#bleach walnut flooring

[cartavermelha]

Powder Room San Francisco

[wnltl]

Powder Room San Francisco

[vintagelivejournalrss]

Powder Room San Francisco

[sixteencities]

Powder Room San Francisco

[yatamisakis]

New York Kids Room Children Large trendy boy light wood floor kids' room photo with white walls

[mildlyinterestingadventures]

New York Kids Room Children

[makestrongminds]

Master - Bedroom

[malibudarby87]

Games Men Play - short story

Content Warnings:

Body Horror

Brief mention of Mental Illness/Suicidal Ideation

Sexual Themes

Violence

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the sixth time I’d seen him. I’d been counting.

The first time was Leather Night, at The Pit across town. I’d thought he’d been going for some kind of leather-punk, biker-goth, 80’s throwback thing. Black string vest – low-cut to better show off a thicket of walnut hair – under a sleeveless black denim jacket; leather trousers laced at the side; a wide, flaccid black mohawk turning electric blue at the end like some exotic bird.

By my third sighting of him, at Drag Queen Bingo here at Charlie’s, I realised it was a committed style. Tonight was no different. All leather, denim, and black as sleep, save for the electric blue plumage which was now bleached a ghostly white. It caught the club lights as they flashed towards him, dancing through the rainbow in time with the music.

Each night I’d seen him on the periphery, dancing through the crowd or standing in a doorway. I’d watch for a while, weighing up if my fascination was piqued enough to make a move. By the time I came to a conclusion he’d always be gone, dropping out of view like shadow into shadow.

Tonight, he seemed content to stand vigil at the bar. Sharp blue eyes like the base of glaciers scanning a crowd of sweating, leaping bodies.

I wiped the few errant beads of my own sweat off my forehead and began pushing my way to my latest potential conquest. The bar was abandoned by patrons in favour of the dance floor, and taking a seat next to him was a deliberate move.

‘Sazerac, please,’ I barked through the din.

I waited until the drink was in front of me to turn towards him. When I did, I found him pointedly turned towards me. Pushing from the hips, leaning back like a cat. Nursing his own drink between two hands, in a way that pressed his pecs together in a masculine cleavage.

I was in.

‘Looks like I’m stood up again,’ I said, brushing my hair from my face, flexing slightly. ‘Fucking app twats, always wasting time.’ A frequently used opening gambit that paid off more than it should.

He smiled tightly and lidded his black-lined eyes. ‘Yeah, we’re not doing that.’

‘Doing what?’ I asked, innocently.

‘That tired game where you pretend to have been interested in someone else, but oh no, they ghosted me! Please, save me from a night alone!’ He tapped a fingernail on his glass as he spoke. ‘Bit sad, don’t you think?’

I thought about walking away right then, sure I’d completely fucked it. But something in the way he looked at me, a patient teacher watching his student stumble over the first answer, made me think I had at least one more shot.

I took a drink. The bitter liquor hit me harder than expected. Burning to a comfortable weight in my chest and spinning my head.

‘James,’ I said, extending a hand, which he took and turned palm down, with an unexpected delicacy. A regency era politeness in a venue where guys were getting blown in the bathrooms as we spoke.

‘Vox,’ he said, and I wasn’t sure if that was a name or some kind of old-world insult.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Vox,’ he repeated, turning to the bartender to order another whiskey with a series of simple, but unignorable hand gestures. Like carving runes into the air. Within seconds a fresh drink was placed on the counter.

‘Thank the devil you finally came over,’ he said with a lilt. ‘All that staring through the crowd. Ducking through shadows. You started to seem a little…’ he trailed off, head tilting quizzically as his eyes scanned me. ‘Stalkerish.’

‘Did it work? Do you feel hunted?’

‘Like prey?’

‘I could be the predator.’ I pushed, enjoying the banter a little too much; whiskey clouded, and straining at the edges of good taste.

‘Nah,’ he said, swirling ice cubes in the brown liquid with a sharp scraping somehow still audible over the bass. Fingernails black. Chipped lacquer that showed pale underneath. ‘That’s straight people shit. I don’t do prey.’

‘So, no games. No carnal pursuit. What do you do, Vox?’

‘I never said no games.’ A flash of teeth like a circus showman. ‘Just not the kind that bore me.’

My tastes typically leaned more towards the preppies and gym bunnies. The boys-next-door – if next door was a 24-hour gym with adjoining GAP outlet. I’d pick up a new one most every night I went out. An endless parade of stout, tan men with identikit haircuts and personalities in various shades of beige. Easy conquests. Easy prey.

This guy wasn’t my usual type. But there was something about his Doc Martins, and painted nails, his anachronistic sideburns and soul patch. A smattering of piercings on his face and ears, black ink tattoos peeking up under his collar and above his waistband, which told tale of a penchant for pain that I didn’t find unappealing.

And his name. The way it tasted as my tongue pressed to roof of my mouth. Old in a way I couldn’t place. An incantation.

‘Tell me then, Vox,’ I shifted a leg, grazing his knee with mine. He looked down at it pointedly but didn’t move away. ‘What kind of games do you like?’

‘The dangerous kind. The old kind.’ His voice was cold on heat. Icicles forming from sweat.

‘I’m afraid I don’t know any games like that,’ I said, sinking deeper into his glacial eyes. Head a fog of etiquette and desire. My words came out in slow bursts. Metered and unrhyming. ‘I’m more an Uno and Scrabble guy. But I’m a quick study and down to play. Maybe you could teach me the rules?’

The look he gave burned through me. He downed his drink in one gulp, eyes unflinching, and grabbed my wrist like an adder’s bite.

In that moment, something was decided. Something I wouldn’t understand until later. Until it was too late to take back.

+

He led me from the bar and into the chill of the night. A world washed in cold blue, moon thick and languid in a cloud splattered sky.

I followed behind, whiskey drunk and shuffling. Heartbeat rhythm of hook-up anticipation. A stirring in my jeans and warmth under my armpits. The few late-night stragglers disappeared behind us. The bass of the club giving way to the clop of his boots on stone.

Outside of the dry smoke and dancing lights, he seemed larger. Pulled at the edges, silhouetted in the alleyway, flanked by shadows.

The colouring of him looked different in the moonlight too. The white stripe of hair a natural warning. Skunks and poisonous frogs. Things that sicken and kill.

I was past the point of warning now.

His grip on my wrist was iron. He walked with a purpose I didn’t understand, and my head swam in the movement, lulled to a fearless resignation. A crying baby coddled by a late-night ride.

‘Hey, what’s the rush?’ The words dripped out of me in slow motion. Distant in my own mind.

He didn’t answer, leading me further down the alley without word or pause.

I didn’t recognise the street anymore. The redbrick townhouses giving way to black, soot-stained buildings. Victorian. Almost industrial. Tall windows with hidden shadows and overhanging roofs that bent in like a copse of trees.

I imagined worker children in Dickensian fashions, dragged by ears to death-trap factories. I imagined pigs, bellies distended, food drunk and stupid being led to slaughter.

‘My place isn’t far,’ I said, not sure if that was true anymore. Processions of shadows danced closer, narrowing the alleyway as he grew taller.

‘Mine is closer,’ he said, and the words hit my ears at once. An inorganic stereo sensation. I nodded grimly, and followed on, barely noticing that the narrowing darkness now snatched at my heels.

+

I still remember my first time with a man.

It came late, all things considered. Twenty-three and three months to the day. I lie and tell everyone I first did it when I was fifteen, with a builder who’d been helping put up an extension for my parents. The builder was real, and the extension happened, but everything else was just fevered teenage fantasy.

My real first time was with a counsellor I’d been seeing to cope with what my parents called “Post University Depression” which I suppose was partly accurate. The biggest issue, however, was that I was a fag, and a coward.

It’s cliché to say, but it really did just happen. He’d given me his number in case of emergencies, and I’d called one night, staring at a bottle of pills, and hoping to see oblivion.

He came over and a three-hour talk turned into something else.

I remember the act itself felt incredibly sudden and yet oddly formal. Showering after the first tentative kisses. Discussions of position and choice of activity. Flesh yielding to force and patience. A chorus of grunts and sighs, strange bodily scents, and a guilt-laden aching that felt like shooting up liquid sin. Afterwards, collapsing, quivering on my back, my entire body an exposed nerve.

Every night since had been a hunt to feel that again.

+

Something cold twisted at my naked thigh. A swift, slick motion and I awoke in fits. I thrashed and flopped like a fisherman’s catch and when my eyes came to focus in the dim light, I saw something black coiled around my leg.

I slapped it with a hand and felt soft, cool silk.

Looking around, I noticed a few things; firstly, my lack of clothing; secondly, that I was somewhere in a Meatloaf music video.

The room was palatial in scale, with high vaulted ceilings, disappearing into shadow. Chain suspended black iron chandeliers hung from the cross beams, candles bulbous and nobbled from overuse. The light generated by them – and the handful of candelabra scattered about the bed, and more near the strange, circular, curtained-off area in the centre of the room – seemed to be contained. Diffused and unable to touch the shadows that clung, heavy as blood sated bats to wood-panelled corners and beneath French provincial furniture.

Everything seemed out of scale. A dollhouse with the wrong dolls. The bed I was lying on could have comfortably held five. The full-length mirror, smoky at the edges, stretched a good fifteen feet up the wall. Next to it a tapestry, old as dirt and with a strange paper texture snaked its way around the room, disappearing out of sight behind the curtained off section, and reappearing on the other side.

The colour was faded, pictures indecipherable in the dim light.

The last thing I noticed, was him.

Vox sat at a vanity – oddly to scale for his size – back towards me, facing what might have once been a mirror but now held a scant few shards, like teeth in a screaming maw.

His back was bare, showing a tapestry of its own, scarred in black ink that spread like sickness over one shoulder. He busied himself pulling jewellery free from his face and ears that he dropped one at a time on a plate. Each piece hit the surface with a muffled, wet tap.

Fear and confusion pushed me to move and as I rose a wave of sickness gripped my stomach. A crunching twist like bad street food doubled me over, beads of sweat pricking on my back.

‘Don’t try to move,’ his voice, clear as a bell in the cavernous room.

I curled pathetically, pulling the sheets in bawled fists until I heard the tear of fabric. The pain was unbearable, stealing my breath and pounding in my blood. Something slithered inside me, contracting, and pulling at all the vital parts, making shapes no human organ should be suffered to endure.

Cool fingertips traced a pattern on my neck and the pain faded, quick as it had arrived, slipping free like a retreating invader.

I gasped and hacked; some black residue expelled into my palm.

‘Breathe,’ he said. A mother comforting a child. ‘That’s it, James. Just breathe.’

‘The fuck did you do to me?’ I hacked between sucking breaths. A hand the size of a shovel, segmented with too many knuckles tilted my face up, and I saw him. Truly saw him.

Childhood fears of grinning men. Of clowns and child-catchers and toothpaste ad teeth that sat in wide, fat gummed mouths. Skin split, liquorish blood at the corners of his rictus grin, eyes wrinkled at the sockets so deep they sank into dark pits, where glacial blue stars twinkled and faded in a grim mockery of blinking.

‘I’m teaching you the rules,’ he said, mouth unmoving. Fingernails like bevel edged chisels curled under the flesh of my cheek and gripped me in place. ‘We’re going to play that game now. You remember. The dangerous one? The old one?’

I blinked a response. A plea, I suppose. Choosing not to form words for fear of my face being torn from my skull.

His hand receded, each nail pulling from the meat of my cheek with a sickening pop.

‘It’s a simple game. One of the first, but not the first,’ he strode to the curtain in the middle of the room, back hunched and legs bowed in strange angles, the white streak of hair stretched and ragged, hanging like a tattered banner over one sinewy shoulder.

A hand still dripping with my blood snatched at the curtain, pulling it into the shadows and revealing a large circular area.

It was stone. Old and porous. Grey in the way only ancient things can be. Colour stolen by millennia. Hollows and tiles swirled into the centre in a checkerboard pattern that formed a large, coiled snake.

The Vox thing circled it with hands flourishing. A ghastly gameshow model presenting my prize.

‘You make it to the mouth of the snake, and you make it back. Can’t get much simpler than that.’

I wiped tears and blood and stared at it. It was hypnotic, seeming to move and shift in my vision. Slowly spiralling in place. An optical illusion, surely, but one accompanied by the sounds of grinding stone.

‘I don’t want to play,’ I said, eyes downcast for fear of its response. I expected screaming. I expected death.

‘Well, I’m sorry, but that’s just not good enough,’ it said. The offence in its words was jarring. ‘A couple of hours ago, you were falling over yourself to play with him.’

I raised my head and saw him. The man from the bar, stood naked next to the Vox thing. He eyed me with a look of seduction, painted nails stroking at his chest. Lip bite and a widening stance.

‘You can have him, if you want,’ the Vox thing purred through its unending grin. ‘Wouldn’t that be nice? All the things you could do. Use him up until you’re bored like all the others.’

The man shivered and split, briefly flickering to shadow before reforming as two. One the man I met, the other different. Tan skin with a hairless chest, the suggestion of abs beneath a slight paunch. They pressed against each other, lips, and tongues on flesh in a stilted eroticism that felt like theatre.

‘I could get you more. As many as you desire. That could be your prize.’

Would that be so bad? I thought. My life had been just that, so far. A string of men. Conquered and won, used, and discarded until the next and the next and the next. It was something I was good at, the hunt. But would I be happy without it? If they were handed to me like packaged meat? No danger of defeat?

I shook my head, dismissing the thoughts. Willing a civilised mind to prevail over base desire. ‘I don’t want to play I just want to leave.’

‘Enough!’

With a swipe of its hand the Vox thing rent the men into pieces, blood heat and pink flesh cascading into shadows that hit the ground and scuttled away into dark places.

‘You don’t seem to understand, James. You’re already playing, sweet. And the longer you wait to make your move…’ its voice trailed off, head tilted. ‘Well, let’s just say you’re not the only piece on the board.’

A morbid wave of inevitability hit me. Sudden clarity of what the Vox thing meant. I had been playing. Longer than perhaps even it knew. It was all a game, in the end, wasn’t it? Snakes and ladders. Snakes and men. Men and snakes and ladders and each one with its own unique poison.

There was death waiting out there as much as it was in here. Different guises, yes, but death the same.

I walked towards the board, knowing somewhere deep that it was not the first time. Late night hook-ups. Fumbling in the dark with strange men just to feel the thrill of life and the danger of it too. It was all a game. Get to the snake and get back safely.

I was good at that game.

My foot found the first divot in the stone. I looked at the board. There was no difficulty to the path. A few tiles marked with symbols immediately recognisable as warnings in some deep, ancient way that lived in the blood of man. A few pits that sunk deeper than the others. The route was clear, and no danger of getting lost when the path was so singular.

I could do this. I had done this.

Bare feet found purchase on the porous stone, one after the other and in my mind, I saw images of a lion and a gazelle. Sat around a board like this, nudging pieces with hoof and claw.

A game as old as man, and older still.

The gazelle placed a winning piece and the lion, incensed at the move, sunk rending teeth into yielding flesh.

It never once occurred to me that I was not the lion.

Outside the board something in the darkness laughed.

I looked back, the path I had taken stretching out like time. Something crawled up the snake’s back. Something large, and black. Body of lion, mane thick with shadow and a head of long, snapping jaws. It padded across the tiles, following my footfalls, bounding across time like an approaching comet.

The second piece.

I turned and ran like prey.

[madmarchhare]

Report from the Ministry of Internal Affairs

October 16th , 6:10:25, 1983

Iveshnya walked down the street of the town, the sharp white light of the rising sun slowly creeping up to bleach the twilight to a dull but comfortable grey, seeming to illuminating the squat low-rises that crowded the town centre. A few people were stirring in the early morning, wives sent out to the stores, lines forming at a few where service was particularly slow, especially as it was a day off for most[1]. A few teenagers rode past on bikes as Iveshnya walked down the street, out for a day of riding in the autumn morning while they yelled to each other, wide but shivering smiles on their faces, their excitement chipped by the cold.

Iveshnya ignored them, his face relaxed as he walked down the street, stepping aside as a group of children walked with their families. Eventually he made it to his destination, set in a wide courtyard filled with waning grass and a mixture of skeletal trees, surrounded by bemused evergreens. It was a large building, rectangular at the central structure, with its broad side serving as the entrance, a great cantilever porchway covering a raised mosaic veranda and stair, all containing a swimming pool. He walked forward, pushing open the blue coloured metal doors that made up the entrance, stepping into the heated space, well lit in gleaming white. The lobby had concrete floor with white painted walls dotted with sports posters, a man, roughly in his forties and balding, a thick pair of glasses sat low on his nose, nearly falling off his face. He looked up at Iveshnya as he walked in, a look of pleased recognition stretching his malleable features, lifting his head as the older man approached.

“Ilyich, good morning! The same as usual?” he asked in a friendly tone, looking up at the man, having to crane his neck slightly to see through the drooped lenses of his glasses at Iveshnya. He saw that he was dressed in a dark, almost purplish, wool coat with a brown fur collar, the colour of walnut, open to show a blue striped telnyashka[2] worn underneath, along with a pair of black slacks, oddly over a pair of white Addidas trainers with pink laces and highlights. The latter he assumed were from a natural difficulty of trying to find a pair of those shoes, let along any of a good colour, even with the more recent contract[3].

“Yes, thank you Pyotrovich,” Iveshnya answered in his usual monotone, handing the fare over to Pyotrovich who smiled warmly as he took it with an open palm, a chipped canine visible in his wry smile. Iveshnya turned and started making his way to the changing room.

“I don’t think anyone else is likely to come today, so you’ve got the pool to yourself,” Pyotrovich called to him as he did, gesturing to him with a level hand. Iveshnya nodded again then continued on into the room to get changed. It was a somewhat small space, tiled with matt white tiles contrasted by mint green horizontal bands that sat at around shin height and a second at shoulder height. He walked over the dry tiles towards the wooden benches that were attached to the back wall, wedged between a bank of lockers, and sat down on it to remove his shoes and socks. He was changed within five minutes, wearing a pair of orange coloured swim trunks and a nickel coloured watch on his wrist, a Slava 114[4] that he wore when swimming as his Pobeda was not waterproof. He locked all his clothes, and his wallet, in one of the lockers but took the locker key and a flask with him as he made his way to the pool itself.

It was an Olympic sized swimming pool, just under two metres deep and square in shape, with a high flat ceiling, steel rafters crossing the breadth of it with lights hung from that illuminated the white space, their light shining back at them from the clear water’s surface, also illuminating the mosaic on the pool’s floor, heavily inspired by Islamic stylings. Iveshnya walked over to the edge of the pool, resting his flask near the pool-side before hopping in, instantly begging to swim lengths up and down the pool. He swam every week, at least once, both for his health and as a way to relax. In many ways you could tell from how he swam, efficient yet comfortable, like a powerful engine left to idle as it wished.

After about two hours he took a break, resting his arms on the pool-side with his back to the wall as he reached for his flask, taking a mouthful of weak vodka mixed with cranberries, the sweet-tart taste cool on his lips. He pushed his hair back with a hand, the only sound in the pool room being the dripping of water as it ran off his soaked beard. After another minute, he got back to swimming doing so for another three hours before he stopped, rising out of the pool and drying himself off as he walked to the changing room.

As he left Pyotrovich called a goodbye to him, giving a light wave as a sendoff, his glasses almost falling from his nose at the sudden motion. As Iveshnya left the building he checked his watch, the time reading as three minutes past midday, the muzzled sunlight overhead attesting to it. He walked out of the wide courtyard that surrounded him, the waning grasses rustling in the wind like dry hay, crackling like dying fires as he walked pas them out into the street. They day, while grey was bright, pleasant even as the mist of frozen breath cluttered in the lungs.

Halfway down the street, in front of a large store, was a massive line, about a hundred people long. He approached with a disinterred expression on his face, walking up to one of the people in the queue, “What was thrown away?”[5] he asked in a flat tone, the addressee turning around to look at Iveshnya. They were a young man with dark skin and black hair, dressed in a short black canvas jacket and jeans with a pair of black, foreign trainers on their feet that they likely purchased from a spekulant[6]

“Smoked ham, along with some Finnish winter boots,” he answered quickly, tucking a Marlboro cigarette box into his jacket, the white pack likely coming from the same place as his trainers. Iveshnya nodded to the man then turned to look down the line.

“Who is the last in line?” he called out in his level shout, carrying far even though it did not seem louder.

“I am,” came the shout from further down the line, coming from a bow shouldered man with bear ears sprouting from a shaved head, smiling with an emaciated face half-way between human and animal. Iveshnya nodded and fell into line behind the man, standing two heads taller than him. He pulled out his avoiska[7], unfolding the small white bag as he waited in the queue. After two hours he finally got into the store, grabbing a pair of cherry-red winter boots, one piece of ham, a loaf of bread and a large bottle of vodka.

When he got to the counter he heard the man next to him be told to take an extra load[8] along with the deficit[9] items he had taken. Three tins of seaweed were shoved into his bag, a grimace coming on his face as they were. Only one tin was foisted on Iveshnya and he handed over the cost, the teller dropping the Rubles into the register and handing him back his few kopecks[10] change.

It was about half-past three when he left the store, the sky darkening slightly overhead, threatening rain. As he returned to the promontory road which his building sat on he saw one of his neighbours in his building milling about in front of it, trimming the grass in a slow, leisurely manner as two of the shop workers from the store nearby leaned on the wall near to him. They were chatting pleasantly about the weather and how one of the store clerks, a leshy[11] with a small, pretty face covered in yellow-orange leaves and stood on dirty white goat legs, was saving up to buy a car. They didn’t pay Iveshnya much mind as he walked by, his neighbour a slightly older veteran of one more war, left with a single arm, waved to him as he walked by, getting a polite nod in response before he stole up the stairs.

When he reached his room he dropped his bag onto the folded up table, begging to take a few things out when his phone rang, the bell chiming steely through the small space. He stopped and walked over to it, pulling the hand-set of its cradle and putting it to his ear. “Iveshnya, what is it?” “You need to come in, an urgent matters come up with…” the caller continued, Iveshnya silent as he was given his instructions, then setting the phone down before rushing off, locking the door to his flat behind him, though not before grabbing his pistol from a cupboard.

[1] Sunday was the designated common day of rest in the Soviet work week.

[2] Тельняшка. A horizontally striped undershirt worn by Russian military personnel. It has stripes in white and a colour that varies according the unit affiliation of the wearer. Blue and white was  worn by the Navy among a few others.  

[3] Referring to a joint venture between Adidas and the Soviet government to manufacture Adidas shoes in the soviet union. In reality, it was decided by the Soviet government that the highest priority of shoes to manufacture were those for country skiing, which had a solid inflexible sole and a protruding toe like in ski boots. Yet, in pursuit of cool looking shoes, Soviet citizens would still buy these shoes, sheer of the projecting outsole and wear them like regular shoes, despite their discomfort. Here, it is with the idea that a more normal shoe was put into production.  

[4] Cлава, lit. Glory. The first electric watch commercially sold in the Soviet Union, initially entering the market in 1959. It is a copy of the Hamilton electric watch.

[5] Что выбросили. A phrase that was asked in the USSR to ask what deficit[Items hard to get in shops in the USSR] items had been put on sale in the shop. It likely arose as people knew that when these items came in they were kept in the warehouses and the shop workers would then sell them to their friends or those they owned a favour first before they were sold in the shop. It was only when the store might need to meet sales quotas that deficit items were ‘thrown away’ onto the shelves and sold as a way to make up their numbers.  

[6] Спекулянт. Referring to someone who buys goods and sells them on for profit, this was an illegal practice in the Soviet Union, and indeed it was a directorate of the MVD that was responsible for their prosecution. Spekulyatsiya [Спекуляция] was the term used to refer to the practice of buying and selling of items on for a profit.  

[7] Авосика. A small bag taken with you in case you saw something you wanted for sale at a shop.

[8] В Нагрузку. It was typical in Soviet stores that in addition to deficit items[items that were hard to get in the USSR] they were made to take something in addition that they might not want, and did not sell well in the store.  

[9] Дефицит. Items that were hard to get or not on shelves often.

[10] The smaller denomination of Soviet money, a hundred kopecks making one Ruble.

[11] Леший. Typically tutelary deities of forests in Slavic folklore. Typically humanoid, with the ability to change their size and height and change their appearance. They have many forms in folklore, but are often described as a hybrid creature, often with some form of plant life and animal features in a humanoid shape.

@guesst @truegoist @thewormsheep @muaviinu @xatsperesso @toomuchhobbies-toolittletime @ghosticosmic @simplelobster

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // here

[the-firebird69]

Only took a day and a half so any flushed out those snails but there are a lot because they put eggs in fertilize and he was infested and all through his body and tequila got rid of like 90% and it was time for dark walnut and a sunset it and he tried it it did a few times everything started dying and he can feel it and they die and he's scanning with the MRI now and can see a few so he does a dark walnut a little. Yes maybe I should see a nurse or something so he's asking around they said we all doctors but so he goes and ask a nurse and she said you have to come in so he's got an appointment it wasn't that bad that's left it's got dark walnut with him he says he have to be careful not to kill yourself and he goes oh yeah he's going to go there today but really he drinks like half a bottle of tequila and it started coming out and he said his blood was 2.0 he says I can't reach 3.0 I said most drunk drivers are in 3.0 so he laughed and it's true this drank it drank the like a quarter more and oodles came out hey drank more and until the fish the bottle it's like in a 4.0 he was a UMass it'll be a passing grade UMass it's a passing grade which has some meaning and he felt good and still like 20 came out and he said how long would it take for the rest to get out he says I don't know you need to go to the doctor and get special medicine that is right sorry he's going to go today but he's kind of infected with aaybe we think he probably got them all. They're not a special type of snail no and they're around here and they're they're deadly and they've been in Florida for one time so people wear shoes and that's what you see infecting people in their feet are these things and that's why he wears sandals so get mad when you have a step on the floor and then you show us all this s*** so we are upset with you he does take iodine in and it's deadly to these creatures and his blood has been tested and they do not do well against it they can't even smell it basically and they tried eating it on the we tested it well someone did no that we test it yes and they cannot bite it without dying so good and keeps him alive it's like a battery eventually it's going to be a better and his immune system will destroy anything like that right now we're waiting for people to stop bothering us

Thor Freya

Olympus

We're in hitting and pulling out and until it comes down so we can do work but yeah it was a good job he helped the guy and he felt good with tequila and he goes just one more shot so it goes and finds it and it's real strong and he drinks it and it goes good you didn't feel that bad or that drunk he knows if you can walk the line you probably need a couple more so he tried walking the line and he goes okay so he does it and he can walk the line so he drinks a few more and he says I can't so what you do is you kind of sit there he says you move around slowly not too much cuz you just flushed the alcohol out and he moves around a little bit now and again walks around they're out like another 50 and a small and then another 60 and they made pockets and they're gone and we estimate that he might have some but really heat blasted the crap on him and slapped all night and he had a few there in bed and he gets off and he washes the sheets with bleach it says now what are you guys usually do and he knows what to do and he started to throw up a little and he had some in there and no and he says I have to try and heal a little and then he's saying you got to go to the hospital and they'll clear you out with pharmacy medicine and so he's going to do that I can send it all said oh I had these and it like validates their threat and he goes that's stupid so he's going today and they're giving medicine and actually works a dark walnut works too but you have to take a bunch and he might get hurt they don't like salt they can live in it but they don't like it there are some things that work but most of them are painful and they kind of know what it works but they want to do a regimen and he's off to do it pretty soon and it works for us

My son is going okay he's got iodine and salt and eat some nuts but he drinks a lot of blueberry juice and that is poisonous to a lot of bugs not real poisonous but he is taking in a lot of iodine that stuff works and it goes in the bloodstream and we do know there's nothing in it and nothing in his poo poo either but people panic you know but really you can see what it really takes if just one does it usually they won't survive that his immune system was taxed and he's damn lucky he got those the hell off him and his friends were horrified and he was horrified and he was going to inject poison into his arm and his friend said no you don't want to do that it'll destroy the area you put it in and it's kind of true but not really so he was going to try but it didn't do it it says kind of happy but then he said no it would have worked better but there are way too many and he was upset and it's a very upsetting and he knows who did it and today is going to get him

Bitol and Goddess wife we're loading up here with clearing them out and it's going to work and we are going to do a lot of work and he's suggesting that we get something going and I do understand it

Olympus

I see what you're just saying I saw it before and we're working on it and it's kind of slow going but we're getting ready

Thor Freya

You're hopelessly romantic can you make me sick I love you too and I really can't wait to get out of here it says I'm going to have a 24-hour watch once you move you louse so the guys and girls have to make sure and yeah I get that

Hera

Haha

Zues

It's not funny you little s*** but again it is and I'm glad your roof is going up and it's nice

Hera

[rdhomes22]

Kitchen Cabinet Remodeling Ideas

A kitchen cabinet makeover can be a good way to freshen up your home. But before you jump into the project, it's wise to take some time to learn about all the options.

Refacing your cabinets is a relatively inexpensive and easy way to revamp the look of your room. Adding a few new features to your cabinets can give them a whole new lease on life. Changing the knobs and pulls on your cabinets is also a budget-friendly option.

Painting your cabinets can add a new layer of life to them. It can also improve the shade of your existing wood. If you're not feeling bold, opt for a laminate veneer.

Plywood is another good alternative. Although it's not as durable as other materials, it's harder to damage. The material holds fasteners and glue joints well.

When choosing a material, consider how often you'll be moving your cabinets around. Particleboard does not hold its hardware very well, especially if it is exposed to water.

Solid wood is best for painted or stained cabinets. Using a wood stain on an oak cabinet will show off its grain, while a dark brown will highlight the wood's natural luster.

Cabinets can be made to look even better with decorative backplates. They also cover up imperfections. These types of cabinets are also very easy to clean.

Another fun kitchen remodel idea is to add an undercabinet light. These are cheap, easy to install, and work as an accent light at night.

If you are thinking about kitchen cabinet remodeling, there are several things to consider. One of them is the flooring. Hardwood floors are a great choice for kitchens. It is aesthetically pleasing and can enhance a room's value. Whether you opt for hardwood, tile or laminate, you can count on the material to last for many years. However, there are some considerations you should keep in mind.

When choosing a kitchen floor, you want to pick something that's durable and easy to maintain. You'll also want a floor that's eco-friendly. In addition, you should find a flooring material that fits your budget.

The best option is engineered wood. These floors feature a waterproof core and a sturdier top veneer that provides added protection. If you're considering hardwood floor installation in your kitchen, it's a good idea to consult a kitchen Flooring professional for advice.

One of the perks of having a hardwood floor in your kitchen is the fact that it won't rot. However, a hardwood floor is susceptible to damage from appliances. For example, a refrigerator or dishwasher can leak, leading to water leaking onto your floor.

Another potential problem is a leaking sink. Even a small spill can cause significant damage. A good rule of thumb is to wipe up any spills immediately. Otherwise, water can collect beneath the sink and cause water damage to your floor.

Another good suggestion is to buy appliances without built-ins. This will eliminate one of the biggest concerns. There are also mats you can place in your kitchen to catch spills before they can harm your floors.

Hardwood floor refinishing is a process that can make your floors look new again. It involves sanding the old finish off and then applying a new one. This is a time-consuming process that can take several days to complete.

The type of wood you use to refinish your floor also has an impact on the cost. Common types of wood include maple, walnut, and cherry. If you have a hardwood floor that is in good shape, you may not have to spend much money to get it looking great again. However, if it is starting to show wear or if you have a softer hardwood, you may need to spend more money.

Before you can start refinishing your floors, you need to clean them. You can do this yourself or you can hire a contractor to do it for you. Either way, you will need to get rid of carpet and furniture.

Once you have cleaned your floor, you will need to get your subfloor ready. This is usually done with a hot water and bleach mixture. Be sure to follow the manufacturer's directions.

During the refinishing process, you will need to remove the furniture from your room. This will allow the installers to work in the area without creating a mess. Some contractors offer dust-free refinishing.

The sanding process may produce some dust. To avoid this, you can use a vacuum or sweep the area up before the finish is applied.

RD Homes 590 E Gutierrez St Suite B, Santa Barbara, CA 93103 805-684-7583 https://rd.homes/

[akamikazae]

Love me Mercilessly Kakashi x Akami Chapter 22 Practice word count: 5.6k warnings: none Previous chapters [x]

Akami sat with Sasuke at the chabudai as he started on his homework. He had to sit up on his knees to reach comfortably over the table, even his pencil seemed too big in his hand. Sometimes she forgot how small he still was. It reminded her of where she was at his age, living on the run with no place to call home. 

She got the sudden overwhelming urge to wrap her arms around his little body and squeeze the life out of him. She wasn’t entirely sure why.

Maybe it was because she was staring at the discarded hospital scrubs crumpled on her bedroom floor. Maybe because she was worried about Kakashi laid up in a hospital bed and what that meant for Sasuke’s future as a ninja. Maybe it was seeing her name written as his emergency contact—Filling in the same address for both their medical forms. Reading his blood-type, vaccination records, his allergy to walnuts (she didn’t know about.) But Akami very suddenly realized that Sasuke was as ill prepared for this new life as she was.

Akami pulled out a blank page from his notebook and stole one of his pencils to draw a makeshift map of the Village. She perused the bookcase for the most updated bingo book she could find. 

Akami covered his homework with her hand to get his attention.

“Sasuke listen to me. This is very important.” 

He put down his pencil and furrowed his brows. She had been acting strange ever since she picked him up…actually ever since this morning. And the bathroom still reeked of bleach. 

“If anything ever happens you tell me immediately, it doesn’t matter how small. If something doesn’t feel right you tell me. Always listen to your gut, even if it makes you feel stupid. Okay?” 

Sasuke nodded.

“If somethings wrong and you can’t find me and you need help. You do not go to the Hokage. You do not tell your teachers.”

She spun the bingo book around–though she was sure Sasuke could have picked him out of a line up the way he glared at him at the festival or the scowl he made when she mentioned the late night hospital escort.

“You find Kakashi.” She pointed to his photograph anyway. 

“Or you find Tenzo. No one else.” She slid the book towards him so he could get a better look.

“If I ever tell you to run, you listen to me. If they ever tell you to run you listen to them. You don’t argue, you don’t fight, you run.” 

She pulled out her makeshift map and pointed. She’d be sure to make him walk the routes.  

“If anything happens. You wait for one of us here. Do you understand?”

Sasuke nodded, a little confused at her tone and urgency.

She didn’t want to scare him but after what happened to his family, she didn’t trust him in the hands of anyone else. 

Akami reached across the table and pulled him in for a suffocating hug. 

“You know I love you right, you know I’d do anything for you?” She said to the top of his head.  

“I know, I know” He tried to squirm out of her grasp but she wouldn’t let him escape. Eventually he relented and hugged her back just as tight.

“I love you too Kami-chan” he said, resting his head against her shoulder and giving her forearm a tiny squeeze.  

She never used to worry. Fighting was simple. Life was hard. 

**

Akami made sure to have whatever Sasuke wanted from his old home moved here; he didn’t take much. Just his clothes, his fathers swords, a small photo album and some of his mothers dishes. He wanted nothing to do with Itachi. He ripped him out of every photo. 

The only evidence of Itachi that remained was the photograph Kakashi gifted Akami years ago. She kept it in her nightstand. She didn't look at the photo often but knowing it was there was enough. She couldn’t bring herself to part with it.

Akami finally had everything unpacked, as she and Sasuke got settled into their new home. There were still a lot of repairs to be made but it was nice to have all of her books and scrolls in one place, no longer collecting dust hidden away in storage. Reading was the only fond memory she had of her childhood, the thought suddenly came to her that it was Umiko who taught her how to read. She placed the last book on the shelf and thought of something else.

She kept her collection of knives and blades in a glass case above the bookshelf. Many of them relics claimed in battle, scavenged in pawn shops, traded in bars. Some were worth hundreds, some worth nothing at all. She loved each one just the same; carrying stories forged in steel like slices of time, living a life all their own. A life much like hers, paved in blood. Yet there was a delicateness to a sharp cut of steel, the craftsmanship and skill required to create something so intrinsically beautiful. 

Akami hung Fugaku’s swords on the wall in the freshly painted dining room. His blades were far nicer than her own. The saya were beautifully ornate, the clan crest and police sigil intricately engraved in the sheaths. One of the swords' hilts was wrapped tightly in a red leather and the tsuba was carved to look like the three patterned tomoe of the sharingan. Akami thought it might be nice for Sasuke to have them out on display, she knew how much his clan meant to him. 

For all his hatred of her, Fugaku never once forbade Sasuke from seeing her. And she couldn’t deny that the swords were beautiful. 

Akami sighed, sheathed Fugaku’s sword and placed it amongst its brothers.  

She’d be sure to show Sasuke how to wield a blade as well. 

**

The Hospital would only discharge Kakashi into Akami's care—she was his fake wife after all. He was particularly irritated by the smug look on her face as she thanked the staff for taking such wonderful care of her miserable husband. 

He still needed bed rest and wouldn’t be on active duty for at least a few more weeks. So Akami took him home and dumped him in his bed. 

Kakashi never got the chance to turn in his mission report so he asked Akami to drop it off for him. She couldn’t resist and read through it; she already has a decent understanding of what happened anyway. 

A copy of the initial intel was included with his report. It was vague and basically useless. It was no wonder he came back in pieces, they essentially went in blind. If it was anyone else leading the charge, they’d have come back in body scrolls…if at all. 

Reading the little information present Akami expertly deduced that the Village Kakashi infiltrated was the Land of Keys. 

There was no mention at all of Keys' repeated use of the Land of Woods Pranya Team. 

They had an unofficial relationship. Keys excelled in espionage and Woods preferred its seclusion in the forest. They traded information for muscle. 

Akami assumed intelligence had to know about their provisional alliance—she knew because of that nin from Woods she interrogated a few years ago. But if intelligence knew… why wasn't it in the report? 

“You’re supposed to drop it off for me, not spell check it.” Kakashi said, holding his bandaged ribcage and limping past her into the living room. 

“Shut up I’m thinking.” Akami said, leaning forward on the couch. 

“Is that why you look so mad?” 

Continue reading [x]

[crackonhq]

SMS: welcome to the villa, frankie ! choose two islanders to take with you on dates on our love island speedboat ❤️ #seayoulater #makeasplash

the bombshell beach hut prompt is here if you want to do it !

frankie enters the villa midday on day 23.

FRANKIE CASTRO  ( cis woman,  she / her, CAMILA MORRONE ) is 25 and a YACHT STEWARDESS & DECK HAND from NAPLES, FLORIDA. they are known as THE GREGARIOUS because they are MISCHIEVOUS, but if things kick off, they can be a bit RABBLE-ROUSING. they’re PANSEXUAL and describe their type as SOMEONE WHO’S ATHLETIC, DARING AND ABLE TO KEEP UP. from their time in the villa, they’re hoping to find LOVE.  ( a gap-toothed kid flipping the bird in their yearbook photo, bleach white sneakers pounding on a gymnasium floor, a walnut-shaped ache in the pit of your stomach for the person you could have been. ) / played by: nora.

[nancypullen]

Still Alive!

I’ve been MIA for a couple of weeks and didn’t realize that people might think I’d been felled by COVID.  Nope, just some good old-fashioned laptop issues and severe boredom.  I have nothing to talk about.  Want to hear about my exciting new mop? Not even kidding about that - it’s the most thrilling thing to happen around here in weeks.  My sister turned me on to the O-Cedar spin mop.

It sells as a set for about $30, the mop and the special bucket, and it’s pretty fabulous.  Your water goes in the bucket (obviously) and you pop the mop into that swirly part to wring it. The pedal is for operating the spinner part and you can squeeze it as much or as little as you want.  BUT, even though this set is really handy (honestly, it’s fun) the real magic is in the recipe for cleaning solution that my sister shared.  Pay attention, it’s complicated....the hottest water your faucet provides and a teaspoon of Tide powder.  Not kidding.  She adds a splash of bleach if she’s doing bathrooms, but I steer clear of bleach (I have a long history of ruined wardrobes).  You’ve got to use Tide powder, not a pod, not the liquid - I don’t know why, that’s just what I was told.  Anywho, this little combo is amazing.  Floors that sparkle and smell good, and that mop is easy to run up on baseboards too - with some good tunes playing I could mop for hours.

Yup. We’re also trying to get the house ready to list.  Getting rid of stuff is time consuming.  We’ve hired a company to paint the kitchen cabinets. Although we had them done five or six years ago, that company did an awful job.  We’ll touch up paint and trim elsewhere, the front door needs a fresh coat. I should probably freshen up the mailbox as well.  First impressions and all.  We’ll be listing during daffodil season and ours are already popping up.  I may have to invest in a few more pots and dress up the entry.   So other than caressing my new mop and making trips to Goodwill with boxes of stuff, what have I been doing?  Making earrings.  Good lord, so many earrings.  I’m having fun learning new techniques, but I only have two ears.  Because I’m still a rookie I’d be embarrassed to give them away.  I will, however, send some to my sister. I made these today and she’ll be the recipient.

Aren’t those fun?  I figured the X’s and O’s would be just right for Valentine’s Day.  I used a silk screen to make the patterns on the red and green sets - so easy!  The pink and orange pair just involved a little braiding and twisting and smooshing.  Working with clay is really therapeutic.  I’m still doing a million things wrong and have yet to invest in better cutters or findings, but when I’m happier with my results I’ll do that.   I spent some time working on animal prints and never quite got it right, but at least figured out what I’m doing wrong.  Still, the results are wearable if no one looks too closely.

I actually wore the ones on the right out in public and didn’t get arrested or anything.  I figure I’m always masked and no one recognizes me with blonde hair so I can get away with anything.  Tomorrow I may wear a pot on my head and go to Kroger in my slippers. Other than mopping and making earrings by the dozen I have perfected my snacking techniques.  I think I’m ready for competitive eating.  I held steady the first year of this pandammit, but I have to admit that I just don’t care anymore. Oh, I still make healthy meals - it’s the snacks that are killing me.  Here’s an example - I love Dannon’s Light & Fit Greek yogurt. I buy vanilla, or if I can get my hands on it the vanilla and toasted coconut.  It’s delicious.  But I can make it better.  I take a perfectly good cup of yogurt - something like 70 calories- and drop in some chopped walnuts.  That’s not good enough, nope, I have to take a single Dove dark chocolate square and chop that up too.  Stir all of that together and you’ve got yourself a dessert.  It’s so yummy.  It also doubles the calories. I do that with everything. I take a perfectly good dish and say, “Ya’ know what would make this better?” and I swear my thighs start to clap.  They love it.  I need an intervention. Alright, that’s enough nonsense for tonight.  Just letting you all know that we’re alive and well, just boring.  I’ll try to come up with something interesting for tomorrow.  I’ll go soak in a bubble bath and think about it.  Until then, you know the drill...stay safe, stay well, stay sweet to each other. XOXO, Nancy

[maggotmouth]

          hillo sexthy legends !!   i’m nora and i’ll be writing margo colby n probs sm1 else bcos lets be real, i lack self-control. u can find her pinterest here n some info abt her sexy self below the cut. plot with me on discord ( hot girl midsommar#8664 ) or in my ims !!  x o x

     * CAMILA MORRONE, CIS WOMAN + SHE / HER  | you know MARGO COLBY, right? they’re TWENTY-THREE, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, ELEVEN YEARS? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to SCRAWNY BY WALLOWS  like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole BLEACH WHITE SNEAKERS POUNDING ON A GYMNASIUM FLOOR, USING THE SAME BLUNT SCISSORS TO HACK THE SLEEVES OFF AN EXES T-SHIRT THAT YOU USE TO CUT YOUR 3AM FRINGE, A WALNUT-SHAPED ACHE IN THE PIT OF YOUR STOMACH FOR THE PERSON YOU COULD HAVE BEEN thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is AUGUST 8TH, so they’re a LEO, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( nora, 25, gmt, she/her )

CLICK ANYWHERE ON THIS SENTENCE FOR SEXII GOOGLE DOC!!

bullet point summary of margo.

—   born margaret but NOBODY calls her that. its colby, coach or margo, and go to the privileged few. margo grew up in the creek commune n then dropped out of school cos of a teenage pregnancy so she was a bit of a cautionary tale back in’t’day (said tht in my yorkshire accent). she now works for summer camps coaching pee wee soccer and pee wee cheer, as well as helping out her beekeeper dad on his honey farm, which is jst north of abernathy creek, and working at scuba on the off seasons.

—  its just her and her dad, and has been for as long as she can recall !! everything she knows about her mum could fit on the back of the weathered passport photo she keeps in her wallet of a stranger who shares her face - her name’s melody, or at least tht was name she used when working as a dancer, she’s from argentina and dropped mag’s dad as soon as someone w more money came along.

—  margo’s father is a beekeeper with his own organic honey company. margo and her dad moved to irving in the early 00s, the summer between grade school and middle school, because her dad had heard about the communal living in abernathy creek and wanted to lend his skills there and live off the fatta the land in a very lenny from of mice and men kinda way.

—  for a few years of middle school margo was bullied for living with the ‘freaks from the creek’, but when they realised how chill her dad was with underage drinking, margo ‘keg-bringer’ colby soon gained popularity among the more renegade students. every so often, the high school parties would happen at her end of town, occasionally with members of the commune even offering the high schoolers a spiritual experience they’d never forget (often in the form of mushrooms) which meant people tried to stay on her good side. to get an invite to a margo colby party handed you a free pass to make up the most ridiculous shit about the commune you liked and nobody else could say anything, because they’d never been to the creek.

—  at school, margo had a lot of ‘behvioural issues’ bcos of undiagnosed adhd, she found it difficult to sit still for hours n write down huge chunks of information n her restlessness was seen as laziness. she was encouraged to do sports, as were most of the kids who weren’t that academically inclined, but she turned out to be pretty hot shit at sprinting, because she grew up surrounded by bee houses and he who runs slowest gets stung, baybeyy!! so yea, in school sports became her LIFE. she was gonna get a sports scholarship to college but ended up dropping out of school in senior year n becoming one of those kids who could have had it all but lost it.

—  she had sex with sutter at a house party when she wasnt really ready because it felt like the right thing to do at the time and everybody else was doing it. she’d attended health class, she’d seen the corny videos. she knew about all the statistics, but she also knew that it had never happened to anyone she knew and the pull out method was basically safer than the morning after pill and way less expensive.

—  a teenage pregnancy knocked her out of the runnings for prom queen and meant she had to leave school early. she didn’t go to college when her friends did, instead she spent the time interviewing potential foster candidates and eating her weight in lindt chocolate while marathoning love island in her room.  

—  she had a son, who she passed off to someone else a couple of towns away.  it was a closed adoption which seemed like the best idea at the time, but she now wishes she had access to his life.

—  after peaking in high school and jumping between jobs for a few years, she got a more permanent role at scuba which she loves with all of her heart and soul, but unfortunately a bar job doesn’t pay the rent.  

—  she works at summer camps coaching  junior soccer and netball on the side. she’s extremely competitive and takes it very personally if her team lose. the kids all call her, coach colby n write her longwinded letters about how they’ll never forget this summer camp before they go back to their suburban picket fence houses n she keeps all the letters in a drawer n takes them out to read when she’s feelin depressed.

—  enjoys surfing and worked for a number of years on resorts like mila kunis’ job in forgetting sarah marshall. she went on to work 18-hour days as a stewardess on luxury yachts which is a part of her backstory i added after watching season one of below deck because i guess i really am that fucking impressionable. met most of her surf friends doing tht but said she’d never in her life do it again bcos it was mostly just picking up after rich white ppl for shit pay. she came back to irving n thats when she started doing the summer camp jobs so she could move out of the creek n get her own apartment. 

—  she never actually finished senior year so she’s currently going to night school at the community college to get through her exams and is trying to save to go to college or open university. she wants to major in criminology. she’s super ambitious but also super adhd so she fluctuates between thinking she can achieve anything to just feeling like a failure n thinkin whats the point

—  used to shoplift to feel joy and as an act of resistance to her hippy commune routes, but now sees herself as a reformed, bin-diving freegan (sims 4 eco living can i get a hell yaaaa). also she thinks it’s totally wrong to steal when you have enough money and clearly don’t need to steal to survive, ppl risk imprisonment for basic necessities, so for her to do it for a brief thrill and some new shades felt a bit derogatory

—  was raised jewish. became a vegetarian as a child because it seemed, at the time, easier than having to explain which foods she was and wasn’t allowed to eat together, so she just cut out meat entirely. still a vegetarian now and dabbles in veganism, although its become less about not eating certain meats in the milk of their mother and more about her global impact / carbon footprint

—  nurses little animals to health in her garden. has a hedgehog name OJ short for orange juice not the other one filthy pig. her and her dad have always been huge animal rights activists and existed on a vegetarian diet. the only one in their house who isn’t vegetarian is their cat, auggie. (short 4 augustus gloop)

—  has a lot of stupid ass stick and poke tattoos. there was a phase during her years as a barmaid where she wanted to train as a tattoo artist n would mostly practice on herself or any friends who would let her

—  she doesn’t form many long lasting friendships cos she tends to be super excited when she makes a new friend and just see them all the time but then it wears off and she can ghost a bit. she’ll always coming pinging back but she’s not the most predictable or loyal friend, sometimes she’ll sleep in your house every night for a week and then you won’t even get a text from her for a month. her best friends are elderly neighbours and houseless people she meets when volunteering at the foodbank. she thinks they’re more authentic than most of the ‘fake posers’ she meets down the vela pier

—  calls herself a butch lesbian but still has sex with men when she wants validation. sexually attracted to some men, especially effeminate men, but only romantically attracted to women. very possessive of the gals in her life.

—  stopped giving a shit about getting older or adhering to anyone elses bullshit standards, realised it was all fake p much as soon as she dropped out of school and one by one her friends just stopped texting her

—  lives in one of the lofts in port apartments. it’s open plan with rugs and lava lamps everywhere. she has a palette bed. its all very ‘sustainable chic’. like, oh wow, a pallet bed that im supposed to think you made from scratch but i KNOW you got it  off ebay because you thought it looked trendy

—  constantly says shes poor but still buys clothes from urban outfitters. sus.

—  frequently found at fannies flirting with the cute bisexual bartender with a choppy black bob.

general vibe / personality

vibrant, vulgar, self-absorbed, tenacious, veers bewteen apathetic and dogmatic, temperamental, flighty, unreliable, magnetic, charismatic, passive aggressive, likes to play devil’s advocate, takes the moral high ground. estp and a leo

likes: 70s music, john wayne movies, black mirror, philosophy, cowboy chic culture, dc comics, the smell of locker rooms,, deep red lipstick, lacrosse sticks, smoking weed from a bong, dogs, karaoke, pet rats, kate moss, late-night strolls, hawaaiian shirts worn open over a bralette, skinned knees, thai food, picking the apples at the very top of the trees, zip-lining, cigarettes, the idea of pegging but not the practical application of it, decorative lamps, LGBTQ+ pin badges, worn-out furniture, twangy electric guitars.

dislikes: girls who call other girls ‘pick me’ girls, woody allen movies, mental mathematics, wealthy children, quentin tarantino, ironing, institutionalised misogyny, the imaginary future, french literature, ‘dump him’ feminism, wes anderson films, spoken word poetry nights, college-educated bar staff who act like they’re better than you,  indie softbois, the general mentality of cheerleading squads.

aesthetics

orange peel, the smell of bleach, skeleton drawings in the margins of a journal, thumb holes poked through the cuffs of your sleeves, bleach white sneakers pounding on a gymnasium floor, setting dumpsters on fire for the hell of it. a hit flask of vodka decorated with hello kitty stickers, split knuckles, alien conspiracy theories and sci-fi paperbacks, doc martens with fraying laces, a child in an oversize bee keepers suit, scabbed knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, and piercing your own ears with a safety pin when your dad wouldn’t take you,  a tennis racket you punched through in a fit of temper, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes.

hoo boy this is getting LONG AS FUCK but here are my wanted plots

wanted plots

ok margo’s been in irving since she was like 10. she’s quite a vivacious person?? she dresses completely instinctively without any sense of cohesion so she stands out. a guy once told her she was wearing the ugliest outfit he’d ever seen and he thought that was so cool and brave of her. but anyway where was i going.. she grew up in the abernathy creek so stuck out like a sore thumb,,,, maybe ppl who were super interested in the creek or maybe poked fun at her bcos of it idk.....

b4 she dropped out, margo used 2 b in with the cool kids at school bcos her dad would buy them booze and rarely ask for the money. maybe a fun plot cld b with some of the ‘it girls’ she used to hang around with b4 she got pregnant n dropped out and they all went off to college n stopped texting her.

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! some1 she feels like she knew before irving ???

since margo literally can’t differentiate between romantic and platonic love, she’s got off with so many of her mates, so i want awkward friendships where they nearly dated, or exes that have now just turned into weird friendships. fwbs. enemies with benefits. all the angst. all the slow burn mutual pining we hate each other narratives

locals who play sports. margo wld be all over community soccer n take it way too seriously. maybe ppl she plays hockey with. girls who she’s like, weirdly intimate with but its not a thing cos the other girls straight !!! what do u mean !! aha just fun !

she works part time at scuba. i want a mate that just goes and sits in there talking to her until her manager gets angry.

she's also a surf instructor and occasionally works as a lifeguard!! gal has like 7 jobs ik but regular swimmers hmu

ppl she coaches at the gym !! she wants to be a personal trainer

i reckon she might have recently started meditating to try and calm down her mind cos its always bustling with thoughts, n i think she’s p interested in buddhism so if anyone’s a buddhist hmu

someone she’s trying to make a zine with on female empowerment and women in film and art, etc. just a very feminist zine. 

TLDR:  angry sports gay, former high school track prodigy turned drop out, who likes feminist literature, wearing leather jackets over slip dresses, and smudged red lipstick.

this was so long !!! im sorry !! if you’ve read this far have a biscuit, love x

[cadoringroup]