#we buy houses wood stock

[blueridgeone]

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[ismashedkasso666]

Ricky’s body in a quasi-medical sense? I dunno.

I am basing my estimates on the assumption that Ricky is 6 ft with an initial pre-weight of 160 lbs. I do not have reliable medical records to verify my claims regarding his height or true weight. However, it was mentioned in the book that Ricky was 6 ft. There doesn’t seem to be anything reliable about his weight, though.

THE EARLY DAYS OF JUNE IN 1984

June of 1984 was the height of Ricky’s homelessness, which absolutely contributed to his weight. During this time, he appeared to have lost nearly 40 lbs; his mental as well as physical health was declining, and he was blowing the majority of his profits on drugs (both for business and for personal use).

Gary stole from Ricky on April 21, so this is a bit after that incident. Thus, Gary is still currently in debt to Ricky.

PEAK HOMELESSNESS (EARLY JUNE OF 1984)

Ricky would sometimes sleep in a friend’s station wagon (with Jimmy Troiano) while they were dealing drugs in Kings Park, sometimes public restrooms, and sometimes behind the Midway (to put is extremely simply, the Midway is a store; I think it’s on Main Street).

Eventually, he found an abandoned house on Grove Street where he squatted until the police forced him out by chasing him. He then ended up at Scudder Beach in an old houseboat, staying with Pat Toussaint (aka Pagan Pat/Father Time), who had taken the old houseboat, and had occasionally lived there.

Supposedly, something unclear happened between the two, which led to a physical altercation. Ricky beat Pat up and left. (Ricky had also taken Pat’s necklace before he fled. Wasn’t sure whether that was necessary detail to add or not, but here it is.)

On one weekend in particular, Ricky was able to sneak back home while his parents, Lynn Kasso and Dick Kasso, were away. He showered, talked to his sister Wendy, and left the house with a tablecloth, which he later used as a cover from the rain when he went back to sleeping in Aztakea Woods.

SIGNIFICANT WEIGHT LOSS (EARLY JUNE OF 1984)

Again, assuming an initial pre-weight of 160 lbs (BMI 21.7), a 40 lb weight loss would drop his weight down to 120 lbs (BMI 16.3). I think that’s 25% of body mass dropped?

All that in just a month?… That’s genuinely absurd.

DETERIORATION OF HIS MENTAL AND PHYSICAL HEALTH, AND MONEY PROFITS (EARLY JUNE OF 1984)

One day Ricky showed up to the New Park wielding a baseball bat and began striking the roundhouse's support posts—while his friends sat inside.

"I wanna kill someone..." he muttered in between each vicious swing. "I wanna fucking kill somebody..."

Ellie Love, who was sitting in the roundhouse, yelled, "Ricky! You're too close to us! You're gonna hurt us!"

Suddenly a switch seemed to flip inside Ricky's mind. He lowered the bat, turned to Ellie, and said, "I would never, ever hurt you."

"He was walking around town like that for at least a week,” Ellie recalls. "Just murmuring with his shoulders hunched. We just thought it was the drugs speaking, not him. He was emaciated and looked like a zombie. Ricky was a walking drug by that point...."

Ellie had good reason to believe her friend looked like a zombie. In the last month, he had lost nearly forty pounds, almost certainly the result of sleeping in the woods and going without eating for long stretches of time. Most of Ricky's drug profits were going toward buying more stock for business and personal use. Spending nearly every hour of every day high on either LSD or angel dust, Ricky found little desire or opportunity to eat a decent meal.

RICKY DURING JUNE 17 AND JUNE 18 OF 1984

By this point, Gary owed only $20 dollars to Ricky before he was completely paid off.

June 17: High on angel dust, Ricky was downtown on Main Street using the pay phone to call home, but he didn’t answer until the fourth call—his mother, Lynn Kasso, had been the one to do so. They spoke very, very briefly (like, a sentence or two) before Ricky had hung up. He fell asleep on a bag of trash in the rear of the Midway.

June 18: Ricky made the mile-long walk home from Main Street and arrived around 7:30 A.M.

When Lynn opened the front door, she was horrified by what she saw. Her son was shockingly underweight, his hair was greasy, and his clothes were full of holes.

Essentially, after this, he got cleaned up and got in his father’s car so they could drive him to court. After court, Ricky wanted to be dropped off at the head shop for something to eat, as he hadn’t eaten in three days. This is where the bagel incident happened: Ricky wanted a quarter for a bagel, which turned into an argument.

Ricky kicked his father’s car, which pissed Dick off so much that he sped down the road. 20 minutes later, he drove back and threw two dollars at Ricky, then drove off again after banishing Ricky from home and forbidding him to speak to the rest of the family.

Don't call me. Don't come to the house. Don't ask for anything. Don't talk to your mother or your sisters ever again.

Just leave me alone—I never want to see you again.

AFTERMATH, AND TONY RUGGI SEEING RICKY’S EMACIATED APPEARANCE (MID-JUNE OF 1984)

Ricky tried to shrug off the ordeal and headed inside the deli next door to the Midway to buy his bagel. Later he walked down the side of 25A with his thumb out, trying to hitch a ride to Kings Park. There, he planned to meet Jimmy and score some microdots and dust to sell. Ironically, the one car that pulled over was driven by none other than Tony Ruggi from the Place. Just like Lynn Kasso, Ruggi was shaken by Ricky's appearance as he got into the car. Aside from his dramatic weight loss, Ricky also smelled horrible and looked gravely ill.

GARY LAUWERS MURDERED ON JUNE 19 OF 1984…

Mmm… I think this section needs its own post(s).

RICKY’S APPEARANCE ON NEWSPAPERS

For those who hadn't seen Ricky in a while, the photo was even more shocking once it graced the front page of nearly every major newspaper in the country. The manic and greasy-haired teenager didn't even resemble the Ricky they knew. He looked so thin and evil.

[echo-goes-mmm]

Silas and Wren #2

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: brief mention of future non-con

The carriage ride back to his home was… awkward. Now that he had someone to talk to, what was there to say?

He had to encourage the slave to sit on the carriage bench and not the floor. The slave sat obediently, staring at the floor. 

“Is the wood so interesting?” Silas joked. The slave startled. 

“I’m sorry, Master,” said the slave, who wrapped his arms around himself.

“No, I mean-” Silas sighed. Off to a great start. “I’m sorry. I’m Silas. Do you have a name?”

“Only what you wish to call me, Master.” 

“Well, what did your mother call you?” The slave looked up at him, surprise on his face. He looked away, out the window.

“She called me Wren,” he said, wistful.

“Then that’s your name.”

“Oh! Thank you, Master.” Wren smiled at him, a tiny happy thing. He was pretty when he smiled. His freckles stood out more and they matched well with his reddish hair.

Silas noticed a mark on the back of Wren’s left hand. It was raised, a perfect circle with an S in the center. A brand. He searched his brain for a pleasant conversation topic. He didn’t want to think about it.

“Have you ever been over the border?” he asked.

“No, Master. I don’t know anyone who has.” 

“Oh. Well, it’s very nice. Lots of trees.” He could have smacked himself. ‘Lots of trees’? Really?

“Um, that does sound nice. I like trees.” 

They lapsed into silence again. Wren had taken to watching the countryside go by. 

Maybe things would go better at home.

___________________

He paid the driver and tipped well. The estate was small, compared to his family home, but Silas preferred ‘spacious’ over ‘enormous’. He didn’t need more rooms to emphasize that no one visited him.

He had converted part of the east wing into a kitchen and pantry for his human, and ordered plenty of food. Hopefully Wren wasn’t allergic to anything.

His home didn’t have many original widows, so he had a few made. He would just figure out a way to avoid them if he got a cold. 

Wren’s bedroom was also in the east wing. His was in the west. Silas didn’t want to intimidate Wren, so neighboring bedrooms wasn’t an option. 

He prayed Wren wouldn’t avoid him. He wasn’t sure if could stand the prospect of more rejection.

He led Wren to his bedroom, and his eyes were as big as saucers.

“This is all for me? Really?”

“Do you like it?” asked Silas, nervous. “I wasn’t sure about the color, but it could be painted again. And I could get you a different rug if you want. And anything else you want.”

“I- I don’t need anything else, Master. You don’t need to waste your money on me.”

“It’s not a waste,” said Silas. “I just want you to be comfortable.” He shifted a little. Wren looked like he was about to cry. 

___________________

It was all for him. The bedroom, the brand new kitchen and fully stocked pantry, he even got his own bathroom and shower. 

The door even had a lock on the inside. He could lock his Master out, even if only technically. Vampires were far stronger than a bit of copper.

He thought Master Silas was pretty scary, but maybe he wouldn’t be so bad. Wren had put up with a lot without all of these nice things. Surely having them would make whatever Silas wanted to do to him easier to bear. 

Master Silas’s house was so impressive, he could give a slave a room better than most Masters reserved for themselves. Dark wood panels, vivid wallpaper, a plush rug, and a full furniture set (including a couch!). 

The star of the room was the queen-sized four poster bed. He ran his hand over the comforter, almost afraid to touch it. It was so soft.

“I’m sorry,” said Master. “I didn’t buy you any clothes.”

Wren could have cried right then and there. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, Master,” he wiped his eyes, “I’m okay. Thank you.”

“Do- do you want to see the rest of the estate? Or we could play a game?”

A ‘game’ could mean anything, so the tour it was.

“I would like to see your house, Master.” Silas smiled at him. 

Master showed him the library (it was impressive, but Wren couldn’t read), a very nice sitting room, the drawing room, sun room, and finally Master’s own bedroom. 

Master’s room was large, and clearly meant for two. It was in what Master Silas called the ‘family wing’, but Wren hadn’t seen another soul in the house. There must be a maid service that he hired, because there was no evidence of servants despite the lack of dust and unpolished furniture.

Wren had never lived without at least a few people around him. He couldn’t talk much to free people, but he made friends with other slaves, even some servants. 

It would be an adjustment for him.

Master also showed him the garden, which was a little confusing. He thought vampires were burned by the sun. It was cloudy out now, but why bother with a beautiful garden when Silas could only enjoy it when the weather was bad? 

He could be wrong. After all, he was only a slave and not very smart. And people who avoided the sun didn’t have windows in their homes, much less in their own bedrooms.

But more importantly, when would Master Silas drink from him?

When would Master want to bed him?

taglist: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @secretwhumplair @freefallingup13 @mylovelyme @whumpzone

[acurlygirlamy1]

DIARY OF A SNOW SHOVELER:

Moved to North Dakota this fall. We heard that summers are fun and winter is beautiful. We think there is no more beautiful a place in the whole world!

December 8 - 6:00 PM It started to snow. The first snow of the season and the wife and I took our cocktails and sat for hours by the window watching the huge soft flakes drift down from heaven. It looked like a Grandma Moses print. So romantic, we felt like newlyweds again. I love snow!

December 9 - We woke to a beautiful blanket of crystal white snow covering every inch of the landscape. What a fantastic sight! Can there be a more lovely place in the whole world? Moving here was the best idea I've ever had! Shoveled for the first time in years and felt like a boy again. I did both our driveway and the sidewalks.

This afternoon the snowplow came along and covered up the sidewalks and closed in the driveway, so I got to shovel again. What a perfect life!

December 12 - The sun has melted all our lovely snow. Such a disappointment! My neighbor tells me not to worry- we'll definitely have a white Christmas. No snow on Christmas would be awful! Bob says we'll have so much snow by the end of winter, that I'll never want to see snow again. I don't think that's possible. Bob is such a nice man, I'm glad he's our neighbor.

December 14 - Snow, lovely snow! 8 inches last night. The temperature dropped to -20. The cold makes everything sparkle so. The wind took my breath away, but I warmed up by shoveling the driveway and sidewalks. This is the life! The snowplow came back this afternoon and buried everything again. I didn't realize I would have to do quite this much shoveling, but I'll certainly get back in shape this way. I wish I wouldn't huff and puff so.

December 15 - 20 inches forecast. Sold my van and bought a 4x4 Blazer. Bought snow tires for the wife's car and 2 extra shovels. Stocked the freezer. The wife wants a wood stove in case the electricity goes out. I think that's silly. We aren't in Alaska, after all.

December 16 - Ice storm this morning. Fell on my ass on the ice in the driveway putting down salt. Hurt like hell. The wife laughed for an hour, which I think was very cruel.

December 17 - Still way below freezing. Roads are too icy to go anywhere. Electricity was off for 5 hours. I had to pile the blankets on to stay warm. Nothing to do but stare at the wife and try not to irritate her. Guess I should've bought a wood stove, but won't admit it to her. God! I hate it when she's right. I can't believe I'm freezing to death in my own living room.

December 20 - Electricity's back on, but had another 14 inches of the damn stuff last night. More shoveling! Took all day. The damn snowplow came by twice. Tried to find a neighbor kid to shovel, but. they said they're too busy playing hockey. I think they're lying. Called the only hardware store around to see about buying a snow blower and they're out. Might have another shipment in March. I think they're lying. Bob says I have to shovel or the city will have it done and bill me. I think he's lying.

December 22 - Bob was right about a white Christmas because 13 more inches of the white shit fell today, and it's so cold, it probably won't melt till August. Took me 45 minutes to get all dressed up to go out to shovel and then I had to piss. By the time I got undressed, pissed and dressed again, I was too tired to shovel. Tried to hire Bob-who has a plow on his truck-for the rest of the winter, but he says he's too busy. I think the asshole is lying.

December 23 - Only 2 inches of snow today. And it warmed up to 0. The wife wanted me to decorate the front of the house this morning. What is she, nuts?!! Why didn't she tell me to do that a month ago. She says she did but I think she's lying.

December 24 - 6 inches - Snow packed so hard by snowplow, l broke the shovel. Thought I was having a heart attack. If I ever catch the son of a bitch who drives that snow plow, I'll drag him through the snow by his balls and beat him to death with my broken shovel. I know he hides around the corner and waits for me to finish shoveling, and then he comes down the street...at a 100 miles an hour and throws snow all over where I've just been! Tonight the wife wanted me to sing Christmas carols with her and open our presents...but I was too busy watching for the damn snowplow.

December 25 - Merry f---ing Christmas! 20 more inches of the damn slop tonight - snowed in. The idea of shoveling makes my blood boil. God, I hate the snow! Then the snowplow driver came by asking for a donation and I hit him over the head with my shovel. The wife says I have a bad attitude. I think she's a fricking idiot. If I have to watch "It's A Wonderful Life" one more time, I'm going to feed her through a chipper shredder.

December 26 - Still snowed in. Why the hell did I ever move here? It was all HER idea. She's really getting on my nerves.

December 27 - Temperature dropped to -30 and the pipes froze; plumber came after 14 hours of waiting for him, he only charged me $4,400 to replace all my pipes.

December 28 - Warmed up to above -20. Still snowed in. The BITCH is driving me crazy!!!

December 29 - 10 more inches. Bob says I have to shovel the roof or it could cave in. That's the silliest thing I ever heard. How dumb does he think I am?

December 30 - Roof caved in. I beat up the snow plow driver, and now he is suing me for a million dollars, not only for the beating I gave him, but also for trying to shove the broken snow shovel up his ass. The wife went home to her mother. Nine more inches predicted.

December 31 - I set fire to what's left of the house. No more shoveling.

January 8 - Feel so good. I just love those little white pills they keep giving me. Why am I tied to the bed ???

-Author Unknown

[handeaux]

Memories From Half A Century Ago; The Cincinnati Tornadoes of April 1974

On the evening of April 3, 1974, your narrator interviewed a woman who found a perfectly new, pristinely crisp, twenty-dollar bill in her front yard. This random occurrence of good luck became newsworthy because her miraculous benefit had floated down into her yard from a passing cloud that had recently spawned an F5 tornado.

At the time, I was not a reporter exactly but everyone that evening became either a reporter or a source. The memory of that day remains so fresh and clear it seems impossible that it transpired exactly fifty years ago.

In the fading afternoon, a heavy storm blew in as I drove a clunky Ford Econoline van from the Hopple Street Viaduct onto Westwood-Northern Boulevard. I was, at that time, a senior at the University of Cincinnati desperately yearning to graduate and move on to the next chapter in my life. To cover tuition, I worked as a printer for the Western Hills Publishing Company. Our offices were on Davis Avenue in Cheviot and our printing presses occupied a floor in the historic Crosley Building on Arlington Street in Camp Washington. My duties as the junior member of the printing crew involved shuttling copy and page flats from the editorial offices to the typesetting and composing staff.

As I climbed out of the valley toward the English Woods housing development, hail scattered across the road. Hailstones rattled on the van’s roof, then pounded, then stomped. It sounded like some gremlin with a baseball bat hammering on the roof as ice balls the size of oranges smashed into the asphalt all around. Tree branches cracked and split and thatched the roadway.

Somehow, I made it to Cheviot and pulled into the Press parking lot. It was full of people, just standing around. I got out and looked at the van. The roof looked like a moonscape, there were so many dents in it.

“Hey! Look at this,” I shouted. No one turned or said a word. And then I saw why.

Stretching from the horizon halfway to zenith was the tornado. It was impossible to comprehend the scale. More than two miles away, we heard no sound except endless sirens calling to one another from every direction. Where we stood transfixed it did not rain. There was no wind. There was only the tornado.

“Look at all that paper swirling around,” someone said.

“Those are garage doors,” another answered.

We watched as the horrendous vision scraped its way northward, the finger of God plowing a furrow along South Road out in Mack. We watched as it withered and lifted and twisted into nothingness against a pallid sky, waving it seemed in farewell at last as it vanished. We stared at each other, silent, unable to find any words.

Gradually, we realized that all the lights were out. There was no power in the offices. The publisher sent me around the corner to a hardware store to buy all the candles they had in stock. It was going to be a long night.

At this point, for the benefit of readers younger than I, it is necessary to explain a few details. The cash register at the hardware store was mechanical. It did not require electricity, much less Wi-Fi, to operate. The editorial offices were stocked with manual typewriters. The telephones were landlines, on a separate network, and functioned even when the power was out. Everyone had a battery-powered radio.

Anyone with the ability to write a coherent sentence became a reporter. I was sent out, still wearing my printshop uniform, in the divotted Econoline, to gather eye-witness reports. I found a small crowd at the Western Hills Country Club who had been herded into a downstairs bar while the sirens howled. They queued up for every available telephone to check in with their families. I found people in shock, wandering through piles of rubble that had been their homes, clutching any random possessions they recovered. I saw ambulances backed up in a line, waiting for utility poles and power lines to be moved. I saw people wrapped in blankets, standing in the middle of nothing left, sobbing on each other’s shoulders.

There were people who swore they saw two funnel clouds and people who claimed there were four, twisting like snakes in the sky. There were people who confessed to being so transfixed by the surreal wonder of the twister that they stood paralyzed as it swooped down on their houses.

And, in the curious way the universe laughs at we mere humans, I found humor.

There was the guy who, in a dispute with his insurance company, was photographing damage to his roof when the warning sirens erupted. He saw the funnel approaching and dove into his basement. When he emerged, his roof was gone, and so was the rest of his house, but he bragged that he had the photos to press his prior claim.

I talked to one of the rescue workers who told me about a kid, maybe 15 or 16 years old, who approached him and begged him to hide a bottle of vodka. The kid didn’t want his mother to know he had the bottle hidden in his bedroom – the bedroom that was now nothing more than a debris field.

Meanwhile, at the University of Chicago, Dr. Theodore Fujita drafted a questionnaire to be sent to almost every newspaper, every radio station, every television station in the country. Dr. Fujita asked a lot of questions about the duration and intensity of the 148 confirmed tornadoes reported that day. He and Allen Pearson of the National Severe Storms Forecast Center hoped to refine the tornado classification system they had created just three years previously. Someone at the Press filled out the questionnaire and sent it back.

A year later, having graduated from the university and transferred to the newsroom, I found a largish cardboard tube lying amid the usual pile of news releases and complaint letters that constituted our daily mail. On opening the tube – it was addressed to no one in particular – I found a map of the eastern United States titled “Superoutbreak Tornadoes of April 3-4, 1974.” Dr. Fujita, compiling all those questionnaires, had mapped and labeled every one of those 148 tornadoes.

In the center of the map, there was my tornado, the only tornado I have seen with my own eyes, officially designated as an F5 monster.

[floridaboiler]

DIARY OF A SNOW SHOVELER:

Moved to North Dakota this fall. We heard that summers are fun and winter is beautiful. We think there is no more beautiful a place in the whole world!

December 8 - 6:00 PM It started to snow. The first snow of the season and the wife and I took our cocktails and sat for hours by the window watching the huge soft flakes drift down from heaven. It looked like a Grandma Moses print. So romantic, we felt like newlyweds again. I love snow!

December 9 - We woke to a beautiful blanket of crystal white snow covering every inch of the landscape. What a fantastic sight! Can there be a more lovely place in the whole world? Moving here was the best idea I've ever had! Shoveled for the first time in years and felt like a boy again. I did both our driveway and the sidewalks.

This afternoon the snowplow came along and covered up the sidewalks and closed in the driveway, so I got to shovel again. What a perfect life!

December 12 - The sun has melted all our lovely snow. Such a disappointment! My neighbor tells me not to worry- we'll definitely have a white Christmas. No snow on Christmas would be awful! Bob says we'll have so much snow by the end of winter, that I'll never want to see snow again. I don't think that's possible. Bob is such a nice man, I'm glad he's our neighbor.

December 14 - Snow, lovely snow! 8 inches last night. The temperature dropped to -20. The cold makes everything sparkle so. The wind took my breath away, but I warmed up by shoveling the driveway and sidewalks. This is the life! The snowplow came back this afternoon and buried everything again. I didn't realize I would have to do quite this much shoveling, but I'll certainly get back in shape this way. I wish I wouldn't huff and puff so.

December 15 - 20 inches forecast. Sold my van and bought a 4x4 Blazer. Bought snow tires for the wife's car and 2 extra shovels. Stocked the freezer. The wife wants a wood stove in case the electricity goes out. I think that's silly. We aren't in Alaska, after all.

December 16 - Ice storm this morning. Fell on my ass on the ice in the driveway putting down salt. Hurt like hell. The wife laughed for an hour, which I think was very cruel.

December 17 - Still way below freezing. Roads are too icy to go anywhere. Electricity was off for 5 hours. I had to pile the blankets on to stay warm. Nothing to do but stare at the wife and try not to irritate her. Guess I should've bought a wood stove, but won't admit it to her. God! I hate it when she's right. I can't believe I'm freezing to death in my own living room.

December 20 - Electricity's back on, but had another 14 inches of the damn stuff last night. More shoveling! Took all day. The damn snowplow came by twice. Tried to find a neighbor kid to shovel, but. they said they're too busy playing hockey. I think they're lying. Called the only hardware store around to see about buying a snow blower and they're out. Might have another shipment in March. I think they're lying. Bob says I have to shovel or the city will have it done and bill me. I think he's lying.

December 22 - Bob was right about a white Christmas because 13 more inches of the white shit fell today, and it's so cold, it probably won't melt till August. Took me 45 minutes to get all dressed up to go out to shovel and then I had to piss. By the time I got undressed, pissed and dressed again, I was too tired to shovel. Tried to hire Bob-who has a plow on his truck-for the rest of the winter, but he says he's too busy. I think the asshole is lying.

December 23 - Only 2 inches of snow today. And it warmed up to 0. The wife wanted me to decorate the front of the house this morning. What is she, nuts?!! Why didn't she tell me to do that a month ago. She says she did but I think she's lying.

December 24 - 6 inches - Snow packed so hard by snowplow, l broke the shovel. Thought I was having a heart attack. If I ever catch the son of a bitch who drives that snow plow, I'll drag him through the snow by his balls and beat him to death with my broken shovel. I know he hides around the corner and waits for me to finish shoveling, and then he comes down the street...at a 100 miles an hour and throws snow all over where I've just been! Tonight the wife wanted me to sing Christmas carols with her and open our presents...but I was too busy watching for the damn snowplow.

December 25 - Merry f---ing Christmas! 20 more inches of the damn slop tonight - snowed in. The idea of shoveling makes my blood boil. God, I hate the snow! Then the snowplow driver came by asking for a donation and I hit him over the head with my shovel. The wife says I have a bad attitude. I think she's a fricking idiot. If I have to watch "It's A Wonderful Life" one more time, I'm going to feed her through a chipper shredder.

December 26 - Still snowed in. Why the hell did I ever move here? It was all HER idea. She's really getting on my nerves.

December 27 - Temperature dropped to -30 and the pipes froze; plumber came after 14 hours of waiting for him, he only charged me $4,400 to replace all my pipes.

December 28 - Warmed up to above -20. Still snowed in. The BITCH is driving me crazy!!!

December 29 - 10 more inches. Bob says I have to shovel the roof or it could cave in. That's the silliest thing I ever heard. How dumb does he think I am?

December 30 - Roof caved in. I beat up the snow plow driver, and now he is suing me for a million dollars, not only for the beating I gave him, but also for trying to shove the broken snow shovel up his ass. The wife went home to her mother. Nine more inches predicted.

December 31 - I set fire to what's left of the house. No more shoveling.

January 8 - Feel so good. I just love those little white pills they keep giving me. Why am I tied to the bed ???

-Author Unknown

[perchanceapoet]

It has sort of been a crazy few months. Or make that a crazy year.

We are moving, to start somewhere. After three years of searching, we are finally moving to the house with the garden my husband wanted so desperately.

Which, when I say it like that, sounds like I did not want this. And yes, I wanted this, but truth be told , I would have also been happy to stay where we are. That is more my weird semi-irrational emotional attachment to this house than anything else, though.

So, we are moving. By Christmas, we should be laying down presents in the house we will grow geriatric in. Perhaps the house we will die in. If we do not make it to the nursing home.

Yes. I am in that kind of mood. Mostly because of this other thing.

We are undergoing future human making treatment. Or I am. And like. I am not even going to mince words. It sucks huge balls. And we got the easy treatment. I mean, they do not call it the easy treatment, but it is heavily implied.

Let's just say there's a number of tries after which this should work, and we're about at the halfway point. After this, there is still another option. But that one is, you guessed it, one of the more hard/complicated ones. So, I am here. Halfway in. And despite my husband's constant optimistic reassurances, I am taking stock of it all. Standing still and just thinking out loud. Sorry if you feel like I dragged you into this. I can ramble.

Honestly? There's a part of me that wants to quit right now. Just let my body also be a failure at this one thing that does not require a functional neurological system. I always said, before all of this, that I would let the universe decide. And I will be damned if this isn't a crystal clear message of "it's not going to work".

But then there's the part of me that loves this man beyond reason and comprehension. That wants to leave something of him behind. When our geriatric bodies do or do not leave our new home in between four pieces of wood. The part of me that can just picture this future human, how much I would love it. How much we would love it. How happy we would be. That is the part that has made me start every new cycle of treatment thus far.

But, halfway in, I cannot help but start to grapple with the reality that this may all be for nothing. I mean, even if it works. There is a whole lot of possible calamity ahead. At some point, it will just be too much. Too late. Too complicated. I will be too old.

Stopping now would also mean that I would never really know if my body is also a failure at this. This very basic thing. And I am not going to lie, I kind of like the idea of living with the possibility of what could have been rather than knowing that it just does not work.

I feel guilty for being so broken up by this. I was never 100% team future humans, and I am still not. I think any rational minded person should be on the fence about it. I mean, there's climate change, just to name something. I think for me, as a neurodivergent person, at this point, it is still more about my body failing me in this entirely new way. And it's about letting go of the image of my husband and this future human walking into the library together. That one hurts like balancing Mount Everest on my chest.

But I do feel guilty. I mean, I have this life twelve year old me could have never dreamed of. That isolated, bullied, traumatized girl would have been so relieved to find out it ends up like this. And incredulous. Future humans or not; this, loving this man, having these friends, buying this house, it's all icing on the cake.

So, I am torn. And probably forced to take a break from treatment due to circumstances. I don't know how I will feel when the crimson invader comes next time. But I will probably start the treatment. And it will probably not work. And I will probably have another good cry. And I will remind myself of all the things I have to be grateful for. And I will be grateful, so very grateful and also ugly crying.

Both can be true. I keep telling myself that. I can be not 100% team future humans and broken up by this. I can be grateful and sad. I can start treatment again and think it's a bad idea. I can live another day and hope and trust that whoever or whatever has gotten me this far knows the way. That future me has gotten through this. I hope she is ok, regardless.

[lunamkardas]

COZY GAME?

So last night I saw this really cute looking farm sim game, yes another one, called Grimshire. It's just a demo but the pixel art is charming and it seems really interesting. So far you can only be a bunny or a fox so I picked bunny.

Game opens with a boat horn sounding. I and some random goat lady have been rescued from The Capital where Some Shit Is Going Down and we are both unconscious, dragged to safer shores by an otter named Fin. He lets the town know shit's going down and he's going back out on his boat to see if he can get more info.

We get taken to the town healer and I'm just a little banged up but fine. Goat lady is hurt much worse so she's going to take longer to wake up.

Day 1 Basic "hey welcome to town here's a run down farm house for you to live in new dude, we'd really appreciate it if you contributed to the town's root cellar by growing some stuff" tutorial. Quickly followed by the "You should talk to all 26 people in town newbie!"

They got a small town/hamlet version of Animal crossing's museum thing going on so any stuff I forage or catch for the first time can go there.

They gave me a pump and water pipes straight off the bat so it was SO MUCH easier getting the watering down for my baby farm.

Holy shit fishing is so much easier than Stardew valley my god I love it.

Day 2

Goat lady died in the night from her wounds.

None of us knew her name. The town burned her atop the mountain peak with all in attendance.

Everyone is pretty down about it. Some people mention they hope Fin gets back with news, especially since him and his boat are such an important part of their food supply because they're an island.

My eyes lock onto the root cellar and then to the previously mildly annoying but NOW VERY IMPORTANT game mechanic of food spoiling.

I immediately start selling everything I own including the swank new bed and bookcase I got for collecting specimens and begin rapid fire purchasing as many drying racks as possible, throwing every fish, fruit and mushroom I find onto them to start stocking up.

Day 3

Normal day of collecting and throwing stuff onto the drying racks. Selling junk to buy more drying racks. The game refuses to tell me how to make them myself.

Get a crack at the mines which has an interesting quirk where you actually mine out the rock from the walls and if you remove too much of the supporting walls it can cause a cave in. Also you can very easily find the ladder to lower levels, which I appreciate.

Learned how to make more pipes to improve my pumps range.

Did some logging for the woodcutter. Mining for the Smith.

Day 4

The Mayor and his assistant come get me and start walking me through the root cellar tutorial while telling me that they will no longer be expecting me to pay ANY TAXES under the circumstances. (Waaaaay ahead of you dudes I already pieced together I'm now the most important person on this island and I am panicking a little bit because I'm pretty sure Covid just entered your reality and thank FUCK we burned Goat lady.)

Thank you kindly can I PLEASE get back to foraging and fishing and drying so I can keep both herbivores and carnivores alive while we Quarantine.

Healer lady and her assistant had the same idea about us suddenly being cut off from the outside world. No one's saying 'disease' yet but I have my suspicions.

Anyhoo they put the town up to a vote over what we should build, a new medicine herb garden she definitely knows how to maintain and use or a mushroom hut to alleviate the island hamlet's food needs even though no one on the island knows the first thing about mushrooms.

I am sitting on a fucking throne of fish jerky and dried fruit/veg. WE ARE MAKING THE HERBAL GARDEN.

The other villagers agree and I immediately bum rush the donation box and slam all the wood and rocks we need into it.

Day 5 Herbal Garden is complete and Healer lady is excited to start researching new medicines.

I am desperately mining as much copper as I can to make more water pipes because I only have so much energy each day and I can't be wasting it watering 30 plants.

I also start planting the tree seeds I've been shaking out so I can have fruit trees. Fishing is easy but the island has both carnivores and herbivores and the plant supply is harder to come by every day plus Drying takes Time.

Day 6 The town gathers because Fin is FINALLY back with news!

It ain't covid.

The Capital is Gone and most of the other landlocked population centers are too.

But they weren't empty.

It's Zombies.

It's Zombies and the only places that still exist are boarded up and armed to the teeth refusing all entry or trade because it's ZOMBIES.

Thank FUCK we burned Goat Lady.

10/10 I need this shit now

[sam-glade]

Find the Words Tag

Tagged by @outpost51 here and @card-queen here. Thank you💜

I'll gently tag: @tabswrites @zestymimblo @worldsfromhoney @squarebracket-trick @chauceryfairytales - your words are: honey, fruit, tea, bread.

I don't have enough of The Prince's Shadow written to find half of the words, so back to Gifts of Fate it is for the time being:

From @outpost51: pitch, aid, brother, relief, ceiling

PITCH (Erya and Varré talking)

“I still need to know what exactly you were thinking, pitching Gullin against whatever that kid is.” “I had a hunch.” “A hunch!?” “Yes, a hunch, Erya, that’s how I operate. And it was a damn good hunch at that; that single bout gave us a whole load of information on the demon. Of course I’m assuming it isn’t the only one in existence. We need to know more to prepare.”

AID

They spent the day going through the manor, cleaning the servants’ quarters, and taking stock of their supplies — the officers had brought full packs of long-lasting provisions, as well as spare woollen blankets and small equipment; tinderboxes, first aid kits, and such. They still needed cooking utensils, warm clothes, and more blankets to survive the winter, which they decided to buy the next day in the nearest town that didn’t have an Army outpost.

BROTHER (Marta talking)

“What have you been doing with my brother over the last four months!? You take him away, you force him to live in this hole.” She raised her voice. Lissan stirred, but she didn’t let anyone get a word in edgewise. Gullin watched her warily. She didn’t pose a direct risk to the Swords, but Lissan— “And that… that thing was put in his head by you, by the Army. No, I don’t care that whoever did it went rogue, that they weren’t officially told to do it. It’s wrong! It’s your mess to tidy up, so get on with it!”

RELIEF

“I’d rather you weren’t involved,” he said quietly. Ianim gaped. “I promised your sister that I’d keep you as safe as I can.” Ianim squeezed his eyes shut, so that the betrayal he felt wouldn’t show in them. He controlled his breathing and prepared an argument — a logical argument that he’d also present to his prince, if he weren’t such a coward — that his abilities were only going to waste when— “But, I can’t stop you from coming with us,” Lissan said, before Ianim opened his mouth. “So just… remember that, please?” Ianim smiled as relief welled in him.

CEILING

He’d thought about it constantly for the six hours he’d been locked up — he’d estimated the passage of time by the sky’s colour changing; a little rectangle of it was visible through a barred window right below the arched ceiling. He’d gone over every word he’d said and heard that day — from the Usurper, and from the Generals. The Nameless’s incessant commentary had made him lose the thread of thoughts many times, but the demon had pointed out one thing: the Usurper didn’t use his Sword on Lissan even once, and Lissan had good reasons to believe it.

~*~

From @card-queen: shuffle, entrance and satisfying

SHUFFLE

“I always knew you can be reasonable,” the Usurper said with approval. “Do take a seat.” Lissan kept looking at the Sword. The Stork flexed its fingers, and more ice crept up the spikes, encasing the Weapon further, although not bending it. Yet. Lissan shuffled to the nearest settee that offered him a clear view of both the Sword and the Usurper. He perched on the edge of the seat, and grimaced when he sank into the plush cushion. “Make yourself comfortable, please. Would you like some refreshments?”

ENTRANCE

The cottage atop the hill was tiny, huddled under a blanket of thatch, peeking from behind an almost bare dogwood tree to the side of the entrance — Dad had planted it there forty-five ago, when he bought this little rocky plot of land. Partially hidden behind the house, stood the woodshed, the chicken coop, and Dad’s wood workshop. Marta was waiting for them in the doorway.

SATISFYING (CW: creepy intrusive thoughts)

Ianim demonstrated the movements with infinite patience, and corrected Lissan’s position and the way he held the dull practice sword, arranging Lissan’s limbs with gentle nudges and inevitably making his cheeks flush. You’d want his hands on other parts of you, wouldn’t you, the demon hissed, and Lissan winced away from Ianim. Ianim looked at him in a silent question, but didn’t press. From then on, he avoided physical contact without a word or even an odd look, and Lissan had to accept that it was for the best. It let him focus on the training. It wasn’t an enthralling activity, to repeat the same movement over and over, dozens upon dozens of times, but there was something satisfying about getting it to feel right.

[blueridgeone]

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[adleryoung]

If I was journeying to the North Woods to find "Wild Rebecca of the Wood," I would need to prepare myself. Dr. Cesawonki might not know about wraith-rabbits, but I knew they were sinister shadows that flitted furtively around the edges of their victim's vision just before they pounced! You had to be constantly on the lookout!

I rummaged in my Elfintory to make sure I had the supplies I would need for my trip, and happened to find the scry-orbs. They were painted to look like eyeballs. I had a dim recollection of (sometime during my long isolation) making a face out of dried grass and putting the orbs in it so I would have someone to talk to. Hopefully I would never have to resort to that again, but one never knew… I carefully put the orbs back into my Elfintory and continued taking stock of my supplies.

Once satisfied that I was ready, I changed into a suit of lowfolk-style clothes and set out. I had a small detail of Ixies accompany me - but at a discreet distance, so as not to attract attention as I roamed the lowfolk world. This was to be my biggest adventure yet!

The journey itself held little of note.

Stopped by inclement weather on the other side of Ballynure, I had to spend the night in an abandoned mansion where I met a group of lowfolk youths who had a large house-ant named Folly (after an old folk song that went "Fa la la la la, where art thou?" which the youngsters sang loudly at every opportunity.) I was initially surprised to learn that Folly could talk, but my interest waned after I realized all he could say was "Merthy thaketh, Thlovenly," to the unkempt goat lad who was apparently his master. The rest of the time he was getting underfoot and begging for "Folly treats" which were grimy lumps of sugar which Slovenly carried in his pockets. It was my misfortune to be in the mansion the same night these youths were there to investigate an alleged haunting. They spent several hours bumbling around and "investigating" only to find out the mansion wasn't really haunted at all! What a disappointment! Old man McJack, the property's caretaker, had been disguising himself as a ghost to scare away visitors and spread rumors. His goal was to drive the value of the property down so he could buy it cheap. A rather lame plot, I must say! But I suppose it takes a fool to catch a fool. I left that place feeling slightly dumber from exposure to these meddling kids and their talking pet.

After that, I decided traveling by foot was not suitable for a person of my stature, so I took a ride on a lowfolk train for the first time. Would you believe it: A grisly murder happened while I was on board. Coincidentally, there happened to be a lowfolk detective aboard as well, a clever chap named Heracles Parrot. I helped him do a little bit of detecting. He was much better at it than the doltish children I had met earlier, and it didn't take long to discover that everyone on the train except Monsieur Parrot and myself had taken part in the murder. That guy must have been unpopular. The police arrested everyone at the next station, and with no engineer we were stranded.

At that point I found out, much to my chagrin, that I had boarded the wrong train and had been traveling in the completely wrong direction. On top of that, the station was in the middle of a wild, desolate moor. Monsieur Parrot invited me to accompany him on the next train, but he was heading South and I needed to go North. I set off on foot, but once again got caught by bad weather. I was forced to spend the night in an old cabin where I met a very intense young fellow who, for some reason, had a saw instead of a hand. He was (somehow) in possession of an evil book of Netherhells lore, and of course had foolishly used it to release a bunch of evil spirits that could reanimate the dead. If I hadn't come along, he would have been in real trouble, but fortunately my knowledge of magick allowed me to dispel all of the wicked bogeys in a trice.

At that point I remembered (with a vicious smack of my own forehead)that I had the ability to teleport. I notified my Ixie escort of my intentions and simply pooked as far North as I dared. From there I again pooked to the horizon, and again, and so on until I eventually found myself at the edge of the fabled North Woods.

What would Rebecca be like? We hadn't had a chance to speak at our last brief meeting. I hoped she and Burnside hadn't changed too much. Did they still talk about me? What if they were a couple now? I tried to think of vaguely positive things to say if that were the case. What if Rebecca had taken up knife-fighting? What if Burnside managed to turn her on to the joys of gutting and filleting live victims?

It occurred to me that I might be walking into a very dangerous situation. I paused and summoned my ixies to me.

[feckcops]

Our new financial masters

“Today, asset managers collectively own global housing and infrastructure assets worth, at a minimum, $4trn. The upshot is that asset managers are intimately implicated (albeit without most of us being aware of it) in everyday social life. They own, and extract income from, things – schools, bridges, wind farms and homes – that are nothing less than foundational to our being. Forty years ago, it would have been unthinkable that we would buy our gas from, make our parking payment to, or rent our home from a company like Blackstone. But this is the new reality.

“In a very physical, if also strangely intangible respect, all of our lives are now part of asset managers’ investment portfolios. Arguably, this is truer in Britain than anywhere else. Consider the quiet county of Kent in south-east England. The entire infrastructure of wastewater collection and treatment in the county, including tens of thousands of kilometres of sewers, is controlled by Macquarie, a leading Australian asset manager. Macquarie also controls much of Kent’s infrastructure of water supply ... Housing? Blackstone owns rental properties in the small Kentish town of Paddock Wood. Student housing? Chicago-headquartered Harrison Street owns digs in Canterbury. Care homes? New York-based Safanad controls homes in Dartford and Gravesend. Electricity generation? The UK’s Foresight Group owns solar farms at Paddock Wood, and Abbey Fields in Faversham. Transportation? Legal & General Investment Management owns parking spaces; Sweden’s EQT Partners owns charging stations for electric vehicles; PSP Investments of Canada owns train rolling-stock ...

“The faster the turnover of infrastructure and real-estate assets bought and sold by asset managers, the higher the returns. It doesn’t pay for fund managers to buy and hold the asset: it pays to buy it, and then sell it for a quick profit. They do whatever is needed to grow the incomes (such as rents or water rates) that the assets generate. They cut to the bone the costs incurred in operating those assets. Eying quick disposals, they have little interest in carrying out asset maintenance or repair for the long term.

“The dire consequences for the ordinary households whose lives are embedded in this asset manager-made world barely need stating. Being dependent on a real asset acquired by an asset manager – for shelter, energy supply, water or transportation – generally means higher costs and poorer-quality service, followed by considerable disruption when ownership changes hands just a few years later.”

[pixel-dreamz]

Here we are back in Chestnut Peak with the Carmine family! We arrive back with a very dapper Albert working away in his garden. Let's see what else they get up to in Round 2!

Trigger warning: This post deals with infant death. Keep in mind this is quite common in the era I am lightly replicating and thus a part of the challenge. If this makes you uncomfortable, please do not proceed under the cut.

Upon the start of fall, brings big changes for the family. First, we see the age up of our darling Piper Starla. She grows to look quite a bit like Eldora but with her daddy's eyes. Then we also welcome a new baby into the world. A little boy by the name of Emerson Albert. He would be the heir had it not been for the fact that he was born asleep. Albert and Eldora were helpless as they watched grim take their little one from them. Frozen in time, forever. Life did slowly move on for the family. They poured their heart and soul into little Piper, who also felt the loss of her younger brother. Albert distracted himself heavily with the crops, and Eldora with the house keeping. After many months of grief, they found themselves smiling and laughing again. And were finally able to try for another baby. This, like with Piper, proved difficult. In between the gardening and running the business, Albert loved to dote on his little girl. He helped her skill quite often and she reveled in her father's attention. The business received a positive review which meant that we were constantly selling out of our stock. This season was going much better than the first, at least in that regard. With winter looming, it became more important for the family to have the wood they needed. Albert regularly went to Central Park to collect some branches and water, and even stopped Clark passing by to buy some firewood from him. And with the crisp air of winter, Eldora and Albert tried once again to have another baby. We leave them cozied up in their bed with a fire roaring and the sweet sounds of baby Piper in her crib. Will their family ever grow again?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ End of round stats:

The business did not rank up, but they did get a positive review.

Eldora and Albert are both 26. Piper is 2.5.

The family made a fair bit of money this round and owed $541 at the end of it. They were left with $377. Much better than the summer round!

[polyamorousmisanthrope]

Lessons I am taking from generational trauma.

One was born in 1911. She was in her late teens when the Great Depression started. Stern, staunch, and stiff-lipped. Her home was very VERY clean.

My other grandmother was born in 1928. She was still in diapers when the Great Depression started and even though her father made decent money... He drank it. She sense of humor that I think calcified at 12 years old. A hoarder. Disorganized. Found it difficult to keep on top of housework. As she aged, it was not unusual for her daughters to converge at her house a week or so before major family holidays to clean her house.

I think, in part, the experience of the world coming down around their ears (or, in my maternal grandmother's case -- that's All She Knew! Want and deprivation) was very formative to how they coped with the world for the rest of their lives.

Grandma (the elder) dealt with uncertainty by controlling her environment. The house was neat, she had years of canned food stocked on her pantry shelves. She never risked buying anything too "nice" because that money might be needed at another time for something more urgent than Pretty.

Nanny never gave the future much of a thought. Why bother, right? Things out of your control could take it away in a heartbeat. But she was always ready for good food and a laugh, and she loved sitting her ass on the beach more than anything in the world.

Up until the Berlin Wall came down in 1989, I freely admit I was firmly in Nanny's camp. What with being constantly told we were going to die in a nuclear firestorm, I never expected to see thirty, so was badly prepared to be living well into my fifties. I'm very Behind as a grownup.

My approach now is to surf the razor's edge between these two women's outlooks.

Yes, "chop wood and carry water" because it is necessary, and you MIGHT have a future.

But I'm not so dumb as to think, "It can't happen here," so I make a lot of plans to ensure that there are moments of "now" that I try my best to enjoy ON PURPOSE.

'Cause real deal...

Who knows?

"I hate reality just as much as the next guy, but it's still the only place to get a decent meal"

- Groucho Marx

[flooringfxa]

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[insaraffurniture]

The Most-Awaited Diwali Sale Is Live [UPTO 40% OFF] Go Check Out – Saraf Furniture

 The much-anticipated Saraf Furniture Diwali Sale is now live and we couldn’t be happier! This is your lucky shot to bring branded solid wood furniture for your home with up to 40% discount. Diwali literally means ‘new’ and what can be new and better than starting fresh with some new furniture? 

But hurry up – these offers are available for a limited time only. Stock is limited, and with prices like these, pieces are flying off the shelves. Do not let this festive season pass without making changes to your house. Hurry and get your favourite furniture before they are OUT OF STOCK.

Why Is The Saraf Furniture Diwali Sale A Big Deal?

The Saraf Furniture 2024 Diwali Sale is not just another seasonal discount—it is a massive savings opportunity on great, solid wood furniture. 40% DISCOUNT, therefore, means that you are getting to shop premium items at a marked down price.

Saraf Furniture is known for its unique designs and craftsmanship, making this sale a rare chance to buy exceptional furniture at affordable prices. Whether you are thinking of restyling your house from top to bottom or simply renewing one or two pieces of furniture, this sale is the ideal time to buy well-made and attractive furniture that will last for years.

Top Categories To Explore In The Insaraf Furniture Diwali Sale

Saraf Furniture has something for every room. Here are some of the top categories to explore during the sale:

Category

Popular Items

Living Room

Sofas, Coffee Tables

Bedroom

Beds, Wardrobes, Nightstands

Home Office

Desks, Bookshelves

Dining Room

Dining Sets, Chairs

All these categories have high quality, individually made products of solid wood which are both durable and stylish. Whether it is a comfortable couch in which you can spend an evening reading a book or a dining table that will accommodate your family during dinner time, it is high time to make a purchase.

How To Make The Most Of The Saraf Furniture Sale In Diwali?

To maximise your savings, it’s important to be smart about shopping. Start by browsing the Saraf Furniture website early to get a sense of what’s available. Use filters to find exactly what you need, whether it’s a specific style, size, or colour. 

Make sure the items that you love are added to the card because items are getting sold instantly and may run OUT OF STOCK. 

Finally, don’t miss the  “Deal Of The Dayl” section where some items are cheaper than usual. Ideally, you should shop as early as possible to seize the day and buy the most fancy furniture before someone else buys them.

Limited-Time Offer—Don’t Wait!

This Diwali sale will not last forever. At a discount of up to 40%, it is an offer that is only valid for a short time. After the sale is over, the prices will go back to their normal charges, meaning there is no better time to purchase than now. 

Since items are selling fast, waiting may result in you losing that great dining table or living room sofa you have been wanting to purchase. 

Bear in mind that, Saraf Furniture has a reputation of having quality furniture and it is not a common occasion that they offer products at a lower price. Do not wait until this offer is off the shelf and the pieces you love are no longer available.

Final Thoughts—Why You Shouldn’t Miss Out?

This is the time to beautify your home with stunning and artistic handcrafted furniture offered by Insaraf Furniture at incredibly low prices. The Diwali sale going on offers up to 40% on a variety of products so it is the right time to shop stylish furniture. 

If you are looking to purchase new furniture for a new house, or if you just want to redecorate your current home, these offers will be the best for you. 

As the sale may end soon, don’t wait. Don’t miss this opportunity to save big on these products. Get them before the offers expire! Diwali comes once in a year so let your home shine.