#Under the Eaves Studio

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Love this 1820 home in Wingdale, NY. It has 4bds, 2ba, and the asking price is $695K.

Cozy living room. Look at the ancient fireplace. This is wonderful.

It's amazing to see a completely original home like this.

You cannot say that this kitchen is overly modernized. I love it so much.

The photography for this home is terrible. This is a nice new shower, but I would've liked to have seen the older part- that sink is so interesting.

Going up to the bedrooms.

Very nice bedroom under the eaves. This home is so cozy.

This is the 2nd bath. They made it fit nicely into a small space.

I love this bedroom. The wallpaper, the bed and the wood stove.

Bedroom #3 has a bed snugly under the eaves.

And, bedroom #4 is moody and very restful looking.

Adorable little covered outdoor area.

Such lovely gardens.

This is a little cottage that could be a studio, office, or guest house.

This is cute. Lots of potential.

Shower outside, but the desc. says it has a full bath.

Back to the gorgeous garden.

There's been so much work done on the grounds.

Nice place to gather.

The lot is 1 acre.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/158-Lake-Ellis-Rd-Wingdale-NY-12594/30094827_zpid/?

[laxmiree]

[CN] MLQC's Lucien Binding Knot Date English Translation

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

This post contains a detailed spoiler for a date that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~

She told me that a person's life is too short. In the blink of an eye, it's five years, and then another blink, it's ten years.

That's how she and her husband lived their lives, bickering and muddling through, and they ended up spending their whole lifetime together.

Looking back, the bumps in the road and trivial matters along the way don't hold much significance compared to being able to harmoniously live together for a lifetime.

Translation under the cut~

[Notes from Lux: Here's the CN video link if anyone want to follow along his Voice Acting. VERY recommended to re-read S1 chapter 9 and his Chinese Wedding SP Bound By Love/A Love Not in Vain because this date specifically references these two stories. AND perhaps Sacred Mountain Date regarding his belief in God(s)]

-

[Part 1]

Lucien: Today is Saturday. Didn't we agree not to work?

Lucien places a bowl of freshly washed blueberries on the coffee table and casually feeds me a few. I sit on the sofa, engrossed in the documents on my laptop.

MC: Kiki has sorted the photography registration form; I need to quickly finish reviewing it so that I can contact them earlier.

Recently, our company launched a charity project called "Taking Family Portraits for One Hundred Elderly People." After the announcement was made, we received dozens of registration forms in just two days.

MC: By the way, Lucien, if any professors from Loveland University are interested in this project, you can invite them as well.

MC: We've rented the best photography studio, and the photographers are top-notch, so you can rest assured about the photo quality.

Lucien: With so many people applying, I think we should try to avoid giving slots to people we know, right?

MC: Don't worry. Even though we're promoting it as a hundred people externally, we've discussed it internally and will try to accommodate as many as possible.

MC: We're willing to help strangers, let alone the people we know.

Lucien: In that case... I do have an idea.

Lucien points to the peace knot hanging on my wall- a knot that Grandma Wen taught me to weave, and it still hangs on one side of Lucien's bookshelf.

MC: Are you talking about Grandma Wen?

Grandma Wen is an elderly person who lives alone. Lucien and I have a close relationship with her. We've learned how to weave knots from her and even borrowed wedding attire. So, we visit her whenever we have free time.

She is also very hospitable to us, always arranging snacks for us to enjoy. She also advises us young people not to focus only on work but to remember to take care of ourselves.

MC: Actually, I did consider inviting her at first, but Grandma Wen's husband has already passed away, and having her take a family portrait alone might be a bit…

Lucien: Are you worried that it might make her uncomfortable?

Seeing me nod, Lucien leans back on the sofa, tilts his head, and smiles slightly.

Lucien: [chuckles] I think she won't mind at all.

Lucien: How about we ask her? One never knows.

After a lengthy discussion, we decided to call Grandma Wen. I carefully choose my words and extend the invitation, but Grandma Wen laughs heartily and readily accepts.

We finalize the shooting schedule. Lucien and I will pick her up together when the time comes.

However, Grandma Wen suggests she'd like to bring her cat, Baby, along for the photoshoot.

-

[Part 2]

On the agreed-upon morning, we arrive punctually at Grandma Wen's doorstep. While Lucien parks the car, I take the initiative to go and knock on the door.

The black-and-white spotted little cat lies under the eaves, rolling around playfully and occasionally pawing at something in the air, looking quite content.

MC: Baby~ Come here kitty for a hug~

But the little kitty pays no attention to me, completely engrossed in rolling on the ground. It rolls several times and ends up a meter away from me.

Lucien: (gently calls the kitty) Baby, come here.

Just as Lucien approaches, Baby suddenly gets up, takes two steps, and runs to Lucien's feet. It raises its paw and paw at the cuff of Lucien's pants, meowing incessantly.

MC: That's quite a contrast in treatment!

MC: Although I've played with it plenty of times before, it still prefers you. That's unfair!

Lucien lowers his gaze and sighs at the cat.

Lucien: [chuckles] You see, I didn't do anything, but she's angry just because you like me more.

Lucien: If you could talk, I'm sure you'd also think this is even more unfair to me, right?

Lucien crouches down and strokes the cat's head, using his fingers to rub its cheek gently.

Lucien: Please remember to be a little more coquettish with her later. Otherwise, I'll be in a tough spot.

MC: ...Hmph, you're not in a tough spot at all!

Lucien can't resist laughing and takes out a sealed bag of cat treats from his pocket, feeding them to Baby.

Lucien: Baby is actually relatively easy to please. Just give it some treats a few more times, and it will be circling around you.

Grandma Wen: MC, you're here…

I turn around and see that Grandma Wen is already standing at the door.

MC: Grandma! You look so beautiful today!

Grandma Wen is wearing a short jacket with a standing collar and a diagonal button today. It's evident at a glance that the craftsmanship is exquisite.

The satin fabric is smooth and lustrous, while the embroidery is lifelike with intricate stitching.

Grandma Wen sheepishly waves her hand.

Grandma Wen: These are old clothes I haven't worn in seven or eight years. It's rare that I've taken them out.

MC: Old clothes? I can't tell. They look just like new…

MC: Is the embroidery on the hem here the Lotus Pond? Each lotus is transitioned with several colors... It's really beautiful!

MC: Did you embroider this yourself, Grandma?

Grandma Wen touches the hem, smoothing the embroidered threads of the lotus leaves.

Grandma Wen: My husband made this for me when he was still alive.

Grandma Wen: From pattern drafting to embroidery, he did every step himself, insisting that his craftsmanship was better than mine.

Grandma Wen: These embroideries used to be even more beautiful, but unfortunately, the thread colors have faded over time.

MC: I can't tell that the thread colors have faded. I think it looks incredibly beautiful.

MC: Your complexion looks great today. When it's time for the photo shoot, we'll have a hairstylist do your hair. We must create a hairstyle that compliments this dress perfectly.

Lucien walks over carrying a cat carrier and lets Grandma Wen check Baby's condition.

Lucien: I used some cat treats to coax it into the carrier, and it didn't make any fuss and was very well-behaved.

Grandma Wen: Baby~ Baby, today we're going out for a photoshoot. After we get in the car, you must be good and not cause any trouble for your brothers and sisters, okay?

Grandma Wen claps her hands toward the cat inside the carrier, and Baby starts to scratch the carrier, about to meow. But Lucien offers a cat treat, and it immediately quiets down.

I give Lucien a thumbs up - only he can do it.

Lucien: How about you sit in the back with Grandma Wen later? If Baby wants to come out, you can feed it some cat treats.

MC: Mm, no problem~

Grandma Wen: Is it time to leave? Let me grab a few things.

Grandma Wen goes back inside and returns with a Chángshān covered in a dustproof cover. I have a vague idea of who the owner of this robe might be.

Grandma Wen: I made this Chángshān for my husband when I was young. It was his favorite outfit. I'll bring it along for the photoshoot. So, it's as if he's also accompanying me.

Lucien takes a half step forward, probably thinking that the gown in the bag is not light and wanting to help Grandma Wen get it into the car. However, when he catches my gaze, he takes a step back.

Lucien: Let's get in the car, Grandma.

Lucien opens both car doors, assists Grandma Wen into the car, helps her fasten the seatbelt, and then checks that the cat carrier on my lap is secure before closing the car doors.

-

[Part 3]

After arriving at the photography studio, the makeup artist has to apply makeup and do the hair for Grandma Wen.

I'm worried that Grandma Wen might hesitate to communicate her needs with the makeup artist, so I am constantly accompanying her, talking to her, and helping her with her makeup.

Lucien is responsible for taking care of Baby, who starts running around as soon as they enter the photography studio.

Grandma Wen: When we first found Baby in the wild, it was only as big as the palm of a human hand. I made a nest for it with a towel, and it slept under the dining table.

Grandma Wen: In the blink of an eye, it has grown so big.

Grandma Wen: When it was little, it wasn't this mischievous. It used to lie in the corner every day obediently and didn't let anyone approach. As soon as someone got close, it would run away.

Grandma Wen: Now, it plays with birds, teases dogs, and does all sorts of daring things. There's nothing it's afraid to do.

Grandma Wen gently squeezes my hand and says.

Grandma Wen: You should go outside and take a look. It's not easy for Professor Lucien to keep an eye on Baby all by himself. There are machines everywhere here. Don't let that smelly cat cause any trouble for you.

I nod and walk out of the makeup room.

In the living room of the photography studio, there is a bright lounge area. Lucien is holding a cat teaser toy, playing with Baby as it pounces back and forth on the sofa.

MC: You even brought a cat teaser wand?

Lucien: Not just that, I also have a cat jingle bell ball and a laser pointer in the trunk.

Lucien: I consulted my colleagues who have pets, and they said that if you want your pets to behave well for photos, you need to let them play for a good hour beforehand.

Lucien: Once they get tired from playing, they can cooperate more.

I walk over and sit down on the sofa, gently petting Baby's head. It doesn't resist and tilts its head up, allowing me to scratch its chin.

Lucien finds a moment to rest and casually picks up a book from the bookshelf, leaning back on the sofa.

MC: (smiles) It seems like this method is working. It's already behaving quite well now.

Lucien: It's probably just temporarily tired from playing. After a short rest, it will be jumping around again.

Lucien: After all, it's the most mischievous kitten I've ever seen.

Lucien gently taps the top of the Baby's head, and the kitten raises its front paw, quickly grabbing his finger.

Lucien: It climbs trees, catches birds, and even fights with stray cats... When it's full of energy, there's no stopping it.

I recall not too long ago when Baby went missing again. When we found it, it was in the middle of a fight with a stray cat outside, and its face was scratched up.

We were afraid that Grandma Wen would worry if she saw its condition, so we didn't return it directly. Instead, we told her that we were taking it to the hospital for a check-up and would bring it back once it recovered.

MC: (smiles softly) Do you remember what you said the last time we took Baby to the hospital?

Lucien: Hm?

MC: You said that despite its many escapades, Grandma Wen never considered keeping it indoors and always let it go out to play.

Lucien: I remember, if it were up to me, I wouldn't let this little cat run wild everywhere.

I pick up the cat teaser toy and start playing with the little cat, swinging it on and off.

MC: As soon as we mentioned taking a family photo, Grandma Wen immediately thought of bringing the cat along.

MC: It's clear that in Grandma Wen's heart, it's her most important family member.

MC: That's how it is among family members. No matter how worried or concerned we are, we still want the other person to be happy and do what they want to do.

Lucien: ….Our Great Producer has something to say and found a good way to start the conversation.

Noticing that I had a hidden agenda, Lucien had already guessed what it was.

Lucien: Grandma Wen already told you, didn't she?

MC: Right before the makeup session, Grandma Wen pulled me aside in a corner to talk.

MC: She said that you've been to the Matchmaker's Temple alone several times before and also visited her along the way.

I sigh meaningfully.

MC: Professor Lucien, have you encountered a problem that materialism* can't solve?

-

[T/N: Materialism in this context is more of a philosophical belief that only physical matter exists and that everything can be explained through the physical world and natural laws.]

-

Lucien leans back leisurely on the sofa, wearing only a light smile.

Baby rolls over under his palm, purring contentedly.

Lucien: Gods don't solve problems. I'm a researcher, and I still have to uphold certain principles.

Lucien: But when it comes to matters of the heart, it's just too complicated... variables abound, and there's no optimal solution.

Lucien: So, I often wonder if a certain little fool occasionally worries about me or gets angry for me. Is it because I haven't done well enough?

He lifts the corner of his eyebrows, seeming not to be troubled by this matter, just candidly sharing his feelings.

The unbridled sunlight streams through the curtains, illuminating the tenderness in his eyes with exceptional clarity.

Lucien: Questions without answers are better left to metaphysics.

Lucien: Even if the problem doesn't get solved, you can still find some comfort in it to some extent.

As Lucien speaks, he no longer plays with Baby. The cat feels neglected and keeps nudging Lucien's palm with its head.

I stroke its fluffy head and realize that it's been a very long time since the first time I saw this cat with Lucien in the wheat field.

Some things probably don't have answers in either science or metaphysics; the experiences of life are what will eventually reveal the truth.

MC: Lucien, do you know what Grandma Wen just said to me?

Lucien: Tell me.

MC: She told me that a person's life is too short. In the blink of an eye, it's five years, and then another blink, it's ten years.

MC: That's how she and her husband lived their lives, bickering and muddling through, and they ended up spending their whole lifetime together.

MC: Looking back, the bumps in the road and trivial matters along the way don't hold much significance compared to being able to harmoniously live together for a lifetime.

Lucien straightens up, seeing that there's no one around, and then suddenly leans down to place a kiss on my forehead.

The warm sunshine reflects in his eyes as he looks at me. He smiles a little and casually picks up the kitty, holding it in his arms as if nothing happened.

Lucien: Grandma Wen is right.

-

[Part 4]

After the lighting technician adjusts the lighting, Lucien and I stand in the corner of the photography studio.

Grandma Wen sits on the mahogany bench, spreading her husband's Chángshān flat across her lap. The photographer holds Baby and places it on the Chángshān.

The naturally mischievous cat is being incredibly well-behaved at this moment. No matter how the photographer handles it, it's willing to cooperate and even knows how to look at the camera.

Photographer: Grandma, please reach out your hand and gently touch the cat's head—yes, that's right, just a natural touch will do.

Photographer: This cat is so well-behaved, cooperative and calm.

Grandma Wen: Good Baby, I'll make you some fish to eat when we get back tonight.

Photographer: Grandma, let's maintain this pose and take two more shots.

Lucien gazes at the scene before him, momentarily lost in thought.

Lucien: From the first time we entered her house, I noticed that there were no photos of her and her husband displayed in her home.

Lucien: Upon careful inquiry, I discovered that they had indeed never taken any photos together.

Lucien: ...Two people spending a lifetime together is something worth commemorating. They should have had a photo together.

After he says that, he turns his head slightly and whispers in my ear.

Lucien: Thanks to the producer's help, at least Grandma Wen has a family portrait now, regardless of the circumstances.

For a moment, I'm unsure of what to say.

He's truly humble for someone who has doubted his understanding of love.

—--------------------------------------------------------

After the shoot, Lucien and I accompanied Grandma Wen back the same way we came.

Grandma Wen: Stay for dinner. You two don't be so polite…

Grandma Wen: I feel bad that both of you have been busy all day. Having a meal together is no big deal, just a few extra pairs of chopsticks.

We don't want her to have to deal with cooking after a long day of photoshoots, so we politely decline.

Lucien: Grandma, it's still early. MC and I plan to visit the Matchmaker Temple, so we won't stay.

Lucien: You've had a long day today. Remember to rest well.

MC: Yes, Grandma. After the photos are developed, I'll bring them to you right away. We'll have the meal you promised then.

Grandma Wen didn't insist on keeping us any longer, but she promised that the next time we visit, we must stay for a meal. We quickly nodded in agreement.

—--------------------------------------------------------

On the way to the Matchmaker Temple, the sun gradually sets, casting a beautiful array of evening colors between the trees and stone steps. It's hard for anyone walking through this scenery not to feel relaxed.

MC: It's quite rare for this place to be this peaceful.

Lucien: Festivals have yet to happen recently, so there are very few tourists. The Matchmaker God can take a break too.

MC: With no incense burning at the Matchmaker Temple, does it mean that everyone hasn't been facing relationship difficulties? It seems like a good thing, doesn't it?

Lucien: (shushes and whispers) Shhh... with a troubling view like that, you might upset the Matchmaker God. Be careful not to displease him.

I can't help but laugh at his teasing, and I also find his words reasonable. I quickly pull Lucien to pay respects to the Matchmaker and offer incense.

I hope that the Matchmaker is understanding and doesn't take my words to heart.

After offering incense and making a donation, Lucien and I found a couple of chairs inside the temple and sat down. We plan to watch the sunset for a while and leave when the temple closes.

The faint scent of sandalwood here blends with the natural aroma of the forest, creating a tranquil and enduring atmosphere that instantly soothes the heart. I lean closer to Lucien and ask softly.

MC: Lucien, what wishes did you make when you came here alone before? Have any of them come true?

Lucien bends slightly, brushing away a cluster of dandelion seeds that accidentally caught onto his shirt cuff. He then leisurely curves his lips into a smile.

Lucien: I don't even remember the specific wishes I made anymore.

Lucien: They were probably just about small things, like planning to meet up but then having something come up at the research institute, causing me to break the appointment.

Lucien: Another example is when I promise to sleep well, but then accidentally stay up for a few nights and get caught by you.

Lucien: (laughs softly)....

Lucien: Now that I think about it, they were indeed all trivial matters, and you've always been very understanding.

Lucien lifts his gaze, meeting my eyes.

Lucien: Although we quickly forget these minor disagreements.

Lucien: But occasionally, I do pay attention to these little disagreements that fill our lives. After all, even the smallest things have their own meaning.

I can't help but let my lips curl up slowly, and Lucien lifts his chin, revealing a somewhat helpless expression.

Lucien: It's evident that the Great Producer is very pleased with my introspection.

MC: …..Pfft, not exactly 'very'.

MC: I'm just marveling at how Professor Lucien sets such astonishingly high standards for himself.

MC: It seems like I don't reflect on my actions much when I make you angry... But from today on, I'll try to change that.

Lucien: [chuckles] It's okay.

Lucien changes the topic, and a smile spreads in his eyes.

Lucien: Now that I think about it, these little bumps and trivial matters aren't really that important.

He takes a knot from his pocket and hands it to me. The way the knot is tied resembles the peace knot that Grandma Wen had taught me before, but the weaving method seems more intricate.

Lucien: This is a knot that Grandma Wen taught me to weave as a special thank you for us.

Lucien: She also said that the name of this knot is yí shì yíjiā (宜室宜家).

Lucien: Today, it seems like I have a clearer understanding of the meaning of this word.

-

[T/N: 宜室宜家 is a Chinese idiom that means "live harmoniously; make a harmonious and orderly home." It is often used as a congratulatory message on a wedding. The idiom comes from a line in the poem "Tao Yao" in the Book of Songs, which reads, "之子于归，宜其室家" (the son is returning home, where he should live harmoniously with his wife and make a harmonious and orderly home). And it fits with the date theme of living harmoniously together for a lifetime despite all the small bumps🥺.]

-

Suddenly, my heart feels soft, and I take a small step closer to Lucien's shoulder. I pick up my phone and open the front camera.

I put both of us in the frame.

The setting sun casts a gentle glow behind us, and the breeze is light, creating a tranquil and beautiful atmosphere.

MC: The sunset today looks beautiful. Let's take a photo together.

MC: 3, 2, 1–

My trailing voice fades away in the warm breath as Lucien lowers his head and kisses me.

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

[Bonus Call - "Family Portrait"]

Lucien: Hello, it's me. I have some good news to tell you.

MC: What is it?

Lucien: Didn't you put Grandma Wen's family portrait photo on the company's public social media account?

MC: Um... Grandma Wen said it was okay, so I posted it. What's the matter?

Lucien: A professor from the university recognized Grandma Wen's clothes and said he had seen the person in the photo before, right at the West Moon Street intersection.

Lucien: This professor was a photography enthusiast when he was younger, and at the time, he noticed Grandma Wen's well-dressed appearance and couldn't resist taking a photo.

Lucien: Later on, he always wanted to give the photo to Grandma Wen, but he went to West Moon Street a few times and never encountered them again.

MC: "Them?"

Lucien: Mm, that's the good news I wanted to share. The photo the professor took is a picture of Grandma Wen and her husband.

MC: That's quite a coincidence!

Lucien: There's an even greater coincidence.

Lucien: I just got my hands on this photo, and in it, Grandma Wen is holding a tiny kitten the size of her palm.

MC: Is it Baby?

Lucien: Judging by its patterns, it seems so.

Lucien: Although the photo is quite old, I've contacted a professional photo restoration expert, and if all goes well, it should be restored within about a week.

MC: So, we can bring this photo to Grandma Wen next weekend?

Lucien: Exactly. They're real family portraits, and I hope it can truly make up for her regrets.

MC: ...It's really amazing, it feels like there's something guiding us in all of this.

Lucien: Who knows, maybe it really is.

Lucien: Let's go together to get the photo restored later. I know you're eager to see it as soon as possible.

MC: Um—I'll finish up what I'm doing, and then I'll come find you right away!

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

[Lux's Short Rambles]

I didn't expect this date to be this good huhu. It's far better than last pet date where it feels like a plot that got way longer than it should 😂. It's also nice to see old NPCs getting mentioned again. The story of Grandma Wen with her husband is touching.

The theme of spending a lifetime together, despite how short life is, never fails got my heart clenched. And I love how this date highlights what a sensitive person Lucien is (in a good way, well, most of the time). He doesn't mind her getting angry at him because he knows that she does it because she cares about him. But he also genuinely fears that she might not be happy; so he goes to the Matchmaker's Temple alone and cares about these small conflicts, believing that they also have meaning :". But in the end, such trivial things and bumps on the road don't matter compared to being able to live their whole lives together, so rather than getting caught up in minor conflicts or trivial matters along the way it's better to priotize living together harmoniously for a lifetime.

He also noticed the smallest things, like how Grandma Wen and her husband never had their photo taken together since the very first time he and MC met Grandma Wen back in S1 Chapter 9. To quote MC, for someone who claimed he doesn't understand what love is, he's truly humble; perhaps back then, he already understands what love is in his heart by loving MC.

[szanne7000]

🦉 The Owlry ~ a TS4 Build by szanne7000 🦉

Need a place to get away from it all – for a little while…

…or forever?

The Owlry is the place for you!

This two-bedroom, two-bath log cabin has everything you need. While small, it is comfortable and elegant. There is a full kitchen, laundry, and even an under-the-eaves storage area that could be a third bedroom.

Enjoy the outdoor kitchen and living spaces, including a double-sided fireplace and a sunken jacuzzi!

Ramble down the steps to the pond and do a bit of fishing or just enjoy nature.

Close to the gorgeous mountain lake and waterfall, this secluded space brings peaceful relaxation.

Notes

1 Tree Swing is deco only.

2 This lot has been placed in Granite Falls and made residential through @zerbu's All Worlds Are Residential Mod. Pictures showing the world and location are provided in the included Credits & Links pdf file.

3 Also included with the download are pictures of how to access the tech-hippie (@k-hippie) website.

💞 Thank you to my Bestie, @bodaccia48, for play-testing this build. Love you!!! 💞

As always, without the imagination, time, and genius of the creator community, this build would not be possible.

Please see the Credits & Links for everything used to bring this build to fruition.

Special thanks to @twistedmexi for all you do!

12thDoctor ● 13Pumpkin ● 20thCPlumbob ● 95643222 ● ABormotova ● Afrosimtricsimmer ● AggressiveKitty ● animefemme ● Annachibi ● AnYe ● Aren ● ArteDellaVita ● Asyli ● ATS4 ● awingedllama ● Bakie Gaming ● Bodaccia ● BuffSumm ● CD97 ● Chicklet ● cinamun ● Cowbuild ● crosire ● Cross Design (PralineSims) ● curmudgeoned-lab ● Daer0n ● Dara Sims ● DDAENG Sims ● DINO ● DrGreenie ● Emerald ● Exzentra ● flirtyghoul ● Haruinosato ● Hel Studio ● Helen ● HistoricalSimsLife ● icemunmun ● Ichosim ● IES ● Illogical Sims ● Ilona ● k-hippie ● Kiwisims4 ● Leaf Motif ● Leosims ● lina-cherie ● LittleDica ● lotharihoe ● Lumia ● Lunasims ● Madhox ● mammut (BlackySimsZoo) ● Mango ● Marinoco ● Martine ● Maruska-Geo ● Michelleab ● Mimoto ● Mio-Sims ● Mustluvcatz ● Mutske ● Mxims ● Natatanec ● NynaeveDesign ● OrangeMittens (OM) ● Ozyman ● Peacemaker ● Pierisim ● pocci ● pqSim4 ● Pyszny Design ● qolygonal ● Ravasheen ● RightHearted ● Rirann ● Severinka ● sg5150 ● ShinoKCR ● SIMcredible ● Simp4Sims ● SimPlistic ● Sims4Luxury ● SIXAMcc ● Softpine ● Soloriya (iyaSTS4) ● Sooky ● strenee sims ● Syboulette ● Symphony no. 4 ● Teknikah ● The Plumbob Tea Society (PTS) ● theeaax ● TheNumbersWoman ● TwistedMexi ● ung999 ● Veranka ● WitchZenka ● Wondymoon ● Wykkyd ● Xenaria Sims ● YAKFARM ● Ylka ● Zerbu ● Zx-Ta

(Tumblr will not let me @ everyone; apologies)

❣️🦉❣️ Thank you all so much!!! ❣️🦉❣️

Needed

Expansion Packs: Get To Work, Get Together, Cats & Dogs, Seasons, Eco Lifestyle, Snowy Escape, Cottage Living, and High School Years

Game Packs: Outdoor Retreat, Vampires, Strangerville, Realm of Magic, Dream Home Decorator, and Werewolves

Kits: Desert Luxe Kit

YouTube Presentation

Download MEGA

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[stellarflex]

Xiao Zhan Studio weibo updated:

The spring breeze brings rain. Xiao Zhan watches the scenery under the eaves quietly in front of the court.

[jiannguo]

Xiao Zhan Studio Update 220219 Part 1

The spring breeze brings the rain, let’s watch the scenery under the eaves in front of the court@X九少年团肖战DAYTOY

[pomodoro-words]

Bluebeard's Castle

I live in a mews.

I didn't know what a mews was before I lived there. It's a row or a courtyard, with spaces that were once used for stabling horses and storing carriages. The upper floors were often used as living quarters for grooms or coachmen.

Now they are mostly residential - and any stables are long gone.

I like my mews. There are about ten residences here, flats over converted garages, some of which are now workshops, businesses and studios.

To enter the courtyard you walk under a peculiar, almost trefoil archway. I always think it looks like a giant lock and I imagine a golden, twenty-foot high key that would fit in it.

It's a listed building, which in the UK means it's of special interest, and laws protect it from being subject to significant changes. It's one of those fusty things about the UK that I enjoy. Although I own no property that I'd like to alter, so I only see the benefits.

My mews has a public database entry to categorise the features of interest. It looks like this:

Dwellings over garages. c.1881. Yellow stock bricks, moulded brick and stone dressings, brick quoins, slate and bitumen-covered hipped slate roofs with overhanging eaves carried on bracket cornices. This is the only mews with an archway entrance. In the area, it's the only mews originally built with such an imposing entranceway.

I love that this is someone's job; to study these buildings, identify its features with the appropriate esoteric language (what's a quoin? I'll leave that for you to look up) and write these passages for public record.

This isn't the point, other than to say my mews is a peculiarly historic environment, a negotiated space with shifting purposes. There is limited, time-sensitive parking for the homes and businesses that operate there. Sometimes it can be hard to wind my way through multiple vehicles, walking my bike to my front door.

Today as I was walking home with my bike, a car and van were parked parallel, blocking most of the courtyard. I started to squeeze past on the car side but found it too narrow, so I turned back and went around by the van instead.

A large man, over six feet tall, stepped out squarely in front of me, blocking my path.

"Where are you trying to get to?" he said firmly.

I felt an unfamiliar emotion stiffening me. Contrary to my usual friendly demeanour, I replied, “Why?” - a single word, both question and boundary.

There was a pause, where I held his eye. It may have felt longer than it was, but after that moment I sensed he had moved a little out of my way, and I began to move forward.

“I thought my car might be in your way,” he said, his tone still authoritative, but I didn't stop to look at him.

“I live here,” I said. From behind, I heard him say, “I suppose I should have recognised you.” I kept walking and let myself into my flat.

It took me several minutes in my kitchen, whilst I paced about, still wearing my bicycle helmet, to analyse the feeling.

It was anger.

I had to replay the event to discover why he had angered me. Had he really done anything wrong? His words were not obviously hostile. How had his body been turned towards mine? Why did I feel he was looking down his nose at me? What was it in his stature, his tone, that had offended me so?

When these things happen, I often test the situation with my own behaviour. Would I have stepped in front of someone and spoken in the way he did? If I had meant well, how might I have approached a stranger that perhaps was put out by my car? All I could think was that I’d have opened with an apologetic 'Is my car in your way?'

Another simulation I run is would he have behaved in the same way were I a man? In this case, I think the answer is yes. This was not about gender. I would guess this man is an established homeowner in the mews. There was something proprietorial about his manner, as if I were in the grounds of his castle.

I feel satisfied with my response.

I have not always been the quickest to respond to an emotion, with trust. I remember in therapy years ago. I’d retell, as if to a friend, with words tumbling out, a situation that had upset me. The therapist would lean forward urgently and say, “Where do you feel it in your body?” This would silence me, and I’d think, “Oh fuck off.”

I still don’t feel emotions in the way that would satisfy my old therapist. I don't know where in my body the anger was. What matters today is that I let it lead me.

Sometimes the body feels things quicker than the mind can unpick them. I was raised to be polite, be pleasant, and not to cause a fuss. When I followed these rules, and ignored my instincts, I found myself disappointed afterwards.

It’s too easy to assume guilt or wrong-doing when confronted. Like an ill fitting door, it drags and forms an ugly welt over time.

I'm tired of the old rules, and these small moments of self-possession are how I reclaim my own thresholds.

[shafqatdad]

Ways to Renovate Your Attic Space

Ways to Renovate Your Attic Space https://ift.tt/grmvWse Renovating your attic can transform an underutilized and often neglected space into a functional and stylish area that adds value to your home. Whether you’re looking to create a new bedroom, home office, or entertainment room, there are numerous ways to renovate your attic to suit your needs and lifestyle. Here are some ideas to inspire your attic renovation project: 1. Bedroom Conversion Converting your attic into a bedroom is a popular choice for homeowners seeking to maximize living space and accommodate guests or growing families. Consider adding dormer windows or skylights to bring in natural light and create a bright and inviting atmosphere. Install built-in storage solutions such as closets or under-eaves cabinets to maximize space and keep the room clutter-free. Choose cozy furnishings and soft textiles to create a comfortable and relaxing retreat. 2. Home Office or Study Transforming your attic into a home office or study area provides a quiet and secluded space for work, study, or creative pursuits. Install ample lighting fixtures, including task lighting and adjustable desk lamps, to ensure adequate illumination for reading and working. Incorporate built-in shelves, desks, and storage units to organize books, files, and office supplies. Consider adding a comfortable seating area or lounge space for relaxation and brainstorming sessions. 3. Entertainment Room Creating an entertainment room in your attic is an excellent way to enjoy movies, games, and leisure activities with family and friends. Install a home theater system with surround sound speakers, a large-screen television, and comfortable seating for an immersive viewing experience. Include a gaming area with a pool table, foosball table, or gaming console for added entertainment options. Consider soundproofing the walls and floors to minimize noise transmission to other parts of the house. 4. Art Studio or Craft Room If you’re an artist, crafter, or DIY enthusiast, converting your attic into an art studio or craft room provides a dedicated space to unleash your creativity. Install ample work surfaces, storage bins, and shelves to organize art supplies, tools, and materials. Incorporate natural light sources such as skylights or large windows to provide optimal lighting for creating art and crafting projects. Consider adding a sink or utility area for cleaning brushes and supplies. 5. Guest Suite Transforming your attic into a guest suite is a practical solution for accommodating overnight guests or relatives. Add a bedroom, bathroom, and seating area to the attic space to create a private and comfortable retreat. Install amenities such as a mini-fridge, coffee maker, and television to enhance the guest experience. Consider adding soundproofing insulation and blackout curtains to ensure your visitors a restful night’s sleep.   Renovating your attic offers endless possibilities for creating functional, stylish, and versatile living spaces catering to your needs and preferences. Whether you choose to convert your attic into a bedroom, home office, entertainment room, art studio, or guest suite, careful planning and attention to detail are essential for a successful renovation project. With creativity, imagination, and proper execution, your attic can become a valuable and cherished part of your home. The post Ways to Renovate Your Attic Space first appeared on Shafqat Dad| Real Estate & Construction. via Shafqat Dad| Real Estate & Construction https://shafqatdad.uk September 10, 2024 at 12:42PM

[bookwriter1011]

An Introduction - Author About File

James A. Landry

Jim Landry is a book writer from Portsmouth, New Hampshire, now living in Raleigh, North Carolina. His storytelling and a rich and checkered life add up to adventurous tales that immerse the reader in entertaining journeys and into the minds of his main characters. Landry’s pulp-style fiction was so well-received in his first two novels (“Fool Star,” “Eaves Drop”) that it became his forté, and dark, yet comedic textures and sub-plots became his interest. Naturally, he is a Quentin Tarantino fan.

Jim was born into a journalist, sports, and music family, and he learned early about his love for writing in those subjects (“Pronator,” “On Me || On Music”) and more. Through his love of writing, James’s photojournalist father introduced and coached Jim, and consequently, he began reading adult novels, such as “Black Like Me” and “The Illustrated Man” when he was just nine years old. His dad’s example also compelled a young Jimmy to delve into the family encyclopedias and dictionaries. As a young adult, with music under his belt, James continued to write. Still, he took a shine to Information Science Architecture (“Planet Fix,” Solitary Refinement”) and opened his consultancy catering to the New York City metro area on his own. He was soon, once again, settled full-time in writing.

~~~

And below from me:

~~~

My first pulp-style fiction is “Fool Star,” a survivor’s tale from an insider about sex, drugs, and rock and roll on the road and in the studio. My second pulp-style fiction, titled “Eaves Drop,” is a contemporary murder mystery.

The contemporary fantasy fiction “Above Beyond” is a good (heavenly) versus evil (hellish) story told like never before.

The story “Solitary Refinement” is somewhat futuristic; the time frame is 2025 to 2036.  It involves a hero saving the Earth and its inhabitants from ugly politics, government corruption, and big oil.

Finally, “Pronator” is a feel-good baseball story of contemporary fiction. I was born into a baseball family: My Godfather is Jimmy Piersall of the Boston Red Sox, who came up with Ted Williams. So, a baseball book was inevitable.

The book, titled “On Me | On Music,” is my only non-fiction, but it may not be my last: Writing it was fun and different for me. The book is a memoir that covers my learning and working in the music business.

My latest, “Ghost Farm – 1 Breightman Parish,” is about a man and a witch, inside the integration between a one-hundred-ninety-nine Wiccan witch covenstead and a quiet farming town.

~~~

I enjoyed a long career as a professional musician from 1966 through 1988. I toured the country, logging more than 250,000 miles with one rock and roll outfit, playing in fourteen states, and performing in some two-hundred-forty cities and towns. The band and I landed a No. 1 spot on the Southeastern Billboard Charts, followed by three other top 10 singles. I have also toured New England and the Maritime Provinces, performing with a regionally famous New Hampshire rock band. I continued my musicianship, collaborating in New England with area songwriters and working as a session drummer and producer through 2011. I played my last show for the Infidels motorcycle enthusiast gang in 2012.

At one point in my life, as a struggling artist, I enjoyed a successful career as a contractor with Information Technology and Sciences in the New York City metro area. Trains in and out from northwestern Jersey. I was also an instructor and counselor at the famed Chubb Institute for Computer Technology & Sciences. Through it all, I never lost my passion for writing and music.

~~~

I enjoy listening to music and instrumental performance (Live and Studio Sessions). In addition to novel-length writing, freelance writing also interests me. I like hiking or walking, especially in natural wonders: I stroll along, nothing competitive. For entertainment, concerts, film, and Smart-TV do it for me. A good party is always a high time, too.

Time with my family and my friends is what’s most important to me. Keeping up with social media outside of promotion and marketing takes a back seat.

[ollie603]

Typeface selection

Part of my research was to look into a typeface selection for my animation when the time came to create it. I looked into various different sources and opinions about what typeface could work and considered the context of the speech, furthermore who it was said by.

An article on the website 99designs by Lindsay Kramer "a copy and content writer" cites the following:

"Fonts are one of the most important design choices to make when developing your brand identity. The best fonts leave you feeling like you’ve made an instant friend while the worst fonts are like a stranger who won’t leave you alone."

Therefore it was critical I get my typeface selection correct if I wanted to send the right message through my animation.

Kramer lists the following points about what makes a good typeface:

Even kerning Consistency Balance Legibility

Then lists the following points about what makes a bad typeface:

Overused Imbalanced Unreadable Boring "Fauxotic" fonts

When choosing a typeface I should consider that the typeface is

"Well-crafted and aesthetically pleasing (and) appropriate for your brand".

Kramer lists the following as good typefaces:

Didot Bodoni Garamond Futura Helvetica Mrs Eaves Baskerville Akzidenz-Grotesk Clarendon Gill Sans Verdana Frutiger FF Din Proxima Nova Uni Sans

And then the following for bad typefaces:

Copperplate Gothic Times New Roman Trajan Pro Comic Sans Courier Papyrus Bonzai Neuland-Inline Brush Script Souvenir FF Blur Impact Trajan Pro Curlz Jokerman Lobster Bleeding Cowboys Arial

While all incredibly subjective dependant on the clients needs I feel that this list is incredibly consistent with what I believe. Therefore out of the selection of "good" typefaces, I decided to choose Helvetica. It is incredibly well known and the only draw back from Kramer's list is that it's "overused". However, I thought that since I was working with kinetic type I might be able to use it and get away with it since I will be playing with different ways to present it visually. Not to mention that the wide array of weights that the font family offers allows me to choose weights when I animate to illustrate points better.

I then looked into other sources for a second opinion on what the "best" typefaces are and was met with the same answer on BonFX, a table created by Douglas Bonneville in 2015 lists Helvetica as the number 1 best typeface to use.

With that I then moved into whether Helvetica could be appropriate in a professional setting (to reflect the professionalism of Helen Clark throughout the speech) and found a resource on Studio Kayama by "ikumikayama" under the article "5 fonts that add credibility and professionalism to scientific research". Helvetica is listed at number 2 on their list. With Kayama citing "Helvetica is a font that looks great on both print and on screen.  Nature , Science, and Cell request that their figure labels be in Helvetica". Therefore Helvetica is appropriate for a formal/professional setting such as this topic, and furthermore reflecting the professionalism of Helen Clark throughout the speech.

Finally I looked at a resource dedicated to praising Helvetica (despite a potentially bias view). An article on Indusnet by Mainak Biswas titled "Helvetica Lovers Unite: Probably the Most Prolific Font in the World". Biswas states that Helvetica "is legible even when the viewer is in motion, making it popular amongst signage and airline logos" therefore switching it so that the type is in motion would most certainly be viable. Biswas also states that Helvetica is "omnipresent, a lot of big brand have their logos in the Helvetica font. Even though it was widely used, the message it sends across and its professionalism is unmatched".

This concludes my research, justification and selection of a typeface for my animation. Helvetica is suitable for a professional setting and therefore represents Helen Clark in just as a professional setting. Is incredibly popular and safe to use and has a wide range of weights to be able to utilise during my animation.

[durruti23]

Henri Matisse - Studio under the Eaves (1903)

https://www.musee-matisse-nice.org

https://fitzmuseum.cam.ac.uk

[hometoursandotherstuff]

A little old cabin in the woods, decorated very casually with vintage, thrifted finds by the artist who lives here. 

The entrance reveals low ceilings, and older construction.

Sofas face each other for a cozy conversation area. Do shiny white ceilings give the illusion of height? Not really.

The dining room has lots of good natural light and space for a large table.

Decorating the old stove.

A small door leads to another area of the house, thru the kitchen.

The art studio is a large space where she can spread out.

The upper floor of the home has a lot to offer.

Under the eaves, between the beams, is a good place to store books. They’ve even installed a light.

Lovely master has access to an outdoor deck.

If you look in the mirror, you can see that the 2nd floor family is accessed via  the entrance hall below.

Neatly stored things in vintage trunks.

Daughter’s room with cute owl wallpaper and mom-painted ants on the floor.

http://keltainentalorannalla.blogspot.com/search?updated-max=2015-06-09T11:30:00%2B03:00&max-results=2&start=20&by-date=false

[artist-matisse]

Studio under the Eaves, 1903, Henri Matisse

Medium: oil,canvas

[twifeordeath]

Twife or Death: Lesbian Twilight Chapter 22

Updated as of (3-31-2021) (previous) (all chapters)

All rights belong to Stephenie Meyer, and this project is non-profit and fan entertainment.

—————————–

22. HIDE AND SEEK

“What was it?” I’d lost control of my voice — it was flat, uncaring.

Jasper stared at me. I kept my expression vacant and waited. Her eyes flickered between Alice’s face and mine, feeling the chaos. I knew what Alice had seen.

A peaceful atmosphere settled around me. I didn’t fight it. I used it to keep my emotions under control.

Alice recovered, too. Her face snapped back to its normal expression.

“Nothing,” she said, her voice amazingly calm and convincing. “Just the same room as before.” She looked at me, focusing for the first time. “Did you want breakfast?”

“I’ll eat at the airport.” I was calm, too. Almost like I was borrowing Jasper’s extra sense, I could feel Alice’s well-concealed desperation to get me out of the room, so that she could be alone with her. So she could tell her that they were doing something wrong, that they were going to fail.

Alice was still focused on me.

“Is your mother all right?”

I had to swallow back a throatful of bile. I could only follow the script I’d planned earlier.

“My mom was worried,” I said in a monotone voice. “She wanted to come home. It’s okay. I convinced her to stay in Florida for now.”

“That’s good.”

“Yes,” I agreed robotically.

I turned and walked slowly to the bedroom, feeling their eyes following the whole way. I shut the door behind me, and then I did what I could. I showered and got dressed in clothes that fit me. I dug through the duffel bag until I found my sock full of money—I emptied it into my pocket.

I stood there for a minute, staring at nothing, trying to think of things I was allowed to think about. I came up with one idea.

I knelt by the little bedside table and opened the top drawer. Underneath the complimentary copy of the Bible, there was a stash of stationery and a pen. I took a sheet of paper and an envelope out of the drawer.

“Edythe,” My hand was shaking.

I love you.

Sorry—again. So sorry.

She has my mom, and I have to try. I know it may not work. I am so very, very sorry.

Don’t be mad at Alice and Jasper. If I get away from them it will be a miracle. Tell them thank you for me. Alice especially.

And please, please don’t come after her. That’s what she wants. I can’t stand it if anyone else has to be hurt because of me, especially you. Please, this is the only thing I can ask you now. For me.

I’m not sorry that I met you. I’ll never be sorry that I love you.

Forgive me.

Bella.

But before I could put any of those words on the page, I felt a scream bubble up in my throat. All the emotions I’d been trying to repress- I tried to smother it with my hands but in the quiet hotel room it was like a gunshot. Alice was instantly by my side. 

“Bella, what’s wrong?” Her eyes were wild, darting around the room, like she was trying to find both the danger present in this moment as well as the potential dangers in the future. Jasper stood at the door, hesitating.

And then it all came out. The threats, the fact that I never even got to talk to my mom at all, Jamie threatening to kill her if I didn’t come alone- Jasper was on my other side now, a steady presence. I tried to focus on her hand on my shoulder, tried to tie my attention to my body and not my anxieties- but it was just too much.

The room started to darken- I couldn’t get enough breath- my heart was beating so hard I was surprised it hadn’t given out yet- I just couldn’t breathe-

A wave of darkness dragged me under, and I knew no more.

I resurfaced in fits and starts, my whole body aching. It felt like I’d been run over by a truck. No, a train. It hurt to breathe, but I was breathing. So that was a start. I felt a cool hand in mine, a soft stream of steady comfort flowing into my chest. Jasper.

“How-” I croaked, then started coughing. A strong arm was around my shoulders, holding me up, and someone held a bottle of water to my lips. I drank, gratefully, then finally opened my eyes. We were in a car.

I tried again. “How long was I out?” This time at least I made it through the whole sentence.

“Only an hour. We’re halfway to your mother’s house.” Alice replied, looking distracted.

“But-”

“We will get out ten blocks away. Just in case someone’s watching the house.” Jasper says, squeezing my hand.

“The others will be arriving soon, as soon as they can.” I didn’t know if she was keeping it vague for my sake or because she wasn’t sure herself.

Jasper looked over at Alice when she didn’t continue, then back at me. “We have a plan. We just need to make sure Jamie suspects as little as possible. I won’t sugar coat this Bella. You might get hurt. But neither you or your mom will be in serious danger. Here.”

She handed me one of the slim silver phones. “Before you enter the house, call Alice. She’s on speed dial one. She will add Carine to the call, and you can tuck the phone into the inside pocket of this jacket.”

She patted the front of an unfamiliar jacket I was now wearing. I nodded numbly. “That way we can hear everything that’s happening, and we know when to make our move. We will be right behind you Bella, I swear. We won’t let you or your mother get hurt. Do you believe me?”

“I- I believe you.” It came out shaky and not very confident, but it seemed to be enough.

“The Black pack and Esme are keeping an eye on Charlie. Julie insisted on coming with Edythe and the others on the flight.”

“Julie’s coming?” I felt a strange kind of lightness in my chest, like the aftershock of me finding out I would see Edythe soon. I missed Julie. I hadn’t gotten to see her in too long.

“Yes.” There was an unfamiliar undertone to Jasper’s voice, almost- amusement? No, pride? I didn’t know.

“They’ve landed.” Alice said, her eyes still focused on something neither one of us could see. “They’ll be ten minutes behind us. They’re going directly to the studio.”

“Jasper, you can let go now.” She turned to me with a question in her eyes. I just took a deep breath and nodded. She let go of my hand and slowly, the distant buzz of panic started to turn into a dull roar.

We turned onto a familiar street. One of them must’ve been keeping an eye on the road because Alice takes out her phone and Jasper looks down at mine. I’m sure holding down one number isn’t hard, but my hands are shaking so much I barely trust myself to do even that.

There’s a small crunch and then Jasper tucks the phone into the hidden pocket of the jacket. When I look up at her, confused, she gives me a small, slightly feral smile.

“Broke the end call button. So you can’t accidentally hang up on us.”

I feel my lips tug into what is no doubt a very bad imitation of her smile. She pats my head, but it doesn’t feel condescending. It feels comforting. I guess this is her way of saying she cares.

And then, too soon, they both stepped out of the car. Alice leaned forward to press a kiss to my forehead. I tried not to cry.

“You are strong Bella. And remember, we are right behind you.” Something in her eyes blazed, and I felt it light a spark deep inside of me. I could do this. I had to do this. Then the doors closed and I was alone again.

“Hey, what was the number?”

The cabbie’s question startled me so hard I flinched. The fear I’d tamped down for a few minutes took control again.

“Fifty-eight twenty-one.” My voice sounded strangled. The cabbie looked at me like she was nervous.

“Here we are, then.” She was anxious to get me out of her car, probably hoping I wouldn’t ask for change.

“Thank you,” I whispered. There was no need to be afraid, I reminded myself. I knew the house was empty. I had to hurry; my mom was waiting for me, terrified, maybe hurt already, in pain, depending on me.

I ran to the door, reaching up automatically to grab the key under the eave. It was dark inside, empty, normal. The smell was so familiar, it almost incapacitated me. It felt like my mother must be close, just in the other room, but I knew that wasn’t true.

I ran to the phone, turning on the kitchen light on my way. There, on the whiteboard, was a ten-digit number written in a small, neat hand. My fingers stumbled over the keypad, making mistakes. I had to hang up and start again. I concentrated on just the buttons this time, carefully pressing each one in turn. I was successful. I held the phone to my ear with a shaking hand. It rang only once.

“Hello, Bella,” that easy voice answered. “That was very quick. I’m impressed.”

“Is my mom okay?”

“She’s perfectly fine. Don’t worry, Bella, I have no quarrel with her. Unless you didn’t come alone, of course.” Light, amused.

“I’m alone.” I wasn’t lying. There was nobody else in the house.

“Very good. Now, do you know the ballet studio just around the corner from your home?”

“Yeah. I know how to get there.”

“Well, then, I’ll see you very soon.”

I hung up.

I ran from the room, through the door, out into the morning heat.

From the corner of my eye, I could almost see my mother standing in the shade of the big eucalyptus tree where I’d played as a kid. Or kneeling by the little plot of dirt around the mailbox, the cemetery of all the flowers she’d tried to grow. The memories were better than any reality I would see today. But I raced away from them.

I felt so slow, like I was running through wet sand—I couldn’t seem to get enough purchase from the concrete. I tripped over my feet several times, once falling, catching myself with my hands, scraping them on the sidewalk, and then lurching up to plunge forward again. At last I made it to the corner. Just another street now; I ran, sweat pouring down my face, gasping. The sun was hot on my skin, too bright as it bounced off the white concrete and blinded me.

When I rounded the last corner, onto Cactus, I could see the studio, looking just as I remembered it. The parking lot in front was empty, the vertical blinds in all the windows drawn. I couldn’t run anymore—I couldn’t breathe; fear had gotten the best of me. I thought of my mother to keep my feet moving, one in front of the other.

As I got closer, I could see the sign taped inside the door. It was handwritten on bright pink paper; it said the dance studio was closed for spring break. I touched the handle, tugged on it cautiously. It was unlocked. I fought to catch my breath, and opened the door.

The lobby was dark and empty, cool, the air conditioner thrumming. The plastic molded chairs were stacked along the walls, and the carpet was damp. The west dance floor was dark, I could see through the open viewing window. The east dance floor, the bigger room, the one from Alice’s vision, was lit. But the blinds were closed on the window.

Terror seized me so strongly that I was literally trapped by it. I couldn’t make my feet move forward.

And then my mom’s voice called for me.

“Bella? Bella?” That same tone of hysterical panic. I sprinted to the door, to the sound of her voice.

“Bella, you scared me! Don’t you ever do that to me again!” Her voice continued as I ran into the long, high-ceilinged room.

I stared around me, trying to find where her voice was coming from. I heard her laugh, and I spun toward the sound.

There she was, on the TV screen, mussing my hair in relief. It was Thanksgiving, and I was twelve. We’d gone to see my grandmother in California, the last year before she died. We went to the beach one day, and I’d leaned too far over the edge of the pier. Mom had seen my feet flailing, trying to reclaim my balance. “Bella? Bella?” she’d cried out in panic.

And then the TV screen was blue.

I turned slowly. The tracker was standing very still by the back exit, so still I hadn’t noticed her at first. In her hand was a remote control. We stared at each other for a long moment, and then she smiled.

She walked toward me, got just a few feet away, and then passed me to put the remote down next to the VCR. I pivoted carefully to watch her.

“Sorry about that, Bella, but isn’t it better that your mother didn’t really have to be involved in all this?” Her voice was kind.

And suddenly it hit me. My mom was safe. She was still in Florida. She’d never gotten my message. She’d never been terrified by the dark red eyes staring at me now. She wasn’t in pain. She was safe.

“Yes,” I answered, my voice breaking with relief.

“You don’t sound angry that I tricked you.”

“I’m not.” My sudden high made me brave. What did it matter now? It would be over soon. Charlie and Mom would never be hurt, would never have to be afraid. I felt almost dizzy from the relief. Some analytical part of my mind warned me that I was close to snapping from the stress, but then, losing my mind sounded like a decent option right now.

“How odd. You really mean it.” Her dark eyes looked me up and down. The irises were nearly black, just a hint of ruby around the edges. Thirsty. “I will give your strange coven this much, you humans can be quite interesting. I guess I can see the draw of observing you more closely. It’s amazing—some of you seem to have no sense of your own self-interest at all.”

"What do you want from me?" My voice was calm, indifferent. Dangerously so.

I attempted to get my heart rate up again by thinking of all the ways they could kill me. Nothing worked, not after the relief of discovering my mother's safety. At least Jamie hadn't noticed yet.

Jamie raised an eyebrow. "From you? Nothing."

I was confused for a moment, then it hit me. My eyes widened.

"No," I hissed. "You're not touching her."

"Why are you so worried, sweet bird?" Jamie crooned. "I heard that Edythe Cullen could read minds -- she can protect herself just fine. But you..." She reached out with a finger to trace my cheeks. Instantly I jerked away.

"I've always wanted to try my luck against a mind reader," she continued. "Don't we all?"

I became aware of four pairs of glistening teeth, their fangs protruding horribly out of their mouths.

"And not just a mind reader --" she counted on her hand, "-- a seer and a emotion-manipulator as well. You saw what they can do at that meeting, no?"

"Stop it," I said.

"It would be a marvelous hunt," she sighed. "Six of us against seven weak, pitiful, pacifists. The Volturi had limits on killing humans, but not so for our own kind." Her red eyes focused on mine. "I wonder how long those pretty ambers of theirs keep their color. A day? Two weeks, three after I plucked them out?"

"Stop." I couldn’t even stop to wonder where the other vampires had come from. I just stared at her, hoping against all hope that the phone was still on, that they could hear, that they were coming, that Alice had seen. That they would be ready for five vampires instead of one.

"And the first step had already been done for us, too. Bait has dropped itself into our very laps." Rigidly, I sat as she circled about me.

"Now it's time to set the trap."

My blood went cold. Murmurs echoed through the room, agreeing with her. So that's why they hadn't killed me yet, when they could have done so easily before.

I felt her touch like spiders in my hair. She paused in front of me and reached down, gripping both of the chair handles to peer straight into my face.

"So, Bella, do you have any ideas you'd like to volunteer?"

I kept my mouth shut, unmoving.

"You know perfectly what we could do." All eyes turned to a man in the corner. Despite an attractive countenance, he had hungry eyes and flexing, hungrier hands. "We could take her and leave her body for them to find."

Jamie's smile was cold. "Take her?"

I shuddered.

He didn't get the hint. "You know, we -- "

"The next time you say something like that again," Jamie snarled, "I'll nail your fucking body to the sea floor and let the fish take you. Are we clear?"

The man's mouth was open and he closed it. Jamie turned sharply away from him, hissing.

"You know, Bella," she said, ignoring the previous conversation. "I have an idea."

I stared at her, waiting.

"It always struck me strange how your lover is so willing to let you age away and die right before her eyes when the solution was right there. Your poor, cowardly beloved Edythe."

"Would you like to become a vampire, Bella?"

Something clattered outside. Jamie whipped her head around. Instantly all the vampires crouched, stances ready to kill.

"They're here," cried Jamie, her eyes glinting with delighted ferocity. She grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked it like a leash. I gasped in pain.

"You'll be staying with me. Edythe is mine to kill."

The vampires blurred as they moved. One reached for the handle and twisted it, breaking the lock with ease. They opened it.

In stepped a vampire I hadn’t seen before. She must’ve been keeping watch outside. Dark liquid was seeping through a raw wound on her neck, like something had tore a chunk out of it. She gasped, his eyes wide with terror.

"Wolves," she screamed. "Wol--!"

Something large and furry closed its maw about his head with a sickening crunch and wrenched him from the door. Windows shattered as bodies collided with it.

I closed my eyes.

"No." I heard Jamie. "It can't be!"

I reached under my shirt. My hands found the pocket knife nestled in my sports bra. Quickly snapping out the blade, I slashed Jamie's hand. She yelped and let go. Snarling, she made a grab for me. I dodged and fell to the floor.

Something leaped between us, and I heard her crash into the wall.

"Bella?!" A tinny voice yelled from inside my jacket. I slowly crawled to the corner of the room, ignoring the chaos happening around me, and hoisted myself against the wall, struggling to get the phone out of the secret pocket.

"Bella!"

"I'm fine, I'm okay," I said quickly, but my voice still shook. “Is everyone okay?"

I heard a sigh of relief on the other side.

"Yep, never better," Quil replied. Quil. I was surprised I recognized her voice in all the chaos.

I took a sharp breath and wrapped my arms around myself, relief tenth-fold.

“By the way, did you know that one of the blood-suckers’ got electricity powers? They shut down your Mom's whole city; that's why we couldn't contact her using email or phone. Giant disaster."

"Really?"

I was beginning to notice a crackling sound. Puzzled, I held the phone out before me. It was throwing sparks. I hurriedly dropped it on the ground. Nearby, the light bulb shattered, throwing the room into darkness. A bright flash hissed through the air. I lifted my eyes. One of the vampires had lightning zapping from her fingertips, throwing sparks wildly at anything that moved.

Time to leave.

I knew I couldn't do anything. I had known this; that was why I chose to be bait. There was only one way to make sure of Mom's safety while the rest of them arrived, and that was it.

But now my role was over. I had to trust the others, to trust Julie and Edythe to fight well and remain safe. I resigned to slowly crawl out of the room. Keeping myself low and in the dark, I let my hands feel the wall as a guide. And as I made my painful progress, I watched.

The room was a mess. The windows were shattered, and what had been the doorway was now a splintered hole. One vampire was already torn to pieces, her arms and torso scattered on the floor. I couldn't see Carine or Jasper with the speed at which they moved, but Eleanor was wrestling with a brawny man, their long, large fangs bared at each other. Eleanor had scratches and cuts on her arms. Her opponent had more.

A werewolf, who I recognized as Julie, was limping. She whined, backing into the wall. I gasped as two vampires closed in on her.

"No," I moaned.

They leaped, fangs bared. Her head snapped up. She swerved, avoiding them, and closed her jaw onto one's arm. She shook him like Hulk shook a toy, and threw him into the air. The other roared, and slammed against her side. They tumbled, and I tore my gaze from them, searching for others.

I spied the hungry man from before facing off against Rosalie. Her expression, usually indifferent, was now contorted with rage. She must have listened in on the conversation through the phone. I watched, almost in fascination, as she easily dodged his flexing fingers and rammed her foot into his stomach. It came out his back, caked with black viscera. Her hands gripped his head and twisted. Once. Twice. Three times, then wrenched it off, spurting black blood everywhere. I reminded myself to thank her later.

My eyes roved over again and I spotted them. I let out a gasp.

Jamie was dodging about the center of the room, her once-calm face now twisted with rage. Opposite her was my Edythe, teeth bared, and a large, red-furred wolf. Julie! My heart rose to my throat at the sight of them. I never thought I'd see her again. Either of them.

They were fighting viciously against Jamie, who was barely holding out her own. Already her right arm hung limp at her side. I could see a large, black bruise where her collarbone was; Edythe must have snapped it. Her side and shirt was mottled with dark liquid. She had precision and speed, one of an experienced hunter. From her words before, this hadn't been the first time she'd hunted vampires. Against any other opponent, she would have won.

Not with my Edythe and Julie. Julie, who I was startled to see, fought like she was reading Edythe’s mind. Or Edythe hers. But no, it was too fluid. Julie, Julie. It’s like I’d never seen her before. She looked so fierce, so beautiful.

Edythe moved with the agility of any immortal seventeen years old girl; youthful, graceful, merciless. Her lunges were wild and unpredictable. Julie moved like one used to fighting to protect. Her motions were clean-cut and calculated, a pack leader's mentality. The both of them moved like partners in a dance, filling in where the other left open. They clicked like lock and key, thrust and parry, sword and shield. Jamie was a goner.

They almost had her, and she knew it. A break to the leg or a bite to the neck and she would be gone. Her head snapped about, taking in the scene around her, searching for help. Her allies were falling one by one, and those that didn't had ran. Outside, I heard two distinct, victorious howls. It was a matter of time. She was going to lose.

I had reached the door and was just about to ease myself out when her eyes found me.

Edythe must have read her mind, because she cried out, "NO!"

In one movement, Jamie lunged. As if in slow motion, I saw her coming towards me, mouth open wide, white fangs glinting in the moonlight. I shoved myself out the doorway but it was too late. My arms flew up to shield myself, and her teeth found my wrist.

Two sharp points pierced my flesh. A second later her entire jaw closed about my wrist like a metal trap snapping shut. I could hear the crunch of bone.

"NO!"

Daggers of pain erupted at my wrist like wildfire.

I screamed.

A/N: I had to change so much here, dear god. There was no way I was having Bella run off on her own without telling anyone, so I had to rewrite that whole scene after the letter. Then I took Bly’s lovely rough draft rewrite of this chapter and tweaked it so it made a little more sense with the way the story was now. Basically, there were a lot of changes that I’m sure I’ve forgotten about and let slip through the cracks, but since I’m the only one of the old group left, and have the memory of a broken colander, I don’t think y’all will hold it against me (also I decided to stick with the old technology, cause I like that). I might go back and add some scenes with Julie. I really enjoy the ot3 but I don’t want it to seem like it came out of left field.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Have you seen the post going around about the zoom class with one guy and his full streamer setup vs the guy whose just in the middle of the woods? I know you have a prompt list rn but I’m just saying there’s a sternclay fic in there somewhere...

It is! Here you go!

Life is better with order. Or, at the very least, with some attempt at patterns, organization, or consistency. 

Which is why Stern has carefully arranged his desk, his chair, and his equipment in the background. Streaming as a hobby and a side hustle means he has some (okay, a lot) of practice making his digital self look just right. He needs to make a good impression on the first day of the semester.

Unlike some people. 

“Holy shit man, are you in the woods?” Duck, the guy in a “Monongahela National Forest” shirt, grins as he asks this of another student whose screen consists of a forest clearing, a log, and the name “Barclay.”

“Yeah. Hang on, lemme finish getting the phone balanced.”

“Dude, that’s like, way better than my background” this comes from Jake, in front of a poorly rendered half-pipe. 

“Can’t really take credit for it, just where I ended up.” Barclay sits down, and Stern gets his first look at a man so tall he barely fits in the frame, with a short, coppery beard and an honest-to-god man-bun.

Damn west coast schools. 

“How is your battery going to last long enough for class?” Stern leans back in his chair, certain Barclay will have “battery trouble” halfway through as an excuse to cut out early.

Barclay smiles, lifting up a small green and black rectangle, “solar battery. Not everyone needs fancy gadgets for school.” He aims a pointed stare at Sterns set-up. 

“It’s important to have the right equipment.”

“Whatever you say, man.” He lifts a cup of iced coffee into the frame, sipping it through a straw. It’s the picture of relaxation, as if nothing is wrong in the world. As if this is all totally normal. 

Stern wants to reach through the  screen and slap some sense into him. Preferably while he’s shirtless.

He chalks that thought up to not having gotten laid since last December and pulls up his note taking software as Professor Chicane enters the room.

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

Private Chat 9/20/20

Duck (he/him): I timed it, we’re already at ten minutes of arguing.

Indrid (he/him): I know Ned enjoys their demonstrating the different modes of rhetoric, but this is a bit extreme.

Duck: To be fair, Joe does seem kinda uptight.

Indrid: Yes, but Barclay should know by now that zeroing in on him during our practice debates only results in this.

Duck: Yeah. Oh shit, are they for real wrapping up you think?

Indrid: We can only hope. Skype me tonight?

Duck: Of course, sugar.

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

What is Joseph’s problem? He’s got a set-up that would make a pro-vlogger jealous, what looks to be a well-lit apartment with some houseplants and the kind of coffee-cups that are weirdly lacking in personality. His clothes are immaculate, his hair slicked back as if he;s in a business meeting rather than an online class in the midst of a chaotic world. So why is he acting like everything is terrible? And why is he always arguing with Barclay, when there are plenty of other people in the class to disagree with?

“Now” Mr. Chicane’s voice booms through the tiny speaker on his phone, “if you all had a chance to read over the instructions, we will begin the first mock debate. Do we have any volunteers?”

He and Joe raise their hands at the same time. Mr. Chicane raises an eyebrow.

“While I appreciate your eagerness, gentlemen, I would like two other volunteers this time.”

That’s fine by him. It’s not like he likes listening to Joseph get all wound up and passionate, making everyone on the call sit up and take notice of him. It’s not as if he enjoys being the center of his focus. 

Nope, not at all.

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

Private chat 10/11/20

Jake (he/him): Dudes, did you see who got paired up on the final project?

Aubrey (she/her): Chicane must be getting them back for all the times they’ve hijacked discussions. 

Duck (he/him): Man, for their sake I hope it works out.

Indrid (he/him): This is going to be a disaster.

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

“Are you out of your mind!” Stern is talking before Barclay’s video is fully on. 

“Nope. And you don’t have to yell, my speaker works just fine.”

“You’re outside, for all I know there’s a ton of ambient noise.”

Barclay, phone obviously in his hand as he walks through the trees, groans.

“And don’t try to derail this; how can you possibly suggest I come out there so we can do the project in person? We’re supposed to be limiting travel and gatherings.”

“Look, Joseph, we both agree that trying to generate our own cryptid hoax is the best way to demonstrate all the techniques Ned wants us too, right?”

“Yes” he hides his answer behind the rim of his coffee mug. 

“We’ll do a way better job if we work in the same space. And if it makes you feel any better, I haven’t had any human contact in three weeks; all quarantined up, unlike whatever you’ve been doing in the city.”

He sets the mug down with a thunk, “I haven’t been out in a month. And before that was only for one grocery run and a hospital visit.”

“Uhhh-”

“I cut my hand cooking. So. Yeah.”

Literal crickets chirp, courtesy of Barclay’s end of the line, as the silence stretches on.

“If it helps, it’s real easy to stay isolated here, and I’ve still got utilities and everything.”

“And you’re not subsisting only on MREs or granola or something?”

A deep chuckle, the kind that makes his skin prickle, “Nope. That much I can promise.”

Stern glances around the studio apartment, clean and empty. 

“What’s your address?”

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

Look, all Stern is going to say is that he’s seen and read plenty of stories that start with a cabin in the woods and none of them end well. Which is why he’s still sitting in his car, parked beside a beat-up Subaru, rather than knocking on the door. 

Breathe in, five counts. Out for four. Repeat four times. 

Waiting for him on the door is a note.

Joseph,

Key under mat, make yourself at home. 

Barclay. 

He brings in his bags (a matching set of three, a gift from his aunt last year), placing them in the tiny guest room. It’s not much more than a bed, a dresser, and a tiny table. But there’s a heating unit below the window looking out into the woods, which is pretty pleasant. He’ll be keeping the blinds closed at night, though; he hates the thought of something being able to look in. 

Stern’s busy evaluating the laundry closet when the front door opens. 

“Hey, glad you found the place okay.”

Barclay stands in the doorway, a basket full of fruit in one hand. He’s remarkably kempt for a man living in the woods and that, combined with the deep voice being even richer in person and the fact Stern has to actually look up to meet his eyes, has him stumbling for words. 

“Your directions were very thorough. Thank you. Um. I put my things in there, should I, um-”

“I can give you the grand tour.” The taller man sets the basket on the dining table, notices Sterns puzzled expression “there’s a piece of property about a mile thataway that has orchards they don’t really use. They let me come and pick whenever i want, less for them to clean up.”

Barclay keeps up a steady monologue as he shows him the cabin. The lower level is the living room and dining area, a kitchen which leads onto the back deck, Sterns room, and a bathroom. As the cabin is A-frame, the upstairs is Barclay’s room, all dark wood and pine colored plaid. It’s as Barclay is telling him about the woodpecker that sometimes nests in the eaves that he realizes why he’s talking so much.

He’s nervous. 

Neither of their nerves improve when he gets to his last point of order. 

“Uh, so, the bathroom downstairs is only a half-bath.”

“So...if I want to shower, which I do, I have to come up here.”

“Yeah.” Barclay scratches the back of his neck, “sorry. I don’t, like, sleep naked or anything so we should be fine.”

“Disappointing.” Stern sighs, only to sail past sarcastic and land face first in sincere. 

Barclay blushes, then shrugs, “Trust me, after the first night, you’ll see why.”

Stern does. He’s warm as long as he’s in bed, but the moment he ventures into the bathroom in the middle of the night he’s cocooned in cold. 

The morning brings cinnamon and coffee on the draft coming under the door. He plods into the kitchen in search of caffeine, finds Barclay in an pron, the counter covered in trays of dough. 

“Morning!”

“Morning. Coffee-”

“Right there, sugar and stuff’s in the cabinet above it, cream and such is in the fridge.”

Blessedly, there’s heavy cream to be found, and soon he’s sipping from an enamel mug emblazoned with a UFO made of veggies. 

“Is this all for your job?” Barclay mentioned he was a cook during an icebreaker. 

“Yep. Way it works is I bust my ass baking once or twice a day, and Thacker, who works with Mama at the Lodge in town, comes and takes them over there. Normally I’d just be there but, well, y’know.”

“Everything is on fire? Figuratively, I mean.”

“Sometimes literally too, but yeah.”

As he’s turning to grab his clothes and head showerward, Barclay adds, “You a scone man, coffecake man, or a cinnamon roll man?”

“Coffeecake?” It comes out hesitant. 

“There’s no right answer, man.” Barclay sounds amused, “what do you want?”

“Cake, definitely.”

“Cool. I’ll save you a slice.”

Once he’s showered and on the wi-fi, his day runs like normal; one lecture, reading, a research paper, his initial half of their project, and working either his copy-editing or transcription job in between, and planning his next stream. Barclay comes and goes, stops now and then to see if he needs anything, leaves a sandwich in front of him around dinner time. Then it’s time to crawl under the covers and dream of a less-stressful world. 

The next day, just before one, Barclay taps him on the shoulder. 

“Ready for class?”

“Yes…” He gestures to his laptop and notebook. 

“C’mon, join me out here, it’s way nicer, and we can share the phone.”

“Barclay, it’s  a nonsensical way to attend class, just stay in here with me! Even this set-up has to be better than the woods.”

“This set up. You mean my house?” All the friendliness leaves hi voice. 

“Yes. Look, I agreed to come out because you’re right, if we want to ace this thing that’s worth sixty percent of our grade, this is the place to do it; I don’t have to go along with the whole self-sufficient woodsman aesthetic while I’m here. “

“Yeah, I’d say you’re pretty far from self-sufficient. See you in class.” 

Stern stews through the entire session, but where he’d usually find something Barclay says to latch onto, he instead gnaws on himself. Why didn’t he just go with him? Why snap at someone who’s been nothing but nice since he got here?

Whatever the answer, how can he fix it?

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

Barclay tromps back through the twilight, done with his second class of the day. If Joseph is in the main house, he plans to ignore him until tomorrow morning. That all goes out the window with the clank of dishes from the kitchen. 

Peering in reveals the other man bent over, pulling a casserole from the oven. He waits to announce his presence until Joseph is out of the danger zone, enjoying the view as he does. 

“Smells good.”

Blue eyes flick over to him as Joseph opens drawers, “it’s mostly cheese and chips, so I’m not surprised.”

“Servers are in that one.”

“Thank you. Nacho pie?” He scoops some into a bowl, holding it out. 

“Sure. Uh, look, Joseph I-”

Joseph holds up the server, “Wait. Before you apologize I, um, I wanted to say I’m sorry for my comments. And for being so...me-ish.” He sighs, staring at the utensil in his grip, “I’ve always been a little bit tense, tried to be polite and effective and friendly in spite of it. The last six months made that harder to do. I don’t love it when I can’t be organized, when normal systems go out of place. But that’s no excuse for being rude to you, even before you invited me here. You’re just so...you’re always so calm and relaxed, like nothing was wrong and I just honed in on that way more than made sense. I’m sorry.”

“If it makes you feel better, I kinda did the same thing. You’re always so put together, it looked like you had this organized life in the midst of this whole shitstorm. I feel lik everything is slipping away, like my world is just this cabin. I mean, I assumed you were seeing friends in the city, while I haven’t seen Mama in person since April. So” he sets the bowl down, rests his hand on Joseph’s shoulder, “I’m sorry too.”

Joseph laughs, softly, “turns out we both had failures of imagination, huh?”

“Yeah” he runs a hand over Joseph's back, “now come on, this dinner’s not gonna eat itself.”

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

“You sure you don’t wanna wear the bigfoot costume?”

“Positive. Besides, it suits you.” Joseph finishes styling the fur on the head of the costume to look more realistic, “I just hope we get this done before that storm comes in; as mush as the rain would add to the mood of the scene, that’ll be hell to dry and you’ll be miserable. So, go lurk over there while I finish up getting the camera settings where they need to be.”

“Yes sir” Barclay pops the head on, leaves crunching as moves to his appointed tree. He smiles as he watches Joseph fiddle with the camera; things have been so much better between them these last two weeks. They trade off cooking dinner, study side by side, and watch movies or play games in the warmth of the heater. They have a similar sense of humor and taste in books, and are tidy to boot.   Joseph’s even come with him to listen to lectures in the woods, the pair sharing a thermos of coffee under the astonished gaze of their classmates. There’s just one problem. 

Barclay’s buried crush is now blooming in every direction. Animated, argumentative Joseph was attractive. Joseph, in all his moods and mannerisms, is devastatingly enchanting. He’s come close to telling him this, but the other man is his guest and also only here for another two and a half weeks, so a confession is setting himself up for heartbreak at worst and awkwardness at best. 

He almost blew it last night when they were washing dishes (Joseph scrubs, Barclay dries and puts away). 

“Last one.”

“Thanks, blue eyes.”

“What was that?”

“Uh, blue eyes? Like a, uh, a nickname?”

Joseph laughs, “Sounds like something from a Raymond Chandler book. I like it.”

On the plus side, if Joseph thinks it’s just a nickname and not a pet name, maybe Barclay can keep using it.

“Are you ready?’

He sticks up a hairy thumb and calls, “you know it, blue eyes.”

That same laugh as Joseph takes up his position. Maybe it’s the weird film over the costume’s eyes, but Barclay swears he sees a blush.

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

Stern trawls through the search results. Their video is getting some traction, with two cryptid hunter sites claiming it’s credible footage. He’s making note of how the information spread, which threads lead to belief and which to doubt, when Barclay calls from upstairs. 

“Joseph? Little help?”

The other man is in the bathroom, and when Stern knocks he says, “Think the pilot light on the water heater went out again, all I’m getting is cold water. Can you go relight it?”

“Sure.” He gets to the stairs then, stops, “where’s the key to that closet?”

“Huh? Oh, shit, right, hang on” Barclay says at the same time as Stern’s “don’t worry, I can find it.” 

Which is why the instant he turns back into the bedroom is the same instant Barclay steps out of the bathroom, blue towel around his waist. 

Any blood that doesn’t head south goes instantly to Stern’s cheeks. 

“You okay there, blue-eyes?”

“It’s completely unfair how good you look without a shirt.”

He clamps a hand over his mouth.

“Idn’t ean to ay at out oud” The mumbled explanation makes Barclay smirk. 

“You like this, should see what’s under the towel.”

The unusually bold statement from Barclay kindles his own confidence.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, big guy.”

“Who says I won’t.” Barclay sits down on the edge of the bed, nonchalant and leaning back on his hands, “got plenty of time to make good on them.”

“We literally don’t. I go back in a week and two days.”

Barclay toys with the lint on the towel, “you could stay. Through break, through next semester, for however long you wanted.”

“Do you mean that?”

A shy nod, “I like having you around, Joseph. Even beyond the huge fucking crush I have on you I...everything is a little better when you’re around.”

“I, um, I guess it could work. We know next semester is online too, and so is work, so…” there must be variables missing, something he’s not seeing, some reason this is too good to be true.

“You want some space away from shirtless me to think about it?”

“That’d be great.”

Barclay stands, hesitates, then plants a quick kiss on his forehead, “take all the time you need, blue eyes.”

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

Private Chat log 1/11/2021

Barclay (he/him): Did you see the look on Duck’s face when we turned up in frame together. 

Joseph (he/him): Yes. Pretty sure Aubrey yelled something about him needing to pay up. I wonder what the bet was. 

Barclay (he/him): Whatever it was, pretty sure I came out the biggest winner. 

Stern snorts, trying not to blush on camera, and leans over to kiss his boyfriend on the cheek. 

[stellarflex]

Xiao Zhan Studio weibo updated:

The spring breeze brings rain. Xiao Zhan watches the scenery under the eaves quietly in front of the court.

[semperintrepida]

100% Relative Humidity

Kassandra had just finished inspecting the fenceline along the back forty when she saw the flash of red — not the orange-red of fire or the arterial red of blood, but the deep bright red of ripe berries, the kind that caught the eye and made the mouth water with imagined sweetness. The berries stood out against a backdrop of Kermit-green leaves the size of her hand, and she grinned with recognition: thimbleberries. Kyra's favorite.

Perfect. She'd been daydreaming about Kyra all day. Kyra, bent over the kitchen table. Kyra, pressed against the bookshelves downstairs. Kyra, splayed across their linen sheets, her skin dusky with arousal, whispering—

Soon. She'd have Kyra in her hands soon enough. She dug out a handkerchief and set to picking, despite the cloudy skies threatening rain, and she was careful to keep from damaging the fragile fruit as she placed them into the sling of fabric. All sorts of berries thrived in Oregon, but the thimbleberry had resisted all attempts at cultivation. Too wild, too graceful to tame, it carried its nature within its delicate flavor. All other berries paled in comparison.

A big handful was all she risked picking — too many in a pile and they'd crush themselves — and then she journeyed through the woods back to the house she and Kyra had built on a hillside overlooking a hollow in the Coast Range, in one of the last stands of wild forest left after the timber companies had clearcut every mountainside and replanted them with nothing but Douglas fir.

There were Doug firs here, yes, but also western red cedars, hemlocks, spruce, and pines, and she'd even found a few Pacific yews scattered across the acreage. After a career of trying to save forests from wildfire, she'd finally gotten some trees of her own.

Raindrops pattered the grass around her as she knocked the sides of her boots against the post at the bottom of the stairs up to the house. Even in Oregon it was rare to see rain so early in August.

Inside the mudroom, the door to the kitchen was wide open, and she shed her boots without making a sound. Kyra was standing at the kitchen sink, humming as she cleaned a paintbrush, and Kassandra crept up behind her, silent in her sock-covered feet. She carefully avoided the squeaky floorboard near the woodstove, then slid her body against Kyra's, pinning her against the counter so she couldn't turn around and deck her after being startled.

"What—" she gasped, then blew out a breath of exasperation. "Did you have to scare me?"

Kassandra smirked. "You'll forgive me, 'cause I have a present for you," she said.

"Oh yeah?"

"Close your eyes and open your mouth."

Kyra did. No hesitation. And Kassandra rewarded her with one of the thimbleberries.

A moment later, she turned around as far as Kassandra's hips let her, her face beaming with delight. "They're finally ripe?"

Kassandra smiled and nodded.

Kyra had a smudge of dark green paint above her brow and another under her chin. "We need to go picking."

"Yep." She held another berry to Kyra's lips. "Maybe tomorrow. Rain's starting up."

Kyra sucked Kassandra's finger into her mouth along with the berry, and she flicked her tongue against the pad of fingertip she'd captured, her warmth erupting into heat. Then she set Kassandra free, gifted her a silky smile, and turned back to the sink.

Kassandra's heart revved up, valves opening wide, the pump coming online. She set the berries on the counter. "Are you done for the day?"

"Yeah." Kyra flicked the brush, the water in the sink milky with paint. She'd spent all day working in her studio. It was once the old machine shed, and they'd knocked out the wall that faced the valley and put in floor-to-ceiling windows. If Kassandra knew mountains and forests by the miles she'd walked across them, Kyra knew how to capture them with paint, in large-scale landscapes of rocky crags and misty woods and still waters.

Ten years they'd been together, as Kassandra worked her way up from her first Hotshot crew to leading a crew of her own, and Kyra began making a name for herself with her paintings. Ten years, but they'd spent much of it apart for months at a time, as Kassandra's crew shipped out to fight fire from Washington to New Mexico. She'd even gone to Australia a couple of times.

There was nothing else like it, the way a wildfire moved like a living thing, how it could be benevolent when contained, or demonic when left to its own devices. And she'd loved her work: the camaraderie of her crew, the challenge of 16-hour shifts over days and nights, the satisfaction of a fire contained. She'd even loved the danger.

But a couple years back, when that deadfall had caught her and nearly taken her arm off above the elbow, Kyra had begged her to quit if her arm didn't come back right.

Her arm healed, almost good as new. She'd always been good at that.

But she still quit anyway.

The wildfires were bigger now, the terrain more rugged, the seasons longer. She used to work for six months at a stretch; now she could work almost year-round if she wanted to. But every shift was a gamble of life and limbs, and Kyra had already spent years waiting for her at home, dreading every phone call.

It was time. Her life was no longer hers alone to risk, not if she wanted to spend a good long chunk of it with Kyra, and she needed her limbs, to do things like slip her hand inside the waistband of Kyra's trousers, to slide along the curve of Kyra's ass, to find the source of Kyra's heat. She'd always been good at that, too.

Kyra was damp and only a little swollen. Disappointing. "You didn't think about me at all today, did you?" she whispered into Kyra's ear, a pout in her voice, milking it for all it was worth.

Kyra's ass pushed back against Kassandra. "I... had to focus." She'd been finishing up a painting, the canvas almost as tall as Kassandra, bound for some rich man's house up in the San Juans. The sale would pay their property taxes for the year.

She'd been working so hard lately. She deserved a reward.

That was something Kassandra could give her. "How about focusing on this?" she said, and she slid her fingers close to Kyra's clit, close, but not quite touching, and grinned when Kyra dropped the paintbrush into the sink and pressed her palms into the countertop.

"Fuck," Kyra said, her voice quivering, and soon her muscles were quivering too, as Kassandra's fingertip set a fireline around her clit and Kyra's body answered with wet, sticky heat.

"Patience, love."

Kyra's laugh was short and incredulous. "Patience? That's rich, coming from—"

She slipped two fingers inside and stole the rest of the thought, and Kyra gasped and rocked her hips in reflex. Kassandra leaned forward and pinned Kyra harder up against the counter, and she buried her face into Kyra's hair, breathing in the toasty scent of her, warm and familiar and perfect...

Then she heard Kyra's voice, saying, "How long can you hold out, really," the burr of it vibrating into her own chest and lodging there as Kyra clenched her muscles tight around Kassandra's fingers.

"Sounds like a challenge," Kassandra said, and her free hand brushed Kyra's hair aside to expose her neck, stroked across her solid shoulder and bicep and forearm down to her hand, and their fingers entwined as Kassandra bent and started branding hot kisses into the arc of her neck. And sometimes it wasn't a kiss — it was the sear of raked teeth, or the burn of suction, Kassandra's wants flaring against her surface.

Oh, how she wanted. The heat in her belly burned along her veins, like fire spreading through tree roots under the forest floor. She wanted to fuck Kyra hard until she came, then fuck her again and again. But the gauntlet had been thrown. How long can you hold out?

Now Kyra was trembling and panting as Kassandra worked her up with short, teasing strokes that climbed but never peaked. But as rarely as Kyra ever begged out loud, her body always did it for her, her mouth falling open, her thighs spreading wide to expose how fucking soaked she was.

Oh, how Kyra wanted, too.

She was so wet that she ran down Kassandra's fingers, pooling in the palm of her hand. Ready and willing. And so Kassandra smiled, flexed her fingers, and...

Stopped.

Outside, it was raining hard enough for fat droplets to splash in through the open window. Kassandra pulled her hand away, her heartbeat doubling up at Kyra's whimpers of frustration, and she reached across the sink and tugged the window closed.

Her hands on Kyra's hips, firm, pulling her around so they stood face to face. A kiss as she loosened buttons, tugged trousers down. And then she lifted Kyra up to sit on the edge of the counter next to the sink, and Kyra stared at her, breathless and flickering.

She ran her hand through Kyra's slick heat, eased the tips of her fingers inside. Kyra sighed and her thighs spilled open wider. Wanting more. God, she was beautiful this way.

Then Kassandra leaned closer so their foreheads touched, and Kyra lifted her arms and circled them around Kassandra's neck, and they breathed each other in, and Kassandra closed her eyes and listened to the surge and splash of her own blood.

"Kassandra?"

"Hmm?"

"If you don't do something in the next two seconds, you're sleeping in the studio tonight."

Kassandra played dumb. "Oh, was there something you wanted?"

Kyra rolled her eyes. "Isn't it obvious?" She always had an attitude when she was being done to.

"Something like this?" Kassandra asked innocently. And she stroked deep deep inside, easily, languidly, until Kyra tilted her head back and let out a moan in perfect counterpoint to the rain drumming against the roof.

Kassandra was retired now. She had all the time in the world, and she made sure Kyra knew it, knew that the stamina that had powered Kassandra up and down mountains while carrying fifty pounds of gear and a chainsaw was now going to keep Kyra right on the edge of orgasm as long as Kassandra wanted.

Rain on the roof, dripping from the eaves, soaking the earth, the air scented with dark rich soil and the musk of need as they moved outside of time. "Oh god," Kyra said at some point, as she wriggled on the countertop, eyes closed, arms a circle of tension around Kassandra's neck. She was close, too close. Kassandra pulled back. Slower now. Not so deep. Feel Kyra quivering around her fingers, feel Kyra want.

All Kyra had to do was say please. She knew it, always had. But she was stubborn, so stubborn that it gave her secret away.

"You love it when I do this," Kassandra said, and then she leaned forward and kissed Kyra, helping herself to that sumptuous mouth while her fingers kept moving in the rhythms of build-up and denial. "I haven't been taking care of you well enough, if you could go all day without thinking about me."

"'s not true."

"Maybe I should wake you up every morning like this." Her fingertips sought the deepest place, that soft, hidden spot, and she lavished it with gentle attention until Kyra was writhing against her. "Work you up so you're just about to come, and then... stop." And she stilled her fingers to match her words.

Kyra buried her face into the side of Kassandra's neck, shuddering into her in long, rolling waves.

"You'd think about me then, hmm?"

Kyra groaned into her skin.

"I like this idea."

Kyra lifted her head and stared at her, eyes dark as loam and filled with pure, naked wanting. Her lips parted, and her mouth moved soundlessly as she breathed, showing flashes of tongue that made Kassandra's clit burn. Later. They'd plenty of time for that too.

Kassandra smiled. "So remember this part," she said, and then she fucked Kyra for real.

It was glorious, the way Kyra arched her back in offering, the way the muscles in her neck and arms corded as she held on tight, the way she cried out with the fierceness of a hawk as she came. She rippled around Kassandra's fingers, her pleasure imprinting itself into Kassandra's skin, and Kassandra pulled her close, held her as she trembled and caught her breath.

"Fuck," Kyra whispered.

"I was planning to," Kassandra said, and she scooped Kyra up from the counter and carried her in her arms.

"Oh yes. More," Kyra said, smiling her slow, silky smile. "But this time in bed."

Kassandra was already on her way.

Part of the Heat Index...