#He also refuses to maintain the plumbing.

[back-from-heaven-again]

We requested (more like demanded) that our landlord hire pest control for the cockroach infestation, and he told us to purchase traps, and that the cockroaches are essentially our fault for being messy. Which is impossible, because there were no cockroaches in any of our previous homes. Legally, he has to take care of this for us, but it's unlikely that he will. So unfortunately when we move, we will have to bag all of our belongings for a few weeks to quarantine them and ensure we don't bring them with us into a new home.

[marleycrowe]

[ skeet ulrich, cis male, he/him ] — whoa! MARLEY CROWE just stole my cab! not cool, but maybe they needed it more. they have lived in the city for 1 YEAR, working as an ODD JOB MAN. that can’t be easy, especially at only 42 YEARS OLD. some people say they can be a little bit UNSTABLE and IMPULSIVE , but i know them to be RESOURCEFUL and RESILIENT. whatever. i guess i’ll catch the next cab. hope they like the ride back to QUEENS! 

(TW:Death, Mental Health, Grief, Alcohol, Addiction, Trauma) -

Before New York.

Marley grew up on a disused farm. With plenty of overgrown land to explore. He spent most of his childhood playing with sticks, rocks and mud. He had a vibrant imagination and could spend whole summers just amusing himself surrounded by nature.

He was homeschooled by his mother until he was about 15. He's got the basics down, but, it was clear from an early age that he wasn't the academic type.

From he was about 10, his father began to teach him a little bit of everything he knew. They went hunting together and he taught him basic woodworking as well as home and vehicle maintenance. They were never particularly close, but Marley looks back on their time of silent co-working with great nostalgia.

He worked mainly as a carpenter until he was 36. He still lived in the family home, maintaining the property as his parents got older. However, his life took a drastic turn. His father died suddenly and the grief took his mother a few years later. Now completely alone, he began to neglect both his home and himself as he turned to alcohol to try and cope with the sudden change in his life.

Desperate to turn things around, on a sudden whim of rare clarity, he booked himself into a treatment centre in New York, selling the family home to afford his medical care as well as an apartment.

-

Present Day.

Marley lasted less than six months in the rehabilitation programme before he insisted that he could do it alone and that having all the people around him was just making things worse. And so, he left and took his few belongings to the cheap apartment he'd purchased in Queens.

Marley works, but, he's extremely inconsistent. He's good with his hands and takes up a lot of 'cash-in-hand' style odd jobs. Such as painting, woodwork, basic household plumbing/electrics and other manual labour jobs. However, getting him to show up and be reliable when he does, is often a struggle.

He often has little cash and that he does have he tends to squander. So, it wouldn't be unusual to see him dumpster diving or thrifting for essentials. His current prized possession is a wind-up vinyl player as he can still enjoy it whenever his electric gets cut off.

His home is in relative squalor. Despite his ability to tend to things, he is neglectful both of himself and his surroundings. His home is untidy. He doesn't have too many possessions, but, they tend to be strewn around as he sets things down and forgets about them.

Marley wants to do better for himself. But, he's ambivalent between feeling he deserves more out of his life, and feeling that he's ruined his chances and may as well not bother trying, as he feels he'll only fail anyway.

-

Wanted Connections. (These are starting off points that could help drum up ideas.)

The Bad Influence. Someone who's only there for a good time. A fairweather friend. Marley can be witty and excitable, but he can also be impulsive and end up in over his head. You love the fun you guys have together, but, when it goes on too long and he ends up in trouble, you're nowhere to be seen.

The Mother Hen. Someone who genuinely wants to be his friend and wants to help him be the best version of himself he can be. In a sense, you feel sorry for him. It makes you feel better to help him clean up, or to fix him breakfast or tend to his wounds. Though, you draw a line and refuse to engage in his self destructive behaviours alongside him.

The Romantic Interest. Someone who sees something special in Marley. Maybe you think you can fix him, maybe you love him just the way he is. You just want to be there and be part of the journey, if only he'd let you in.

The Dog Catcher. Someone who's sick of Marley always bothering them. Perhaps you're a small business owner and he's rummaging around in your dumpster leaving a mess, or, you're a neighbour and his 3am music sessions are keeping you awake. Whatever the reason, you want the problem muzzled before it gets out of hand.

The Raccoon. Marley seems to know all the good spots in town to get a free meal or cheap items. You happen to know he's also able to make furniture and fix up cars. You want him to like you, and you want to help him, but, only because he has the ability to help you in return if he lets you tag along.

The Concerned Onlooker. Someone who frequents the same bars as Marley. You've seen him fall asleep in there as many times as you've seen him get kicked to the kerb. You don't know him too well, but, you have a casual chat here and there before things get too intense. Maybe you should say something, but, is it really your place?

[mariacallous]

For over half a year, Russian companies have been facing difficulties in processing payments with China. Fearing secondary sanctions, banks are refusing to transfer funds, leaving importers unable to bring goods into the country. Vladimir Putin raised this issue during his visit to Beijing in May, but the situation doesn’t seem to have improved. Meduza investigated how Russian businesses are trying to circumvent these trade restrictions and how these challenges are impacting the Russian economy.

On December 22, 2023, U.S. President Joe Biden signed an executive order allowing sanctions to be imposed on banks from third countries if they are caught aiding the Russian military-industrial complex. Once blacklisted, these companies would be banned from holding correspondent accounts in American banks, meaning they’d be unable to conduct any dollar transactions. Following this order, dozens of Chinese financial organizations refused to accept transfers from Russia — not only in U.S. dollars but also in Chinese yuan.

On June 12 of this year, Washington tightened its demands. Previously, transactions involving five sectors of the Russian economy — technology, defense, construction, aerospace, and manufacturing — were under scrutiny. Now, the U.S. Treasury has expanded the definition of the military-industrial complex to include all companies previously sanctioned under Executive Order No. 14024. This means that the number of Russian entities that foreign banks must avoid to maintain access to dollar transactions has significantly increased. According to Castellum.AI, there are more than 4,000 such organizations.

Biden’s executive order — neither in its new nor old versions — has yet to be enforced against banks from third countries. So far, representatives of the U.S. administration have only issued verbal warnings: Secretary of State Antony Blinken expressed “serious concern” about the supply of machines and microelectronics to Russia, and Treasury Secretary Janet Yellen publicly mentioned the sanctions risk during her visit to China in early April.

This was enough to trigger significant shifts in trade between Russia and China. By the end of 2023, trade turnover had increased by 26 percent to a record $240 billion. However, in April 2024, China’s customs authority reported a 15 percent reduction in deliveries of cars, equipment, and other machinery. Bloomberg noted that exports to Russia fell for the first time in two years, linking this to sanctions risks. Chinese exports to Russia also fell in May, and Russian customs confirmed the continued decline of imports from Asia. Russia’s Central Bank acknowledged that it had become generally more difficult for Russian banks to open correspondent accounts abroad, even in “friendly” currencies, and directly linked this to “sanctions the United States adopted in December 2023.”

The issue was also discussed at the St. Petersburg International Economic Forum. Industry players reported that money transfers from Russia to China could take as long as three months, and even then might end up being returned to the sender. Businesses complained that they couldn’t even pay for theater decorations or children’s displays. Pavel Brun, the head of MasterProf, said his company hasn’t been able to arrange the supply of plumbing fixtures. “It’s like walking through a minefield,” he told Business FM.

Finding a workaround

Some hopes were pinned on Vladimir Putin’s mid-May visit to China. However, although Putin mentioned that the payment issue was discussed, he didn’t provide any specifics, and business owners confirmed that the difficulties in making payments persisted even after the delegation returned to Moscow.

A source in the trade industry told Reuters that the typical way Russian businessmen solve this problem is by going “from bank to bank, opening current accounts.” “If their payment doesn’t go through, they go to the next one,” the source explained. In response, Chinese financial institutions have started imposing additional requirements, such as asking for an office lease agreement in the province where the bank is located. “While this would have seemed like a harsh requirement before, we have no choice now,” business owners commented to Kommersant FM.

One of the most promising options was to open an account at the Chinese branch of the Russian bank VTB. The demand for this was so high that businesses were often left waiting as long as a year to open an account. VTB Bank CEO Andrey Kostin promised to more than double the staff to speed up this service. However, in its broadened interpretation of Russia’s military-industrial complex, the U.S. Treasury directly named VTB as one of the banned entities for transactions. This will likely complicate the bank’s operations.

As an alternative, businesses have started using banks in third countries as intermediaries, sending money through companies in Hong Kong, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, the U.A.E., and other “friendly” jurisdictions, rather than directly from Russia, according to Reuters sources. This scheme can prove costly: intermediaries may charge a commission of several thousand dollars per transaction, they don’t guarantee success, and the sender will have trouble getting the money back if the payment fails. Goods may also be confiscated in the intermediary countries. Nevertheless, half of the payments are currently processed this way.

Some companies have started using cryptocurrency to make payments to China, specifically the stablecoin Tether, which is pegged to the U.S. dollar, reports Bloomberg. Instead of waiting months, payments are processed in 5-15 seconds, and without the hefty commissions intermediaries charge. However, there are risks for Chinese partners: since 2021, the local regulator has deemed all cryptocurrency transactions illegal. To circumvent these issues, an even more unorthodox solution has been devised: Russian steel companies are now bartering metal for any goods that Chinese businesses are willing to offer. This way, no cross-border financial transactions are needed at all. Both Russian customs and the Industry and Trade Ministry have noted the growing popularity of this bartering system.

If businesses still need to make monetary payments, they often turn to small rural banks in northeastern China. According to Reuters, these banks, located along the Russian border, are willing to accept transfers and have less stringent compliance requirements. However, due to high demand, even these banks have waiting lists to open an account that stretch for several months.

The System for Transfer of Financial Messages (SPFS) — Russia’s SWIFT analogue for domestic and international transactions — could potentially help. However, VTB has complained that too few foreign companies are currently connected to it. Additionally, the system was developed by the Central Bank, which deters non-residents from using it due to sanctions risks. And with good reason: Bloomberg pointed out that the E.U. and the G7 could jointly impose sanctions for connecting to the system.

Ripple effects

Paradoxically, the current payment issues are having a positive impact on the Russian economy. The inability to transfer money has hit imports, thereby reducing the demand for foreign currency. This supports the ruble exchange rate, as noted in the Central Bank in official reports. The bank doesn’t believe this factor will have a significant impact on GDP.

However, as Sofia Donets, the chief economist at Tinkoff Investments, told RBC, these problems will ultimately lead to additional costs for sellers. The Moscow-based investment company Tsifra Broker concurs that prices for many goods could rise if timely shipments can’t be ensured. Categories making up the largest share of Chinese exports to Russia are at risk: equipment, land transport vehicles, electrical machinery, and electrical equipment.

Currently, importers are complaining that fraudsters are trying to exploit the situation: they write to Russian entrepreneurs posing as Chinese partners and notify them of a change in banking details. There’s been at least one known case where a business ended up sending money to an account, only to find that they couldn’t reach the sender afterward and were left without the paid-for goods.

Some market participants believe that resolving the payment crisis will depend on how much banks can earn from conducting such operations. For instance, Anatoly Semenov, director of the Parallel Import Association, points out that so long as the markets of countries unfriendly to Russia are of interest to Chinese businesses, they won’t openly violate the sanctions regime and risk their investments. Banks in Turkey and the U.A.E. are also refusing transactions with Russia. Against this backdrop, The Bell estimates that imports from some countries have dropped by a third this year.

[zchroniclesofchaos]

COMMON MASONIC SYMBOLS

THE ALL SEEING EYE: The Eye of Providence represents the Eye of God and serves as a reminder to Freemasons that God is always watching, seeing all of instructions.

THE LETTER G: God and Geometry. Gnosis - the knowledge of the spiritual mysteries which is a big component of Freemasonry. The Letter G also represents the Hebrew Letter, which has the numerical value of 3. This represents God.

LETTERS F, P, T, and J: Fortitude, Prudence, Temperance, Justice. Four of the revered qualities of the Freemasons.

THE ACRONYM “HTWSSTKS.”: “Hiram Tyrian Widow’s son sent to King Solomon.” This acronym refers to the legend of Hiram Abif who was in charge of which tasks of building King Solomon’s Tempe, and met his end refusing to tel secrets of the Master Mason. The story symbolizes loyalty and is associated with the highest degree of the Masonic Organization.

SQUARE AND COMPASS: Represents the All Seeing Eye. The square represents mortality. The Compass measures the ability to wisely conduct actions within certain boundaries. The Square and compass remind Freemasons to explore their desires and passions without stepping outside the mortal realms of behaviour.

THE ANCHOR ON THE ARK: Anchor represents hope as well as peace against stormy weather. It also symbolizes living a life that is grounded in peace and hope.

MASONIC BLAXING STAR: Pinnacle symbol in Freemasonry. If a Mason tries to use knowledge to guide him, much like a star that is blazing against a dark night sky.

MASONIC GAVEL: Represents the authority of the Freemason, who is yielding it, which might use the gavel to punctuate his ideas and command order. The Masonic Gavel is also a tool to break off the edges of a stone. The Masonic Gavel can be a reminder for Freemasons to chip off certain vices and maintain a pure, moral, and spiritual heart.

MASONIC SHEAF OF CORN: Used during dedication ceremonies and mainly used sometimes to represent charitable giving to the less fortunate.

THE ACACIA TREE: The Acacia Tree depicts immortality. A sprig of Acacia is used to mark the graves. The Acacia Tree alignswith the Afterlife, and represents enduring, immortal souls.

THE ARK OF THE COVENANT: Represents God’s continued forgiveness of h His children’s transgressions.

MASONIC ALTAR: Represents a place where communion can take place with God. It’s where the Holy Book(s) are stored as well.

CABLE TOW: The Cable Tow is attached to a Freemasons robe and represents a promise that they will hep his Brother as much as he can, as long as its within the length of the Tow rope. The Tow Rope measures how capable the Brother is in terms of being ale to assist his Freemason Brothers.

MASONIC SHOE: The Masonic Shoe is a blue slipper, symbolizing the confirmation that what has been said will be done.

THE BEEHIVE: Symbolizes the need for Freemasons to work together to keep the world operating.

COFFINS: Represents mortality. Coffins with a sprig of Acacia depicts immortality. Sometimes the coffins wil have a pentagram on them.

47th PROBLEM OF EUCLID: The Pythagorean Theorem, symbolic of the need to “square your square.” Keep your life in order and build infrustructure.

PLUMB AND LEVEL: The plumb symbolizes justice, rectitude, and the importance of living in an upright manner. The level is a reminder that all men are equal.

TROWEL: Symbolizes the “Cement” or Brotherly Love to unite a sacred bond of Society friends.

ROUGH AND PERFECT AHSLARS: The Ashlars are two stone cubes placed near the Master’s platform at a Loged; one is roughened edge, delivered directly from a quarry; the other is a smooth ready stone cube ready for building. The rough Ashlar represents man in his crude form whild the perfect, smooth Ashlar represents man, who thorugh the teachings of the Freemasons, will become more polished.

COLUMNS: Every Masonic Lodge has trepresentation of two pillars. They are replicas of the two columns which flanked the entrance to King Solomon’s Temple. The Pillars are said to represent Strength and Establishments.

THE WINDING STAIRCASE: Used in 2nd Degree phase of apprenticeship. Ceremony at the first phase begins from the ground of the temple. To get to the next level and get a promotion, the candidate ust climb the symbolic spiral staircase. The stairs in the Masonic lodge represent the brotherhood within their clan. It also represents the continuous communication of the love that exists between the afterlife and the life - between the world of God and the world of man.

DOUBLE HEADED EAGLE: Used as a motif of the 3rd Degree of Scottish Rite Freemasonry. The symbole dates back to Ancient Mesopotamia.

MASONIC TRACING BOARD AND TRESTLE BOARDS: originally used to present construction plans to the apprentices and stone masons in the Middle Ages, The boards now are used to share the “blueprint” of the Freemason Craft with candidates who wish to join the Fraternity.

THE PHOENIX: Symbolizes rebirth, death, and resurrection.

THE KEYSTONE: Represents completion of the Spiritual Temple or a Freemason’s Journey.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

Vampire au?

But Tommy is the vampire.

Dream is a history nerd who wants to visit a old castle. He doesn't believe in vampires. Those are just silly old myths.

Tommy, the current owner of the castle, is very nice to Dream. Dream didn't expect the current owner to be so young , but Tommy says he's the owner not because he's the only one of the blood line left , but because he's the only one who actually stays here.

Dream doesn't know that the rest of his family is just asleep right now. As they have been for the last five hundred years.

Tommy owns the castle because he's the only one awake right now.

Lets mix it up a little. Eret and Foolish are his parents.

Reverse obsession again.

Dream accidentally cuts himself, Tommy smells the blood. Tommy gets a tiny little bit of blood. Just enough for him to get a taste for it. It tastes better than any blood he's ever had. Dream's not leaving that castle if Tommy has any say the in it.

VAMPIRE AU? I love you.

Dream honestly didn’t expect being able to find a castle to stay at so easily. He expected to have to sift through ritzy hotels and museums to find one, if he could at all. But apparently, only a few miles from his house, was one maintained and owned by some rich eccentric, Mr Gathers. He’d done some messaging and the owner seemed entirely willing to let him stay for a pittance. Dream supposed what they said about rich people being lonely was true.

When he arrived at the castle, it was dusk. Dream was honestly surprised to see the only person there to be a boy. He was tall, but in a gangly way, and had deep bags under his eyes. He was young, maybe sixteen, and while he looked sickly he was also almost eerily perfect in appearance, a doll-like delicate face framed by cherubic curls. Dream was pretty sure he was an albino, his skin almost pure white, his hair a pale, pale blond, and his eyes almost red when the light caught them.

“Hey, do you know where Mr Gathers is?” Dream asked politely.

The boy huffed and crossed his arms. “Yeah, right here, you dickhead.”

Dream laughed, in disbelief and the boy furrowed a brow. “I’m being serious, prick.”

“You don’t own a castle by yourself at fourteen, kid, no matter how rich.”

“I’m sixteen!” He insisted indignantly. “And no one else even wants to stay here. Haunted, innit?”

“Ghosts aren’t real.”

“Tell yourself that, if it makes you feel better.” The foul mouthed teen held out an immaculately manicured hand. “Anyway, you going to introduce yourself? I’m Tommy.”

“Dream,” Dream said, bemused.

Tommy toured him through the castle and it struck Dream how immaculate the whole thing was. It felt like he’d walked into an actual Renaissance-era castle, in some ways, apart from obvious modern conveniences scattered around haphazard. Dream supposed he couldn’t blame the teenager for wanting TVs and computers and proper lighting and plumbing.

What was odd was that Tommy had a lot of the guest bedrooms reserved, which he said in the vaguest way possible and refused to elaborate. Also strange was when they finished the tour. Tommy had turned to him and said, “And that’s that! Apart from the dungeons, but if you visit them that’s your own damn fault.”

“What, is that where the ghosts are?” Dream said teasingly.

Tommy shrugged. “Something like that.” For some reason, that struck Dream as odd, but he assumed it was just a joke, and headed up to his room for the night.

Life in the castle was strange. Tommy slept during the day and woke at night, which he supposed makes sense if he was albino like Dream suspected. Tommy didn’t bring anything up, but Dream went through the effort to start doing the same. The castle was eerie when he was all alone. That was another weird thing too. Dream was pretty sure he and Tommy were the only people living in the castle, but everything was always immaculate, his clothes always folded, food always provided (enough for him, Tommy seemed to eat at other times.)

Still, things were pretty cool. When Dream wasn’t walking the castle in awe, taking as many pictures as he could to send to the group chat (he’s not exactly sure Sapnap or Skeppy or Jack or Ant would appreciate it, but hopefully Niki and George and Bad and Sam) might like it.), he’d spend time with Tommy. Tommy was strange, but he was nice, though he hid it through his abrasive outer shell.

Things got strange, though, when Dream cut his finger. It was something stupid, a paper cut while reading with Tommy (he had an impressive library, Dream was pretty sure there was several massive historical finds in there, but Tommy mostly read shitty cheap new novels to laugh at them).

Dream grabbed his hand. “Can I kiss it better?”

Dream raised his eyebrows. “What? No, that’s weird. You’re, like, a baby-“

Tommy had already gone ahead, and if that was weird what happened next was weirder. Tommy grinned widely (did he always have fangs). “Mind if I have some more?”

“Tommy, stop. This weird vampire act isn’t funny.”

“Act?” Tommy laughed.

“What, are you delusional enough to think you’re actually a vampire?”

“You’re the delusional one, if you haven’t noticed,” Tommy laughed. “Look, let me show you something.” Tommy dragged Dream down into the dungeons, surprisingly strong for how frail he looked. Dream was surprised to not see the filthy, abandoned cells he expected. Instead, lying on individual altars were five people, some as young or younger than Tommy up to two who looked old enough to be his parents. Above them was an ornate portrait, showing what appeared to be the oldest of the two along with a younger Tommy, but with blue eyes, not the familiar red.

Holy shit. Holy shit, he wasn’t kidding. This was- this was honestly the fucking scrarist He turned to run, only for Tommy to grab onto his wrist, furrowing his brows. “Where are you going?” he said, genuine confusion in his voice.

“What do you think? You’re a- a monster!”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Look, just admit you’re still baby raging over me beating you at Mario Kart last night.”

“What- no! I’m horrified because you- you shouldn’t be real! You’re a myth!” Dream was half hysterical.

“And I haven’t even introduced you yet,” Tommy mumbled in frustration, before speaking up. “Whatever weird human reason you have, you’re not leaving. Your blood tastes far too nice.”

“Let me go!” Dream shouted, desperately trying to pull free.

“Look, I’ll let you win at Mario Kart next time,” Tommy said with a shrug.

“This isn’t about Mario Kart!”

“Isn’t everything about Mario Kart? Oh, and women. The only things in the universe superior to Mario Kart. Actually-“

“Can you just shut up and explain what’s going on?!” Dream said half in terror and half in frustration. Tommy beamed.

“This is my family! There’s Eret,” he gestures to a fluffy haired brunet in an elaborate dress, “Foolish,” a copper haired, freakishly tall man, “they’re my parents. Well, my sires, but my actual parents were shite so I consider them my parents. They took me in when I was little! There’s also Tubbo,” a small boy around Tommy's age with messy mousy brown hair and severe burn scars, “Fundy,” a boy who couldn’t be any older than fourteen with long ginger hair, “and Wilbur!” a curly haired boy with a massive scar through his stomach. “They’re practically my brothers.”

“They’re sleeping. Have been for a while, we got hit by some pretty bad hunters, they need to heal. Probably won’t fully, honestly, which is shit. But they’ll wake up soon, and we can all be a real family! Oh, I’ll need some more blood bags- hey, give me your phone-“

“No!” Dream protested, but Tommy snatched it from his pocket, opening it up (did he steal his passcode) and looking at his contacts.

“Hmm… yeah, you’ve got enough people on here for me to track down. Niki… you’ve mentioned her a few times, I think she’d get along with Fundy… Jack Manifold… no one to notice him missing? Sam… ooh, he works in IT, I always wanted to know how the fuck computers work. Yeah, these'll do. Shouldn’t take too long to get them all, then everyone can wake up, and we'll be able to have some real fun then!”

If anyone else wants to send in some more AU ideas it’d be lovely and I will make them heavily involve c!primeboys no matter what and again that’s a challenge.

[rjshepofftheshits]

a further list of things Shepherd has done while a member of organization 13 : Xemnas edition

Shepherd is a valuable associate of the organization, that much is certain despite how I wish it otherwise. She simultaneously holds the positions of chief medical officer ( Now that Vexen is no longer among us) as well as maintaining the castles various systems, such as plumbing, power and defence. However, in spite of this, she is not a true member. Lord xemnas saw fit to "hire" her when he found her in the Distorted City not long after the organizations creation. They have butted heads practically since day one: Shepherd despises the superiors authoritarian nature, offering him little to no respect until she deems he has earned it and flagrantly flaunts the organizations rules . lord Xemnas, for his part, is frequently exasperated by her broad interpretations of orders, her ceaseless swearing and the fact she is usually right.

i write this down now that the time of the original organization has come to a close. i often wondered if Shepherd forgot who signed her checks. or if she knew we'd never have gotten along with out her.

that being said, I also often wonder if Lord Xemnas was feeling well on the day he decided to bring this madwoman into our lives.

here is a list of just a few of shepherds transgressions against the superior.

- Saïx

called lord xemnas "Xem" and "Xemmy" on numerous occasions. Both in reference to him and to his face( side note, I cannot decide if she is brave or foolish. lord xemnas seems to tolerate this but im not sure why.)

shortly after catching her heartless and lord ansem in bed together she refused even the most basic of cooperation with the superior, stating "im not in the mood to meet anything xehanort shaped in the middle. you want a conversation, meet me in the kitchen like a normal person, not those tall ass chairs. im not fucking climbing up there." (for sanity sake, i have cleaned up the excessive profanities in her rant.)

greeted the superior in inappropriate ways such as "whats up mother fucker" and "good morning my fellow yee's and haws"

placed the superior on medical leave following a bout of Norovirus ,place myself and No.2 in charge while he recovered. ( as shepherd is our medical officer she DOES have the authority to remove xemnas as leader on medical grounds, a power lord xemnas himself granted her. no one was happy about this arrangement , least of all No.2, who demanded I write this here as one of her many transgressions)

used her minacry to speak in Lord Xemnas voice. "his" request for "big booty ass bitches" to join the organization did not go down well.

brought a large bottle of vodka to a morning meeting and upon, hearing lord xemnas speak, loudly announced "i'm not nearly drunk enough for this" and took a several swigs from the bottle.( it later turned out to be water. given what had just happened with superiors heartless, lord xemnas decided to let it slide.)

asked if she could use his ethereal blades to toast marshmallows

"Politely" asked lord xemnas "what the unbridled fuck(was he doing/talking about)" on numerous occasions.

Asked lord xemnas to "wrap up" a meeting " before we all die of old age" (side note, i'm glad someone finally said it. the superiors tendency to prattle on is trying at the best of times)

asked that should xemnas die, she be allowed to have his brain to put on her desk.

placed an air horn under the superiors bedroom chair and raised the seating.

brought several emblem heartless into the castle ( a jazz, a nocturn, a rhapsody etc), somehow trained them to chime on command and unleashed a heartless mariachi band outside the superiors bedroom at 2am ( come to think of it, this could have been her heartless, Ellie but I suspect they were in cahoots.)

accused lord xemnas of "acting like a children's pantomime villain" and demanded "her money back " for his poor performance.

threw the leg of a chair through a portal into the realm of darkness, told the superior to "wait" only for it to reappear several months later and cause a minor concussion during a meeting with master xehanort in the gathering place (side note, should I return to the realm of light after this war, I must thank her for that one.)

upon seeing the superior with the young master, xehanort asked if it was "bring your daughter to work day"

interrupted a second meeting in the gathering place to beret xemnas for his poor handling of the dragon he used to face the heroes of light a year or so ago. Shepherd was behind its construction and remained rather fond of the creature. phrases such as "who the fuck taught you to drive" and " xemnas fucked up the castle, thats why ( we all) are meeting in bumfuck nowhere" as well as allusions to the permissiveness of Xemnas' mother were made.

announced that while lord xemnas was "able to fog a mirror, (she) wouldn't call him alive."

As I sit here reading these things, it all seems rather silly. i remember being irritated by her at the time, which in itself is odd. but now? strangely i find myself missing her. she was ,and to a degree still is, a thorn in the superiors side. all things being said however, she certainly made things interesting.

-Saïx

[lhs3020b]

I want to apologise for the near-total lack of content here recently.

Unfortunately - as some of you know - I’m currently dealing with an incredibly stressful housing situation, which is on top of all the other problems associated with Covid, lockdowns, the unending wait for even a first vaccination appointment, etc. etc. I’m currently sharing a flat with no less than four items of broken plumbing, and am currently dealing with an idiotic landlord who does everything he can to avoid doing any repairs. After months - yes, months, this latest round of problems has been going on since January - of pushing, he eventually found himself a plumber, who appeared for 15 minutes last week, did nothing except refuse to wear a mask or socially distance, complain about the parking, diassemble the shower head and scatter bits everywhere, then announce that he couldn’t do anything today and maybe he’d be back on Monday.

It is Monday, and 3.20 PM in the afternoon. So far, it’s no-call, no-show. I can’t get in touch with anyone - the landlord’s number goes straight to an answerphone, which he seems to check quite rarely. (Same-day responses are unknown; delays of entire weeks have happened.) Because of the structure of the rentals contract, repairs have to go through him (I don’t even know the plumber’s name). If he won’t do his bit, then ... yeah. It’s a problem.

(The census of broken plumbing is: dripping taps in the kitchen and bathroom, a bust toilet cistern and a shower that can no longer maintain a stable temperature. Basically, literally everything except - weirdly - the washing machine, which somehow still works. No idea how much longer that will last, though.)

So yeah, this combined with “post-2020 existential dread” has basically destroyed my entire reserve of social energy, hence my near-disappearance from posting anything here. (I’m actually still here and look at my dash regularly, but just can’t seem to get it together to do anything else.)

(As for the obvious solution, that is probably going to have to involve an inter-city house move, due to how expensive this one has become, and my employer’s stinginess with meaningful payrises or re-gradings for existing employees. And inter-city house-moves are hard at the best of times, least of all when you don’t have a car and oh, also the country is still at least partially under lockdown. So yeah. None of that is making anything easier.)

[bigskydreaming]

Okay, my thoughts on that last reblog, and the TYPE of protectiveness showcased on Bruce’s part.....and to be 100% clear, this is not meant as a call-out to the OP of that post whom I don’t know and have nothing against, its simply about the fact that this kind of view of Bruce and certain forms of his parenting are not at ALL uncommon in fandom, and I’m just kinda like hi, yeah, I have some issues I would like to raise here plz and thank you:

So the issue I have with so many headcanons that pair massive invasions of privacy and disregard for personal boundaries with the idea that this is Good Dad Bruce Wayne....is that no matter what one feels this says about Bruce’s concern for his children, it simultaneously also says or implies that for such extreme measures to be deemed good and not invasive, and as such NECESSARY.....then his children are not just headstrong....but UNREASONABLE.

Because families fight. The Batfam moreso than a lot, sure, but even still, I think anyone trying to pitch the existence of Good Dad Bruce Wayne is still ultimately trying to build a case for a Batfam who even when they fight, still love each other.

But with a family like that, no matter HOW much they fight....they’re still ultimately all going to understand and be ABLE to keep an awareness that even while FURIOUS with each other....this doesn’t mean they don’t care about each other’s well-being and want to know and be reassured that they’re alright.

And this is what’s not on display on the side of Bruce’s kids, anytime a fic or headcanon or meta defaults to justifying Bruce going to extreme lengths to look out for or even just check up on his kids....because intentionally or not, it paints his kids as total assholes if they’re not even willing to accommodate basic requests about checking in or being checked up on, so at least their dad who loves them knows that they’re alive and well.

Only if and when his kids just flat out stonewall and block any and all LEGITIMATE attempts by Bruce to check up on them, do his more invasive attempts at doing so become necessary and thus ‘justified’ to any degree whatsoever....

With the biggest issue here being that so many fics and headcanons just hop, skip and jump straight over and past any attempt at Bruce giving his kids the OPPORTUNITY to meet him halfway and at least check in or reassure him they’re safe despite being pissed for other reasons....

And go straight to Bruce keeping them under surveillance in manners that wouldn’t be out of place with the CIA’s protocols for watching enemies of the state or what-the-fuck-ever.

And all the while, treating it as though its just a GIVEN that Bruce HAS to resort to such measures....because just....calling them on the fucking phone isn’t going to get him anywhere.

Like yeah, if you want to write a story where he tries that and they block him at every turn, and so Bruce ‘has’ to resort to less than stellar measures to gain any peace of mind, go ahead. Just don’t be surprised if when you write it all out in such a manner, showing each step of the way rather than just skipping straight to the endpoint there as though its a foregone conclusion, you run into people commenting with judgmental opinions of the kids and what assholes they’re being, that Bruce feels he has to go to such lengths at all.

Because I think the reason we so rarely see people ‘showing their work’ here and just jumping straight to Bruce asking forgiveness rather than permission (while umm, usually still not ever asking forgiveness which is sorta kinda still a necessary ingredient of that axiom but I fuckin’ digress).....is because I think deep down most people know that it isn’t really in character for all of the Batkids to just refuse any and all legitimate attempts at checking up on them purely out of spite, just being all “well I’m mad at you so I want you to SUFFER, OLD MAN, yeah, go ahead and wonder if I’m dead or not! Suck it!”

Like, even Jason or Dick at their ‘pettiest’ - I think most people would agree that its more that they’re characterized as WANTING to hear Bruce express actual concern for them....and only getting as pissed as they do because Bruce just flat out refuses to do so and defaults to taking measures that don’t treat them as having any kind of competence, maturity or autonomy of their own....and thus are virtually indistinguishable from actions taken purely out of a desire to control everything around him, rather than a father just being concerned for his kids. 

Even when they’re at their most spiteful in regards to not wanting Bruce to know what’s going on with them, its born of an undercurrent of hurt, I maintain, as they’re really mostly just pissed off that there’s even a question of whether Bruce actually cares or Bruce is just being controlling. Because kids shouldn’t HAVE to read between the lines and interpret surveillance tactics as parental concern just to even FEEL like their dad gives a damn, because their dad just flat out refuses to come out and SAY it.

Like, that’s not a big ask, at all, and thus its not something any of the kids are at all unreasonable in wanting and yes, even expecting from their father. Which makes it really obnoxious and one-sided when they’re implicitly painted as being unreasonable for wanting this, because a narrative or headcanon has just zoomed past “calling them on the phone and asking them how their day was like a normal person” as if it was never even an option for Bruce in the first place. Like it was just a given that he had to go full Operation: Periscope In the Plumbing to scout out their current state of health. And there was no sense in wasting time with like, an in person drop-in visit to say hey, haven’t seen you in awhile and I miss you and just want to make sure you’re doing alright and don’t need anything.

(Ever notice how many fics treat it as a given that Bruce always makes the kids come to him and this is normal and reasonable and fine, for him to never venture forth from his manor in search of them.....except in rare cases where its often almost framed as though a visit from Bruce is codenamed “I Can’t Believe I’m Having To Resort To Coming To Your Place Because You Won’t Just Come To Mine Like A Good Son Would?” Just saying).

But yeah.....the problem is never, and has never been, Bruce caring about his kids and being concerned and willing to go to any length to make sure they’re okay or be reassured of this.

The problem is when its implicitly treated as though Bruce launching operation SPY ON MY KIDS LIKE A GOOD DAD DOES as his step one is like, more reasonable and understandable and just BETTER...as opposed to......just being like “Alexa, call my kids” first instead.

Like....no. That is backwards. That is not Good-Dadding. That is Creeper-Dadding. Bruce’s kids are one hundred thousand million bajillion times valid for being like WOW COULD YOU JUST NOT in response to this, because aside from the whole issue of how “is this totalitarianism or just good parenting” should not be something that’s actually in question and needs distinguishing, like.....there is a very real, very understandable (and for some of us) very relatable element of “I am also feeling all the hurt and resentment that you’d rather bug my apartment or hack my phone than just fucking TALK TO ME LIKE A HUMAN BEING and treat me like you place a modicum of trust and respect on any answers I give from my place of Being an Adult Who Is Actually More Than A Little Bit Competent and Responsible, Not That You’ve Noticed Apparently.

Also, a good exercise here would be like, before deciding on a course of action for Bruce in regards to one of his kids, first imagining another character you aren’t as predisposed towards, like, deciding on that exact same course of action in regards to that exact same kid.

For an example, look at the time Tim left Gotham in Red Robin and wasn’t speaking to Dick, and how Dick still very much was concerned about him and wanted to check up on him.

Look at how even just Dick asking Tim’s friends like Steph and Cassie to check in on him for Dick was characterized by a lot of people.

Now imagine if Dick had been like “well, Tim’s not speaking to me no matter how much I try to apologize to him, but I’m still really worried and concerned about his safety and well-being, and also I am his big brother and I know what’s best for him....so I am going to bug his phone and ask Raven to spy on him magically and also maybe ask Superman to occasionally lurk in the bushes outside his hotel room and peep in on him and report back on his breathing patterns like a creeper BUT ONLY BECAUSE I TOTALLY CARE AND THUS NONE OF THIS IS UNREASONABLE.”

Like......hmm. Does that fly with most people? Would that go over at all well, or do you think that maybe Tim might have pitched the mother of all unholy temper tantrums upon hearing that Dick had done any of this let alone all of this....AND BEEN COMPLETELY JUSTIFIED IN PITCHING SAID FIT ABOUT DICK’S CHOICES HERE?

Would this be at all defensible on Dick’s side of things, even with it being 100% true and even taken for granted that he only did this because he genuinely loves his brother and was genuinely worried about how he was doing and hell, even IF it was genuinely a given that Tim was not going to give him the time of day no matter how he went about asking Tim to just check back in occasionally to let Dick know he was still alive and alright?

Or would it - even in light of all that - still be seen and construed as invasive, infantilizing and disrespectful of Tim’s rights to privacy and self-determination, not to mention his capabilities in looking out for himself?

Now......swap a few characters in and out of the key slots here.

Imagine Bruce in Dick’s place here, enacting any or all of the above or even actions slightly less hyperbolic but no less intrusive or boundary-crossing.

Would any of those actions be any LESS invasive, infantilizing or disrespectful of Tim’s rights to privacy and self-determination, as well as his capabilities....just because Bruce is his father and not his brother?

See what I mean?

Its never at all an issue that Bruce loves his kids and is concerned about their safety, nor is it actually untrue that his kids aren’t stubborn and headstrong.

The only actual issue is when its framed as though all of this means that Bruce skipping to “launch drones from Batcave” before he even TRIES “hit speed-dial on phone”....

Is both valid and necessary, and thus a sign of a Good Dad....rather than just Bruce’s own fears of being rejected or turned away by his kids. Or an example of his own flaws with interpersonal communication rather than evidence of his kids being completely unreasonable little assholes with a lifelong commitment to Suck It Dad, Yes Even IF You’re Legitimately Worried I Might Be Dead Right Now.

Et cetera, et cetera.

[lesbiansforboromir]

Suppose boromir did make it to the end of the saga of lord of the rings, how would he navigate his relationship with Aragorn? And what if Denethor also survived? Would he come to accept Aragorns kingship over the course of their journey? Part of me is inclined to say yes, but I don’t have as good of a grasp on his character as you do

So listen… this came 18 21 40 days 3 months ago but I’m a sleepy bastard so I couldn’t muster the passion it deserved but nOW I’m here so! 

I have to reinforce that Boromir doesn’t care whatsoever about Aragorn’s kingship one way or the other during the Quest. He’s only ever going to manufacture an opinion on it as an when he needs too. Gondor’s safety is his primary priority. So discussions upon Boromir’s denial or acceptance of Aragorn’s kingship are really only going to occur after Sauron’s defeat.

Lets take this in parts because Boromir managing his relationship with Aragorn alone vs Boromir doing it whilst his dad still around would be wildly different. Denethor takes up a great deal of emotional space.

So, for ease of understanding, lets say that in the Denethor dies verse Boromir stayed with Aragorn after the siege at Pelargir and sailed with him up the Anduin so he doesn’t arrive in time to stop his father from burning alive. Then, in the Denethor lives verse, Boromir actually rides directly to Minas Tirith, either from the paths of the dead, or the moment Pelargir is secured. Either way he’s speedier and arrives in time to sneak past the armies and enter Minas Tirith, saving his father from his despair and breaking him from Sauron’s grasp. 

Lets also say that Boromir and Aragorn maintain their kinda easy back-and-forth trusting friendship all the way through till here so we’re jumping off a knowable baseline. After Boromir returns to Helms Deep from his recuperation in some small Rohir hamlet, he arrives as a positive and trusted voice and a bolster to Aragorn’s confidence. Aragorn didn’t tell anyone what happened with Boromir and Frodo, which is a point in his favour and a very good reason for them to just put it behind them for now. Boromir’s back and Aragorn had been holding onto that guilt until now. It’s good for everyone. They’re all glad to see him. 

So with that decided! Beginning with Denethor dying and Boromir becoming Steward, the first thing we have to deal with is who the hell tells Boromir that #1 his dad is dead and #2 that Faramir is dying. I’m inclined to believe it’s pretty rough, I think Boromir’s return is something that’s almost feverishly grasped upon by the Soldiers of Gondor and they demand a lot from him, guidance, reassurance, a sense of purpose. It takes a while for him to manage to pass up through to the higher levels of the battered city. 

Now the only people who know about Denethor’s death are Pippin, Gandalf and a few Citadel Guard and I think Gandalf certainly passes Boromir by a few times without telling him squat. Perhaps there’s a brief ‘I am surprised you live!’ but little else. I’d say he finds out about Faramir first, through following Aragorn up to the houses of healing, already a shock to his system. He looks for his father but is still battered by demands and it’s quite a bit later that he’s told by a Citadel guard about his dad’s death. Which ALL is like… rough. Gandalf definitely told Aragorn what’d happened. He just didn’t think it was his job to tell Boromir. Because Gandalf’s like that! Sorry! He is! So it isn’t until like close to the songs of mourning that anyone lets Boromir know Denethor’s dead. Also that Denethor’s body is still under rubble too. 

Which is… woof, a rough image huh? Boromir probably hears of his death first, not any specifics, there’s so much to be done. But then his body isn’t present at the funeral and he turns to Aragorn and heartbreakingly asks ‘where is my father’ and Aragorn has to look him in the eye and tell him he forgot. He forgot to send anyone to dig through the rubble to find the body of Boromir’s father. And man that certainly crumbles a good few months of bonding between them huh? Boromir probably goes to do it himself, declining Aragorn’s help. There’s a seed of distrust planted for how much Aragorn truly cares for Gondor, her heritage and the people who’d been sacrificing themselves to defend her. 

Anyway essentially this starts Boromir off on a rocky footing. And it only goes downhill from there. There’s a GOOD bit admittedly. There’s a bit where Aragorn comes to heal Faramir, as Imrahil and Boromir fearfully stand over him. And even Boromir’s staunch manner cannot help but find some amazement and a hint of the instant fealty in Faramir’s eyes as he awakens like magic. 

And then Boromir sets aside all his feelings to focus on a battle and be the leader of men everyone needs him to be. And it’s good, it feels good to make plans with Aragorn, especially now that they are in HIS element where men know and believe in him, the seat of HIS power. It levels their interactions somewhat, they are equals here. So it feels good to do that, and it feels even better when they WIN. They probably find each other in the scrum, they probably embrace, they’re probably just so elated that it’s over, together. Even if this victory cannot mean the same thing for Aragorn as it does for Boromir, who’s picking at such things? It doesn’t matter, they WON. 

But then… He finds out what was said between Gandalf and Denethor from Pippin, the lack of care or respect, how lost Denethor’d been at Faramir’s side. Gandalf had rid Theoden of Saruman’s dreadful curse, why hadn’t he even tried with his father? The obvious answer to Boromir is Denethor did not want Aragorn on the throne but Gandalf did and that made Denethor’s survival less than important to the wizard. And with this realisation he’s put in a difficult position. 

He’s crowned Steward pretty quickly and sets at his task with the vigour of a man very much trying to avoid grief. It’s not the time. Now is the time to talk about reparations, peace treaties, rebuilding, medical funds, housing, refugee care, and OH MY GOD FINE I GUESS ALSO THE KINGSHIP. It’s uncomfortable, Boromir knows he likely shouldn’t be equating Gandalf’s actions with Aragorn’s. But… it’s right there! The even MORE EXTRA awkward part is Faramir’s now awake and he’s walking and talking and even more Royalist than ever. The fact that Boromir is dawdling over a coronation is, in his mind, clear evidence that Boromir wants that seat for himself. Is he not grateful that his King has returned and saved his brother? 

So Boromir gets a brief latency period where Faramir’s just happy he’s alive and then a more complex one where they’re not-grieving-really-but-sort-of grieving their father, but that’s all way harder and more emotionally problematic than arguing over the kingship and getting way too angry about it so they shift into that mode asap. 

Now I should say here, even Boromir isn’t stalwartly going to deny Aragorn the Kingship. The line of Kings has a nearly religious right to it, and Aragorn does have a claim sort of we all guess kinda, along with a lot of prophesised evidence on his side. He FEELS like the King Returned, and after all his heroics you’d be hard pressed to find anyone in Gondor who STRICTLY disagreed with him taking the Throne in general. Gondorian culture puts a lot of stock in doom and their past and prophesies and the like. But the devil, as always, is in the detail.

Three distinct camps are created in Gondor’s political sphere. The Cautious, a band who agree with Boromir’s careful approach of taking each step properly and making sure all parts of their new constitution under a King are thoroughly agreed upon. They want a new constitution. 

The Royalists, headed by Faramir, who believe the Cautious are trying to drag this out for as long as possible in order to weedle more power for themselves and their families out of these discussions and undermine the power of their rightful king. They want to dig the constitution that had been in place during Anarion’s reign out of the Archives and reinstate it wholesale without even an amendment. 

And the Annoyed, headed by the Master of Waters and other union leaders, who could not give a flying fuck about all this and really wish the council would get back to actually running the damn country, good GOD give us money before the whole plumbing system collapses in on itself and takes the city with it. They want whatever piece of parchment will let them get back to work, although their members are also divided on how much they revere a king returned.

It doesn’t help that Boromir is NOT good at this. He’s not a bad Steward, perhaps he could be called a good one. But after Denethor’s example? It’s not even a comparison, there is no way for Boromir to measure up to Denethor’s skill in this arena, nor Faramir’s for that matter. And in all honesty there probably ARE some players within the ‘cautious’ sphere of Boromir’s supporters that DO want to ensure their power isn’t diminished with the coronation of a new king, Boromir wouldn’t be so adept at knowing what to do with them, he needs supporters! He’s very much caught between a rock and a hard place.

This period is rough, it’s exhausting, it involves a lot of talking, just days and days and days of it. It involves motions being passed in one assembly only to be thrown down at the next. Boromir and Faramir’s relationship is the rockiest it has ever been and Imrahil’s just so upset with all his family’s internal fighting after losing their patriarch, he doesn’t know what to do! Denethor’s sisters both put their support behind Boromir after hearing of the treatment of their brother, which causes even more strife within the Stewards. Some of their children don’t agree with them. Utter madness. And Imrahil can’t take sides between his nephews! Even though his reputation and influence would definitely sway the discussion one way or another, he refuses to do it, it’s CHAOS. And all the while the Dunadain are in their seperate sphere, getting more and more angry because really they don’t know why there needs to be any discussion about this at all. In their mind, Aragorn’s the rightful King and should have been accepted with only unending gratitude, along with those who’ve been faithful to his line. 

Aragorn has a better grasp of this, he knows what’s expected of him and some of what the issues are, a lot of the talking surrounds Aragorn inviting Boromir into his tent (that he still keeps, flying his banner and everything, reminding everyone of how this still isn’t settled) and them talking and arguing and agreeing and then disagreeing. Aragorn will bend somewhat to Boromir’s demands, for the Steward’s position to be protected and maintained, defined as a close and powerful advisor with strict protections against being susceptible to bribery so that there’s some reliable oversight on a King’s dealings. But he refuses to give the Stewards any definable powers, he refuses to give up any of his executive power to debate or voting, he refuses to be bound by other’s decisions or take on any of the obstructions that the Stewards had during their rule. 

And the discussions around this range from generally good talks, perhaps even followed by a little of their old natural banter, a kind of humorous agree to disagree, to just… god just the most bitter and furious of fights. Aragorn is used to men bending under the weight of his displeasure, as is Boromir, and when that works on neither party they resort to louder and louder and more genuinely angry words. 

Aragorn calls Boromir a faithless friend and says Faramir must be right, he IS power grabbing. Boromir demands to know how Aragorn can be such a hypocrite to say such a thing, when he arrives here after a thousand years and demands a crown that was never Isildur’s to hold. Aragorn throws up his hands in frustration, declaring that Boromir and Gondor refuse to learn the lessons of their past and refuse the infinite wisdom of the Eldar whom have known what is right for a millenia now. Boromir’s near disgusted, barking a cruel laugh and saying he is not surprised Aragorn’s speaks so, he should have known that Aragorn is still nothing more than an elf in man’s clothing, who cares and knows nothing of the people he wishes to rule. Aragorn asks what more Boromir wants from him, has he not proven himself? Has he not succeeded in his tests, where Boromir had failed? What right does Boromir have to judge him?

This draws them both up short, the cruelty of everything said saturating the air. For Aragorn, there’s a taste of guilt to it that he refuses to admit now. For at the time, he had known Boromir’s loss to be his fault and the breaking of the fellowship had been one of his few great failures. Boromir’s voice isn’t loud but malice is apparent as he slowly replies that it is not him that Aragorn must measure himself against, but his Father, a man Aragorn had done nothing but abandon, malign and ignore, and yet if not for Denethor there would be no country left for Aragorn to rule over. Not to mention every Steward before him. Denethor lost his wife, his youth, his sons, his sanity and his life to the defence of Gondor, what does Aragorn know of that kind of sacrifice? Nothing. Nothing at all.

It’s a while until they speak again, but Boromir makes a decision in the mean time. He cannot be acceptably neutral in this decision and, at this point, the stalling of government has become far too dangerous. Using his executive powers, he insists that there will only be one vote to pass any and all motions from now on, no more repeals, and the Council must be decided within a fortnight. This declaration both wins him the support of The Annoyed, and loses him support from many Lords within his own faction. He decides he doesn’t care, which as a strategy works surprisingly well in his political sphere. He’s happy to weather the consequences of bad decisions and he is not his father. 

With the shock of this sudden rush to completion, no one has any time to continue their lobbying or machinations. Even Aragorn is barely able to keep up with the proceedings, especially since he still cannot enter the city. Councillors and Lords hurry from one chamber to the next, civil servants are run off their feet trying to assign and inform everyone upon the dates and times of particular votes, it’s messy. However, mess levels the playing field.

In the end, with the new support of The Annoyed, an amended version of the old constitution is drawn up. In particular, treason is redefined. Lords have more allowance to speak against a King’s word. The Stewardship’s two capacities are redefined to more befit the times and the position of Warden of the White Tower is also put into more solid writing. The majority of it is more an edit of language. More moral and honourable emphasis is put upon unity and agreement and less upon a King’s divine word. To go against his vassals wouldn’t be illegal for Aragorn to do, but it would be legally frowned upon, which is at least enough of a basis for further legal challenges and can give requests for freedom of information more power in the long run. Gondor is a nation built upon it’s honour and morality after all. 

Everyone’s left in kind of a state of shock afterwards, surprised they managed it, exhausting, confused. Except apparently for Boromir, who’s remained remarkably calm throughout. Even with this very watered down version of what he apparently had wanted, he’s obviously content with it. Faramir’s surprised by this too, he and Boromir are too different in this regard. Where Boromir’s passion is for the agreement and process, Faramir is focused on perfect results. 

So! With less pomp and ceremony than it should have, Boromir goes to present Aragorn with this proposed constitution. Aragorn reads it and has it read by a few of his people. Faramir is present and ensures Aragorn know he has the right to refuse it and propose his own. It’s a whole thing. But, in the end, Aragorn agrees to the terms and, in a far more lavish ceremony, both he and Boromir sign the new document and make a public agreement. Boromir offers Aragorn the Steward’s sceptre in service, Aragorn makes his speech, Boromir makes HIS speech and asks all the gathered people of Minas Tirith if they’ll accept Aragorn as their king and they give a resounding affirmative cheer and Aragorn FINALLY stops sleeping outside and comes into the city to make ready for the coronation. 

But then, what of Aragorn and Boromir’s relationship? I think there’s some mollification for them both with this move. Aragorn’s mollified that Boromir got this done. Boromir’s mollified that Aragorn accepted it. And then just time lets things simmer down. Bad blood is still there, most particularly on Boromir’s side, but they find a working relationship. I honestly don’t think it’s ever what it was when they were on the Quest. They just aren’t the same men anymore, they don’t quite have the same goal, nothing is simple any longer. I think they find a new kind of friendship which allows for more up and down relations, gives more allowance for them to just be annoyed with each other. I don’t think apologies are ever forthcoming from either of them but it needs to work so they make it work. 

Aragorn needs Boromir to help him through this knotted thicket of a country, to be guided in this culture he’s not been a part of for forty years. And Boromir gradually is aware and accepts that Aragorn’s heart is in the right place, he does want to be good for Gondor, and his greater and more decisive powers certainly help push through change that they’d never been able too before. 

But does Boromir ever truly accept Aragorn’s kingship as the best and right thing to do? I think he still has his doubts. Aragorn might be a good King, but what of his son? And his son’s son? They did not just give all this power to Aragorn, they gave it up to a thousand unknown royals of the future and Boromir often asks himself if he made the right choice. He doesn’t have the same sense of faith as most Gondorians, the same reverence for the past. I think he’ll always wonder if Denethor would have approved, if Denethor might have done better than he did.

… Lets answer that question!!!

Yes he would.

 I- god I’m not going to go into the detail of before because this is already at 3000+ words, but Denethor’s mere presence chills everything out a great deal. This man has a near legendary track record in both wisdom, cunning and dedication to his responsibilities. As much as the Lords of Gondor remember Thorongil the great Captain, Denethor was their Captain-General long before he arrived. Denethor went to war for decades, Denethor held the country together through thick and thin and Denethor is universally trusted in at least his motives and purposes. No one who has dealt with Denethor truly believes he’s coveting power. 

With Denethor there’s no mess, there’s no distress or confusion. Denethor lets everyone know what’s happening. He knows which Lords are playing for their own power, he knows which of them to trust, he and the Master of Waters have been good friends for years, and he’s well trusted amongst the unions. With that all in play, the number of the Faithful is smaller than it might have been, and Faramir, whilst being definitely a thorn, is not so powerful when pitted against Denethor’s weight of experience. He also has Boromir on his side still.

I do think Denethor would conceed to Aragorn’s coronation, after all there’s just so much prophecy and timing and divinity to it all, and Gondor is a nation that puts a great deal of stock in gestures and how right something feels. Denethor knows that intimately, and a new age with a King might be actually very profitable. But Denethor has a new constitution draw up, voted on, and agreed to by nearly the entire council, before it’s presented to Aragorn. And this is his arena, they might be mental and physical equals, but Aragorn can’t win against Denethor’s time spent. 

This constitution has checks, it’s got balances, it’s got a defined and clear path to dethroning an unliked King and the kinds of abuses of power that could be it’s catalyst. Aragorn’s power is significantly reduced and tied to a more Steward-like system of government. And Aragorn has to bloody well accept it, because that’s what he’s going to get. He isn’t all that put out, in the end, it’s just another challenge to overcome. And you know what? He and Denethor do reconcile. Just simply by virtue of being so damned clever, and knowing that their hearts are both in the right place. That age old respect comes back to the fore and they remember how enjoyable it was to just talk to each other. Honestly I’d say Aragorn and Denethor’s relationship ends up being better than his and Boromir’s in the end. They’re just so damn alike and with the both of them at Gondor’s helm the country is really speed boosted into a bright and blinding golden age. 

… holy FUCK we did it lads, I’m gonna pass tf out now adIEU 

[bluboothalassophile]

Love all of your jayrae fics! Was wondering if you would please be able to write a fix about raven and Roy's friendship or how they get along?

Hello,

I actually have a long story for them going, Yee Naaldlooshi, so I hope you enjoy Chapter 2! 

Featuring a cross over with the Mystery Inc Gang!

The Ranch...

Raven stood in Durango, Colorado, the wind tugging on her braid as she felt ancient magic pulsing through the grounds she stood on. It was rather quaint, and beautiful here, they were at a gas station by the river, which was gently rolling on by. She leaned on the hood of the car, looking at the scenery around her, it wasn’t like anything she’d ever seen outside of old westerns.

Lian was giggling as she ran towards her, and Raven smiled as she caught the girl.

“Rae! Lookie!” she ordered holding up a keychain.

“It’s lovely sweetie,” Raven said. The pure innocent joy Lian had was infectious and soothing on Rae’s empathy.

“Daddy say I can give it to his…bwoder,” Lian said.

“Brother,” Raven corrected. “And it’ll be a lovely gift.”

“Think he’ll like me?” Lian whispered in a loud hushed tone.

“I think it’d be hard for him not to like you,” Raven said.

“Ready to hit the road ladies?” Roy appeared then.

“Yeah,” Lian giggled in delight as Raven loaded her up into the car. Twisting around Raven pulled up the buckles for the carseat and tapped Lian’s nose lightly when she was all secure; her keychain clutched firmly in her hands.

“We’re forty minutes out from Farmington, and I think twenty from your aunt’s farm,” Roy said.

Raven said nothing to that.

“Family’s not bad, Rae,” Roy pointed out starting up the car.

“I have a family,” she pointed out. “And I don’t, Roy I’ll never be able to live with myself if something happens to them because of me. At least Victor, Harley and Ivy can take care of themselves. Alice and them, they can’t.”

“Hey, I get it, but they’re your family, you’ll need to accept that one day.”

“I do accept it, which was why I was willing to stay away.”

“Family doesn’t do that, trust me, and Jason for that matter, on this. They don’t disappear just because it’d be easy or convenient for you.

“I could wish, right?” she sighed.

“No,” he chuckled. “It’ll be fine, Rae. It’ll be fun!”

Raven knew that she and Roy had drastically different opinions on what was and was not fun. She had a feeling that this was about as fun for her as Artemis and Wally’s wedding would be for Roy. Not that he had a bad relationship with his family, but rather he and Artemis butted heads all the time, and Wally was his best friend marrying a girl who was like his little sister. Rae saw the reasons for Roy’s discomfort about the wedding, but they were going.

 Once they were on the road again Raven watched the scenery as Lian talked about everything she wanted to do. She was mostly fascinated with the idea of horses, she wanted to ride one. Roy thought it was amusing and said he’d look into if Bird still had the horses for her to ride.

“You never said how you were tied to the tribes,” Raven said when Lian had fallen asleep and they drew near the Reservations. She could feel Roy’s tensions building.

“My dad, my biological dad, not Ollie, he was a Game Warden, he and my biological mom had me kind of young, it didn’t work out well. His second wife was a part of the tribe, Catherine was a sweetheart,” Roy admitted.

“What happened?”

“She died, Dad stayed on the Res with her family, so did I, and then dad died, and well, you know, I’m a fuck up,” Roy muttered the last bit more to himself than her.

“You’re not,” Raven said softly. He turned to look at her, and she smiled a bit. “We all mess up, make mistakes, do things we regret,” she said softly.

“Yeah, but, black out drunk, I think I killed Bird’s dad,” he said.

“I don’t think so,” Raven said levelly. “You’re not a killer Roy.”

“You sure about that? I am an Outlaw,” he said roguishly.

“Positive, it takes a killer to know a killer,” Raven said levelly. Roy was safe, he wasn’t afraid to take lethal action if push came to shove, but he worked so hard on not doing that. He did hand out crippling injuries, but he had never killed a single person as far as the knew.

“I think Thea and Brave Bow would disagree with you,” he said levelly.

“I don’t think so.”

“Rae, you’re not always right,” he pointed out.

“Maybe not, but I am right about this, Roy Harper. You are no killer.” She stated.

They turned onto a dusty road and Raven blinked; not seeing a street sign.

“Are you sure this is the road?” she sputtered.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“There’s no name,” she started.

“A lot of the roads aren’t marked; it’s just… just pay attention to where we’re going and we’ll be good.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Mary-Beth was bored. She was very bored.

Not that she didn’t like visiting her mother’s ranch, but she preferred life on Long Island with all her friends, and schooling.

They had come out here though for a few months, because her mom’s right hand man, John Trujillo, who was in charge of the while they were in New York, had called about a problem. Apparently an oil company wanted to take mom’s family land, so the dispute wasn’t pretty.

However, Alice had also managed to invite Rachel here for a weekend; that was a massive feat apparently which had her mother reorganizing and redecorating the guest rooms repeatedly.

The house her family lived in was built by her grandfather Alan, when he had settled in New Mexico. Her grandmother, Oolijee had refused to leave her family lands, so her grandfather had asked to build her a house. It was a massive house, seven bedrooms, five washrooms, plumbing, electricity, a huge kitchen, open porch and massive windows around to see the mountains. It was a nice house, and there were huge stables, and a nice house for the ranch hands to live in too. She knew it was nice, very nice, and well maintained, her grandfather had operated the property into a solid ranch; much to her grandmother’s delight, and kept it prosperous. It was a beautiful property, even her great-grandfather who had held nothing but disdain at best for her grandfather, had been impressed.

Mary looked up from her phone when John appeared at the foot of the stairs leading towards the house.

“Miss Roth,” he said softly.

“Mom’s in the guestrooms preparing for cousin Rachel and her friends,” she said to him. He nodded.

John Trujillo was a very intimidating man, a hard face, with dark eyes. He looked like the warriors of old honestly, even with his long hair styled like a mohawk. She didn’t understand why her mother had hired him, but the man was terrifying. So soft spoken and good with animals. Mary looked out at the expanse of nothing for miles until the mountains and sighed.

She was bored and there was no cell service!

~~~*~*~*~~~

John Trujillo was walking out of the house when an old car pulled up in a cloud of dust. He had gone to Alice because one of the ranch hand’s son had gone missing; Shiye was a good young lad but he was missing all the same, which was something of a concern. Alice had said to take out search parties, but to keep it quiet in case the person who had done the abduction was watching. She had also suggested ramping up security, which he agreed with.

John watched as a young woman got out of the car first. She had many piercings on her ears, that he could see, large sunglasses perched on her nose, long loose black hair that seemed to fall however it pleased around her, and a face of contradictions. She looked like Angela, he thought, and she looked very familiar. He couldn’t place his finger on why she looked familiar but she did.

She walked next to a tall man with red hair and a lean build, who was holding a black hair toddler with bright green eyes.

“Are you sure this is the place Roy?” the woman asked, her voice was a voice meant for seduction. Smokey, graveled, and beautiful, now he recognized her.

The Raven.

It had been many decades since he had last seen her. She was a beautiful young woman, he didn’t need her to remove her glasses to know those dark eyes were raking over him, assessing him to be a threat or alley.

“Well, it’s the right place, cous,” Mary’s voice said behind him.

“It’s nice to see you again Mary-Beth,” the Raven’s voice said smoothly.

“Rachel,” Mary said tightly. “This is mom’s right hand, and the head of the Ranch, John Trujillo,” Mary introduced him. “John, this is Rachel Roth, my Aunt Angela’s daughter.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” the Raven said holding her hand out.

He didn’t touch the empath as he tilted his head a bit in acknowledgement before walking by her. She was a small, slight woman and he saw those dark eyes watch him as walked by.

If the Raven was here then whatever was taking the children wasn’t no damn coyote; he would bet her arrival to mean the supernatural was stirring once again.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Shaggy didn’t struggle under Daphne’s bags as they walked to the car she had rented them to meet up with Fred and Velma.

A lot had changed over the years, but the jobs for PIs never really did. Daphne ran her blog, built her name up as a reporter, while Velma was still into all sorts of science work that he didn’t understand, and Fred was a budding author.

And he… well, when he wasn’t a PI he actually was a chef, at a restaurant he had opened up back in Coolsville. He’d have stayed in Louisiana, but he just couldn’t. Besides, yearly visits to check in on Grimwood Academy were taken and he got to see everything going on down at the plantation. The school had decided to plant Moonscar Island Chili Peppers. He had acquired Moonscar Island after Simone Lenoir’s and Lena Dupree’s ‘disappearance. Special Agent Beau Neville had all but begged him to so no one else got drawn into the weir voodoo.

Shaggy had because his own family’s plantation was close enough that acquiring the island was just an expansion of his plantation.

Yes, he kept his family’s ancient money and plantations a secret from the gang but he didn’t know how they’d look at him if they knew. Daphne knew, but her family was insanely rich and Mayflower old in the states with their wealth. Shaggy’s family was mostly French and had settled in New Oreleans area, it was because his mom married a Yank that he had grown up in Coolsville rather than on the family plantation.

“You’re here!” Fred shouted in glee, Velma smiled.

“We figured we’d pick you up at the airport rather than making you drive all the way up,” Velma said as she got out of the Mystery van.

“RELMA!” Scooby bellowed as he pounced her in glee.

“Thanks!” Daphne said.

“Yeah, thanks!” Shaggy grinned as Fred took some of the bags that belonged to Daphne.

“Just like old times,” Fred said.

“She doesn’t pack less,” Shaggy muttered as they packed up the van. The gang took their normal seats, he was sitting with Scooby as they looked over the custom Scooby snacks Velma had picked up for them.

“It is a weird case, and no one’s digging into it,” Velma said.

“Why not?”

“Alice said they don’t look into reservation problems and there aren’t enough cops on the reservation to look into this, and all the leads are dead ends,” Fred said.

“That’s sad,” Daphne said.

“Yeah,” Shaggy agreed as Scooby’s head rested on his shoulder. He didn’t like solving mysteries, but they did make him feel like he was giving something back to life by solving them.

Despite the PTS, anxiety and his ADHD going off the wall when they worked them.

[mariacallous]

Roughly one in ten Russians — more than 15 million people — live below the poverty line, surviving on a monthly income of less than 14,200 rubles ($146). Many endure abhorrent conditions in crumbling homes without heating, functioning sewage facilities, or running water. In a new documentary, “Pentagon,” journalist Andrey Loshak captures the lives of residents in one of these buildings in Russia’s Saratov region. The RFE/RL news outlet Current Time is releasing part one of Loshak’s miniseries on October 14 on YouTube. Meduza summarizes the project.

Loshak’s crew filmed “Pentagon” outside Saratov in a small town called Novouzensk. The documentary follows the lives of people living in a former dormitory converted to public housing, in a ramshackle building that lacks heating and indoor plumbing, where the sewage empties directly into the basement. Residents refer to their dilapidated home as “the Pentagon.”

The film’s events unfold between October 2022 and February 2023 during Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine. In four parts, Loshak’s miniseries captures the lives of “Pentagon” residents as they go to work, argue about politics, fight with neighbors, watch Putin’s speeches on television, leave to fight in Ukraine, and return home from the front. 

In one scene, residents are informed that their roof is scheduled for renovation, albeit not until 2043. Later, a group of small children marvel at a photograph of a soldier — “lil’ Dima with a weapon.” In another scene, a man tells another, “You’re fighting for Putin, not for your country.” The film cuts away just as his shirtless companion angrily answers, “Seriously?”

Throughout the film, Loshak’s crew asks people if they’ve complained to the authorities about their housing conditions and if they hope to move elsewhere. Some in “the Pentagon” refuse any outside help and try on their own to make their homes more comfortable, while others say they’ve spent years begging and waiting for help from the state. However, the building has only continued to decay in all that time.

Not everyone living at “the Pentagon” was willing to speak to Loshak’s crew. Some worried that interacting with journalists could only worsen their situation, possibly risking eviction. When one resident asks why the film is being made, and the cameraman says it could improve life at “the Pentagon,” the resident’s response is cryptic:

Try living here for a year or maybe five, and then let’s see what you’ll say. If I didn’t know, I wouldn’t speak.

Andrey Loshak told Meduza that he and his crew hope to pressure Novouzensk officials into investing some money into maintaining the building, and they wanted to mobilize the residents themselves to stand up for their rights:

We tried to rouse them [“Pentagon” residents] somehow so people would start to fight. Sure, fighting is scary… But at least they’d begin asserting their fundamental rights. That’s what the state owes them.

It’s a miserable, impoverished existence that they cannot escape. I also thought: What do people actually want when they ask why Russians don’t protest? [They don’t protest] because Russians are in survival mode. And they’re terrified that even this life could become worse. Everything hinges on this fear.

Speaking to Ksenia Sokolyanskaya at Current Time, Loshak said he grew especially interested in making a film about the poorest Russians after seeing Moscow use these people as “cannon fodder” in the invasion of Ukraine. Every town in Russia has homes like these, he explained, admitting that his documentary resulted in a horror film of sorts.

The Ukraine invasion doesn’t become a major plot point until the second episode of the miniseries. Loshak says he was surprised to find no consensus about the war among “Pentagon” residents. Despite their poverty, the people in the documentary demonstrate a capacity for critical thinking and political reflection Loshak says he didn’t expect. “And they come to conclusions that would hardly please [Russia’s] leadership,” he told Sokolyanskaya. “The people seem like they should be brainwashed by propaganda because they’ve all got working TVs, because there’s no other entertainment that’s really available to them, but I didn’t see any particular loyalty to the authorities there.”

Out of personal safety concerns amid Russia’s crackdown on free speech, Loshak says he wasn’t able to be present for the filming itself, so he hired a team on the ground and directed them remotely. That crew recorded 150 hours of footage on multiple trips to Novouzensk. 

At the same time, Loshak admitted to Sokolyanskaya that he worries his work might harm the very people at the center of his film: “Of course, I’m concerned. This is my main fear now.” If the authorities try to punish the “Pentagon” residents, Loshak said he hopes for a public outcry and a crowdfunding campaign to resettle them. On the other hand, he added, his miniseries’ attention to their situation might even help them. Maybe.

[rwbyremnants]

BIG WARNING: THIS ONE IS HET. Probably the only het fic we’ll do besides the little bits of Arkos fluff in SWTD. Lots of Dom/sub stuff so you should skip it if that is not your thing. Fic is set before the epilogue of White Noise; it will contain some small plot details for the broader WN universe.

Also… I realise some of you may have reservations about this fic. Especially after what recently came to light with Qrow’s voice actor (I won’t go into details, you can look those up elsewhere). But this story is still very important for plot reasons within the White Noise universe, and was written a couple of years ago – yes, multiple years, we have a lot of backlog. Plus I hate to hold an actor’s behaviour against the character. Hopefully you can still get some enjoyment out of it, despite that (and that it’s a straight ship for most of you who come to this account for the lezbeans). If not, you can look forward to the next installment which will be full of our usual gayness!

Thanks again to CoNzz for the editing help! It was much appreciated!

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Cock teasing, fellatio, kitchen sex, doggy style, light spanking.

=Chapter 1

"Shame you're not an Uber driver. View like this, smooth ride… you're a five star all the way."

That was one of many unneeded comments from the passenger in Winter Schnee's car. Her lip curled as she kept her eyes on the road, trying to deaf them out. What had she done to deserve this?

The answer was, a lot of things. Two years had passed since that conversation on the jet plane, where she had promised one Yang Xiao Long, and later her sister, Weiss, that there would be no more “dirty dealings” going on in the company. This was meant for her own safety and protection, but as time went on, company with one's self was just missing something. It was bland, dull, colourless… and it gave her too much time to reflect on how close she had come to forcing her sister’s girlfriend into committing suicide. She found herself needing extracurricular activities.

One such activity, which Yang suggested, was joining in with her father and uncle's weekly bowling matches. They had been missing a team member for a while, so she was welcomed into the group, though her game was a bit rusty. Gutterballs aside, it seemed to have been an enjoyable enough night, even if one member of the team seemed unable to keep his booze-fueled comments to himself. The same team member who she insisted on driving home rather than let him stumble there.

"Then I expect you to pay for fuel, at the absolute least. No matter how much you spent on fueling yourself." Though she did not take her eyes off the road, she was sorely tempted. The scruffy man, Qrow - if that was his real name, which seemed highly unlikely - was slouched down so low that his knees were pressed up against the dashboard. She would have had to glance down and into the actual seat to see his face.

A face that brought about a mixed reaction. All night, as she attempted to improve her game, she had both wanted to gaze curiously at his noble features, and slap it in equal measure. Something about his confidence brought about both emotions. Either way, her dislike certainly had nothing to do with his looks; he was just her type in that regard. But she refused to let herself dwell on that and that alone.

Both Taiyang and Yang had warned Winter of Qrow Branwen. The drunk, the guy who spoke his mind without giving a second thought, or a damn about anyone other than himself. He didn't care if the flirting annoyed Winter, nor particularly if his posture and cocky attitude did, either. In a way, the forthrightness was refreshing, even if it grated on her nerves.

"I had like, one drink." When he raised his hand up it displayed three fingers rather than just the one. Then he smirked to himself as he held his hands behind his head instead, spreading his legs out wide as he leant back. "Besides… I wouldn't have to ride in your precious car if you weren't so insistent on driving me. It's a left here, toots."

Under her breath, Winter muttered, "People still say 'toots' anymore?" as she turned the car in the direction indicated. Indeed, he was repulsive… but only in manner, and the smell of alcohol. Despite the five o'clock shadow on his jaw, he was very neat and well-kept, and obviously in fantastic shape. He just liked to do his best impression of a complete jerk at all times.

"Y'know, I figured when Tai said my neph- niece's girl's sister was coming along, I expected someone a lot shorter." He commented, head freely bobbing with the motions of the car as he still leant back against the chair, like his head was too heavy to support by itself. But then it slumped in her direction, eyes raking her figure from top to bottom. Particularly the bottom. "Gotta say it worked in my favour. I dig tall chicks."

The rigid woman's eyebrows shot upward as she pulled up to a stop sign, which allowed her the luxury of turning to glare down at him. "Excuse me?! I… I'm not that tall. And I am not a 'chick', you disrespectful boor!"

He only smirked, nodding very slowly. "Nah, you're not." But when she pulled off again, he looked back to the road and added, "More like a hen."

"Oh, a 'hen', am I?" She'd had enough of being teased; it was time to tease back. "Guess that makes you a rooster, doesn't it? If I've ever met a man who's a giant cock, it's you."

That only made him laugh. It was a shame they were nearing the shoddy apartment building, or so he thought. He'd have to make the final comment as they pulled onto the curb a good one. And so he did.

"I know I'm a giant cock." The smirk grew wider. "Or maybe you meant ‘who’s got a giant cock’. ‘S true, too."

Though her expression was disgusted… her mouth stilled as she guided closer to the parking spaces. To him, he would have thought she was simply tired of exchanging such lowbrow conversation. In reality…

What if it were true? He was a decent-looking man, with that mussed, steel-grey hair, brooding eyes, just the right amount of scratchy stubble. If he was endowed in addition, perhaps this was worth exploring – should he even be sober enough to get said endowment to rise. Just because she had sworn off sleeping with clients to further her sister’s pop star career didn’t mean she had to swear off all one-night stands.

"Well, here you are," she grunted, putting the car in park. "Should I help carry you up to your room, or can you still walk?"

"Oh pssshh. I ain't that drunk." But the way he had to place his hand on the door multiple times to find the handle said otherwise. He did finally manage it and climbed free from the car. Of course he hadn't worn a seatbelt; what did she expect?

But once he shut the car door again when outside, he leant in against the open window, head tilting to one side as he leered at her. She hadn't got rid of him yet. "Unless that was your subtle way of asking if you could come up to see said giant cock… or have a drink, whatever comes up first."

The boldness of his offer, coupled with how unconcerned he seemed to be about the whole matter, sent a thrill through her stomach. One she knew all too well. Without letting that show in her face, she responded, "I'll come up to make sure you don't miss your own door handle and crack your head open on it. We'll see about the rest."

His eyes widened a little in surprise – and also showed how bloodshot they were. "Huh… never expected that one to work, but, whatever. Not gonna look a gift-horse in the mouth."

She spotted him up a couple of flights of stairs, Qrow stumbling and supporting himself on the railing all the way there. Until they got to the middle floor. Winter could only assume his place would be a common scene from the shabbiness of the building itself. Poorly maintained, cheap and old. A place just as rough as him; how appropriate.

Once fumbling with the key to the door over and over, he eventually pushed open the door to his apartment. Yet again rough, but not as bad as what one would expect. There were a few bottles here and there, the odd garment of clothing on the sofa, but nothing too major. Qrow had made it the best he could with all his secondhand budget furnishings. What more could you do with a tiny one-bedroom apartment?

"What's your poison?" he asked, staggering into the small kitchen area.

"Perrier. But somehow, I doubt you have that, so any water will do – or club soda with lemon or lime, if you don't even have water." The last was intended as a jab at his drinking, but in truth, she wasn't sure he'd have a single bottle of water in a bachelor pad like that.

Pacing around the room, Winter ran a finger over the top of the television. The coating of dust was there, but thin; he'd cleaned within the past week or so. The DVDs on the stand were all of action movies, season sets of a cop drama. The very picture of a man who spent a lot of time alone. Against her will, she frowned at them, thinking that perhaps he had it coming considering the crudeness of his flirtation tactics… but she also felt sorry for him not having anyone in his life on a regular basis.

"I got working plumbing," the voice called up from in the kitchen area again. Indeed, this was a man who didn't get many visitors at all. Not even Taiyang or his nieces visited very often. He was a man who went to them, rather than had guests up in his own underwhelming apartment. For one reason or another.

"Then pour me whatever," she called back distractedly. In fact, it was fairly obvious that he had no intention of having guests over at all, considering the choice magazines that were simply out on the coffee table. There were at least five different Sports Illustrated issues there; two of which features swimsuits, as she had dreaded. Also, a periodical about guns. Rolling her eyes, she shoved at them idly…

And saw something peeking out from under the cover of a football player headed for a touchdown. Something decidedly more conspicuous than the others. Another swimsuit issue? Nipping it out from underneath, she had to suppress a gasp of shock that he might have heard.

It was porn. The man literally kept porn in his living room.

The cover showed a girl all in leather sitting on top of another girl wearing a dog collar, which instantly piqued her interest. Was he… that kind of man? Flipping through the rest, she saw it was largely the usual; some lesbians, some straight couples, most of them doing the typical scenes. Only the cover was slanted toward a darker variety of "play" – probably merely as a tactic to hook the reader.

There were a few curse words yelled alongside the obvious stumbling in the kitchen from where he went to get the glasses, and then the pouring of water. He was distracted for now, it seemed. That appeared to be the only magazine of such a variety in the living room, but even then, it seemed to be a subtle hint to the man Qrow was. What his interests were. At least none of the pages seemed particularly worn from being held open.

'Perhaps he hasn't read it yet,’' she thought to herself reasonably, trying not to get overly excited or paranoid, or read anything more into the situation than was in front of her. All this meant was that he had a porn magazine; it might have been a cheeky gift from Taiyang. Perhaps he did get off to it but only the more typical scenes inside, he or just liked to glance at the cover and laugh. Plenty of explanations. Even so…

When she heard him coming, she slid the magazine back where she found it, straightened the rest, and perched on the couch cushion as if she had been sitting there all the while. Thankfully, he was too drunk to notice, and simply paced toward the living area with the two glasses in hand. One large one for Winter, filled with ice water. The other, a smaller glass, filled with whiskey and a single cube. Clearly he didn’t intend on slowing down now that he was home.

"Can't exactly say I expected guests, but…" As he handed the glass to her, he looked around. "Welcome to the chicken coop."

"Yes, it's… charming." She was above rude comments on a person's living conditions, unless they had to do with literal messiness. In Qrow's case, that would just be nitpicky. Sipping at her water, she asked, "Have you lived here long?"

"Six years, give or take?" Allowing himself to fall onto the other end of the sofa, he slumped straight away, spreading his legs once more when he relaxed. Typical man… "Remember the first thing I did when I got the place set up was have Yang over for some ‘guy time’ watching the game. Only to find out she'd come over to tell me that he was a she." Taking a sip of his drink for a moment, he sighed, "Weird memory to look back on but really is the first thing I remember about this place."

"I envy that memory," she sighed easily, crossing her legs as she sat back. "My… sister-in-law, I suppose she is. Did they tell you the story, about how I found out?"

"Nope, I just assumed you got told like I did." Although a few seconds after taking his next sip, he seemed to slow right down, smacking his lips together. "And… now realise that… you might not have known and I could'a just outted her randomly… well, fuck. I’m pretty chatty when I’m on the sauce."

"Don't worry, you didn't breach her confidence," she added with a little chuckle. Then she cleared her throat. "I… was worried she wasn't what she seemed, so I did some investigating. Outed her behind her back, and thought I had discovered some great secret. Of course, that was my ignorance; I understand that now."

For most whom she had told the story to, they glared or reprimanded her – even though she trusted very few of them with that. Some asked asked her why it was such a big deal because they were ignorant themselves. Either way, it seemed to lead to arguments and judgement. Yet Qrow never shifted. He kept staring into nothing as he swirled his drink around.

"Least that shit happened when she didn't trust you." He spoke rather softly. "She trusted me when I was an asshole about it. Said a lotta shit that turned out to be just… ignorance, like you said."

"Oh, and that's so hard to believe after the way you've behaved all night." But considering the man looked put out enough by the memory already, she reached over to swat him lightly on the knee to show she was only winding him up. "How were you an ass?"

It seemed to be appreciated. Downing the remains of his drink, he placed the glass on the coffee table on top of the magazines. "Acted like it never happened. Poor girl poured her heart out to me, and all I did was keep inviting her on guys’ nights out and to watch the game here. I thought she was just a crossdresser or gay or whatever, or it was a phase."

Nodding, Winter mulled that over as she took another drink. "And… I'm going to assume she didn't get quite as much out of the male-oriented activities as you were hoping?"

"I got a quiet kid sat on the sofa with her mouth shut. It was Ruby that one day came with her and told me what I was doing, how I was hurting her." Shrugging his shoulders on his chair, he looked over to her. "Says a lot when your youngest niece is coming over telling you you made her older sister cry."

"You had no way of knowing," she sighed with a little nod. This was an area she definitely had experience with. "You and I… we grew up thinking you were a man, or you were a woman, and that was that. Anyone else was living in a fantasy world." Crossing her legs in the opposite direction out of nerves, she continued, "And then our family members made sure we learned differently, didn't they?"

It pulled a small smile to one side of his face as he nodded, still staring out at nothing for a while longer while he recollected all the memories, and thought about his niece and her relationship again. "Yeah. They're good kids. Couldn't ask for anything else."

"I can't believe I ever tried to break them up. And almost succeeded." Staring down at her water, she muttered under her breath, "Maybe I should have taken you up on that drink, after all."

Slapping his knees before lifting himself onto his feet, he flashed a mixture of smirk and earnest smile. It was the best they had got on for hours, but there was a small victory in knowing she was comfortable having a drink. Heading back into the kitchen, he called out, "What's your poison, then? And you're welcome to crash on the couch if you wanna get shiftfaced."

"Gin and tonic, if you have it," she finally acquiesced, feeling as if she had sunk to new depths, accepting a drink from a man she should be driving to an AA meeting. "And you never did say about that lime!"

"Does this place look like it'd have fresh lime, toots?"

Unusually, the two seemed to get along for the rest of the evening. Winter had agreed to have a larger drink after all, when Qrow had convinced her she could take his bed should she decide to stay, or he'd call her a taxi if she wanted to leave. They bonded over a few more glasses, and TV casually in the background. But as they drank, they continued to talk about their experiences with Yang.

It was strange how talking about such a subject seemed to bring them together, but the mutual venting about how awful they felt with themselves helped them to heal – to know that they were not alone in being ignorant, and that it wasn’t too uncommon to learn from their past mistakes. Especially now they knew things had worked out in the end. In fact, Winter was just about finishing her tale. The full story.

Which seemed to have Qrow staring off into nothing, barely able to look at her after what was just told. "…And there I was thinking her ex, Blake, was the emo one. Never expected someone as fiery as Yang to feel so low she’d try to do a thing like that."

"Never thought simply asking someone to consider my sister's feelings would nearly drive them to suicide. Though that isn’t quite what I did, it’s what I thought I was doing." Taking another belt of her brandy, she sighed, eyes wincing at the strength of the drink. "But, as we've all discussed, I had no way of knowing… they were the real thing. I didn't understand what 'trans' meant, that she wasn't some 'man in disguise' trying to corrupt my sister. She did then, and still does, mean the world to me. I thought I was doing my job as a big sister, and…"

Tears had begun to creep into her voice, but she took a deep breath, closing her eyes, and took another. "No. I'm done crying over that; I made mistakes, I have been forgiven."

Putting his third finished glass for the evening down, Qrow sat back on the sofa again, running a hand through his hair while he thought about everything. Obviously he had felt slight anger, considering the one in question was a niece. But as Winter said, it was in the past. It wasn't like she could go back and “fix” it. After more rational thinking, he even shrugged his shoulders.

"Always knew that kinda stuff ran in this side the family. Depression and all that shit. My sister; her mom, was the same. Guess I hoped it skipped a generation."

"You understand, right? That if I even had the slightest inkling… that I would at least have been more polite, or asked more questions. Done something different!" Taking another deep breath, she wiped at her eyes, more to prevent tears from falling than because any had. "I can't imagine Yang not being a part of my sister's life now. Part of my extended family. I just… didn't know her and didn't see my own prejudice was tainting my view of her."

"Hey." Sitting up straight, he managed to smile slightly. "Worked out in the end, right? Those girls are off on tour together, you and Weiss are tighter than ever. Shit mighta happened, but no point in beating yourself up now."

Another deep breath. Those were becoming a habit. It was one of the many ways Winter helped deal with her mistakes of the past. But she did have others.

"You're too kind to me," she told him, laying a hand on his knee. Somewhat neutral territory; not too high so that she seemed easy, or provocative, but it was an initiation of physical contact. Something to build on.

"Think I got a can of Pringles or something. Will help sober us up before bed, I guess." But he didn't leave just yet, simply holding the glasses in his hand a little longer while he tried to keep upright. Seemed that's what he needed.

After some time had passed, Winter pushed his thigh to get him moving vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. "Then don't just stand there, get…" Then she yawned widely. "Go… oooing. Whoo, I think this brandy is going to my head."

"Maybe it's bedtime and not snacktime, huh?" The rugged man had finally managed to stumble into the kitchen, dumping the glasses into the sink. He could take care of them in the morning. More concerned for making sure his guest was settled, he paced back out and into the living space again, nodding to gesture to one of the doors. "Come on, let's get you to bed, Snowbird."

"Snowbird?" she half-laughed as she stood, also wobbling on her feet. "Woo… alright, perhaps you have a point…" As she approached, she asked, "But where will you sleep?"

"On the sofa. Where else?" Holding open the door to the bedroom, he waited patiently for her to enter. "Knock out there pretty often. ‘Sides, a lady such as yourself deserves better’n my crummy couch."

Thankfully, the state of the bedroom was better than the living room instead of worse. The bed wasn't made, but there weren't any spare clothes or porn magazines left out and about. If anything, the only embarrassment was the many bottles in the trash can; otherwise, it was very well-kept. Though a very mild tingle shot through her stomach at the idea of laying amongst his sheets, smelling his masculine scent all night, she was professional enough to suppress that. Clearing her throat, she began to kick off her flats.

"Well, I thank you for being a gentleman. If this happens again, I'll plan to catch a cab so you don't have to do this for me."

"Hey, bed's available any time. Save your cash." Once she was sat down on the bed, he waited a moment longer by the door, watching for a small while. It was the first time he'd had a woman in his apartment for a long time, let alone one in his bed. Not that it would lead to anything more, he expected. Still… "Can I get you anything else, or are you alright here?"

"Well, I think we handled the nightcap," she told him with a small smirk. "But thank you. Goodnight, Sir Rooster."

"Night, Snowbird." It seemed to suit her better than the word 'hen', at least – given her sometimes cold nature, and the white hair. Without another word, he finally stepped back toward the main room again, shutting the door behind him quietly.

As far as things went, sleeping on the sofa didn't seem too bad of a price to pay for the evening's events. Qrow had found a friend in one of the least likely people he expected. And had her back at his place! As he stripped down to just his boxers for the warm night ahead, he laid down and stared blankly at the ceiling for a while in thought. They had one thing in common in that they had taken more time than others to accept Yang, and maybe they were both helping each other deal with the sadness that followed after realising their mistakes. But was that really enough of a bond to build a lasting friendship upon?

Maybe that would come tomorrow, he thought. The morning could hold plenty of possibilities.

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

When Winter awoke the next morning, she was momentarily puzzled by her surroundings. Those weren't her sheets, her curtains. They weren't even ones that belonged to the Schnee condo in California, or a hotel room. Where on earth…?

And then it came back to her in a flash when she breathed in, and found herself swimming in musky aftershave and other hints of manliness. Qrow Branwen's apartment. They had drank too much to even manage calling her a taxi. She tried to feel disgusted with herself, but being enveloped by that sent was oddly comforting. That was something she would no doubt be analysing to death later, when she didn't feel too at peace to examine anything.

Finally, however, the call of nature ended her reverie. Peeling herself out of the dark sheets, she just managed to remember to grab her slacks from the floor and pull them on; she didn't want to present too much of a show to him just for going to the bathroom.

She glanced at the couch as she went from one door to another, and saw his grey head on the arm. Still asleep. Trying not to wake him, she did her business and stole a drop of mouthwash, then rinsed the sleep from her face as best she could. Not bad, for having none of her usual morning ritual products. Her hair was only slightly turning into a bird's nest. She did notice again that she was definitely getting older, but she tried not to think about the bags under her eyes, the very beginnings of wrinkles. The passage of time could not be stopped so there was little point in fretting; she just had to finally start contemplating Botox, using face creams. That was the best she could do.

However, when she exited and began to approach his sleeping form, she was in for a mild surprise. For an old drunk, Qrow wasn’t half bad looking. In addition to the flattering stubble and rugged looks, he had a remarkably well toned body. This was a man who clearly worked out in his spare time, when he wasn't drinking or bowling.

Rather impressive arms and slightly visible abs aside, there was another highly noticeable factor: he wasn't exactly lying about the “giant cock” part, either. There was a rather obvious ridge pressed up against his boxer shorts – one that seemed to have a sizable length to it, at that. The occasional twitch proved it was real, and he hadn't just stuffed socks down there to make an impression when she saw him.

Gradually however, his head moved lightly against the arm of the sofa as he began to wake… and Winter found herself disappointed that she wouldn't have much time to enjoy this show. Truly, it had been a while since her last "encounter", and even though she had her own means of pleasure between lovers, that just couldn't compare to what Qrow had to work with.

However, he wasn't quite awake yet. Maybe she could startle him for a cheap laugh. Tiptoeing around the couch, she crouched by his side, leaned over, and positioned her face so that it was a mere centimetre away from the tenting in his shorts and plastered a smirk on her face. And waited.

There was a deep breath in from him while he tried to get comfortable. Seemed he wasn't quite awake – more trying not to be. He shifted his legs on the couch back and forth to get to a better position, which, to Winter's guilty delight, made the large presence bob with its movements. What a shame it would be when it would have to go away.

Of course, by this point she was unable to completely ignore his scent. It hadn't been readily apparent when first coming to hover over him, but now that she had been stationed there for a minute… she couldn’t suppress her excitement at being close to him while aroused, even in a half-awake state. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips before she could stop it, and then she inwardly cursed herself for such silliness. Nothing was going to happen. She was simply playing a very mild prank on her sleeping in-law.

Finally, the eyes were starting to flicker. And he slowly found them beginning to open. At first, he was staring up at the ceiling, so saw nothing of her at all. That was until he began to look down.

By that point, she was leaning closer still. Her cheek came into contact with the cotton material, and she suppressed a shiver as she gazed up at him through her eyelashes. At least she was still smirking.

"Morning."

Blinking rapidly, he tried to make sure he wasn't seeing things, or imagining things. But he felt it! Felt her cheek against him! Opening his eyes once more, he looked straight at her, mouth dropping open very slightly.

"Y'know…" he began. He never once seemed upset or disgusted by that behaviour. Just surprised. "Think I could call this sexual harassment if I wanted to."

"Only if you protest." She leaned closer, and though she had already been inwardly shocked at her own behaviour, now a voice in the back of her head was screaming as she felt true pressure in return; she was literally leaning against his erection! This drunkard who acted like a cocky asshole all night long! Had she lost her mind? "Do you? Protest, I mean."

"…Am I dreaming still?" But he really could feel her face against him, especially when it twitched again. He had abandoned any hope that anything close to this would happen, yet Winter was now making the first move. But he did want it to continue, so he played along.

"Protest?" he asked, running a hand through his hair to 'neaten' it again. “Guy would have to be crazy with you that close to protest.”

A powerful need swelled up in her. One too long suppressed. As she bit her lip, watching very carefully how he reacted, she began to raise her hand up to lay on a bare stretch of his thigh, slowly dragging it upward.

She really wasn't fooling around. She wanted this – wanted him. Did that really come down to a simple case of morning wood in the end? Was she that impressed with what she saw? Delicately humming at the gentle touches, he half closed his eyes when looking back to her.

"Seriously though, why keep going here when I could bend you over the kitchen counter?"

Well that certainly shot heat straight to her core. Now she had to ask, even if only once. As her hand began to tease him very lightly through the fabric, only just touching without wrapping around the girth truly, she whispered, "This isn't too strange? Me doing this, and considering your offer… even though we basically just met?"

Qrow was still questioning if he was dreaming or not. The hand was definitely there, he could feel it caressing him still even now. Still, he looked toward her, tilting his head. "Ain't got a clue why you'd wanna with a lowlife like me, but I sure as hell ain't turning it down if you do."

"Mmm…" The groan was low and sensual, purely designed to tease. "Perhaps I don't. Perhaps I just want to tease a little. Are… you alright with that?"

But even as she asked this question, Winter performed a move she had perfected over the years. Fingers moving nimbly, she tugged the fabric down and to one side slightly, moving it in just the right way that she caught the flap in the front of his boxers around the head of his erection, then pulled inward so that it slid through into the open air.

Another contented humming filled the air when his member was exposed. She must have had practice if she was able to pull that off so quickly. Just what did this Schnee chick get up to in her spare time? he wondered. And from that, he also began to wonder what she could do for him. Finally he looked back with a smirk, giving a small wink. "Oh, I am more than interested."

That little was all she needed to lean over and press her lips up against the hot flesh. Ohhh, it had been too long for her. The scent rolling down from the head was just right; thick and sharp without overpowering. Her stomach rumbled, and she realised it wanted breakfast… but she was just going to have to settle for something else to tide her over.

Such were her thoughts as she leaned up and accepted him into her mouth.

"Oooohhhh…" How long had this been? Long enough for him to have forgotten what it felt like to have a woman's lips around him. Warm wetness encircling his member, dragging itself down every now and again with gentle movements of the tongue. Winter Schnee must have had a lot of practice to pull this off without a single hitch. But it still made no sense why on earth someone so gorgeous and refined as her would be so insistent on pleasuring him first, especially when she could probably demand he do this to her first and he would oblige.

Little did he know that she grown to love pleasuring men. Loved the many sensations; sights, sounds, smells… tastes. She didn't always care for the men themselves, but that was of little importance. Not when she could get her fix and then discard them as easily as they discarded her.

As her lips began to make their way down his shaft, tongue laving over him all the while, her hand released and moved to his thigh again. Inch by inch, it slid up the inside of his shorts, teasing the skin there as effectively as her mouth teased the main attraction. He was finding it more difficult to keep himself composed. Moaning and panting in front of a woman was definitely not what he planned on doing first thing in the morning. With his magazine, perhaps; not with a guest. But that's what he was reduced to. A moaning mess that was relaxing further into the sensation of getting 'the full service'.

"Geez, Winter," he managed to groan between gasps. "I think this more or less… makes up for all them gutterballs."

At that, she laughed briefly as she raised her head up, allowing him to bounce from her mouth. "Really? You have a problem with how I handle balls?" And the instant she asked, her hand swiftly ran up and cupped his, fingertips expertly fondling without causing the slightest pain or discomfort.

"HAH!" That should have been expected. Especially when her hand had already been so close! The mouth was familiar territory, but treatment as good as this… did he ever have this? He didn’t believe so. It felt oddly relaxing to have such a delicate part of him caressed and fondled; doubling up with the now cold air on his wet member, it was an interesting sensation. Growling with delight, he leant his head back against the chair, smirking to himself again.

"You wanna be careful. Treat me too good and this old soldier might not make it to the kitchen."

That prompted an earnest chuckle from her; she appreciated a man who could be so brutally honest. Nodding, she licked him again and asked in as sultry a voice as she could manage, "You really want to sink this deep into me, don't you?" Another lick, a kiss. "Do you have… the proper precautions for that?"

That brought a growl out from him when he grinned back down toward her. A woman who knew how to handle him well, and wasn't afraid to remind him to keep things safe. How much luckier could he get? Still, he nodded to her question, head tilting in the direction of his discarded pants on the ground. "Always got a couple in my wallet, in case I get lucky. Think I hit the jackpot."

"Good." Then she gave the sack a light squeeze before she withdrew, standing up. "I'll go get ready to receive, while you get ready to give. Um… do you want me all the way stripped, or… do you prefer taking care of that yourself? I don't mind either way."

Sitting himself back up again, he leaned down to grab his pants from the floor, patting them to find the pocket and said wallet. At the question, he couldn't help but laugh lightly. "Been too long since I done anything, toots. I think after that, you can call the shots. I'll do it however you want me to do it."

Again, she was impressed against her own will. He was nailing every single response, even though she had almost been hoping he didn't so she could have an excuse to back out, or to challenge him further. How was this scruffy-looking man doing so well? It was as infuriating as it was…

Arousing. Without even checking, she already knew she was beginning to dampen her underwear. Licking her lips and clearing her throat, she traced a hand through his already-tousled hair as she walked past.

"I'll get ready the way I want to get ready, then. Meet you there."

"Try and stop me."

The entire exchange was beyond anything he'd experienced before. There were one night stands, fuck buddies, the occasional girlfriend; nothing like this. Nothing like a woman who knew exactly how to handle him, where to put her tongue, how to talk to him. And on top of that, she was beautiful and had a fantastic body to match. Maybe this was a dream, an elaborate one he'd wake from in a few hours and wonder what an earth had happened. But dream or not, he was determined to enjoy it.

Such determination had him frantically pulling the wallet from his pocket, opening and taking one of the small packets which he opened it with his teeth. He was so very eager to begin. Once the small ring was free, it didn't take much longer for him to press it against his member, pulling the latex covering all the way down the thick length until he was ready. Once that step was complete, he hauled himself to his feet and made his way to the kitchen to see just how Winter had prepared herself.

The sight he met when he got in there was like something out of a dream, or a movie. Winter was already leaning over the counter – not braced for him to enter, but simply leaning as if she had been thinking about something while sipping from the water glass between her fingers. The only noticeable conspicuous change was that her slacks were missing; panties still in place, in their black satin glory, but otherwise her bare legs were on display from hip to heel.

"So that's how you wanna play it. Never expected you to be the ‘trophy wife fantasy’ type of girl." It looked bizarre, him stood in the doorway with a sheathed, rock hard erection, her so casual against his counter. Still, he had reason for all the questions. After so long and so many partners, one would lose their interest in maintaining appearances. Might as well get the important things out of the way.

Such as… "Any other requests?"

"Just one." Looking over her shoulder at him briefly, eyes flicking down to what he was about to bring closer, she smirked as she whispered, "Don't disappoint me. But I have a feeling I don't have to worry about that."

Eyebrows raising up then down, he finally approached his lover for the morning. Hands falling to her hips with a slight slap, he stared down at her plump ass. How truly lucky he was to get to experience this fine figure of a woman for the day.

"Let's just take care of this here…" One hand left her hip to quickly reach down, tugging her underwear to one side and tucking it by her lips out of the way. But it didn't leave just yet. He took a moment to simply dip a finger into the slick folds, feeling around their softness for a while to gather his bearings.

Seemed she really was eager to go. The moans that were falling from her open mouth were very slight; this was a woman who knew how to control herself. Allowing herself to enjoy his teasing touch was a decision, not something beyond her ability to suppress. Her thighs drifted very slightly apart.

"So, want me to charge in here? You're ready for it." He noted that as he leant in toward her, pressing his bare front against her back to whisper, "Or do you want some more heating up first?"

"Wh-whatever you want, Rooster. Just… make the moment count."

What he wanted. That's what she said, for him to do as he pleased. Maybe she really did want him to treat her in a way that optimised his pleasure, no matter the circumstances. If that was the case, this really must be a dream. But a dream that he would make the most of; no point in letting the condom go to waste. He took the hand away from her folds, and instead reached down for his member instead. Pressing up against her, he began to guide himself toward the welcoming entrance, gradually pushing forward once he was lined up until he felt the head slide in.

"What I want," he began, immediately moving the hand that was his guide to her back instead, where it grasped a handful of her shirt. And then used that to yank her back against him when he slid forward, pushing all the way inside in one go. "Is you on my cock!"

"UhnnnhhHAHH!" Winter wailed, taken completely unawares by the sudden rough treatment. Of course, he was not the first to go from gentle to brutish in such a short span, but this was the first time it had happened without her requesting it beforehand. Still, it was nothing too far, nothing that would hurt her or made her feel anxious – and she had said he could do whatever he wanted.

Quite the opposite, in fact. Her eyes slid closed as she got past the initial sensation of being claimed, and began to simply enjoy the girth squeezed inside of her. It was every bit as huge as she had observed, felt inside of her mouth. And she loved it. Oh, how perfect he felt nestled there!

Meanwhile, Qrow was pleasantly surprised. He had expected her to perhaps brace up, or even quite loudly tell him off. But no such response. She seemed to only relax herself further, even part her legs that bit further for him. He really must be dreaming, this was everything he desired!

To make the moment count, he continued the rough pace. Hand continuing to yank her back onto him, the other hand also on her hip to aid that process, he began to push his member in and out of her at a quick pace. His breath got heavier and heavier each time his member pushed deep into the warmth of her tight body, truly giving them both a morning to remember.

And her own breath was growing more ragged as she felt him riding her harder, skipping straight to the dirtiest manoeuvres. Seemed they had both been waiting awhile for a good solid fuck.

"Ohhh, yeah," she moaned out as he thudded into her, raising one calf briefly before it fell down again, straining to keep herself at the proper angle for him. Tall though they both were, the counter was just slightly too high! Not that she minded working around that slight obstacle.

"Lemme get that for you…" The least he could do was move his hand from her hip, using that hold under her knee and lift her leg upward to the position she desired. It made no difference to him; he was still going to keep the pace fast and hard into her. Only he suspected doing this deed for her would help her feel more of the benefit. Maybe it would even hit that special place of hers.

"That's right, you cock!" she growled throatily, just beginning to push her hips back to meet his very slightly. By and large, it wasn't necessary. Winter began to release her hold on her voice slightly. Of course she had been holding back. No man got to hear Winter completely unfettered their first dance. But she could let more slip through, let him have a very slight taste of how she could be when she went all out. "You… you take what you want from me!"

This was crazy! She was actually pushing herself backward, meeting his rough thrusts with her own each time, making it even harder and more brutal. She really did know her stuff, and really must have been craving this just as much as him to be getting into it this hard. But just how hard did she want him to go? He was already lifting her leg, and pumping in and out, quick and unforgiving. Could he take it further?

Deciding to risk it, he took his hand off her hip a moment, raising it back only to bring it down onto her backside with a firm SLAP!

"OHHH!" she half-shouted, pitching forward very slightly. Not enough to take him out of her entirely, but it did interrupt her own thrusting rhythm. Now that she hadn't been expecting. The way he had been riding her hard and fast had lured her into thinking he would merely continue that until he burst. Which she was fine with. Where had the spanking come from?

But she wanted to find out how he meant it. Some men just liked to swat a few times as they rode their conquests, merely for the sight of the rippling flesh. Others did it for separate reasons.

"Yeah, that's right," she panted, voice more strained, less self-assured. "Y-you… you want me to be your dirty girl, don't you?"

Growling out his next few breaths, such words were only egging him on further. She really did like being handled roughly. Maybe she would even he interested in his more twisted desires that he generally kept to himself. Not that he'd been able to test that before – not to the full extent he wanted to. But that he refused to let himself think about. Not yet. This was a single fast and brutal fuck in the span of twenty-four hours; there wasn't even a guarantee it would be anything more than that.

For now, he made do with what he had, bringing his hand back to slap her backside once again – only this time, he kept his grip on the fleshy cheek, grasping firmly as he used that in addition to yanking her back on him with his shirt. Anything to make it harder.

"Fuck yes, I do," he growled, somehow managing to lean forward. "And you… you just want me to use you, huh? You… like being my dirty slut, don’t you?"

Winter's mouth dropped wide open. For some reason, even with her flinging such dirty talk back at him, she had not anticipated that he would respond. Not this quickly, and not almost exactly as her deepest, darkest heart wished for him to. However… that did not mean she had no response of her own.

"Fuck yeah. I am a dirty slut. Use me, fill me up!" She sucked in a breath at a particularly hard thrust, then uttered, "Harder! Make me really feel it when you claim me!"

From his position behind, he couldn't feel the constant changes of expression in her face. The words were all he had to go on, and those words were telling him to go harder. So he would oblige. Finally grasping as hard as he could, he thrust very harshly against her. Hard and fast. Every time his hips collided with her backside, there was a rather audible slap that echoed through the apartment. In addition to the low toned moaning he was finally allowing himself, anyone could tell just what they were doing. Probably even the neighbours would have something to say.

But it wouldn't last too much longer. He could feel his cock beginning to twitch and throb. Not that he let it affect the pace yet. "You ready?" he shakily asked. "R-Ready to… be a good little cumslut?"

That was a word, among a few other choice selections, that she had very secretly been hoping he might use, but didn't dare anticipate. "Cumslut." Instantly, she could feel both her face and her sex heating up, driven further by that one simple word. Her voice climbed higher in pitch once she finally responded.

"YES! Make me your dirty cumslut, do it! Fuck me!"

The positive attitude toward such a harsh word, the efforts she was making to throw herself back against him, were finally too much, and really was a dream come true as he found his end. Quivering, he grunted outward rather loudly as he delivered a few more firm thrusts inside, feeling his member throb hard and harshly. Thankfully, the latex covering was enough to prevent anything ending up inside of her. And from how pent up he was, that could be for the best – else he may well have ended up 'filling her up' as she requested.

Even after he was done, he left himself inside longer, shoved right up against the counter as his hand still held that cheek tightly. He was still going to 'claim' her, right up until she got her end too.

"Yeah! Yes, I f-feel you filling me! Yeah, it's- nnhhAAAHH!"

It had been a while for Winter since she last enjoyed an internal orgasm. Partly because most men she slept with weren't capable of the raw force and finesse combined that were required, and partly because on her own, she usually opted for "flicking the bean", as it was known casually. But somehow, Qrow managed that. He filled her so well that she came.

He felt every last twitch inside. Every single vibration her legs made, and even a slight throbbing of her own against his member. She really had been waiting a long time for someone do this to her. And do it this hard. Just as much as he'd been waiting, it seemed. Part of him was wondering if to do it again. He was more than pent up enough to go for a second round in a few short minutes. Maybe she'd like that. For now, however, he pressed his bare front against her back again, slowly lowering her leg again.

"That what you were after, Snowbird?"

Shivering, Winter allowed herself to lie on the counter, catching her breath. Then she whispered, "Ohhh… yes, that… hit the spot…" Swallowing, she managed to drag the glass of water closer from where she had laid it aside, but couldn't tip it or push up to drink from it, so it merely sat there, mocking her by being out of reach.

"And you know what would hit the spot for me?" he whispered into her ear between his own raspy breaths, beginning to ease his hips slowly backward. It almost seemed as though he was about to thrust forward again, keep going once more. But that small hope seemed to fade when he slipped out completely, standing back upright to pat her back. "Some bacon and eggs."

"Sounds good to me, too. Where are we going?" Reaching back, she finally nipped the crotch of her underwear to the side and covered her still-soaking petals. After the sudden workout, she was beginning to recover her wind now.

"Well, I'm going to the bathroom." He was already at the other side of the room when he finished that sentence, taking off the covering to throw it into the trash. Looking back toward her as he tucked his slowly softening length away, he smirked. "The dirty girl makes the eggs and bacon, right? You seem to like that role."

“E-excuse me?!” “Hop to it, hotness.” Then he swatted her on the ass before heading for the door.

Winter simply watched him leave to wash up, a curious look on her face. The dynamic was shifting, mutating into something new. Even before it had a chance to be something old. Smiling a private, scheming smile, she turned toward the refrigerator to see if he even had bacon and eggs in the first place.

[mal-likes-biscuits]

More Diablo Character Head-Cannons

[Continued from here, so I don’t hijack the poof.]

I have pretty detailed head-cannons for most of the characters, including their personal habits. Some of the material makes it into stories when it’s relevant, whereas most of it doesn’t. But after talking with @fishyfiash about Inarius’ hair poof, I wanted to share some of the more relatable ones. Mostly about Malthael. And a few others.

Content after the break, because this is loooooong.

Malthael Discovers the Mortal Pool(s) of Wisdom

I have two Tales from Tristram chapters that I never posted, mostly because they were a bit too disjointed and they didn’t entirely fit into the series-cannon I was developing. The first one, though, went into details about when Malthael first moves in with Tyrael, and how they adjust to that. The Nephalem in town don’t find out right away because Tyrael bans him from going outside until he can figure out exactly what to do with him.

This goes marginally well until Malthael discovers that Tyrael has a bathtub. Up until this point, he’s been bathing in rivers, ponds, etc. because he’d mostly been living outside. He takes care of himself, but you know, Sanctuary isn’t exactly known for working plumbing. But some of the wealthier residents of Tristram do have a proper claw-foot tub, including Tyrael.

And, well…you probably should just read the best part of that canned-chapter excerpt:

However, the one habit Tyrael absolutely could not abide was Malthael’s obsession with the bath. He did not understand how a man who seemed to care so little about his physical appearance could waste endless hours soaking. He was not entirely sure Malthael even washed while in the tub, for he continually looked as though he had spent several days rolling about in the woods. He suspected his brother spent most of his time floating and staring at the rafters, perhaps trying to reclaim some sort of communion with nature in place of his previous use of the Pools.

What it meant was the bath water needed to be changed often. And since only Tyrael could leave the house, he spent a gratuitous amount of time heaving buckets from the town well back to his home. After which he would go to use the bath himself, often to find it occupied again. Try as he did, there was no dislodging Malthael from the room once he entered. He locked the door and responded to Tyrael’s annoyed pounding with terse apologies or, sometimes, simply, “Busy.”

Thus, it was not through any sort of redemptive behaviour or earned trust that Malthael gained himself permission to walk about Tristram. It was because Tyrael was tired of doing chores for two adults, and he knew that Malthael was damn well capable of caring for himself if given the opportunity to do so. It was not his responsibility to ensure his brother was fed or watered, and he could carry his own bath water.

This probably isn’t a surprise, given Malthael’s habits when he was immortal. There’s canon descriptions of him being elusive, quiet, and spending a great deal of time just staring into the Chalice. He loses some of that, plus his access to the Pools, when he becomes mortal. And though there isn’t actually any indication of what you do with the Pools, I’ve assumed the experience of looking into them (and the Chalice, by extension) is pretty similar to being in a sensory-pond and just…floating.

Which is what he discovers as soon as he gets over his initial “wtf is this giant bucket of water” reaction. The tub is one of the few places he can block out external noise. I imagine he soaks with only his nose and eyes sticking out, and just lies there and lets everything else go away. I would also imagine that if you really wanted to try and “woo” him, your best bet would be to present him with an already-prepared hot bath. Possibly with some oils or potpourri thrown in. Nothing too flowery, though. Something earthy, or spicy.

I’ve alluded to his preference for bathing before in a previous cannon-short. Unfortunately, as much as I love it, it’s never made it into a story proper, even if I consider it a critical part of his early-series character.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

Ya’ll thought you were going to get through this post without a pun, didn’t you? Pfffft no.

In terms of mortal angels, I would assume their hair closely reflects the head-covering they use in their immortal form. Tyrael, for example, has a tight-fitting hood, which becomes his very bald (shaved?) head later. For this reason, Malthael has long hair, because his cowl has damn long ribbons on it.

The guy has a love-hate relationship with his hair. He would never, ever cut it short, because he likes being able to hide his face behind it. It’s comforting to him, the same way he likes the feel of it cascading over his shoulders. It’s a fundamental part of his body-image.

But, of course, long hair has its disadvantages. It tangles, for one, especially if it’s too long. It’s harder to wash. (Regardless of how much time he spends soaking in the bathtub, it’s not time he spends washing his hair.) It flies in your face when you’re trying to swing your swords.

Which means that there is an optimal length for his hair. This is approximately around or just past his shoulders. Long enough to cover his face, but short enough he’s not at risk of getting it caught in his weapons. Or his armor. And it tucks into a hood well enough. And he doesn’t have to spend hours trying to maintain it at a waste of his precious time. Don’t even suggest that he tie it up, because that completely ruins the cowl effect.

So far, so good. Until winter hits, and it gets cold. And it snows. Tristram is a fairly temperate climate, from what I can tell. It wouldn’t get too hot in the summer, and I assume it would snow in dumps in the winter. Anyone with long or curly hair knows that humidity of any kind is…bad.

The very precise drapes of hair that he carefully maintains develop their own internal gravity. They become frizzy. They stick out at weird angles. And no matter how much time he spends trying to keep his hair out of his eyes, it always ends up back in them.

Malthael, of course, refuses to do the simple thing, which would be to cut his hair in the winter. Instead, he packs up his bag and goes someplace warm. If you’ve (for whatever reason) been tracking his travels in the series, he always disappears for long stints over the winter months. There are multiple reasons for this, including that he legitimately dislikes being in the cold for too long, because, you know: death. Also, he’s no idiot, and he’s figured out that people always seem to get ill when it starts to snow.

But, going someplace warm and dry also conveniently puts his hair back where it should be. Mostly.

Malthael’s OCD hasn’t gone anywhere since he became mortal. If anything, he now has more things to become OCD about.

When your BFF Knows Hair Better Than You

Farah and Malthael talk quite a bit, whether it’s through letters or, eventually, in person. We’ve seen a bit of what they chat about, but it also extends to occasionally more mundane topics. Including hair.

Both Farah and Aya are blessed (or cursed, they might say) with extremely thick hair. And since they both wear theirs long, they’ve learned all kinds of ways of keeping it up out of the way, and also of keeping it healthy. Aya is a lot flashier with her hairstyles, but Farah is practiced in all sorts of braids, buns, you name it. You can’t carry books around if your hair is always falling in your face.

She notices early on that Malthael doesn’t do anything with his hair. Of course, she also doesn’t say anything, because she knows he’s particular about his looks. They have to be just so. But eventually, one night, they’re sitting and talking in front of the library fire, while listening to a torrential downpour that’s been going on outside all day.

And he keeps trying to blow hair from his face. Repeatedly. He’s clearly annoyed. And Farah has had enough of their conversation being interrupted with “pfffffft” every twenty seconds that she has to say something.

This is how Malthael learns about proper hair care. I mean, Tyrael isn’t any help. He doesn’t have any. But Farah certainly does. And she’s familiar with hair oils, and all the things you need if you have thick, long hair and you live in a desert oasis.

She never does convince him to let her braid his hair, or anything of the sort. But he does end up with substantially less frizz when it gets rainy outside. And he becomes quite the expert at braiding her hair if she asks. Because, fair is fair, and if she wants to do something weird like that with hers, then he isn’t about to judge.

Coffee is the Drink of the Gods…

The other Tristram short that was canned, which I might post eventually just as a joke-fic, had to do with Aya bringing Farah a coffee set from Caldeum, and Malthael absconding with it because Farah absolutely can’t stand the taste or smell of it. The fic was canned because it was just too tongue in cheek and because I didn’t like working coffee into the story that much, though they would likely have some sort of equivalent there.

But yes, for anyone who is wondering: Malthael does drink coffee sometimes. He prefers tea because it keeps him awake without absolutely wiring him. But sometimes, you’re working late, and you just really want to finish something, and the only thing that will help with that is a good, dark cup-o-joe.

Tyrael hates when Malthael drinks coffee, because it makes him jittery, and he also starts. Talking. Incessantly. Coffee removes his mental filter almost as much as alcohol does, at least in terms of conversation. And it also makes his conversations even harder to follow, because his brain is jumping around at several times the speed of its already remarkably fast pace. Any conversation with him while he’s had coffee is just a relentless string of non-sequiturs that make perfect sense to Malthael and no sense to anyone else.

…Unless You’re Tyrael, and then the Drink of the Gods is Alcohol

Tyrael is one of those work-hard, play-hard kind of guys. In a completely respectful, kind-hearted way. But, in short, his favorite thing to do after a long, stressful day of work is to get hammered and sing raucous drinking songs until the wee hours of the morning. He makes no apologies about it. He likes being mortal at this point. He likes all the emotional, giddy, messy parts of being mortal. He likes dreaming, he likes eating, he likes drinking, he likes banging.

If you think Malthael hates when Tyrael comes home four sheets to the wind and proceeds to slam around cupboards and doors and everything while Malthael is trying to read quietly, then yeah. You’d be right. (They’re brothers with completely different personalities, they find all sorts of ways to piss each other off.)

Most of the time, they co-habitate fine, because Malthael is often not home, or not even in Tristram. But he’s been subjected enough to Tyrael’s boisterous, happy-drunk-mode to know that it’s best to just nod, fake a smile, and let his brother talk until he passes out. Hopefully on a chair, because Tyrael is a LOT bigger than Malthael, and regardless of physical fitness, Malthael has a 21 in dexterity and a 12 in strength, and he’s not lifting his bro into bed. No way.

Now, Tyrael must drink a lot to get to that point. Which is why he’s at the tavern all night.

Malthael does not drink. Well, he shouldn’t drink. He’s a cheap date. One beer, and he’s getting a bit chatty. Two, and his filter is gone. Three, and he’s probably hanging off your shoulder and either arguing about some completely esoteric philosophical principle, or he’s laughing about the shape of the tree leaves.

Lyndon vastly prefers Tyrael drinking to Malthael, because Tyrael is fun. Malthael isn’t exactly aggressive, but he can get kind of argumentative, especially if you prove him wrong about something. Which is not hard to do when he’s drunk. You only think you’re wise when you’re drinking.

Which Takes us to How They Know This (Also Known as, the Time Malthael Drank Mead)

The story of Talm’s wedding has been referenced a few times, mostly in the Tristram stories, but it never really gets expanded on beyond that lots of mead is imbued. The real truth is that when Malthael tells them he doesn’t drink, he’s never tried until that point. All he knows is it makes mortals act stupid. You don’t need it to survive. So, why bother? (Biscuits are superior.)

But, sometimes he succumbs to peer pressure. He’s happy for Talm, and he’s feeling pretty content, and they really want him to have fun. He’s only going to sit with them to talk. That’s it.

Except, research. Hey Malthael, how do you know what alcohol is like if you don’t try it? How can you even appreciate how it affects other mortals if you haven’t even experienced it a little bit? He’s watched random people drink enough to assume you have to drink a lot for anything to really happen.

Oh. Poor guy. They have mead. It’s probably a good 15% at least. And he is the world’s. Cheapest. Drunk.

So now, they’re stuck with him at their table, and he really just wants to talk about stuff. He has a lot to get off his chest. He’s only been mortal for a year, and really doesn’t understand social conventions yet, and all of these emotions he’s been bottling up this whole time want to get out. All at the same time.

They’re relieved the farmers have no idea what Malthael is talking about, because he’s blathering on about cups filled with light, this incessant noise that still follows him around everywhere, and how he doesn’t get why this all makes so much more sense now when he’s stupider compared to when he was taller and brilliant.

Lyndon isn’t nearly hammered enough to be listening to all of this. He’s still skeptical that they didn’t just stab Malthael in Salvos and be done with it. But he’s also kind of…amused. Because this is the guy they spent days tracking down in Westmarch. Whose deep, terrifying voice was blathering on through the Soulstone about Murder and Souls and Deeeeeeeeath.

And now he’s in an argument with Jerem’s cousin about the proper way to season biscuits.

This is clearly not the same person. Or, at least, he’s a mortal, healthier version of the angel they happened to stab many, many times through the chest. Healthy is relative, Lyndon guesses. If it doesn’t include being really intoxicated. And from what he can tell, Malthael is still an impatient, sarcastic know-it-all. He’s just shorter and eats things now.

The whole party really jumps the shark after Talm and Lena disappear for the night, and the relatives get rowdy. Someone starts up a little sparring competition with practice sticks. Tyrael, of course, jumps right in, because holy shit, drinking and physical activity? He’s all for that. The farm hands put up a very good fight, but he eventually comes out on top.

But, you know, drunks can be drunks, and someone starts razzing the little skinny guy to go and challenge his brother. Hey, are you really brothers, even? You don’t even look the same. But, whatever. No can do, says Malthael, he’s not getting involved with that. At least, until someone calls him a coward.

And then he gets mad.

Oh Hells, Lyndon thinks. But also, Hells yes, because this is going to be hilarious. It is, for most of it. Neither Tyrael or Malthael is sober enough to swing the sticks properly. It ends up being a great show of them stumbling around and taunting each other. Too much taunting, probably. It gets personal. It’s good for them, right? They still have a lot to talk out.

Tyrael isn’t the best at talking at this point. He takes all his immense frustration at his stupid brother, puts it in his fist, and punches Malthael in the face.

Which is how the party ends.

Jerem watches the whole thing perfectly sober, because he’s the responsible host, and he’s really confused at who the hell these two actually are who have spent the night arguing about angels, and demons, and related things like they exist. Now one of them has a bloody nose, and the other is apologizing profusely, and there’s a lot of adult tears happening about betrayal, and bad decisions, and Jerem figures neither of them is going to remember any of this in the morning.

But, brothers are brothers, everyone has troubles, and he’s not going to get involved, other than to get some ice from the cellar, and a few rags to mop up the blood.

Malthael wakes up on the floor of the barn, covered in hay, spilled mead, and pastry crumbs, and decides he’s died again because his head hurts so bad. He also decides that drinking is the dumbest thing in the world, and he’s never going to do it again.

Probably.

But that’s a story for a different time that you’ll actually get to read.

[pipbabi]

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[housebuyers4u]

7 Property Problems that May Leave your Home Unsellable

7 Property Problems that May Leave your Home Unsellable

‘Problem properties‘ can come in any shape or form. As a homeowner you’d be wise to take some time out to learn and understand the main types of property problems that could affect your home so if any were to crop up, you can deal with them efficiently and not risk your home becoming unsellable in the future.

The infographic above lists 7 potentially dangerous property problems that could leave you with countless sleepless nights and undue stress you can certainly do without. Let’s take a look at these problems in a little more detail.

1) Troublesome Tenants

If you’re a landlord who has ever managed rental properties then you’ve no doubt encountered troublesome or hard to deal with tenants. These tenants can often suck the life out you for a number of reasons, some of these include:

Tenants who have stopped paying or don’t pay rent at all.

A tenant who refuses to leave the house.

Tenants who keep the house in poor condition and don’t maintain the property.

Tenants who won’t sign a new lease.

A tenant who refuses entry to the landlord or trades person so it can be refurbished.

It can be very hard to deal with these type of tenants as there are various laws and legal procedures a landlord must abide by and follow before an eviction can take place which can also take a very long time.

Housebuyers4u guarantee’s to buy any house in any condition so if you’re struggling with troublesome tenants and want to get rid, consider selling your house to us – we will take on your property and any issues related to it as is!

2) Damp Issues

Damp in a house is not only very damaging to the property but also it’s occupants as there are many health issues that can come from people living in damp and mouldy places.

In general home buyers stay away from properties where damp is present as it can prove tough and tricky to deal with. In addition, getting rid of damp and then damp proofing a house is not cheap so potential buyers prefer not to get involved. There are a number of different types of damp that could affect your home and they are:

Rising damp.

Condensation.

Penetrating damp.

Damp from walls and floors drying out.

Damp from poor plumbing.

Chemical damp.

Click here for more information on different types of damp that could affect your home.

3) Structural Problems

Structural problems are another type of ‘problem property’ that can be very hard to deal with depending on he severity of movement in the property.

Generally speaking, most houses will go through some kind of movement during their lifetimes but because the movement is very slight, it rarely causes any issues. However, it’s not uncommon for homes to have big structural movements and this is when the problems start as these large shifts in movements can compromise a properties safety leaving it unsafe to live in. Furthermore, these large movements can often cost a huge sum of money to repair which leaves your average homeowner in two minds as many of them simply cannot afford to pay for the repair work to be done.

Related: 5 Ways to Spot Structural Problems

4) Japanese Knotweed

Japanese Knotweed is one plant you definitely do not want growing anywhere near your home. Also known as Fallopia Japonica, it is a fast growing weed that can stop your chances of getting a mortgage or selling your house all by itself.

The weed can cause substantial damage to your property because it grows out fast taking over gardens in no time at all. It’s estimated, in the right summer conditions Japanese Knotweed can grow up to 4 inches per day!

Other issues surrounding this plant is the price and how long it can actually take to get rid of completely. It’s estimated to remove of a small patch you’d be looking at around £1500 plus 6 months of your time!

For homeowners who do have Japanese Knotweed present in their homes thought’s like ‘will anyone ever buy my house‘ are sadly very common.

For more advice on how to deal with Japanese Knotweed visit the RHS.

5) Tree’s Hindering the Property

If you have tree’s growing in and around your home, it could prove hard to sell. If the tree’s are not maintained, they could lead to a host of problems for your property which include:

Tree’s growing out so much that they begin to hinder gutters and drains.

The roots of a tree growing out so they effect the foundations of your property.

Tree roots growing out of the surface in and around your home causing cracks and damage to your driveway and other areas of your home.

You may have been issued with a TPO (Tree prevention order) which makes it so you aren’t allowed to remove a said tree regardless of how close it is to your property.

6) The Type of Construction

The type of material your property is built from can also have a bearing on how easily you can sell it. The following are some uncommon build types that could prove difficult to sell on as lenders are less likely to mortgage them.

Timber frame.

Steel Frame.

Concrete framed.

Prefabricated (also known as prefab homes which are dwellings that have been manufactured off site in sections and then assembled together at a building site)

7) Issues with Leasehold, Freehold and Management Companies

It’s fairy common for leaseholders and homeowners alike to have issues with leasehold, freehold and management companies.

Leaseholders who are looking for a mortgage on a property can struggle if the lease has less than 70 years remaining on it as lenders and building societies simply won’t agree to it, making the property unmortgageable thus scaring away any potential buyers.

Freeholders can become difficult to negotiate with when leaseholders come around to try and extend their leases and sometimes even start ignoring people all together. Leaseholders with little experience and funds can struggle to get their lease extended at all.

Management companies that manage leases often become aggressive and try to rip off leaseholders by charging them extortionate fee’s and being very unfair during the whole process. This again will put off many buyers from your property as people simply do not want the extra hassle.

A Final Word

Selling ‘problem properties’ via traditional methods can be a tough ask as your typical home owner just wants to buy a property they can move into right away without any issues. Problem properties generally require a lot of extra effort and even if you were to sell the house cheaper, people would still think twice before purchasing it.

That said, it’s not all doom and gloom.

We here at Housebuyers4u guarantee to buy any house in any condition even if it has any ongoing ‘problem property’ issues. In addition with us, you won’t have to worry about any ‘we buy any house scams‘ as we are genuine cash buyers and have the cash reserves in place to purchase a property at any time.

If your property is a victim of one of the above problems then we could be exactly what you’re looking for.

Give us a call and see what we can do for you. Get your free no obligation cash offer today!

This article was brought to you by http://housebuyers4u.co.uk/  

[abujaihs-blog]

How to Stop Building Collapse- Stakeholders

Worried by the number of dilapidated structures in Nigerian cities, professionals are mulling early integration of maintenance culture in homes to prevent building collapse. Dayo Ayeyemi reports. It is no longer news that the Lagos State Government has detected over 150 distressed buildings in the metropolis while a few of the structures have either collapsed naturally with casualties or pulled down byteam of taskforce from the authority. What is news is that more buildings are deteriorating due to neglect of maintenance by owners to the extent that their walls are developing cracks, while the roofs are leaking. To some buildings, they are overwhelmed by leaking plumbing pipes, damping foundation, leaking sewage pipes, leaking toilets, and corrosion of doors hinges, among others.

Worried by this development, experts in the built environment have also attributed lack of maintenance culture to building collapse incidents . Some of the major causes of building collapse include faulty foundation , non engagement of professionals, shoddy jobs, use of sub-standard materials,corruption, building against approved plans and poor workmanship among others. According to Chairman of the Nigerian Institution of Mechanical Engineers (NIME), Lagos Chapter, Mr. Segun Fadeyi, absence of maintenance on any building could result in its decay and degradation. He noted that most building collapse cases in Nigeria are man-made, pointing out that poor maintenance culture was a major factor that could lead to building collapse. The truth is that even the best constructed buildings need constant attention and if this is delayed, it could turn to disaster. Fadeyi urged building owners to adopt the ‘ predict and prevent approach’ rather than ‘ fail and fix’ approach. He emphasised that lack of maintenance could reduced performance and affect health of building, while threatening the safety of users, occupants and others in the vicinity. Speaking on “Builing maintenance: A Proactive Model Approach to Preventing Building Collapse; Fadeyi defined building maintenance as a process of ensuring that buildings and other assets retain a good appearance and operate at optimum efficiency. No matter how attractive and competitive a building is, the chairman pointed out that as its facilities aged, the systems would deteriorate and affect it’s structural integrity. The chairman of NIME stated that building maintenance was aimed at preventing the process of decay and degradation; maintain structural stability and safety; prevent unnecessary damage from weather,; optimise performance; help inform plans for renovation, retrofitting; and determine causes of defects in the building to prevent re-occurrence. He said it was to ensure continued compliance with statutory requirements, prevent building collapse and its resultant effects. Other views Coordinator of Ikotun/Igando cell of BCPG, Mrs Oluranti Okusaga, called on government to be responsible and act in order to curtail menace of building collapse, noting that many people have developed the habit of engaging quacks during construction. “Before you build, consult professionals. Your safety is important and not cost, “she said, adding that more building are still going to collapse in the metropolis.

Another professional, Olaniyan olajide, from Badagry cell, said that buildings would not collapse on paper, noting that influx of urban slums has contributed to the menace. He urged government, professionals and people in the private sector to join hands in the crusade against structural failures. He also made case for law that would compel adoption of building manual as part of document required for facilities management of structures. Chairman, Building Collapse Prevention Guild (BCPG), Lagos State chapter, Mr. Solomon Ogunseye, decried the spate of building collapse in Nigerian cities, especially Lagos, calling on government to ensure that professionals are involved inbuilding project. According to him, time has come to allow professionals to monitor building construction sites to ensure that contractors adhere to building drawings/designs as approved. This, he said would help to reduce collapse of buildings drastically. On building manual, he noted that most of the government’s projects have the document that specified how to repair or replace any facility in the building in case it broke down or malfunctioned. If all homeowners could adopt the document,Ogunseye said it would give room for proper maintenance of buildings and prevent collapse.

His Vice, Colonel Jide Olayinka, stated that lack of implementation of policies by government was a major factor responsible for building collapse. He noted that professional bodies were handicapped without government’s backing. According to him, reports of recommendation abound on how to eradicate building collapse, but government has refused to act. On building manual, Olayinka said that all professionals should come together to share experience on the document and look for a way to adopt this as part of requirements for building. He wants government to enforce law promulgated to control building collapse. Source: newtelegraphng Read the full article