the inner space in the style of the Italian Renaissance; even the materials and the stonemasons were imported from Italy.
(pictures from lossietereinos.com)
The Italian Renaissance style matches what is suggested to be the vibe of the Free Cities, with their Valyrian-based language (so essentially the equivalent of a Romance language) and artistically forward culture, juxtaposed with the more medieval Westeros. According to the behind the scenes featurette, the areas of the castle they were allowed to film in were limited for safety reasons. As a matter of fact, scenes are only filmed in the exteriors, in the room with the fireplace, and in the “library”.
The latter makes for an interesting visual, because it’s very unlikely for a library to be placed semi-outdoors, so I suspect this is also a choice dictated by having to make the most of the few locations they were allowed to use. But we are watching a fantasy story, and creating this slightly uncanny space for what we usually expect to be a closed environment almost feels like a callback to the art trope of the capriccio, where familiar architectural and landscape elements were combined in creative and fantastical ways, often mixed with ancient ruins.
The fresco in Baela’s room, depicting the castle overlooking the coast of Pentos, is quite obviously an addition by the show’s art department as the walls in that room were actually blank. The style mimics the airier, naturalistic Renaissance landscapes rather than the ornate international gothic we’ve seen in Westeros. And now, back to the western continent:
It’s the ten years time jump episode and the Red Keep is the same as we left it - except for Alicent’s chambers. Most notably, she covered the Valyrian frescoes depicting dragon orgies with nondescript ornate panels. This signifies that she stopped trying to fit in an environment where she will always be treated like the odd one out and pushed aside, and started carving a space of her own, beginning from her living quarters. It’s also a pivot towards a distinctly puritanical direction to mark her difference from “scandalous”, brazen Rhaenyra; the room is also full of candles and seven branched candelabra, which are instruments of worship in the Faith of the Seven.
Helaena’s bug box... also a mini wunderkammer.
Speaking of Alicent, this is a parallel many have drawn, but a lot of her styling, especially post time jump, is reminiscent of pre-raphaelite aesthetics and generally 19th century takes on the archetype of the medieval lady:
The 19th century medieval revival still has a lasting impact on the common perception of how a vague notion of “Middle Ages” is supposed to look like, and it’s an aesthetic that trickled over to fantasy. Women’s looks especially tend to be a lot softer in pop culture than they actually were; if we look at art from the 13th century onward it’s rare to see a woman with her hair completely let down (unless it’s an allegorical paiting of some kind), they usually had pretty structured hairdos and/or head coverings. A high forehead was considered beautiful so they often shaved their hairlines, something that looks jarring to the modern (post-industrial?) eye. Clothes were also very structured (though, I’d argue, not as structured as in later eras starting from the late Renaissance) as opposed to the comfy, flowing robes the pre raphaelites often liked to paint.
What does this have to do with Alicent? I think it’s important for her to look like THE medieval lady, because from her point of view she is living a paradox: she is conforming, she is doing everything that has been asked of her to fulfill her role, but she has been planted in a foreign garden (though ironically it’s more like she is the native flower in the enclosed garden of exotic plants that is the Targaryen court). We, as the viewers, have to identify her as someone living within a certain conventional tradition that is at odds with what the Targaryens have going on, their costume design itself borrowing from Western as well as Eastern influences (byzantine, Russian, but also East Asian as we’ve seen in the Valyrian wedding of episode 7). The 19th century medievalist art was also deeply linked to theater; I’m just giong to leave this here.
Just a couple of notes on episode 7. The actions takes place in sets we’ve mostly already seen, but there are still a couple of new artifacts worth looking at at High Tide. One is obviously’s Laena’s stone sarcophagus. It’s reminiscent both of ancient Egyptian sarcophagi and of western tombs of nobles and royalty, where the gravestone often had a sculpted relief, or all around statue, of the dead subject depicted lying down in eternal sleep. In the BTS it’s explained that the whole island is supposed to be built upon the sarcophagi of the ancestors piling up (!).
This scene and the lore that accompanies it, especially when bookended by the wedding at the end of the episode, does a good job of subtly communicating the diversity of Valyrian culture, implying that - just like in the usual Roman Empire analog - it was religiously as well as ethnically diverse. The Velaryons have a whole set of traditions related to the Merling King and the cult of their own ancestors that don’t seem to belong to Targaryens, who in turn have their own mythos surrounding dragons and blood magic. Yet both families claim to be 100% Valyrian and they acknowledge each other as such. How someone can prefer a version of the lore where “Valyrian” is an ethnic and cultural monolith escapes me, but I’m digressing.
Speaking of ancient civilizations: in the funeral scene, Corlys gifts a horse miniature to Luke. In Greek mythology horses were a symbol of Poseidon, and the seahorse is the sigil of House Velaryon, so it tracks with their identity as seafarers; however, the toy here seems to be a copy of a mid-20th century Etruscan inspired sculpture that you can easily buy online if you google “Etruscan horse figurine”. It’s a bit like the pre raphaelite Alicent look: we are informed of the Velaryons’ connection to an archaic world not necessarily through authentic archaic art, but through the version of it that’s already been filtered through the modern gaze.
That about wraps it up for now! I don’t know how many new artistic references we will encounter in the final three episodes so I might do another merged post. Or not! So much keeps going on! Thanks for reading!
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