#333 Acre

[butteryweepingmusic]

Rachna Sharma : Luxury Property Consultant In Vrindavan

[madraynesims]

Bird of Paradise, Polyp, Victorian Flower Urn, Cantankerous Bowel Fish and You Had Me at What's Up Painting Converted From The Sims 2 Console for The Sims 2, Sims 3 and The Sims 4

I did this with Strangetown, so here's some conversions from Pleasantview! These objects can be seen in The Sims 2 console locations; Bio Dome, Rockwell Acres, HMS Amore, Andromeda Arms, Jugen House and the Newbie's household. All but both plants were done live on my twitch. I am using the Xbox textures, but I noticed there was a color difference between games for both plants. I checked out the PS2 texture and wow... the quality is night and day lol. There's a comparison photo of the Victorian Flower Urn in each game above if you're curious. I also sized down both plants compared to the original. Info below the cut. Please let me know if there’s any issues!

The Sims 2 Console collection file for The Sims 2 and The Sims 3 can be found on my collection files page: Found Here

Downloads:

Pleasantview Deco Dump For The Sims 2 - SFS For The Sims 3 - SFS For The Sims 4 - SFS

Alt Download - Patreon

Enjoy my work? Consider becoming a Patreon or buying me a coffee!

Bird of Paradise Information: Mesh and textures were converted by me. The Sims 3: Vase and dirt is Create-A-Style enabled for the 2nd swatch. 1st swatch uses an overlay for accuracy. Price - §333 Category  - ‘Decorative > Plants’ Polycount: 337 Texture Sizes - 256x256  

"Polyp" Information: Mesh and textures were converted by me. The Sims 3: Fully Create-A-Style enabled for the 2nd swatch. 1st swatch uses an overlay for accuracy. Price - §2,500 Category  - ‘Decorative > Sculptures’ Polycount - 320 Texture Size: Sims 2 base - 128x128 metal - 512x512 patina - 256x256 Sims 3/4 - 1024x256

Victorian Flower Urn Information: Mesh and textures were converted by me. The Sims 3: Vase and dirt is Create-A-Style enabled for the 2nd swatch. 1st swatch uses an overlay for accuracy. Price - §100 Category  - ‘Decorative > Plants’ Polycount: 486 Texture Sizes - 256x256  

Cantankerous Bowel Fish Information:   Mesh and textures were converted by me. The Sims 3: Frame is Create-A-Style enabled for the 2nd swatch. 1st swatch uses an overlay for accuracy. Price - §700 Category  - ‘Decorative > Wall Hangings’ Polycount - 488 Texture Size - 512x256   "You Had Me at What's Up." Information: Mesh and textures were converted by me. The Sims 3: Frame is Create-A-Style enabled for the 2nd swatch. 1st swatch uses an overlay for accuracy. Price - §2,300 Category  - ‘Decorative > Wall Hangings’ Polycount - 44 Texture Size: Sims 2 frame - 128x256 painting - 256x128 Sims 3/4 - 128x512

[bokutoko]

hello!! i really enjoyed your writing for kita! i was wondering if i can request one where reader (fem) gets really emotional over little things (ex. smth doesn’t go as planned) and kita comforts her?

smile

character: shinsuke kita (timeskip!kita)

word count: 792

warning(s): emotional dysregulation, kita is a blunt sweetheart, fluff, slight cursing

content: there's a reason your boyfriend is the farmer and not you...

a/n: hi anon!! thank you so much for the love and the req🫶🏻 this was healing for me to write bc i tend to get emotional over the little things sometimes too. i hope i did our fav rice farmer justice once again <333

Growing up around his grandmother, Kita always had a green thumb. Ever since he was taught that all life was built by small, daily acts, he was always patient with his crops. He made sure to be thorough with maintenance all throughout harvest—up until they reach the consumer’s hands. Because of this, he ensured the highest quality of rice.

You, on the other hand, were not-so secretly known as every plant’s worst nightmare. Of course, you didn’t mean to kill all your plants, they just always somehow died!

But you decided to give it another shot. Watching Kita work so hard outside made you feel confident; if he could manage countless acres of land, you could handle a little garden. You excitedly picked out your favorite fruit and vegetable seeds from the local market, and Kita was happy to build you a little enclosure for your plants.

Now here you were, standing before your little plots of soil with tears in your eyes. You’d tried so hard, but you forgot to water them for one day, and to just your luck, they all died due to an unforeseen heatwave in Hyogo. 

“What the actual fuck?” Huffing in frustration, your eyes squeezed shut, letting the first couple tears fall. Despite the extreme heat, a cold, harsh wave of embarrassment washed over you, and you couldn’t help but feel like a complete failure for messing this up. How was it possible that your boyfriend managed the entire farm, having a near-perfect harvest every year, and you couldn’t even take care of a 6x10-ft plot?

—

Out in the fields, Kita removed his cap, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and looked to the sky. With sunset approaching, he began his trek back home to see you after a long, satisfying day’s work—just a couple more months until harvest. 

As he stepped into the clearing behind your home, he was expecting to see you waiting for him with your usual bright smile that still made his heart skip a beat. But instead, you were standing with your back to him and your hands on your hips.

Uh oh. He walked up behind you, calling, “Evenin’, darlin’.”

You shot around, and he took note of the tear stains that you quickly wiped away. “Hi, Shin,” you greeted with the slightest quiver in your voice. 

“Everythin’ okay?” He looked down at your little plants that were vaporized from the sun, then back to you, noticing your glistening eyes.

“Why do all plants hate me?”

“Ya know plants can’t hate ya.”

“It sure feels like they do!” you snapped, immediately feeling guilty for your attitude when Kita did nothing wrong. You were well aware, as was Kita, when spurts of overwhelming emotions engulfed you—whether happy, sad, angry, embarrassed—your instinct reactions were to either get snappy or briefly cry. Or both, in this case.

Kita watched as fresh, hot tears rolled down your face as you whispered a soft, genuine “I’m sorry,” and he stepped forward to comfort you. You immediately wrapped your arms around his waist and smushed your face into his chest in defeat, mumbling, “I feel so dumb, Shin. What the hell am I doing wrong?”

Always to your rescue, Kita removed his gloves to gently tip your chin up to look into his pretty brown eyes. “Yer not dumb or doin’ anythin’ wrong. Sometimes, plants don’t sprout, an’ sometimes, the ones that do just die. Ain’t nothin’ else about it,” he assured as a gentle thumb wiped your eyes. “Somethin’ as small as this sure ain’t worth yer tears, though.”

You shut your eyes and released a small sigh, your bottom lip jutting out. “I know.”

Kita leaned forward and pressed three tender kisses against your forehead, signifying three words: I love you. “We can always plant some more. We can go ta the market tomorrow an’ pick out more o’the seeds ya want,” he suggested, “and I can help ya take care of ‘em.”

“But you already do so much for me,” you objected.

“It ain’t a big ask, sweetheart,” he reasoned with a loving gaze, “and ya know I’d do anythin’ ta see ya smile.”

You squished your face into his chest in a tight hug again. “You’re kinda cheesy, Shin,” you teased as you hid your reddening cheeks.

He chuckled, grateful that the slight sun on his face hid his own blush, muttering, “Guess I am.“

From that day on, Kita never forgot to give your garden a little extra love in the mornings before tending to the farm. It was worth seeing your big, proud grin when it was time to pick your first round of thriving produce. 

And to Kita, anything was worth doing to keep a smile on your face. 

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please do not copy, alter, or repost my work. ©bokutoko 2024.

[starscabaret]

☆Meeting Yandere! Vincent ☆

pairing: yandere! Vincent x fem reader 

summary: Meeting Vinny <333

warnings: n/a 

authors note: 

Vincent had brushed into the small town a few months earlier on a contract for his engineering firm. The job paid well and he had little to no attachment anywhere so he made the move. He lived in an upscale condo about 30 minutes out from the actual town he’d be working in. Paid for by the company of course. 

He had a routine, call mom once a week, send a letter once a month, go to work every weekday, go to the gym every weekday, grocery shop on Sundays, and get a haircut every 3 weeks. Not much changed for him really unless it was necessary. 

He liked it that way, in his free time he drew, invested, and dabbled in a few books and tv. He wouldn’t call himself the happiest man alive, but he was getting by, and his mom was doing well. That’s all he ever wanted. 

Just like any other day on the job site Vincent set in his small office inside the mobile trailer going over blueprints and whatnot. That is until you came banging on the flimsy trailer door. Vincent thought the damn police were here. Lo and Behold when he opened the door there you were in pajamas, and slippers, and sleep still in your eyes. 

As soon as the door opened you spoke, “Look man, I really was nice at first and didn’t say anything but do y’all have to be so loud at 7 am? It’s waking me and my son.”

Vincent stood there deadpan he didn’t know what to reply. There was nothing he could really do to delay construction in the early hours without derailing the whole project. And normally he would have slammed the door in your face had it been anyone else. But you, you made his heart beat fast and he blanked on a response. Besides the fact that he was a man of very few words.

“Come in.” He said as he pulled you into the office like trailer.

“You seem to be the boss sir, is there anything you can do?” You said while rubbing your eyes.

“You must live in the house a few acres over, what’s your name?” He spoke low and grumbly.

“Yeah I do, it’s a family house but no one gives a shit anymore. All moved off to the big city, scared of the water. Oh, Im f/n l/n” you replied in an annoyed tone.  

“I can’t tell them to halt all work in the morning is there anything I can do instead?” He asked, wanting to remedy this. He didn’t want to upset you. You were alluring to him. This was also the most he had spoken to anyone in days.

“You come to explain to my son why you’re disrupting his sleep!” you said with irritation in your voice.

When Vincent got to your home to apologize to your son, he was met with Ben. Ben was a 3-year-old beautiful Doberman. 

Vincent was a bit relieved it was a dog and not a child, as he was already daydreaming about how he would give you your first child.

Vincent didn’t speak much or have the best social skills but he knew that his interest in you wasn’t normal. Nor did he know how to express such interest.

Good thing you found him handsome, and took interest in his quiet reserved demeanor. You had to know more, you had to dig past the surface. You were bold and willing to take charge and make the moves. You had never seen a man like him in your town before, or anywhere for that matter. 

You were happy you went and complained that morning. Who said complaining didn’t get you anywhere?

[whimsicalwritingsandmore]

The Hybrid House | ateez x reader

Pairing: hybrid!ot8!ateez x rich!girl!reader

Genre: fluff, romance, slice of life

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1441 words.

a/n: welcomeeee to my new story! this story will be updated alongside Aurorise! I'm excited to share this with you. <3 If you'd like to be a part of the taglist, please send me an ask or private message, that way I'll be able to see it faster. Hope you enjoy! <333

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

Chapter 1

As a child, it was always expected that you surpass your cousins and maintain the family’s reputation. If you didn’t, you were a stain that blotched the beautiful pages in which so much effort and hard-work was put into according to your parents.

Coming from the new money generation, your family was engrossed with relevancy and out-beating everyone. They spent lavishly and focused attentively on expanding the business throughout the world. Your parents had built their legacy from the ground up, and while it was definitely something to admire, overtime they began to lose sight of what mattered and developed an intense desire to earn more and outdo your uncles and aunts who behaved in a similar way.

As such, your childhood included having to be perfect and successful in academics to outdo your cousins. Coming from a family of five siblings and as the youngest, you often found it difficult to relate to your older siblings. Your oldest brother and sister yielded to your parents’ demands ensuring their non-stop praise and favor. And your fraternal twin brother followed suit. Except for your third eldest brother Axel. Only you and Axel disliked your parents’ way of upbringing because it felt inauthentic and ingenuine. Axel included you in most of his escapades such as sneaking out at night to the treehouse in the backyard for a late night frozen treat that was definitely against your parents’ rules or a slight detour on the way home from after-school activities to the street-food cart and arcade. Once the two of you were free, you spent most of your time together breaking the rules and never getting caught. Except for that one time you did because your eldest brother decided to tattle. But Axel took the brunt of the punishment and in return, you helped apply gel to ease the burning sensation in his hands and camped out in his room for the rest of the night, discussing what the two of you wanted to do when you got older. 

He is your best friend and managed to persuade your parents to let you accompany him for the Summer to your Great Aunt’s. He concocted a scheme with your Great Aunt about a good internship opportunity but really, it was an attempt to be able to spend the vacation period away from home. Lucky for you, that Summer had your parents occupied with various business meetings and so, they waved their hands in an disinterested and unconcerned manner and let you and Axel go your way. 

If there was one person out of your venal family that still had their head on their shoulders, it was your Great Aunt. From rags to riches, she’s an eccentric and smart woman who built a successful business after her former husband ran his family business into the ground. She was so good at what she did, she basked in her success and prosperity for years to come, and never had to work a day in her life again.

Surprisingly, she was the opposite of your family - she was warm-hearted and gentle unlike your parents and compassionate, accommodating and patient when it came to others. But she did play along with your materialistic family and took great pride in flaunting her assets like the giant diamond ring her boyfriend at the time gave her or her glamorous semi-bejeweled purse with precious rhinestones to silence your frivolous aunts. 

But her most prized possession that she marveled to everyone was her newly-bought 20 000 acre estate and her enormous and towering mansion that covered part of it outside Seoul in South Korea. It was a property her then-boyfriend suggested purchasing because in later years to come, it would cost a fortune. She called it her wonder of the world. 

And when you arrived that Summer, when the skies stretched wide with wisps of clouds and the air was thick with the golden warmth of the sun descending upon the flower petals and lakes in a shimmering dance of light, you were in absolute awe at what you saw. It was like a palace right out of a fairytale and for the rest of the holidays, you would spin around and elegantly twirl and dance in the foyer and halls and live your Disney princess dreams while your brother played the grand piano.

Your aunt joined you on several occasions, advising you to work hard and don’t solely depend on a man.

"And then you'll have your own palace like me." She giggled.

On the last day of your trip, while picking some flowers you wanted to take back home, you noticed a dug up part of the ground. Further peering into the bushes, there was an elderly squirrel laying there in a semi-conscious state, injured with its fur caked in blood. You immediately called your aunt, whispering reassuring thoughts to the squirrel. She assured you she would take care of him and not to worry.

And on the next summer trip with Axel, who once again schemed with your Great Aunt to tell your parents about an apprenticeship with a well-known firm, you met two new faces on the estate - Hongjoong and Yunho, children of some of the workers on the estate. 

Your Great Aunt also indicated about the elderly squirrel; he recovered well and there was also a baby squirrel and golden retriever she found when she went to investigate the other side of the bush. Unfortunately, the elderly squirrel passed a few months ago. 

You met the said animals later that day after Hongjoong and Yunho went home. They came out of nowhere while you were having dinner in the garden with your brother. But every time you tried to introduce your new human friends to your new animal friends, either one of the other could not be found.

Coincidence? 

You didn’t think anything of it because you had more important things to do - spy on your brother and the pretty girl he visited in the local town and teach Hongjoong and Yunho how to dance in the foyer like you did.

The next two summers followed with you becoming close friends with eight boys, the new additions going by the names of Seonghwa, Yeosang, San, Mingi, Wooyoung and Jongho. Correspondingly, much to your excitement, your aunt also adopted new little animals each year ranging from a rabbit, to a doberman, a capybara, two cats and a little bear. 

Your brother dramatically expressed that you were replacing him.

“As if,” you answered, rolling your eyes, “No one can replace your annoying self.”

“Excuuuuuse me, I am a delight,” he argued back, “I’m glad though, you won’t be alone when I head off to college.”

“I’ll miss you.” you expressed. The thought of not having your brother around as usual felt daunting and scary. He’s the only one you could relate to and talk to about anything. 

“Don’t worry,” he reassured, “No matter how far apart we are, when you need me I’ll be there.”

The golden retriever who decided to finally come out of hiding listened attentively to your conversation under the table.

Your aunt decided to host Thanksgiving that year. But deep down, you wish she didn't because maybe then, things wouldn't have fallen apart. Your family got into a large and heated disagreement when your parents found out about your brother’s girlfriend.

“Don’t tell me how to raise my child,” your Mother sneered, “I know what is best for him and you are out of place to even think about him and that girl.”

“He likes her,” your Great Aunt argued, “There’s nothing wrong with that. She’s well-educated too.”

“She is not one of us. We are high-society people. What would others think if they found out? You are out of your mind!” your Father bellowed.

“I know what is best for my son!” your Mother repeated.

“And yet he never comes to you.”

“You’re corrupting my children! You have all these animals running around and then you have my daughter hanging out with your employees’ children too!?”

“They are people too! Do you hear how you sound?” 

After a lot of yelling and shouting of spiteful words and profanities, your brother retaliated and stormed out with your Father behind him while your Mother dragged you out of the house to the car. From your blurry watery vision, you spotted your friends from afar, Wooyoung and San attempting to run to you but were held back by the others.

In the backseat of the car, you pressed against the back glass sobbing as the car drove off.

That was the last time you had seen your friends. 

[space-station-nursery]

◜ ⭐𓂃 Saturday Refresh ‧ 🌙 ◞

⁺　　◍ 　 . 　 ⁺　　☆　　⁺ 　 . 　 ◍　　⁺

— I love who i am!

18+ Blogs|| AB!DL|| DD!LG|| Over age 26 (27+) || Do not interact

Good weekend kiddos! I hope you're all enjoying it so far < 333 This is a little update to let you guys know that tomorrow ill be posting 3x, one will be our event schedule for Littlewavez, any paci's still for sale, and the the event calendar for the 100 acre woods!

[rileyslibrary]

Living With Ghosts: 2. Lemons

Under normal conditions, it would've been challenging to locate anyone on such a vast property. But a tall, burly man wearing a balaclava and picking lemons? He stood out like a fly in milk.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,021

Notes:

Fluff

Entire work on AO3

Table of Contents

———————————————————————

P-143, check. P-92, check. P-56, check. P-333, ch-

Wait. That’s not right.

You take a closer look at the glass canister.

No, no, no, no.

P-333 is half empty.

What — why? How did you miss this?

You instinctively look out the kitchen window, scanning the acres of land for his tall figure. You notice movement. There he is.

Under normal conditions, it would’ve been challenging to locate anyone on such a vast property. But a tall, burly man wearing a balaclava and picking lemons? He stood out like a fly in milk.

It was his turn to help with the harvest. You’ve already done your part by picking as many as you could. The rest, unfortunately, are too high for you to reach. Fortunately, he is 6'4" tall.

You dash outdoors, your right hand in a fist, your left hand holding a jar, its contents rattling in sync with your gait.

Your movement is intense, your strides powerful as you flounce through the fields - a little too powerful for the distance you’re about to travel. You didn’t think this through, did you?

The safe house is encircled by orchards of lemon trees. Acres extend across the land as far as the eye can see, glistening under the hot, Tuscan sun.

To the naked eye, the plot serves no purpose other than cultivating lemons. In reality, it is used as a hideaway for conducting covert operations and acquiring vital information for regional cases.

Agents like yourself are expected to keep constant watch while maintaining a controlled and protective environment. How do you do that? Well, by keeping a low profile and impersonating a lemon-harvesting farmer, for starters.

You’re breathless by the time you get to him. Physically exhausted and drenched in sweat, you try to act as intimidating as possible. You poor thing. Who do you think you are? Do you even understand whose arm you’re attempting to twist?

“Di...you...ea...stachios?” you mutter between breaths.

“Speak English,” he orders without even looking at you. What an ass. What a beautiful a-FOCUS! That is not the time. Not right now.

Instead of reacting to his snide remark, you shake the jar.

“Did you eat the pistachios?”

“Pistachios?”

“Yes, the pistachios. Did you eat them?”

“We have pistachios?” he asks, unmoved.

“Had. We had pistachios. A whole jar, to be exact. And we needed them.”

“We needed the pistachios,” he repeats caustically.

He continues to ignore your presence. It seems like lemon-picking is far more important than your little predicament. You poor, poor thing.

You carefully observe him as he collects the fruits from the tree. He is meticulous, even when doing something as mundane as this. Efficient too. Mentally breaking the tree into sections and clearing each area before moving on to the next. His moves are repetitive yet purposeful. Tactical; getting the job done.

Under normal circumstances, you would brush this off. But this wasn’t a normal circumstance. You had to be informed as per procedure, and Ghost was aware of this.

You close your eyes and take a few slow, deep breaths.

“Do not patronize me,” you plead, throwing your hands up, one of them still holding the jar. “Next time, please let me know if you crave something. I have to log everything.”

He comes to a halt and slowly turns his head toward you. His eyes are cold, yet they burn right through you.

“You mean to tell me that you need to register every pistachio that comes out of that jar?” he asks, pointing at the glass container.

You freeze. Well? Do you? Answer him!

“Everything gets counted and documented,” you reply. “I have to report everything that is either consumed or processed. Shipments to the safe house should be kept as little as possible to maintain a low profile. These are the orders I have from the base.” you add, shrugging.

He keeps staring at you with those dreadful interrogative eyes. You divert your gaze away from his. Looking into his eyes for too long makes you feel exposed, vulnerable. Naked.

The procedure wasn’t as rigid as you made it out to be. Nothing would have happened if you overlooked a jar of pistachios. In essence, this wasn’t a formality issue at all. It was you—your need to regain control over something, terrified of dealing with reality. Consequently, you resorted to micromanaging the pantry. Everything—milk, wheat, eggs, the fucking pistachios—was an excuse. You were diverting attention away from the actual problem: the loss of control over your greatest asset—yourself. He could see that. He could see right through you with those eyes.

You bring the jar in front of your chest, attempting to instinctively block him out. You turn around and begin to walk back to the safe house, defeated.

“’ Twas for the birds.” You hear him mumble.

You turn your head around; the expression he had earlier is now embossed on your face.

“Pardon?”

“The pistachios. I fed ’em to the birds.”

What. The. Fuck.

“Birds? What birds?”

“Do I look like a fuckin’ ornithologist to you, love?” he barks. Best to end this conversation as soon as possible.

But you can’t. You, instead, want to crack a smile. Heck, you want to burst out laughing. Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley feeds birds in his free time. What’s next? Baking pies and making lemonade out of lemons?

“Huh. I thought you said you didn’t have any.” you recount.

“I said I didn’t eat any. Listen, I should’ve informed you as per the procedure. Apologies for that.”

Instead of continuing your lecture, you accept his apology and close the matter once and for all.

It was no surprise that there was vulnerability behind the Lieutenant’s tough facade and emotional armour. Today, you could see in between the cracks of his hard shell. He allowed you in.

However, drilling a Special Forces Operator about pistachios was a bold move, let alone Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley himself. Don’t push your luck.

“I appreciate your honesty,” you respond and continue back to the safe house, this time with a smile on your face, walking a little lighter than before.

———————————————————————

Next ->

[hrbingers-a]

tommy throws him a look , unamused & unimpressed . " what , you think i'm telling my kids to come to you ? if i wanted them to get high , i'd tell them to go somewhere cheaper . why're you still selling on camp grounds anyway ? didn't we get in trouble for that back in—— " shit , what year was that ? '69 ? " man , i don't know . 's not my fault you don't like selling to poor people. "

 “one  of  your  kids  tried  to  buy  something  off  me  earlier.”  he  passes  him  the  joint,  eyes  fixated  on  the  star-littered  sky.  “c’mon,  man,  you  know  i  keep  my  clientele  selective.” // 🍓 ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊ @hrbingers !

[asmallermorehonestsoul]

RWBY Beyond: The Adventures of Somewhat

Somewhat is given an important new purpose.

Somewhat and Juniper!! <333 and Ruby narrating, v cute

Something changed in the Ever After? I guess that makes sense...

Hi Genial Gems! And yes, taking care of yourself and resting is important!

The Market Acre! And they are working together to help each other, another important lesson!

It's Herb! Who's the Afteran in need?

The Crimson Keep is empty? Except for the Prince, who seems a bit humbler after what happened...

So the leaves were meant for the Prince? I wonder what they will do for him

"You're back!" Who's back??? Who came through the portal????

A cute story of Somewhat and Juniper's adventures. It was nice to see them, and see how the Ever After had changed... but who came back at the end???? That's a mean cliffhanger...

[princeresnikov]

heart in my hand (still beating) {The Son}

{ it's in my nature masterlist }

Summary: Clementine is forever cleaning up The Son's messes. He doesn't even realise the lengths she goes to for him until he comes face to face with the ugly truth after refusing to listen to her again and getting them both taken hostage after trusting the wrong asshole in Vegas. // Fie, my lord, fie, heir apparent and afeard? What need you fear who knows it when none can call my power to account? Yet who would have thought the young man to have had so much blood in him...

A/N: 3925 words. the quotes from Lady Macbeth are due to the image i have in my head of Clementine washing the blood from her hands in this moment, edited to fit Clementine's thoughts as The Son looks on in horror. also ive kind of pulled from the John Wick universe regarding body disposal crew logic. This is very unedited but idk how else i can put this in the fic; it's the moment The Son started to view Clementine as a monster.

PLEASE PAY CLOSE ATTENTION TO THE WARNINGS !!

Warnings: GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE, murder, blood and gore, attempted non-con, non-consensual drug use, mutilation, murder with kitchen utensils, hurt and attempted comfort but clementine's not great at it because she's mentally checked out, immobility. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

Taglist: @venusthepirate @malar-region @tangerinesgf @esmaada @sarcastic-sourwolf @djjskfkskjf @justshutupmars @somikesoc @chachadelight @andydre4m @evangelineflowers @darkchai @basementsoup @bellatrix124 @kunikidaswhore @thewinterschildren178 @deadtildeath @perksofbeingamultifandomm @aniglio18 @geeiz @mimidior @justice-333 @ltlthetrifecta @salsasadd @xkawax @hellsgatelove22 @brownficgirl @tangerineswife @cigarettesandfigureskates @ceciliahargrove @welcometothescreaming20s @moonlight-matcha @lovv24 @emilia527 @tangerinefics @charlemagnethesecond @little-miss-bi @megplant @kalli0pes @aaronperryjohnson @nachtcirce @literatureisair

Golden hour is upon them, sunset streaming through the wall of windows past the adjoining, open-planned living room. The sleek, white décor of the penthouse is painted gold and orange, at least where it's not splattered and dripping red.

This blood will take hours to scrub from the walls. 

Clementine's only solace as she's rigorously washing the blood from her hands with Dawn dish soap over the kitchen sink, is that the penthouse they'd been tricked into was almost completely tiled. Small miracles. The rushing water is a pleasant, luke-warm, focusing on the sensation of her soap-slicked hands sliding against one another as she runs on autopilot, thorough without even having to spare the task itself, or even the events that had just come to pass, more than a second thought, focus instead upon considering what her next course of action would be. However the moment of levity that had come with her momentary mental drift had vanished as the blood she's otherwise covered in begun to cool, and she's pretty sure the hoard of large men who'd left her dress in tatters won't have another in her size. As she began to splash water and soap further up her arms, the grimace turns to a frown and she wonders if The White Death will make her pay for the body disposal service, or if she can convince him that his idiot son aught to. 

It was all his fault, after all. 

He's looking at her. She knows he's looking at her. She wishes he'd stop, wishes he'd listened to her in the first place about not bringing that insipid little weasel with the bad gambling habit with them to Vegas. But why would he start listening to her for the first time in his life in the middle of a particularly hedonistic bender that he'd started over a week ago, just before his birthday. Of course he hadn't. So why couldn't he remain so consistent in this moment and stop fucking looking at her?

It's not like he's never seen the aftermath of her violence; he's seen her washing bloody hands, seen her scuffed knuckles and scratches across her from when her victims had tried to fight their fate and Clementine's objective, he's seen her tend to her own wounds, and throw punches and - 

Except she knows it's not the same; he could walk away from those, could ignore them, refuse to entertain further thoughts about what it all means about her and the work his father asks of her. It's always been at the peripheries of their interactions, if there at all. Before, he could pretend like it's all a bad dream, that Clementine was simply his pretty, little minder, perhaps clumsy enough to be covered in mystery bruises and scratches. When he'd held her close, she'd only ever been soft and pliant and eager to please; she knew it made him happy to think that this was how she always was. So maybe she tried to downplay it, even when his recklessness would put him in the line of fire. 

It hadn't even occurred to her before this that perhaps she'd done too good of a job, that the subtlety with which she'd dealt with the threats around him had allowed him to feel a false sense of security.

Did he know she was even capable of this? 

Instead of looking at him, she bends her face to the tap, taking another large mouthful of water, just as she had the moment after she'd let go of that weaselly bastard and let him fall to the floor. But it still felt like she could taste the blood and last gasping breath of one of the others where she'd made a very good attempt at ripping his throat out with her teeth. Salty and metallic, it covers the taste of the Rohypnol they'd thought would work against her, just as it obviously had on The Son where they'd been tied to chairs, side by side. Part of the training she'd undergone during her youth, and that she'd made sure to keep up with, was developing an almost inhumanly high tolerance against as many of the more easily available drugs that were used maliciously; the fact that she had cause, in her line of work, to be grateful for her practical immunity to most common roofies, multiple times made her sick to think about. 

God, she she should shower, scrub all of this horrible event from her skin. Except that she'd still need to have another one after scrubbing the blood from practically every surface; the body disposal crew did only as much as their name entailed, she'd learned the hard way when she first began working for The White Death. Fuck, she should make sure his Son is okay, right? Except that that bastard was still watching her, she could feel it, and his gaze was one she was unfamiliar with. It was making her skin crawl. So maybe she should start cleaning. Or call the disposal crew immediately. Or begin to deal with the consequences of killing The Son's traitorous acquaintance too. It had to be done, she'd reasoned, but the aftermath was still a chore in it's own right. 

A deep breath grounds her in the horror of this moment, sticky-hot and metallic even after she'd rinsed the blood from her mouth, waking a small voice in the back of her mind that weeps not for the situation, but her detachment to it all. There's something putrid in the air, the stench of death and waste and things that should be on the insides of people being very much on the outside. It smells like rot, even though all eight others were alive only an hour ago.

Exhaling, Clementine shut off the tap. 

The sudden silence bares down upon them, humid, claustrophobic, nightmarish. 

In the following moments, still contemplating what to do first, she cast her gaze around, finally settling on her charge, the man she'd been trying so hard to ignore. Except The Son isn't looking at her, not really. Crumpled on the ground yet still tied to a chair, he was trapped in his own body, and the half embrace of the corpse who had taken him to the ground since he'd tried to use The Son as a shield once the fighting had broken out. Even before that, he'd barely been able to move a muscle, since he shared neither Clementine's irregular upbringing, nor her unnaturally high tolerance for strong sedatives. Part of her knows she should check on him, the tile floor and extra body had made for a hard fall, not to mention the knife that had been at his neck; clearly he's alive, breathing and blinking, if nothing else. For a moment, his gaze flicks to meet hers, but it's somehow shocked and vacant all at once, like he's still processing it all, doesn't quite know how to feel, before it flicks back down. There's almost relief, except Clementine knows he's not looking at her. 

The body of his traitorous, rat of an acquaintance who'd sold him out to the cartel was slumped against the counter right beside her, far warmer than the others, tear tracks still drying on his cheeks and expression as distraught as when she'd spiked a carving knife up into him, mid panic attack, through the soft, underside of his jaw. While his death was of course necessary, given the circumstances of the betrayal, he had simply been a greedy fool who couldn't have suspected the consequences of his actions; she wasn't going to prolong his death if she could help it. There's blood and his own sick shining down his shirt in the golden sunset, like a moment trapped in amber, and finally Clementine knows what she has to do first. 

Find her bag. 

The body disposal crew tells her that their branch closest to her location will dispatch a team within the hour. It's the delicate work she's decided to do first, sewing the seeds of an alternate story to obfuscate the truth. After putting her phone back in her bag she digs around the host of medical supplies that had been steadily growing over the years, pulling on a pair of disposable, surgical gloves. 

Still, The Son is silent. He hadn't been able to properly speak since the drugs hit his system, and he'd stopped attempting to communicate after he'd hit the ground, not too long into the fight itself. Now, however, he is watching her. His eyes follow her as she moves around the room, picks through his acquaintance's pockets with a practiced kind boredom. His eyes follow her as she picks her way over to the Cartel leader to search his pockets too for his phone, his left hand still pinned to the table with a paring knife as he'd been reaching for his pearl-handled revolver as she'd snapped his neck. His eyes follow her still, fixed to her, with that same unreadable expression as before, watching as she uses the dead mens' fingerprints to unlock their phones and build the false narrative. 

After setting up an exchange via messages between the two mobiles, that the traitor was thought to be unreliable, and owed the cartel far more than he was able to pay back, Clementine used the cartel leader's phone to call the traitor several times, letting phone ring out each and every time, following it with a series of furious, threatening texts from the cartel. No longer having a need for the cartel leader's phone, she removed the SIM card, obliterating it with the still-bloody meat mallet from the surprisingly well-stocked kitchen. She throws the phone and it's SIM into the garbage disposal for good measure, and puts the traitor's phone in her bag. 

The Son's gaze had never once waivered from her.

When Clementine approaches him, finally, he looks almost reproachful, but he remains silent. Neither one makes a sound as she unties him from the chair, always gentle, especially as she extracted him from the corpse that looked like he was half clinging to the back of The Son's chair, carving fork buried in his throat at an angle, it's prongs just breaching his skin on the other side. Clementine hadn't noticed in the moment he'd died, nor in the moments after, how he'd bled out against The Son's back, leaving the two of them in a pool of his blood, ruining one of his favourite shirts in the process.

Still, she hauls him with relative ease to the spacious bathroom, sitting him upright against the counter as she turned on the shower. Everything she does now, she does with delicacy; she lets the water run until it is a pleasant warmth, she places both her own phone and the traitor's on the counter, and shifts The Son to sit against the wall by the shower. She angles the water so it's hitting him without hitting his face, and he finally looks away from her. Following his gaze, they both watch the blood leech from his clothes as they grow damp, swirling and diluting down the drain. 

Clementine steps away for a moment to grab a wash cloth, but she's back by his side in an instant, kneeling by his side beneath the water. Her hands don't shake as she began to carefully unbutton his shirt. Again, he's watching her. Again, she doesn't want to meet his gaze. The water is washing her of the evidence of the carnage she'd just enacted, and here she was, with the only living witness, treating him like porcelain. Being sweet to him came just as naturally to her as violence did, and so her mind drifts as she strips him of the clothes stained with one of his captor's blood, leaving him in a similar state of undress to her, both appearing vulnerable, in their underwear, beneath the comfortingly warm water. 

Clementine's mind is elsewhere as she washes his hair, his face, checking anywhere and everywhere for any injuries he may have received; it seemed the knife to his throat had merely been a bluff, since he didn't even have a scratch. She's wondering when the disposal crew will text her to say they've arrived, and if they'd brought the extra bleach she'd requested, she's wondering if her set up for the traitor will be believable enough after she fabricates a few more false details to make it seem like he fled the country and went into hiding, she's wondering how his father, The White Death, would handle her report of the situation. She's wondering a great many things that have taken her focus from the moment at hand, so she doesn't immediately realise that the look in The Son's eyes had once again changed, and again, it wasn't for the better. Though part of her was irritated at the dour look in his eyes, as if this wasn't his fault, his mess, his carelessness. 

Even if he could have answered properly, she wouldn't have bothered asking. 

With the water turned off, both clean of the bloody horror of just moments ago, Clementine dries him, and wraps him in one of the fluffy bathrobes, taking the other for herself. 

As she picks him up, his gaze shifts, his expression too, which is a good sign that he's getting some of the movement back in his face, but he looks almost... embarrassed. All his notions of her supposed submissiveness seemed to have slipped down the drain alongside all that blood. Now all he can see is the truth of her, and the more he seems to think about it, the less he likes what he sees. Usually Clementine would have dedicated herself to nursing his obviously bruised ego, but unfortunately for The Son, though she's sure his father will understand, she needed to tend to the eight bodies in the other room, and making sure they can make it back to Japan without suspicion. 

One of the phones buzz in the pocket of her bathrobe as she deposits The Son on the plush hotel bed, and she leaves him there without another word. At least he understands well enough now that he needs to respect Clementine's work, and to not draw attention to himself; he remains quiet once she closes the door. Part of her hopes he'll just fall asleep, to rest himself after witnessing such a slaughter. Another part, right in the back of her mind, quietly hopes the drugs effect him the way they do many other victims, stealing his memories of this terrible afternoon, and of the brutality Clementine had enacted to make sure he was safe, and that no-one connected to the traitor's deal was able to come after him in future.

It's growing darker now, sunset rapidly descending into an inky night, and Clementine texts the disposal crew with one hand as she meticulously draws the blinds across all the various windows with the other. It's impossible, however, to walk through the room without tracking blood across the floor. Once the blinds are closed, she turns on all the lights, and heads back to the bedroom, hovering by the door as to not trail blood out of the main living area, pulling off her bathrobe and tossing it to the other side of the room to keep it clean for the task ahead. 

Once more in only her lingerie, a state with which she is far too familiar, she answers the door when there comes an almost clinical knock. Very few words are exchanged with the disposal team, however she thanks them for the extra bleach, and sets about mopping the tile floor as they begin to prepare the corpses. They don't ask about Clementine's state of undress. They don't ask about the state of the bodies. They don't ask questions when she orders them to stay away from the closed bedroom door, to give her client privacy. 

There's a sparseness to the space when the bodies have been disposed of, and the crew having left with as few questions as they'd arrived with. Clementine sat gingerly on the white, leather sofa, unphased by the memory of playing the victim upon it just an hour ago. Perhaps that was the catalyst for the change in The Son's demeanour; watching a man's gut split and spill while his cock is out, over the girl he'd been attempting to assault would change anyone. Anyone not horrifically desensitised to the kind of sexual violence Clementine has learned to endure and exploit over the years. The cartel had wanted to humiliate him, to make him feel powerless, make him watch as they treated the pretty, little thing who wouldn't leave his side like a prize, but they couldn't have known what Clementine would do, what he'd end up seeing instead. 

For a moment, holding the phone of the man he'd once called a friend, she feels the ache of exhaustion, and a twinge of regret for how unrestrained she'd allowed herself to be in her frustration. No; regret only that he'd witnessed it, regret only that it had gone that far, regret that she hadn't been more insistent in the first place, regret that she hadn't trusted her gut when his weasley friend had admitted with a guilty smile that he 'really shouldn't head to Vegas, because he makes bad decisions, but ah, it's what, two nights? What's the worst that could happen?'

Her fingers begin flying across the phone's touch screen while her mind is a million miles away, enacting her plan, continuing to set up the alternate version of events. His search will read like he was searching for countries to hide out in, his bank and email will show purchases for plane tickets to various countries, all at the same time from the same place, while it seems like he's asked Google if that kind of stunt would make him harder to find. Part of her wants a cigarette, wants that head rush and the taste of smoke and anything that's not the candle-covered bleach smell that's quickly disappearing with each moment that passes. Tomorrow she will take the long way back to New York; she'll drive them both to California and take the SIM card out of that phone, disposing both in separate bins inside of LAX, and get back in the car and drive herself and The Son across the Mexican border, no matter how long it will take. Days, at least. She'll see if that enforcer of El Saguano's is around for a few shots to take the edge off before she starting chartering them a way back to Japan; The Wolf, she thinks his name is, he's always fun to drink with, even if he's never taken much of a liking to The Son of The White Death. And speaking of; 

She will tell The Son to keep his mouth shut, and for once, she knows he will listen.

Leaving the phone on the counter for the time being, Clementine finally heads back to the bedroom, to her immobile charge, to see what kind of state he was in. Sleeping. Soundly, thankfully. Clementine pulls on her fluffy bathrobe once more, and leaves him be. Curling upon the sofa she'd been held down on mere hours ago, all she can do is wait, hoping the drugs have taken their course through The Son's blood by the time he wakes. 

Clearly he's still feeling trace amounts by the time he finally rises; the noise he makes in getting up gives him away. Though she doesn't see his unsteadiness first-hand, he holds the doorframe when he finally leaves the bedroom, when he finally sees her again. 

Slowly, Clementine stands. 

Each movement is so slow, like a performance, like a dance, as she makes her way across the room to him. There's a guarded look in his eyes that's different from before; it's almost resent. Carefully, she touches him, his bare arm, the light stubble on his jaw, the still-damp hair curling by his temple. This close, she can see his arm is shaking - all of him is shaking with exertion. When she wraps a careful arm around him, he lets go of the door, and she guides them both to sit on the cool, tile floor, unwilling to sustain his weight upon her any more than she had to. Like this, she holds him close, arms around him as he presses his face, against the soft bathrobe and her chest. The tightness with which he holds her waist would be tight enough to be uncomfortable in any other situation, Clementine is sure, but this isn't any other situation. 

"I didn't mean to scare you," she finally says, voice barely a whisper, her cheek pressed to the top of his head as he was draped against her. The words come out with a soft, almost caring tone, but her expression is glassy, unchanged.

"You didn't," comes his muffled response. He holds her a little tighter; she thinks she might feel him shaking if he wasn't holding her so tightly. Silence stretches out between them. Clementine takes slow, even breathes; The Son's head rises against the gentle movement of her chest, his own breathing far more uneven. 

"You didn't have to let them touch you like that," The Son says, in a tone that Clementine can't begin to decipher, but he continues, "you didn't have to lure my friend like that; it was..." he doesn't say cruel, but they can both hear it, just like they can both hear the horror, the disgust as it creeps into his voice. Clementine wonders if he's trying to hurt her, with the tight hold he had on her in this moment. It was clear he was still coming to terms with how easily and comfortably Clementine had victimised herself to lull her victims into a false sense of security; that on it's own had been bad enough to witness, to see how far she was willing to let them go, how blatantly she'd play upon their emotions when she had to, but for it to be followed so quickly with such visceral violence... She wonders if she'd ever be able to repair his perceptions of her, or if she truly wanted to. 

Cradling him tenderly in this moment, she pressed her lips to his hair, murmuring that his friend had been a liability -

The Son's face rises, malice and fury and disbelief in his eyes as he hissed back that his friend was just an idiot. 

But Clementine's expression is cold. Just as it had been in the hours that had passed. Unchanged. Glassy. Unaffected. Nose-to-nose, he can see that there's no light behind her eyes; she wonders if she can see the resentment she's trying to hide, forever having to clean up his mistakes. 

"I love you," she tells him with a sweet-sounding warmth and a dead-eyed stare, "I'm just glad we're alive." 

It takes a very long moment for those words to sink in, for The Son to process the situation at hand, finally understanding the lesson for what it was. Slowly, the shaking stops, the tension he was holding dropped, the grip around Clementine's waist eases to something far more comfortable, and The Son sinks back into her embrace for the time being, adding only one more thing before he presses his face back against the soft, warmth of her bathrobe.

"I love you too," with only contempt for her in his eyes.

[strawberrystepmom]

my beloved berry steppy, i am here on a wellness check to the meow meow mansion—

how are things with your lovers??? what is the newest little joy that each brings you? how are they showing their undying love for you lately? who is the madame's flavor of the evening???

(i am dying to know)

mochi! mochi! mochi! (the entire mansion is chanting bc we are happy to see you in the vein of the sorority recruitment videos were those girlies are screeching)

things have been surprisingly peaceful over here at kitten acres! the boys have cabin fever going into spring so they are just....really nuts. really really nuts. clingy but also like "let's go do stufffffff" and just begging for attention all the time which i don't mind.

we've been having many a couch and wine and reality tv session these days. we all pile up together, snuggle, and watch my *southern lady named rhonda voice* programs. i know u know what i mean. it may not be the fabulous and legendary meow meow mansion orgy but it's sexy and enticing in its own way to basically be surrounded by meat.

i love you <333 thank u for asking

[butteryweepingmusic]

Rachna Sharma : Luxury Property Consultant In Jaipur

[sunlaire]

Tagged by @clandestinegardenias <33

do you make your bed? : noooooope

what's your favorite number? : 1034 (it's been my favorite number for forever idk why)

what is your job? : retailllll, it suckkkks (Target)

if you could go back to school would you? : idk maybe. I'm not super interested. I love learning, hate everything else about it. If I ever figure out my dream job, and it required a degree then yes

can you parallel park? : no. I will not even try. Catch me circling the block three times trying find a parking spot downtown

a job you had that would surprise people? : for a couple summers when I was young I worked at a mechanic shop in Texas. There was only one guy who worked/owned the place and he was the nicest. He taught me some stuff about removing parts, but mostly i did little tasks. Sorting things, parking cars, spray painting metal parts with that antirust stuff; it was fun. It makes my heart ache with nostalgia when I think about it. We were 10 miles outside of town and the property was huge. The grass grew tall and there were acres of cars in long rows that stretched over the hill. Cedar trees and crickets. ;o;

do you think aliens are real? : ...yes. this is a real "I want to believe" type situation. It would make more sense for them not to exist but...

can you drive a manual car? : nah

what's your guilty pleasure? : hmmm, I dunno. Everything? I can't do anything without feeling a little guilty.

tattoos? : no but I really want a bee and peony

favorite color? : sunlight on treetops.

favorite type of music? : Whatever type The Mountain Goats is. And whatever AJJ is. And Johnny Cash. Those are my all time favorite musics.

do you like puzzles? : >:3 yes but only sudoku. I have an app and my best time is 3:30 on extreme...that sounded a lot cooler in my head before I typed it lol

any phobias? : I'm sure I do, but I can't think of any right now

favorite childhood sport? : I had a big family, lots of kids, but we never really played sports. We did play a lot of video games though. So for my answer to favorite sport, I will say Pokémon Stadium.

do you talk to yourself? : oooooh yeah yes

what movie(s) do you adore? : Alien (1979), The Mummy, and Lost Boys

coffee or tea? : both but with Tea leaning.

first thing you wanted to be growing up? : I literally never thought about it as a kid. I guess I wanted to be an adult. So mission accomplished 🫡

Tagging @leadandblood @apocalypticdemon @haredjarris @hetchdrive aaaaand @madnessandsmiles (I know a lot of yall are doing finals and dealing with school rn, so it's okay if you skip this one <333)

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

‘Brazil united against dengue, Zika and chikungunya’; Cases up in 2023

Through the end of April this year, the Brazil Ministry of Health reports a 30% increase in the number of probable cases of dengue compared to the same period of 2022 throughout Brazil. Occurrences went from 690,800 cases last year to 899,500 this year, with 333 confirmed deaths. Factors such as climate variation and increased rainfall in the period across the country, the large number of people susceptible to diseases and the change in the circulation of virus serotypes are factors that may have contributed to this growth. The states with the highest incidence of dengue are: Espírito Santo, Mato Grosso do Sul, Minas Gerais, Paraná, Santa Catarina, Acre and Rondônia.

Concerning chikungunya, in the same period, 86.9 thousand cases of the disease were notified, with an incidence rate of 40.7 cases per 100 thousand inhabitants in the country. When compared to the same period in 2022, there was an increase of 40%. This year, there were 19 confirmed deaths. The highest incidences of the disease are in Tocantins, Minas Gerais, Espírito Santo and Mato Grosso do Sul.

Regarding Zika data, by the end of April, 6,200 cases of the disease were reported, with an incidence rate of 3 cases per 100,000 inhabitants in the country. There was an increase of 289% when compared to the same period in 2022, when 1,600 occurrences of the disease were reported. So far, there have been no deaths from Zika.

Continue reading.

[reyanfia]

im so hlad ur backk bby tell me all abt boarding school

<333 missed u so much kay

it. has. been. so tiring OMG I can't even — the school is like 52 acres big. there are so many stairs and everything, and you kinda have to rush to the showers so that you don't have to wait long for your turn. the food though, it's like 10/10. classes are going smooth, hopefully I survive this year at least JSJSJ

there has been a couple mishaps between my new group of friends, such as not paying back one's money because the other used it for laundry. 3 times. yes it's that bad and it's only been 2 weeks can u believe it? can't trust nobody these days 💀

[suspicious-whumping-egg]

heyo i am a stats freak and got the "how is this index actually calculated?" kind of autism and noticed numbeo in your latest couple of posts so just a heads up - their data is crowd-sourced and largely not accurate! it's great at giving you a vague idea as to cost of living but it falls pretty flat in terms of more granular info like groceries and house prices. also the cost of living calculator doesn't take the purchasing power of an average salary into account, as far as i know it just compares it to new york. if you ever want to study the relationships between quality of life and geographical location (for research or, yknow, moving out lol) then numbeo does offer a qol index which gives you a way better idea of how "good" a place is to live in, and can be used as a proxy to better estimate the actual cost and quality of living there. but it's still kind of a mess. for example, their "safety" measurement is basically irrelevant, since it's based of an arbitrary test that people online can fill out (and yes, people have flooded the dataset with negative reviews of cities inflating their crime rates. sometimes for fun sometimes for some Very Racist Reasons). the metric for healthcare is based on a form people can fill out (again, 100% anonymously, 100% online, 100% with no verification) and it combines the scores to form a "healthcare rating" - what goes into that "healthcare rating" is very subjective and largely not something a patient could even know. "friendliness and courtesy of the staff"? this doesn't even vary from hospital to hospital, this shit varies from department to department. there is no fucking way a statement like "the medical staff in all of Turin, Italy is very unfriendly" has any merit. a score for "equipment for modern diagnosis and treatment"??? compared to what? does the average patient filling out some online survey know anything about state of the art medical equipment so that they can compare it to what they've been treated with????? (the answer is no). ok, sorry, i'm just rambling now, but damn this actually is just yelp for cities and not much else. in a brief flash of self-awareness, i've decided not to go into detail on that horrible image by geo.universe on instagram (the one where nearly all of europe is a green LOWER cost of living than the us). it'd be another unhinged rant about how they don't have a source and how you can't possibly average out a cost of living for the entire usa, where housing prices range all the way from "five bucks and a warm smile for seven acres of land in some rural state" to "$1mil and a kidney for an almost-human-sized cage in NYC". ANYWAY jesus christ what i wanted to get to is that if you're ever considering comparing "costs" (financial and otherwise) when moving out please refer to better indices (like EIU's where-to-be-born index or CIW though they have plenty of flaws too) and remember to always compare costs (this time just financial) of living against the MEDIAN net income!!! averages are almost meaningless because of weird ghouls who make billions of dollars and act as the number-inflating Spiders Georg of money. i'm so sorry if you read all of this. take it as psychological whump or something. it's been a long day and i had a bird fly directly into my window today and it woke me up after i tried to take a nap. i hope the bird is fine because i sur

Hey friend thanks for letting me know! I’ll check out the other metrics you mentioned (although I’m not exactly sure what CIW is? Is it Canadian index of well being or smth else?) and yeah I hope the bird is ok <333 also how do you best find like, the average cost of living/purchasing power of places? Is there a decent scale or metric or do you really just have to do a fuckton of research for everything? Cause I’m definitely willing to put in serious work and research once I have it narrowed down to a few places and once emigrating becomes a serious possible option but rn it’s just very off in the distance planning and I’m just trying to think about what would even be the best options to consider