#mill ave

[caramelloss]

you wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me.

[noelbobby]

Here's some Characters of Mine. A random bunch counterclockwise: the Shadowy figure from what, the Proposer from Proposition, Mills from A Stone Tutorial on Drawin' Non-Binary People and the square-headed and round-headed stick figures from An Unsubtle Comic. Like the stick figures say this is an odd selection. Mills and them being here is a very funny contrast to the Shadowy Figure and especially the Proposer. Speaking of those two, as this is the first time either have been seen from the front this also shows the Figure's odd eyes (which I thought of when I drew what, but didn't implement) and that the Proposer has an earring (I had and dropped that idea when I drew Proposition). Also, of these five only Mills has a name and a known gender, being non-binary with a preference for no pronouns, which is functionally exactly the same as the way I'm talkin' about the other four, but the difference is significant t' me an' sorta notable.

[jennyfromthebes]

happy last saturday morning of this year! we made it.

[liljakonvalj]

Är inte KDare MEN känner att jag behöver förklara detta. Visst, det är kul att föra memes på politiska uttalanden (och fortsätt gärna med det!), men KDs slogan är faktiskt tydlig med vad de vill.

Jag tror de anspelar på definitionen av frihet inom (politisk) filosofi, vad frihet innebär och främst positiv och negativ frihet. Såhär lyder Wikipedias definition:

"Positiv frihet betecknar möjligheten och förmågan att tillfredsställa sin egen potential, i motsats till negativ frihet som betecknar frihet från hinder eller tvång. Annorlunda uttryckt kan positiv frihet sägas beteckna en individs frihet att kunna uppnå sina mål oavsett sina egna materiella begränsningar, och negativ frihet sägas beteckna en individs frihet från auktoritet." (Källa)

Jag brukar tänka på det som frihet till och frihet från.

Om man ska förenkla vad politik innebär så är en av de största frågorna balansen mellan individuell frihet och statlig kontroll. Vissa partier vill se stor statlig kontroll (i regel t.ex. socialdemokraterna) och vissa liten (i regel t.ex. kristdemokraterna och i ännu större grad Liberalerna). Man skulle kunna säga att all statlig kontroll i viss mån inskränker på individens frihet - skatter gör att jag har mindre pengar att röra mig med, lagar gör att jag inte kan göra exakt vad jag vill osv. Men samtidigt möjliggör de också mycket för oss, ger oss friheter - skatten går till skolan som ger oss kunskap, och till sjukvården och polisväsende som skapar trygghet. Lagarna gör att jag ska slippa riskera att bli mördad eller lurad av företag (när de följs, såklart). Alltså ger begränsningarna mig andra friheter.

När KD pratar om gränser och frihet menar de just vilka begränsningar i friheten vill vi att den överstatliga instansen EU ska styra över. Så här står det på KDs hemsida:

Vi behöver vara tydliga med vad vi vill att EU ska vara, vilka friheter vi strävar efter och vilka gränser som krävs. EU behöver gå tillbaka till sitt kärnuppdrag, att garantera fred, frihet och frihandel. Dessvärre har vi sett en utveckling i motsatt riktning. Allt fler frågor detaljregleras i Bryssel idag. (Källa)

Notera gärna särskilt de två sista meningarna om vad de vill bort från. De vill alltså sätta gränser mot EUs möjligheter att inskränka våra individuella grundfriheter, dvs. en mindre överstatlighet. Gränser som skapar frihet.

Sen får man som väljare tycka vad man vill om hur stor makt/vilka frågor EU ska få ha hand om (det är ju ändå det valet handlar om - att vi ska få tycka till!). Men jag tycker deras slogan passar deras politiska hållning, och det är ju trots allt dess syfte.

Har du sett KDs reklamskyltar inför EU? Gränser & Frihet. Hör de ens sig själva?

Såg det i en tidning.

Skicka in era favorit motsatser idag och vinn en plats i EU parlamentet

[directactionforhope]

Late notice but

Today 10/5 is an international day of action protesting one year of the Gaza genocide!

Find a protest near you today or tomorrow 10/6! If you're in the US, look at the links below, from the US Campaign for Palestinian Rights!

October 5, 2024

Note: Tumblr has capped the number of outgoing links you can use in one post. Go to the USCPR link above and click on a protest for a flyer/organizer info for each and every one of these events.

Albany, NY | 4:30PM Dana Park

Albuquerque, NM | 2PM Robinson Park

Amherst, MA | Amherst Town Common

Anchorage, AK | 2PM Townsquare Park

Atlanta, GA | 2PM 190 Marietta SW

Austin, TX | 1PM Austin City Hall

Birmingham, AL | 2PM Victoria Square

Blacksburg, VA | 3PM Pylons

Boston, MA | 2PM Cambridge City Hall

Burlington, VT | 1PM Battery Park

Charleston, SC | 2PM Marion Square Park

Chicago, IL | 2PM Water Tower Park

Cleveland, OH | 3PM 11804 Lorain Ave

Columbus, OH | 2PM Goodale Park

Corvallis, OR | 12 NOON County Courthoue

Dallas, TX | 12PM The Grassy Knoll

Denver, CO | 12PM 400 Josephine St

Detroit, MI | 2PM 5 Woodward Ave, Detroit

Dover, DE | 12 NOON 250 Gateway S Blvd

Fort Myers, FL | 6PM Centennial Park

Gainseville, FL | 2PM City Hall

Honolulu, HI | 11AM Ala Moana & Atkinson

Houston, TX | 2PM Houston City Hall

Indianapolis, IL |  2PM Lugar Plaza

Kansas City | 1PM Mill Creek Park

Kona, HI | 12:30PM Old airport by the skating rink

Las Vegas, NV | 2PM 3449 S Sammy Davis Jr Dr

Little Rock, AK | 4PM 1200 Main St

Los Angeles, CA | 2PM Pershing Square

Louisville, KY | 3PM Water Front Park

Maui, HI | 11AM Kapuka’ulua (Baldwin Beach)

Memphis, TN | 2PM City Hall

Miami, FL | 5PM Torch of Friendship

Milwaukee, WI | 2PM Zedler Union Square Park

Missoula, MT | 7PM 200 W Broadway

Nashville, TN | 2PM Centennial Park

New York, NY | 2PM Times Square

New Haven, CT | 1PM New Haven Green

New Orleans, LA | 5PM Congo Square

Ottawa, Ontario | 2PM Parliment Hill

Orlando, FL | 4PM Orlando City Hall

Pensacola, FL | 5PM Palafox & Gregorary St.

Pittsburgh, PA | Film screening, 3PM 100 S Commons St.

Portland, ME | 5PM Monument Square

Portland, OR | 3PM Unthank Park

Providence, RI | 3PM RI State House steps & 5:30PM 1 Finance Way

Raleigh, NC | 3PM Moore Square

Rochester, NY | 1PM MLK Park

Sacramento, CA | 2PM West steps of the Capitol

Salt Lake City, UT | 2PM 125 S State St

San Antonio, TX | 1PM Travis Park

San Diego, CA | 2:00PM 1600 Pacific Highway

Seattle, WA | 2PM TBA, with car caravans from Spokane, Pasco, Ellensburg

St. Louis, MO | Liberation weekend, 9AM-8PM 475 East Lockwood Ave

Tampa, FL | 2PM Bank of America Plaza

Toronto, Ontario | 2PM Yonge Dundas Square

Urbana, IL | 2PM 101 E Main St

Ventura, CA | 2PM 501 Poli St

Washington, DC | 4PM White House

West Plains, MO | 12 NOON Downtown Square

Wichita, KS | 12:30PM Spirit Aerosystems

October 6, 2024

Amityville, NY | 1PM LIRR

Boston, MA | 1PM Boston Common

Green Bay, WI | 5:30PM Leicht Memorial Park

Los Angeles, CA | Vigil, 6:30PM Echo Park Lake

Minneapolis, MN | 1:30PM Gateway Park Fountain

Ontario, CA | 1PM Euclid & C St

Paterson, NJ | 2PM Palestine Way with Gould Avenue

Roanoke, VA | Vigil, 6PM Heights Community Church courtyard

San Diego, CA | 4PM Centro Cultural de La Raza

San Francisco, CA | 1PM 16th & Valencia

San Jose, CA | 12 NOON City Hall

St. Louis, MO | 1PM Choteau Park

[pluviophile6104]

If anyone is interested, I found the songs played in Episode 1: Part 1/4 * The Magnetic Buzz- Slow Touch (Opening Scene) * Tzabutan - El Cognito (0:43) * Charlie Ryan - Garage Band Revolt (3:14) * Zorro- Devil to My Right (4:41) * IamDaylight- Alaska Jam (5:33) * Jesse Lawrence - Step It up Baby (feat. LaKesha Nugent) (6:45) * Victor Lundberg- Keep the Door Open (8:47) * Tom Meira Armony- Holy Moly (15:05) * OTE - I'm Indestructible (feat. Divty & Tigerblood Jewel) [Tigerblood Jewel Remix] (16:27) Part 2/4 * Luc Allieres- Struttin' (0:22) * Mansij- Reverie (0:57) * Aves - Smile (2:32) * Conditional- 200 Dont's (3:00) * The Foundling- Colours of the Rainbow (6:09) * Nuvo- สุดสุดไปเลย (12:42) * Staffan Carlén - Just a Little Sunshine (15:13) Part 3/4 * The Magnetic Buzz - Keep Your Head Down (0:45) * Pastis - Castle to Ruin (0:55) * Medité- What Once Was Left Behind (2:04) * Taniya Jannat- Break It Up (2:57) * Vividry - Every Second of My Life (5:12) * Richard Farrell- Soul Swingin' (8:06) * Assaf Ayalon - Willie (feat. Roy Young) (9:26) * Raw - Ghost Witch (10:34) * Stonekeepers- A One Way Ticket (feat. Ed Mills) (11:44) * Ardie Son - Roadway (14:00) * Ikoliks- Devil in the Bottle (16:22) Part 4/4 * Aves- Summer Breakup Song (3:29) * Charles Holme- Change by Reversal (5:35) * SLPSTRM- Stampede (6:05) * RocknStock- Dirty Business (6:25) * RocknStock- Rumble (8:45) * OTE- Black and White (9:52) * Raw- Enter the Ring (10:31) * Out of Flux- Chaos at the Spaceship (12:05)

[kvetchlandia]

William Vendetta Bob Newhart Doing Standup, the Mill Run Theater, Niles, IL 1973

“I don't like country music, but I don't mean to denigrate those who do. And for the people who like country music, denigrate means 'put down'.” Bob Newhart

Bob Newhart - 1929-2024 - Ave atque Vale

[aerynwrites]

Peace

Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish

A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting anything lately lol - my writing motivation has been in the toilet. But hopefully it's back now and I just had to get this little piece out for the holidays. I hope you enjoy! Word Count: 4k Warnings: so much fluff, fluff galore, fluff mountain, slightly insecure simon, (possibly ooc simon??), mentions of praying before a meal, again just lots of fluff.

Simon “Ghost” Riley doesn’t get nervous. 

Nerves, anxiety, fear - it was all beat out of him by his piece-of-shit excuse for a father. Then further beat out of him in the military. Nervousness died with the first Simon Riley, buried six feet underground never to be heard from again.

So why the bloody fuck are his hands sweating?

He’s wiped them on the fabric of his jeans at least a dozen times as they drive down the desolate stretch of road in nowhere Scotland. Johnny talking his ear off the whole time - mostly about his family. 

The family Simon is about to meet. 

Fuck…what was he thinking, agreeing to this?

Thinking you don’t want to be alone again on the holidays, that’s what.

Simon shakes his head, chasing the thought away as quick as it’d come. 

He’s been alone all his life. He didn’t need anyone. Yet, when Johnny had whispered the request, a simple one really - into the darkness of the room one night as they shared a bed…Simon couldn’t say no. 

“Come home with me, Si.”

That was less than a week ago, and the Scott followed through on his promise, helping Simon pack his bags before all but whisking him away for a few weeks holiday with his family. 

His very large family. 

Of course Simon knew of Johnny’s parents and sisters and brother, but Johnny had warned him that the whole extended family gets together for Christmas. He’d been regaling Simon with dozens of tales from his childhood, each one with a different family member. And try as he might, Simon couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his lips as he continued, sweaty palms forgotten the longer Johnny talked. 

The small moment of reprieve didn’t last long, however, because sooner than Simon was ready for they were turning off the main road onto a side street. That side street quickly gave way to a long gravel drive, and before he knew it Johnny had parked the car behind at least half a dozen others in front of a large house. 

The first thing Simon noticed was the sheer normal-ness of the place. All the cars were practical ones, SUVs, sedans - made for families. The house was decorated modestly but tastefully. Colorful string lights lined the gutters and porch railings, a wreath hung on the door, and a large wooden sign leaned up against the front of the house beside the door that read ‘Merry Christmas!’ In bold red letters. 

But more than that, Simon could see into the house. The blinds are open and he can see many people milling about, talking, laughing, adults running after small children-

“This wasn’t a good idea, Johnny.”

The words are out before Simon can stop them, and he instantly regrets them the moment they bring a wounded look to his partner's face. But he can’t help it. His damn palms are sweaty again and his heart is racing and he can’t-

Johnny reaches over to slide a familiar calloused hand into his own, giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

“It’ll be okay, Simon. They’re gonna love ya’-”

Simon can’t help the small huff of bitter laughter that slips from beneath his mask. “Will they?” He asks, before gesturing to the cloth covering his face. 

“You’re tellin’ me the kids won’t run screamin’, the moment they see me? Or that your family won’t stare at the giant with a bloody mask-”

Simon cuts himself off, shaking his head. 

“I shouldn’t ‘ave come,” he repeats sullenly, “You go in. Enjoy the holiday with your family. I saw a hotel not too far back, I can-”

“No, no, no, none of that shite,” Johnny interjects, voice firm. A tone he doesn’t take with Simon often. 

“I’ve told them all about you,” he finally admits, “mask an’ all.” He laughs softly. “The only thing Ma ‘ad to say about it was askin’ why you chose a skull.”

Simon is silent, warring with himself as Johnny continues. 

“And…you don’t ‘ave to wear it if you don’t want to,” he suggests lightly, before squeezing Simon’s hand again. “I wouldn’t ‘ave suggested you come if I dinnae think they’d like ya’. My family is important to me, Si. And you’re part of tha’ now.”

Simon didn’t have time to respond this time before Johnny’s out of the car and opening the trunk to get their bags. He’s thinking out loud again, wondering if his mother made his favorite side dish or dessert, wondering if his nephews would be here.

Simon is listening but he also isn’t, his mind running one hundred miles a minute until the trunk slams closed and Simon lets out a muttered curse before ripping the balaclava off his head and shoving it in his pocket as he steps from the vehicle. He doesn’t miss the shocked raise of the Scott’s eyebrows as he comes around the car before it melts into that fucking smile that plagues Simons waking moments. 

Simon takes his bag from Johnny’s hand before following him up the drive then up the steps of the porch. He waits patiently as Johnny grabs the door handle, knocking when he finds it’s locked. Every moment of waiting feels like an eternity for Simon, all possible scenarios running through his mind. The door swinging open and everyone inside coming to a stand still as they take in the monster Johnny brought with him. The children pointing and whispering about the scars marring his features. Johnny’s parent’s frowning in disapproval at the choice their son made…

It’s all playing out in front of his very eyes until a soft feminine voice calls out from the other side of the door - ‘coming!’ - and then the lock clicks and the door swings open and an older woman that looks eerily similar to his partner beams up at them both.

“Johnathan!” She says reverently, wistfully, as she wraps her son in a hug so fierce Simon’s momentarily worried she might injure him. 

But Johnny just laughs and drops his bag as he wraps his big arms around his mother, stooping down to envelop her entirely as he embraces her, tucking his head into her neck. 

“I’m home, Ma.”

The embrace lasts for the perfect amount of time before they pull away from one another, and it’s then, as Mrs. MacTavish holds her son at arms length - looking over him - that her eyes flit over to Simon, and the inevitable has finally come. 

Except there’s no hatred. No disgust or disapproval or furrowed brows. Instead there’s a smile just as big as she gave Johnny and before Simon can react the woman is approaching him.

“You must be, Simon,” she says, voice gentle - warm and welcoming. 

All Simon can do is nod, gripping onto his duffel bag with white knuckles. 

“Johnathan never stops talking about you-”

“Ma!” Johnny reprimands.

“Talking about you and your team and how…” she trails off, a sadness settling into her eyes before she steps forward and wraps Simon in an embrace he hasn’t felt since his own mother passed. 

It’s strong and grounding, yet soft and inviting all at the same time, and it catches Simon so off guard that this woman who barely reaches his chest is hugging him - that all he can think to do is wrap his free arm lamely around her shoulders. 

“Thank you for keeping him safe.”

The words are so soft, uttered into the cotton of Simon's shirt, that he’s surprised he hears them. But he does, and he gives her a gentle squeeze. 

“I wouldn’t let anything happen to him,” he assures her.

He looks to Johnny as his mother pulls away from him, and he has to stop himself from rolling his eyes at the smug ‘I told you so’ look on the scott’s face. 

Mrs. MacTavish smiles again before stepping back towards the house. “Well, come on then, you’re just in time, really. Dinner is goin’ to be ready within the hour.”

She opens the door back up and steps inside and Johnny follows close behind her, looking back when Simon hesitates. He gives him a reassuring look, shifting his bag to his other hand so he can reach a hand out to him. Letting out a small resigned huff, Simon takes the hand offer to him and lets himself be tugged into the house. 

Warmth envelopes him almost immediately- not only in the temperature sense because of the roaring fire in the fireplace at the center of the living room - but also in the atmosphere. The lights around the house are soft and welcoming, none of the bright fluorescents that litter the base. And the general sense in the house is one of pure love and happiness and joy. Children running around, adults laughing and chatting happily with drinks in their hands. Even the Christmas tree, bursting with colorfully wrapped gifts beneath it adds to the overall feel. 

It gives Simon whiplash - how different this place is than the environments he’s usually in. It’s not like the cinderblock dorm he usually stays in or the concrete gym he frequents or even the various dangerous countries he travels to for missions. 

Simon wants to both run and never leave at the same time. And unfortunately for him, he doesn’t get a chance to do the former. Before he has a chance to disappear into some dark corner (not that there’s many to be seen in this cozy home) Johnny is introducing him to all the family that stops them as they come in. 

Aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews, nieces, grandparents…the only ones Simon really has time to remember are his sisters because Johnny talks about them all the time anyways - and once again, Simon is startled into near silence. Not a single one of them gives him a sideways glance. They all just smile warmly at him when Johnny introduces him, giving him a firm handshake - or let’s be honest - most of them wrap him in a firm hug. He expected nothing less from Johnny’s family. 

And when Johnny does end up getting pulled away by rambunctious nieces and nephews and Simon is left alone, he still doesn’t get a chance to slip away because Johnny’s sisters are sliding up to him, chatting about anything and nothing and slipping a drink into his hand (spike eggnog which Simon pretends not to enjoy as much as he does). 

It’s how ended up where he is now, hating feeling useless and standing around, he’s bustling around the kitchen with Johnny’s sisters, Amelia and Isobel and Mrs. MacTavish.

“Call me Moira, Simon. Mrs. MacTvish is my mother-in-law.”

(He doesn’t. Can’t. Not yet at least.)

“Simon,” Amelia, calls from the gargantuan dining room table in the room connected to the kitchen, “Can you grab the trivets? Dinnae want to leave rings on the table-”

“Oh!” Isobel calls as well, from where she’s playing the silverware, “I forgot the napkins too-”

Simon, with trivets already tucked beneath his arms, swoops up the delicately folded napkins on his way into the dining room - “On it.”

He places the trivett's precisely where the sisters direct him, unable to stop the small smile from tugging at his lips when they practically groan in appreciation when he places the napkins on top of the plates that are set out.

“Finally,” Amelia explains, moving to help Isobel set the silverware, “A man who isn’t entirely clueless-”

“Right?” Isobel agrees, both of them laughing.

Simon lets out a chuckle of his own, shrugging his shoulders. 

“We didn’ do much as a family when I was younger,” he starts, slightly hesitant. “But my Mum never skipped a holiday meal. Showed me how to set the table,” he says softly, feeling like he revealed too much. 

But the sisters just smile brightly at him, and Simon has to shove down the voice screaming ‘wrong, wrong, wrong! You don’t deserve their kindness, their sympathy-‘

“Well, your mum sounds like a lovely, woman,” Amelia says, before Isobel pipes in. 

“Are you and Johnny going to visit your family after us?”

Simon freezes at that, shoulders tensing as he tries and fails to stop the frown from tugging at his lips. He pretends not to see the way Amelia elbows her sister, sending her a scathing look as he continues to place napkins, now avoiding their eyes. 

“I uh-” he clears his throat. “My family’s passed. Jus’ me now.”

It’s silent for a moment, before he feels a gentle squeeze on his shoulder and he startles slightly, not having heard Mrs. MacTavish come up behind him in his inner grief. He turns to see yet another one of those blinding smiles on her face, a smile so similar to Johnny’s. He freezes again as her hand slides down to cover Simon’s, her hand tiny against his own larger one. 

“Well,” she says softly, “You always have a place at our table, Simon. You’re our family now.”

She turns away before he can speak and as she calls out to the family that dinner is ready, he’s silently glad she did, because he doesn’t know if he’d be able to speak around the lump in his throat. 

———

The family helps carry the food out to the table, and Simon can’t help but be impressed at the bountiful display of food, his stomach rumbling at the sight. Johnny finds him in the slight chaos, taking his hand in his own as he leads him to two seats towards the head of the table, just as everyone else is taking their seats. Johnny’s mother is at the head of the table, Amelia and Isobel and their partners and children to her left and Johnny and Simon to her right. He can’t help but feel like he’s too high up on the totem pole that is family seating. Hell, he doesn’t feel like he deserves to be here at all. 

Yet, when Mrs. MacTavish insist they all hold hands to say a prayer and she goes through the typical spiel, any doubt he has melts away when she says thanks for Johnny’s safety, Simon’s own name falling shortly behind before the entire table closes the prayer and Johnny squeezes his hand in that loving way that always makes his heart stutter. 

As quickly as the silence that fell over the table during grace came, it was gone in an instant. Soft shatter and laughter soon starts up as everyone passes dishes of food around. A lot of the things Simon recognizes; ham, mashed potatoes, and various other comfort food sides litter the table. But there are also some dishes that are unfamiliar to Simon, and Johnny is quick to explain them. Most of them are Scottish dishes he’s never heard of, but some are family recipes that have evolved over the years - all of them Johnny’s favorites.

“Oh, you ‘ave to try this one Si, it’s my favorite-”

“You’ve said tha’ about the last three dishes, Johnny-”

The Scott just laughs, “But this time I mean it.”

Soon, Simon’s plate is piled so high with food he’s concerned he won’t be able to eat it all (he does…and goes back for seconds). And he has to constantly remind himself not to eat like a military man - hunched over his plate, shoveling food in as fast as possible to be done in time - something he notices Johnny has to do as well. 

Simon smiles - and for the first time since he left base a few days ago, his palms have stopped sweating. 

———

The night is quiet as Simon steps outside of the still chattering household. Dinner ended a few hours ago, and ever the dutiful guest, Simon helped clean up before the events were moved to the living room. Presents were shared among family, mainly the kids. Colorful wrapping paper littering the floor and the couches and the chairs (and even the fireplace on one occasion, a disaster Simon managed to catch and stomp out before it went too far.) He and Johnny sat on the couch, the latter watching and oozing happiness from every pore as he soaked in the family he hadn't seen in too long. Hell, even Simon was sated - a little too much like a cat in a sun patch with his belly full and his inhibitions slightly dulled from that damn eggnog. 

But now…Simon felt the ever present itch to step away, that familiar feeling of otherness creeping back in as he feels like an intruder to something so cozy and intimate. 

You don’t belong here, that voice mutters again, sounding strangely similar to his father’s rasping voice as he slides the back door open and steps onto the back porch.

He tugs a cigarette from the pack in his coat pocket, placing it between his lips before grabbing the zippo Johnny had gifted him almost a year ago. 

‘It’s the twenty-first century, L.T. quit usin’ matches.’

Simon huffed out a small laugh at the memory as he flicked the wheel of the lighter, a small flame sparking to life and warming his palm as he cups his hand around it and brings to the end of the cigarette, taking a deep drag to light it. 

The soft sound of the sliding glass door reaches his ears just as he flicks the lighter closed and stows it away, and he knows who it is almost instantly, the footsteps familiar to him. 

Johnny doesn’t speak right away, instead coming to stand shoulder to shoulder with Simon just as the first few flurries start to fall from the sky. 

Snow…

Simon can’t remember the last time he saw snow - well - saw snow in a pleasant way. Snow that wasn’t waist deep and in the Russian wilderness and keeping his team from reaching the safe house. Snow that wasn’t stained red or crushed into brown slurry beneath his boots. 

Maybe this trip would change that - like it’s changed a lot of things. 

“Thank you.”

The words are simple, but soft. Softer than they have a right to be coming from a man like Simon. A man who has more blood on his hands than most. A man who most people would run from the second they looked at him. 

But he means them. He means them with his whole heart and he hopes that Johnny understands everything Simon is trying to say with those two simple words. 

Thank you for inviting me here. Thank you for trusting me with your family. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for putting up with me. Thank you for loving the unlovable and showing me this and -

Johnny shrugs, and the rustle of fabric breaks off Simon’s train of thought as he glances over at his partner from the corner of his eyes. 

“I want you ‘ere, Si,” Johnny says softly, eyes looking out into the wilderness beyond the backyard, into the stars littering the night sky, “I ‘ave for a long time, and I…”

He trails off, clearing his throat, and Simon doesn’t miss the way he fiddles with something in his pocket. 

“I love you, Simon,” he says gently, finally tearing his eyes away from the celestial lights above him to look at Simon in a way that he’s never been looked at before. “And I meant wha’ I said. You’re part of this now,” he gestures back to the house still brimming with life, love, and happiness. “And I was wonderin’…” he trails off again, letting out a frustrated sound. 

“Ah, I’m shite at this…”

Simon huffs out a laugh, “Spit it out, Johnny-”

Now it’s Johnny’s turn to laugh, shaking his head as he pulls out a little velvet box from his jacket pocket. “Your makin’ this real ‘ard to be all romantic an’ shit-” he rolls his eyes, but even in the dimness of the moonlight Simon doesn’t miss the way Johnny’s cheeks redden. 

Realistically Simon knows what’s in the box - he knows what’s coming. Yet, he still can’t help the way his heart leaps into his throat when Johnny opens the box to reveal a simple gold ring. No frills, no getting on one knee and professing his love, no fancy dinner. 

It was never their thing anyways. 

“Simon Riley,” Johnny says, voice slightly choked, nervous, “Will you marry me?”

Simon never truly knew what he would do in this situation- fuck, he never imagined this scenario. Ever. Not in a million years. And if he did - he always thought he’d be the one asking.

“Johnny…”

The Scott cuts him off, “now before you go an’ start all that self-deprecatin’ bullshi-”

“Johnny-” Simon tries again.

“I love you! An’ I know that-”

Simon lets out a low growl, once stemming from slight annoyance as he flicks his cigarette out and away from him in favor of taking Johnny’s face in his calloused palms and pressing lips firmly to his. It shuts the Scott up, and Simon can’t stop that stupid giddy feeling that he gets when familiar hands wrap around his waist. 

It doesn’t last long, just long enough for Simon to get the point across, and then he’s pulling away resting his forehead against Johnny’s. 

“If you’d let me get a bloody word out, I’d tell you yes.”

Johnny pauses at that - eyes widening slightly in that way that Simon always thinks looks like a puppy begging for more treats. 

“Really?”

Simon scoffs, not unkindly, and pulls away his hand still cupping warm cheeks. 

“Why’d ya ask if ya thought I’d say no?”

Johnny blushes at that, looking away, “Well I didnae think you’d say no…” he shrugs, “Just thought you’d take more convincin’ is all.”

Now it’s Simon’s turn to roll his eyes, as he finally drops his hands, holding his left one out slightly. 

“You gonna make me put it on myself?”

Johnny laughs then, a real laugh, the loud one that Simon pretends to hate but really truly loves - and then Johnny is taking the ring from the box and sliding it on Simon's left ring finger with more delicacy than he deserves. The metal is cool, smooth as it slides against his overheated skin, and as it sit snugly on his finger, Simon can’t help but flex them, the metal glinting in the moonlight.

“You picked good, Johnny,” he says lamely, not sure what else to say until he glances at Johnny’s left hand. 

“Now I need to get you one,” he says, “Can’t have people thinkin’ you’re single.”

Johnny smiles, digging around in his jeans pocket this time before producing an identical gold band to his own. “Way ahead of ya, L.T.”

Johnny goes to slide the band on, but Simon stops him, taking the metal ring from his fingers with a grumble of ‘hold it sergeant’ before he slips it over his ring finger. He doesn’t miss the way Johnny smiles down at their hands, all wrapped together as he gazes at the matching rings. 

Simon opens his mouth to say something, but a bright white flash of light from his left stops him and Johnny in their tracks. They both look over just in time to see Isobel fumbling with her phone behind the glass sliding door as Amelia scolds her and Mrs. MacTavish just gives her son a small thumbs up and watery smile. 

Johnny just groans and runs a hand down his face as the three women scatter, leaving them alone once more. 

“Steamin’ Jesus,” he rolls his eyes, “Sorry ‘bout them-”

Simon shakes his head, taking Johnny’s hand in his own as he turns to face the backyard again, thumb already running over the smooth metal ring. 

“Don’t worry about it, Johnny,” he says, waving him off. “I…it’s nice. Having a family again.”

Johnny smiles, giving Simon’s hand a soft squeeze before they both settle into a comfortable silence to watch the snow fall from the sky above them. 

And as the muffled sounds of Christmas music and soft chatter filter out from the house and Simon holds Johnny close…He can’t help but send a silent thought to his mother and brother. Wherever they are.

‘I’m not alone.’

The gentle kiss of a breeze answers him, whispering against his cheeks and wrapping around his legs, and for the first time since he can remember - 

Simon is at peace. 

[knightofleo]

TRA​И​Ƨ​A by Red Hot Org

"Storied activist and music production non-profit Red Hot presents its latest project, TRAИƧA out November 22nd. With production beginning in 2021, and over 100 artists contributing, TRAИƧA marks one of the most ambitious projects ever undertaken by Red Hot - a spiritual journey across 8 chapters and 46 songs, spotlighting the gifts of many of the most daring, imaginative trans and non-binary artists working today. It softens the edges of the world we know, and invokes powerful dreams of the futures that might one day thunder from its cracks. The album's instantly memorable cover speaks to the tension between nature and constructed environments, and the tension of transness in the western gender binary."

Adrianne Lenker, Ahya Simone, Alan Sparhawk (Low), Allison Russell, Am Taylor, Anajah, André 3000, Ana Roxanne, Anjimile, ANOHNI, Arthur Baker, Asher White, AV Maria, Babehoven, Bartees Strange, Belina Rose, Benét, Beverly Glenn-Copeland, Bill Callahan, Blake Mills, Bloomsday, Calvin Lauber, Caroline Rose, Cassandra Croft, Cassandra Jenkins, Ceyenne Doroshow, Christian Lee Hutson, Claire Rousay, Clairo, CLARITY, Cole Pulice, Devendra Banhart, Dirty Projectors, Eileen Myles, Eli Winter, Elizabeth Glenn-Copeland, Ezra Furman, Faye Webster, Fleet Foxes, Frank Cosmos, Gary Gunn, Gia Margaret, Green-House, Grouper, Hand Habits, Heart Shaped, Helado Negro, Hunter Schafer, Imara Jones, Jamal Shakeri, Jay Dee Daugherty, Jayne County, Jeff Tweedy, Jlin, Joy Guidry, Julianna Barwick, Julie Byrne, Julien Baker, Kara Jackson, Kathi Wilcox, Kb Borins, Kelela, L'rain, Laaraji, Laura Jane Grace, Lauren Auder, Lee Ranaldo, Lightning Bug, Lomelda, Lucy Liyou, Lynn Avery, Lyra Pramuk, Mary Lattimore, Mizu, Mojo Disco, Moor Mother, More Eaze, Moses Sumney, Nico Georis, Nina Keith, Niecy Blues, Nsámbu Za Suékama, Quinn Christopherson, Pepper Mashay, Perfume Genius, Pharoah Sanders, Rachika Nayar, Sade, Sam Smith, Sharon Van Etten, SOAK, Soft Rōnin, SKY, SPARKLE DIVISION (William Basinski), Taryn Blake Miller, Teddy Geiger, Time Wharp, Wendy & Lisa, Yaeji, Yaya Bey

[petterbrorson]

Det lilla vattenfallet, akvarell, 12x17 cm

Här är den tredje målningen av ruinerna efter den gamla sågen. Jag tror att den får avsluta den serien. Nästa serie kommer att porträttera stubbar. Det borde väl finnas en enorm marknad för tavlor med stubbar, eller hur?!? Samlare, ställ er i kö...

...

The small falls, watercolour, 12x17 cm Here's the third painting of the the ruins of the old saw mill. This completes this set, I think. The next set will portray tree stumps. There must be a massive market for paintings of tree stumps, don't you think?!? Collectors, stand in line...

[selkiefinalist]

ok so since EVERYONE has been asking, here are my plans for the avs trade deadline season:

bring back erik johnson, tyson barrie, nazem kadri, jt compher, tyson jost, kurtis macdermid, pe bellemare, bo byram, alex newhook, maybe big z, darcy kuemper, grubi, burky, matt nieto and big tuna, kiefer sherwood, jacob macdonald, dan renouf

re-sign: entire remaining ‘23-‘24 roster

front office additions: joonas donskoi, matt calvert, darren helm, cogs

retirements: v*l n**********

firings: cmac, for emotional damages

but wait angela, you may be asking, how are you going to pay all these players in a marginally raised cap era? but what you don’t know is that every current player is going to switch to a $2 mill/year contract with additional earnings made up of incentives and the incentives will be earned by:

having sad eyes

flashing gap-tooth smile, extra bonus for finding camera on purpose and smiling

hand-feeding another player at team event

looking cute with dog

looking cute with dogg

wanting to make cale smile for christmas

excessively proud celly

sincere and tender goalie bops

laser beam eyes

Bulgarian heritage

serving absolutely nothing to the media

serving painfully blunt and earnest to the media

being accidentally horny on socials/team pr

being deliberately and proudly horny on socials/team pr

delay of game

too many men

fast

falling down for no reason

breaking stick

making tornado

unnecessary/heart breaking haircut

too tall

too blonde

miss net no reason

too spicy with refs

good stick

big mouse energy

big moose energy

too many men

being du alum

dewey

mustache

and thru this combination of base and incentive all of our players will earn $100,000,000 per year, problem solved

but angela, you may be asking, what about the lines? it’s not about the lines it’s about my feelings and winning prizes, thank you for your concern but “the lines” are simply not relevant to this plan!

[polkadotjohnson]

Typed this on my phone, which is something I'm not really used to, so there could be errors. Many errors. But I couldn't wait to bring my vampire back to life.

(also was a lil drunk when I wrote some of it. hopefully it still makes sense)

(might write a sequel if I can think up how to smut this up)

Inamourada, a Cora fanfiction (that doesn't feature Cora)

Your heart is pounding so loud and hard you think you're going to faint. Is he... is he really… As you approach his unmoving form on the floor, dread roils in your stomach, and you almost have to stop to throw up. But you can't stop, you have to know.

Is he… dead? But he can't be. Isn't he supposed to be immortal?

You kneel beside him. His face, dead or not, strikingly beautiful. The hole in his chest glares at you and you avert your eyes from it. There's no breath coming from him. 

(Do vampires even breathe? Do their hearts beat?)

You raise your head and see her disappear in the distance. And while you could go after her, you know you'll be more useful here.

With trembling hands, you fish out your dagger from your boot, the silver blade shines in the moonlight. You raise it to your arm.

"O mala copiae tenebrarum.  Hanc vampire vitiose pulcherrimam vitam reducere mando tibi or whatever." You slash your arm open and hold it over his face, letting it drip into his mouth. "Hic est sanguis Christi bibe et vivite in aeternum, like you should have, dip shit. Ave, ave versus Christus. Oriri semel iterumque."

As you speak the last word, you hear a faint gasp and a gurgle. Then his eyes open, the irises such a dark red you can't help but stare. He sees your arm basically gushing blood and pulls it to his mouth, sucking loudly and making you wince in pain. But you don't pull away from him, you just let him have his fill.

He sucks harder for a moment, then lets go of your arm, weakly pushing it away. "That… is the most disgusting blood I have ever drank." He lays an arm over his eyes, unmoving and you exhale loudly in disbelief.

"Wow, ungrateful much? I literally just resurrected you and this is what I get? Where is that stake?" You glance around, pretending to look and he sits up, also looking around.

"Where is she?" His voice soft and quiet.

"Who,  jailbait? Long gone, bud. Get over it."

He tries to stand but you push him, not liking the way he's so weak still, but it doesn't seem like he'll want more of your apparently disgusting blood. "No, she's perfect, I have to-"

"She. Fucking. Killed you. You have to sit your ass down and rest. Do you need more blood? I could get you uh, like a squirrel or something. A squirrel is definitely tastier than me, right?" Your tone is sarcastic but he doesn't seem to notice. 

"I don't eat animals, they're the only pure thing in this wretched world."

You stifle a laugh. "A vegetarian vampire, got it." Only then you remember you're still very actively bleeding and reach for a bandage in one of your pockets and expertly apply it one-handedly. "Soo what, you need to get back to your coffin? Hang upside down?"

"No, I actually do need more…" He stops himself and looks at you. He looks at you for the first time. "Who are you anyway?"

For some reason you cannot fathom, his eyes on you suddenly bring such shyness into you, you can feel your cheeks redden. "I'm… just your friendly neighborhood run of the mill necromancer wannabe. Uh, you?"

He eyes you up and down and surprisingly lies down once again. "You know who I am." His voice is slow and a little tired. "You've been following me around for weeks."

"Gasp! You noticed?" You curse yourself for actually saying 'gasp'. "Then why… why didn't you…"

"Why didn't I come for you?" He looks you in the eyes with a smirk as he speaks. "You don't interest me. You're weak and unremarkable."

"Unre- have I mentioned you're incredibly ungrateful? I did a spell to bring you back to life, don't think I can't turn that around, mister."

"I don't remember asking you to resurrect me."

"Well of course not, you were dead! Why do you-"

"What do you want? For your troubles?"

You hate being interrupted, but since he just asked the magic question, you let it go. "Isn't it obvious?" You stand up and do a little twirl so he can see your get up. Your black clothes and chains, your tall boots and dark makeup. "I want you to bite me!"

He has the gall to roll his eyes. "Great. Another goth."

"Excuse me? What do you mean-"

"I don't want you. Biting you means we would have a connection, and I don't…" He looks you dead in the eyes again. "Want you."

You don't know whether to cry or scream. So you do both. "Agh fuck you! Arrogant prick who can't even decide between a teen and a cougar and then ends up with neither that's what you get haha sucks to suck fuck you dick go to hell and die again for all I care…" You breathe in to spew some more insults and turn around but hesitate to leave him despite his words. He decides it for you.

"Wait."

"What? What could you possibly want?"

"Help me get back home and I'll consider it."

"I…" You'll hate yourself for this. But deep down you know that if you don't do it, you'll hate yourself even more. "Fine. Can you stand up, o master vampire?"

He punches you, but it's more of a shove. "Keep up that insolence and see where it gets you."

You hold back a sigh and help him up, his claws dig some into your arm sending an intrusive shiver down your spine. 'What the actual fuck', you mouth. You feel them go slightly deeper and he's up. "Where to? Castle? Cave? Futuristic wood and glass house?"

"Just… keep walking."

*

"You're fucking kidding me." Calling the house dilapidated would be a compliment. More like decrepit. Rotting. Dying. His house looks like it's dying. "Is it haunted?"

"I live in it."

"Good point." You push the front door and it opens with the loudest creak you've ever heard. "You must have one hell of a security system."

"Yes, it's called being a powerful creature of the night with such a strong aura of terror no one dares to enter." You stop and look at him to see if he's actually serious, but he's rolling his eyes again. "Why would I worry about intruders? If someone enters, they get eaten."

To be fair, the house is so secluded, deep down into the woods, a place you never knew existed, even though you've walked through these woods your whole life. You doubt anyone else knows about it.

The living room is beyond filthy, leaves and dirt everywhere, every item of furniture covered in deep layers of dust. He plops down into a dingy couch, ignoring your horrified expression. When he doesn't say anything else, you take the chance to explore, morbid curiosity winning over your desire to go home and take a long, warm shower.

The kitchen smells putrid, and soon you realize why. The fridge door is ajar and there's nothing but spoiled food in it. Dirty dishes in the sink. Dirty pans on the table. Does he eat actual food?

You return to the living room and notice some pictures above the fireplace mantel. A couple. Man and woman. Three kids. "Was this their house? Did you kill them?"

"You're still here. Wonderful."

You know he's not going to answer you, so you try something else. "Well?"

He sighs. "Well… what?"

"Are you going to do it or not?"

"I said… I would think about it. Go home and leave me alone, I can't stand to look at you anymore."

You shake your head to stop your nerves from shaking too. "After all I've done, all I've gone through, this is how I get repaid. Story of my life."

"I don't care, go away."

You shake some more, wondering why the hell you didn't bring your cigarettes with you. You could really use one right about now. "I hope you die during the night."

"No, you don't."

The only way you can think to describe what you're feeling is that you're falling for him. You're falling in hate with him.

"See you, sucker." You smile through your tears and go home.

*

You walk through the cemetery every other night, but don't see him again. He used to stalk around, looking at graves and breaking into mausoleums to do god knows what. When you first saw him, he was perched on top of a family grave like a gargoyle. You knew immediately what he was. The rumors were true. Which meant your childhood dream of becoming one could come true. If only you had the guts to approach him.

You followed him around, watched him meet up with the blonde woman, wondering what he could possibly want with her. But other than her, you never saw him bite anyone else.

Then…

Then there was the scuffle with the girl and he died, just like that. It surprised you how strong she was and how he seemed to be holding back.

You wonder if you'll be able to fight like that too if he bites you.

You're weak.

His words reverberate in your head.

You're weak and unremarkable.

You know that. You know. He didn't have to say it.

The scar in your arm doesn't itch anymore. You rip the bandage off and throw it aside. It's completely healed. You want to grab your dagger and open it up again. Instead, you light up a cigarette and inhale deeply, keeping the smoke in until you calm down some. When you blow the smoke, it's clear, almost transparent and you do it again, deeper this time until your heart calms down and you feel that sweet lightness all over your body.

One poison over the other, you suppose.

"Where are you?"

You're still looking at the scar when it hits you. Your stomach drops.

I actually do need more…

You jump from the bench but stumble still lightheaded, that head almost cracking open when you hit the ground.

How many days has it been? Six? Eight? The spell doesn't work twice on the same person. If he dies again, it'll be for good.

Your stamina is deplorable, but you're running. Breathless, legs feeling like they're about to fall off but you're running.

You let out a scream of frustration when you can't find the house and search around some more, trying not to fall in complete despair.

Were there any reference points? Any landmarks? Anything different? No. You couldn't remember anything. Nothing remarkable surrounding the mysterious house of the mysterious vampire.

Nothing at all. That was the point. You were looking for something, turning at every tree that looked different, every twisted path you came across. But the way was unremarkable.

Just like you.

In less than five minutes you're there. The door cracked open just like you left it, and you dread peering inside. But you do it anyway.

"Knock knock, Avon calling."

He's still on the couch where you left him to die.

"Hey asshole." You're trembling, your voice is nothing more than a whisper. He was pale before but now his face is sallow and haggard. The smallest crinkle on his brow fills you with such relief that you fall on your knees beside him. "Looks like you've got no choice but to have more of this disgusting meal, huh." You pat your boot but the dagger isn't there. In your crazed rush, you've probably lost it somewhere along the way. "Shit. Uh, stay here." He exhales softly while you run to the kitchen, scouring the drawers to find an at least somewhat clean knife. There's nothing, they're all drenched in the filthy sink water. "Ugh. Fuck." You grab one with the tips of your fingers and wipe it on your clothes as best as you can and make a new cut next to the last one and all but shove the open wound into his mouth. He only laps at it at first, but then his eyes open wide and he sucks long and hard. Instead of wincing, it sends another unwelcome shiver through your body. In a moment, he's grabbing onto your arm with both hands, claws buried in your skin and you turn your head away so he won't see your face.

"Better. So… so much better." His voice is so weak that you almost want to comfort him, but he gets back to it and this time it hurts a little. It should probably hurt more with the voracity he's going at it, but your head is so light that you're not sure what you're feeling anymore.

That's enough, you're gonna suck me dry. The words are only in your head, but he looks at you and keeps sucking. It's like that story about the guy who tries to help out a snake only for it to bite and kill him. 'It's your own fault. You knew damn well I was a snake and yet you've offered yourself to me.'

Was that how it went?

*

When you open your eyes, you find that hell is nothing like you pictured it. There's no lava pits, no devils with pitchforks dancing around and torturing people. Just decaying flowery wallpaper and dirty sheets. A couple of fresh oranges over a nightstand and a familiar knife.

Your arm is throbbing and you can't move it, but it's not bleeding. Maybe he really did suck you dry.

You devour the fruits without hesitation, even though you don't usually like them. They were so fresh, a complete contrast of everything else in that house.

You get up from the bed when you're done and almost take the knife downstairs to be washed, but then you remember the state of the kitchen, and you really don't want to part with your meal so soon. Soft sunlight dances through the curtains and a warm breeze makes you walk to the window. There's an orchard, and it seems to be well taken care of. Another discrepancy with the rest of the house.

Does he take care of it? You can't imagine that.

You wonder where he is. Probably asleep, since it seems to be early morning. You open the door and it's a long hallway with other doors you're for some reason are weary about opening.

"Vampire?" This is ridiculous, you should know his name. Yet, you've never asked.

"Not now." His voice is soft, but not weak as it was last night. You can't tell from which room it came from and you don't try to find out.

"I'll come back later."

You leave without another word and go about your things in a daze all day. And when the sun sets, you run. There's no need to, not anymore. But you run.

*

"So it wasn't gross this time?" You've just finished sweeping the floor and now you're seriously considering whether you'll have the guts to brave the sink.

He watches you for a moment, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed. "Why don't you give me some more so I can decide?"

"Sure. If you take it yourself. With your fangs."

"You're persistent."

"One of my best traits." Not believing your luck, you put on the rubber gloves you've just found. They're somewhat gross too, but it's better than just having to shove your hands directly into the putrid water.

"Why? Why do you want to become a soulless monster who thinks of nothing but making people suffer? Nothing but feeding and spreading discord?"

You glare at him for a moment before turning your attention back to the dishes. "Do you have to do those things? I mean, besides the feeding. Can't you just like, I dunno, live your life without ruining other people's?"

"Where is the fun in that?"

"...You're despicable."

"And yet, you're doing my dishes."

If your life had a laugh track, you're sure it would pop up right about now.

"Been meaning to ask. What's your name?"

A few seconds later he still hasn't said anything, and when you turn your head to look at him, he's frowning and looking out the window. "Stay here." He leaps out the door and you realize you've missed seeing him moving this unnaturally fast. He used to do it a lot on the cemetery and-

Wait. Why did he tell you to stay here?

You glance out the window, but don't see anything, it's pitch black out. Then you hear fighting noises. Oh no, did Buffy return? Like hell you're letting her kill him again. You grab a (now gloriously clean) knife and run outside. But the one he's fighting is not a girl this time, but another man. And they're both letting the other have it. "Hey! What's going on?" The fight stops abruptly, the vampire holding the other man by the neck while said man just stares at you.

"What's that? You got your own Renfield?" The guy sounds amused despite the blood running down his nose.

"I told you to stay inside!"

You scoff. "Are you nuts? Since when do I respond to you?" You approach them with the knife by your side and the vampire tries to push the other man away. The man ignores his attempt and in a moment, he's standing right in front of you.

Oh. He's a vampire too. Handsome, but not quite as handsome as y-

No. You did not just think of him as 'your vampire'. Nope. That's not a thing that just happened.

"So… what's your story, Creature Feature?"

"I-"

"Don't talk to him." The vampire pulls the man by the collar and throws him on the ground.

"You were always the jealous type, weren't you Vincent? Never willing to share your toys."

Vincent. You have a name now.

"Yes, Sebastian. And as you can see I am not dead, you can go home now." He glares at you, willing you to get inside with his eyes, but now you're too intrigued to leave.

"You were, though. I felt it." Sebastian stands up turning his back to you so he can talk to Vincent. Ignored, as always. But this time, you don't mind.

Also, he felt it? Were they connected, like Vincent said it happens? Did one of them bite the other? You have so many questions.

"I was just weak. Had some indigestible meal and fell sick."

"Who? Renfield over here?"

You decide to interfere, because for some reason he doesn't want the other man to find out that he did indeed die. "Yeah, I'm inedible, apparently. And I was the one who offered, so I felt bad for making him sick and now I'm doing his chores."

"Hmm. I'm not sure that's how it works. It felt just like it did with Chr-"

"I am fine." Vincent smiles, forced and awkward. "I obviously did not die, how do you explain me standing here right now?"

Sebastian looks Vincent up and down. "That's what I'd like to know."

"There is nothing…" His voice is loud, and he takes a deep breath, forcing that unnatural smile again. "To know. You might have felt me fade away for a moment thanks to the foulness of the blood I had consumed."

Sebastian crosses his arms. "Never heard of something like that."

"What are you, the expert in vampire lore? There are many things we don't know, Sebastian. Like what are you still doing here since I already told you that everything is okay?"

The man dusts himself up, eyeing you one last time. "Be seeing you."

"No, you won't." Vincent grabs your shoulders and starts pushing you back inside as Sebastian leaves.

You can't help yourself. "So, what was all that jealousy about? Do I do it for you now? Are you biting me then?"

"My brother has a strong persuasive strength. If he wants, he can turn you into his slave for life. If that is your thing, make sure to have a long, nice talk to him next time he shows up."

Oh, brother. It explains the similar looks. "So, what, you're from a family of vampires? A clan?"

He breathes out a short laugh. "I wonder what kind of fiction you consume. And speaking of consume, it's time for dinner." He raises his eyebrows at you, and you sigh.

"Fine, but you gotta stop before I pass out this time." You cut up your arm and offer it to him. "What did you do before you had your own personal blood bank?"

He looks like he's not going to answer, so you pull your arm back.  "I can persuade people too. But differently. Everyone has different strengths and weaknesses."

"So you could persuade me."

"Why waste energy when you're so willing?" He sucks on the wound with considerably less fervor, but his noises are still enthusiastic. Was it a change in your diet? That couldn't possibly be it, you always eat the same junk. Then…

He pulls your arm closer for a moment and licks the wound clean. Goosebumps start forming almost immediately.

You wonder how healthy it is to lose this much blood so often. "Would you grab me another orange?"

"Help yourself." He turns and leaves before you have a chance to ask him about the orchard.

*

Next time you visit, he's actually hanging upside down from a tree, and there's a crumpled form in the ground next to him.

"Who's that?"

"Dinner." Is all he says.

You stretch your neck to see the person's face, but don't recognize him. "Is he dead?"

"Probably not. I'll take him back in a moment."

It's out of your mouth before you can think about it. "Was he tastier than me?"

"Not really. Too much alcohol in his system. And probably some illicit substances too."

It makes you happy. You want to kick yourself for feeling this way, but it does. "And why are you hanging like that? Trying to turn into a bat?"

He raises himself on the branch like a gymnast and jumps off. "Just exercising a little. What do you want?"

You almost scream at him. He knows what you want. "...Can I finish cleaning? I don't like to leave it half done."

He shakes his head, throwing the (hopefully) unconscious man over his shoulder. "Suit yourself." In a blink, he's gone, and you stride to the house. You're curious to see more of the second floor, but also weary. Are you going to find corpses on the beds? The house owners maybe?

You examine the pictures above the fireplace again. Man, woman, three boys. There are individual portraits too, which you didn't notice the other day, and you recognize the face in one of them. Large, beautiful eyes, and despite the photo being black and white, you're sure they're not red. Possibly brown. Thin, long, nose and perfect cheekbones, although a little chubby, given how young he seems to be. An innocent smile the type you could never imagine on that wretch's face. "So you weren't always evil." In one of the other portraits you think you can recognize Sebastian, younger too and also smiling like an angel. There's no portrait of the other boy.

So this really was his house.

In another picture, the woman who's obviously his mother is looking after the orchard, and in the next, he and her are playing in it, both with dazzling smiles, and that answers another one of your questions. Maybe he's less of a monster than he lets on, if he wants to keep her memory alive like that.

The bedrooms are considerably easier to clean than the kitchen and the bathrooms, but when you're done, you're still so tired that you fall on the bed, a different room than the one you woke up in the other day. There were a few games and old magazines, some of the pages starting to crumble. You stored them as safely as you could in the closet.

The third brother probably died young. You leave the bed with a start, afraid he'll get mad at you for lying in it. "Vincent? Are you home?"

"Yes."

And because he's answering all your questions today, you follow his voice to the next door, one you haven't been to yet. Maybe he'll tell you more.

The room is a library, and on the few walls without any bookshelves, there are paintings, beautiful works of art from artists you don't recognize. He's sitting on an ancient but comfortable looking chair, the book in his hands so worn out you can't make out the cover. "Would you tell me about your brother?"

He sighs. "I already did, he's an insufferable maniac with a penchant for torture."

You can't believe he's the lesser of two evils. "No, I meant… the other one."

He raises his eyes from the book, staring a hole into you, and you swallow, taking a small step back without even realizing it. "I'm sorry. Forget… forget I asked. Pretend I didn't. I'm gonna go grab the broom so I can clean up a bit in here." Great, look what you've done. Now he won't answer anything anymore.

You don't even look up at him when you return to the library, but you can see he's still sitting in the same place, book now forgotten over his lap. You feel his eyes on the back of your neck while you sweep the floor and you can't focus on it. You're sure you've sweeped the same spot three times and it's still dirty.

"She came in one night and killed my parents." His sudden voice makes you jump, and you're pretty sure you let out some sort of embarrassing noise too. "Ate both of them right in front of us. Then she started feeding off of me and my brothers. Her control was absolute. I was twelve, Sebastian was ten. And Christopher…" He sighs shortly. "Christopher was six. It was like that for years. Years. She'd take turns with us so we wouldn't get too weak. And she taught us things. How to play instruments, how to fight. I guess she wanted to start that clan you're so crazy about. And when I turned fourteen, she taught me something else too and I was in love with her. She was perfect. I couldn't get enough of her. Her cold murder of my beloved parents a distant memory in the back of my mind.

"She let me have a drop of her blood when I was eighteen and it tasted like death and it was exquisite. I started killing for her, bring her victims. Christopher was weak, too weak. I'd bring her someone else on his days or offer myself again. I don't remember how old I was when she bit me. Twenty four? Twenty eight? Sebastian was so jealous of her that he begged her to bite him too and she did. That night she had us both, even though he could barely move as the bite took hold. She didn't care.

"And just like that there were more mouths to feed and we'd have to go far away so the townsfolk wouldn't get suspicious. One week we destroyed an entire village. It sated us enough that we could return and settle down for a while.

"She didn't have any reason to bite him then, we were so full. But she did it anyway. There was no rhyme or reason to her. I knew he wasn't going to make it. He was weak. He was going to perish on the first night, unable to handle the transformation. I fed him all night, holding his hand and wiping his face, and he pulled through. I dreamed of my parents, about how disappointed they were in me. Of what I'd become and when I woke up, her spell was broken. I ran upstairs to my parents bedroom, which she had taken for herself and almost screamed. The perfect creature was nowhere in sight. On the bed there was only an old shroud, filthy and foul, rotting. I touched it and she grabbed my arm. Her face a waking nightmare. There were no eyes, only empty holes. A bat nose, horrendous, wet and red. And her fangs were infinite. Her fangs were eternal. I was falling for it again, staring into them and seeing that beautiful demon again, her soft hair, perfect body. I leaned in to kiss her but was pushed away. I fell hard against the door and Christopher was there and his hand was on the window latch while he pulled her to him with the other.

"Don't!"

He smiled and opened it. "I love you."

"He vanished before I could do anything, turned to dust before my eyes, but he'd taken the thing in the bed with him. They were both gone just like that, and I felt like my body was imploding. Coming apart from the inside. In an instant Sebastian was there too and he picked me up and held me tight.

"He was gone the next day and I stayed."

"..." No matter how you try, you can't think of a single thing to say. Your feet feel like they're stuck to the floor. "I… I'm…"

He's in front of you in an instant, his claws softly scratching your chin. "Will I have to spell it out for you? I won't bite you because you remind me of him too much. So you can quit this housekeeping nonsense and leave." He turns to do just that but you manage to grab his arm

"Wait! Can't… can't I keep coming anyway? I won't bug you about it anymore…"

"And why would you want to do such a thing?"

"I like y- your company."

He buffs. "You're a terrible judge of character."

"Yeah, I know. I'm gonna finish up the library now." You push him away weakly and he leaves to do who knows what.

Only then do you try to wrap your mind on everything he's just told you. You can't say it justifies the way he is, but it certainly explains it.

You know your chances of him biting you have dropped considerably, but you don't really care right now. You didn't lie to him, you really do enjoy his company, asshole as he may be.

You can only imagine it has to do with your apparent masochistic tendencies.

*

You still let him drink from you every now and then, and he isn't shy about letting you know how tasty it is. You are. You'd blush, but your blood leaves your body before it can reach your face.

"Was it really bad the first time you drank it?"

"It tasted like poison." He licks the wound and you watch his tongue, feeling a little thirsty yourself.

He's a murderer. A monster. You really shouldn't be around him. But… you want to be like him, always have. You've told yourself time and again that if your dream ever came true that you'd only go after evil people, rapists and politicians and whatnot. But what if you change too? What if you don't care?

You barely care now.

Maybe the both of you should be locked up.

It's a moot point anyway, since he's adamant about not biting you. Maybe you should prove to him that you could be strong. You're almost sure you've seen some dumbbells when you cleaned the attic.

(He did mean physically strong, right?)

You can barely lift it one inch off the ground. "Great. Uh, maybe I could start with just the bar?"

You hear glass breaking downstairs and freeze. You were sure he was asleep, as the sun hasn't set yet. "Vincent?"

There's a commotion outside, and from the window you can see people. People with torches, and the smell of gasoline reaches your nose. "Fuck! Vincent!"

Your voice draws their attention and a rock flies right beside your head. You step back but it's too late. Everything goes dark.

*

"Ah…" Why does it hurt so much? And why is it so hot? "No…" You try to get up but there's something heavy on top of you. A beam from the ceiling apparently. But the real pain comes from whatever had impaled your stomach. A… stake? No, it's just another piece of wood. Too big to be a stake.

Is he dead?

"Vin… cent…"

"I'm here."

"You're okay." You taste blood on your cough.

"They're not. And neither…" He comes into view, disheveled and drenched in blood. "Are you." He lifts the beam off of you, and you're pretty sure most of your ribs are broken. "If I remove the other one you'll bleed out almost instantly."

"Then… if you bite me, it'll heal, right?"

He shakes his head, and while the look in his eyes is almost certainly sad, you're pretty sure it's because he's about to lose his favorite meal. "It would take a while for the bite to hold. Days. With Christopher it was fast because she was more powerful." He runs the back of his fingers over your face and you close your eyes.

"Can't… can't you do it anyway? I really wanted to feel your mouth on me at least once." It sounds vaguely sexual, but since you're dying, you couldn't care less.

You're not entirely sure if he kisses you out of pity or because there's so much blood coming off your mouth that he really doesn't want to miss that last snack. You thought it'd be cold, but when his tongue touches yours, it's warm and soft. "Do you think you're strong enough to bite me?"

"H-huh… I…" can barely speak, so no.

He touches one of your piercings but pulls his hand back with a hiss. "Silver. All of them?"

You nod. That is some piece of vampire lore it had escaped you. He can't touch silver. Finally it makes sense why your blood tasted bad that first time when you remember your long lost silver dagger.

"Can you take one off?"

You try to raise your arm. "Can't… move…"

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, going back to the piercing, struggling with it due to his claws. When he gets it off, he punctures and rips his neck open with it before tossing it aside. "Have as much as you can." He leans over you, his pale bleeding neck right by your mouth. So you do.

The taste makes you recoil at first, but you keep going and then it's delicious. A nectar. The best thing you've ever tasted. "By the way," his voice is weaker. "I have no idea if this is going to work, and if I pass out, be prepared for a fiery death."

You release his neck. "Then go."

He just shakes his head and kisses you again, and you hold him tight against you.

*

"Do you think Brazil has a high crime rate?"

"Are you suggesting we move to a place that is known as the tropical country?"

"Hmmweellll… why don't you want to go to Romania?"

He looks at you as if you just asked the dumbest question he's ever heard. "Competition."

"Oh."

"Besides… it's where Sebastian lives."

"Are you kidding me? Then we really should go! We could stay with him until we find some place."

"Have you forgotten?" He pushes you against the side of the burnt house and bites your neck. "I don't share my toys."

"Ah…" His comment should make you want to punch him, but his bite makes your knees too weak for that. "Let's just drive then. We can live in the car until we figure it out." You make sure all the blinds and window covers are in the back seat and open the passenger door for him. "Sorry about the house."

He shakes his head. "It was just a place. They can't take what matters the most." He taps the side of his head with a claw in case you didn't understand. Then he sits down, holding the vase with the seedling, and you almost tell him to put it in the backseat, but the way he's looking at it tells you maybe he wants to keep it closer to him just a little longer.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

When I first saw this 1900 building, in Knoxville, Tennessee, I thought it was the courtyard of an older garden apt. But, it’s a former knitting mill that was saved from demo and turned into a home. It has 5bd  4ba & is listed for $2.650M.

Whoever designed the conversion of this odd-shaped factory did a great job. It’s stunning. Firstly, the old exposed-brick walls are fantastic. Look at the beautiful molding on the arch on the left. Beautiful stairs and mezzanine, plus a fireplace with built-in shelving.

Isn’t this lovely? A dining room/family room combo. 

Large kitchen with beautiful cabinetry and black quartz counters. 

Lovely guest powder room. 

Look at how nice the upper windows look as you’re going up the stairs. They even made a balcony out of one.

This home is huge. Look at the view from the mezzanine.

Cute little room to relax in.

Cute little area.

The main bd. is huge. 

Look at the en-suite. The shower looks like it was made out of an old office in the mill.

The main bd closet and dressing room.

One of the smaller bds. has a beautiful built-in shelf.

Nice little porch.

Around the block is a 2 suite office building so the new owner can rent them both out or work in one. 

The suites have kitchenettes, too. 

https://www.redfin.com/TN/Knoxville/415-W-Depot-Ave-37917/home/181788565

[countryhixes]

(Written by Hank Mills). Issued as a SINGLE 5491 A and LP "Wanda Jackson Sings Country Songs" (1965). Recorded 12 April 1965 [no. 11895] Columbia Recording Studio, 804 16th Ave. South, Nashville, TN – Grady Martin [gt], Harold Bradley [gt], Lloyd Green [steel], Bob Moore [bass], Buddy Harman [drums], Charlie McCoy [french harp], Hargus Robbins or Floyd Cramer [piano] + Jordanaires. Producer: Ken Nelson.

[eirenical]

Homecoming (2052 words) by eirenical

Fandom: 九龍城寨之圍城 | Twilight of the Warriors: Walled In (2024) Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Summary: AV, Chan Lok-kwan, Shin, and Twelfth Master are different men than they were a year ago. The world is heavier now, harder to bear, but still they've won. They've taken back their home. But can a place where they've lost so much ever truly be home again without the man who made it one?

Their first night back in the Walled City after its liberation was both homecoming and memorial service all rolled into one. So many people gone. So many people damaged, broken, forever changed. They could repair homes, shore up walls, reopen businesses, but people were not so easily replaced and repaired.

Lok-kwan had seen that already in his three friends. "They aren't the same men," Tiger had said, and he'd been more right than Lok-kwan had then understood. Broken in body, nearly broken in spirit, yet still there had been sparks there, deeply buried, of the men he'd known, the men he'd come to think of as family—a true luxury for an orphan who'd never had one. And with their reunion, that spark was slowly fanning back into a flame.

As the sun had set and night settled in, they had milled around the destroyed barber shop, unsure where to go, what to do, until Lok-kwan had finally realized that after a year spent living so closely together, they no longer knew how to be apart. Lok-kwan went rummaging through the place—his old loft, Shin's apartment, to a few of the aunties who had shops nearby—until he'd gathered up enough bedding to make a sleeping pallet big enough for the four of them to curl up together, to watch each other's backs.

That had been nearly five hours ago if the clock on the wall could be counted upon. Five hours ago… and there were only two other people curled up in the blankets with him now. AV. Twelfth Master.

Shin was nowhere to be found.

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Tags and notes below the cut.

November 24, 2024: This one is all @qilingxiong's fault. I watched this movie a week or two ago and it's been poking at my subconscious ever since. Then I spun a whump wheel and got "panic attack" and all the fic thought bubbles burst all over my keyboard and here we are. XD Enjoy? ^_^

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 九龍城寨之圍城 | Twilight of the Warriors: Walled In (2024) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: AV & Chan Lok-kwan & Shin & Twelfth Master Characters: AV (Twilight of the Warriors), Chan Lok-kwan, Shin (Twilight of the Warriors), Twelfth Master (Twilight of the Warriors) Additional Tags: the relationship between the four could be read as romantic or preromantic if one chooses, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Flashbacks, Panic Attacks, Grief/Mourning, cuddle piles, Literal Sleeping Together, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon

[archinform]

Pleasant Home, Oak Park IL

Pleasant Home (Farson-Mills House), 1897, 217 Home Avenue, Oak Park, IL 60302

Pleasant Home

George W. Maher designed this 30-room mansion for millionaire banker John W. Farson of Oak Park. Farson purchased the lot at the corner of Pleasant St. and Home Ave. in 1892 for $20,000, the largest price ever paid for a residential lot in Oak Park. Over the following years he acquired land to the south and west for a large garden.

Herbert S. Mills, the second owner of Pleasant Home, made his fortune in the amusement business. The Mills family sold the house in 1939 to the Park District of Oak Park, the grounds being designated as Mills Park in their honor.

The home today is operated as a historic house museum, an events venue, and serves as the headquarters for The Pleasant Home Foundation.

The house is listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

Illustration of Pleasant Home from The Inland Architect and News Record

Considered one of the earliest examples of prairie school architecture, Pleasant Home is often viewed as the finest surviving example of Maher's residential work. The house was completed three years after Frank Lloyd Wright's Winslow House in River Forest, an early expression of Wright's emerging design principles, later to be known as the prairie style.

The Prairie School developed in sympathy with the ideals and design aesthetics of the Arts and Crafts movement of 19th century England by John Ruskin, William Morris, and others. It is also seen as a successor to the Chicago School of architecture associated with architects William Le Baron Jenney, H.H. Richardson, Daniel H. Burnham, John Wellborn Root, Dankmar Adler, and Louis Sullivan.

The Prairie School attempted to develop an indigenous North American style of architecture, without the design elements and aesthetic vocabulary of earlier styles of European-influenced architecture such as the Queen Anne and Gothic Revival styles. 

The smooth surfaces of Roman brick, the low-pitched, hipped roof and the broad entrance porch of the Parson House are characteristic features of Maher's work that link him to the early modern designs of his Prairie School contemporaries. In the Parson House Maher also introduced his personal design philosophy, which he called motif rhythm theory, to unify the decorative details of the house and its furnishings. The house retains its historic integrity in terms of materials, design and setting. Virtually all of the original decoration specified by George Maher is preserved and the lavish decorative treatment is everywhere apparent on the interior.

Kathleen Cummings, National Historic Landmark Nomination, 1996

Detail of front porch support column

Stained glass entrance and flanking windows

Entrance hall fireplace beneath Pleasant Home panel

Detail of lion head carving, repeated throughout the house, on entrance hall built-in bench

Carved screen in entry hall in front of the music room on the mezzanine

Stained glass entrance window

Reception room

Living room or sitting room

Dining room ceiling fixture

Dining room

Dining room corner, leading to summer dining room

Domed light fixture in the library

Library

Original Maher-designed dining table and chairs, now displayed on the second floor

The stunning original wall colors are seen in the above two photos of second-floor bedrooms

Vintage views of Pleasant Home, from the Ryerson and Burnham Libraries, Art Institute of Chicago:

Left: George W. Maher and John W. Farson in the garden of Pleasant Home

Right: Entrance hall

Left: dining room Right: sitting room

The Ryerson and Burnham Libraries, Art Institute of Chicago, house a copy of the 1902 publication "Farson, John, Residence; Farson-Mills Pleasant Home." The publication contains many views of the house, exterior and interior.

Collection Call Number FF Special NA7239.M34 A65 1902.

Access the digitized copy at this link: