#Antique Coaching Table

[thakefurniture]

Side Table, Dressing Table - 19th century mahogany coaching table. Solid folding top raised on X frame legs united with turned stretchers.

[kxsagi]

REQUEST IDEA 😼😼🔥🔥‼️

Reader goes on a family trip basically. BUT they bring their s/o. Reader's aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, and parents (or just their primary family in general) go to a somewhere for a get together. Could be a summer vacation, a winter skiing trip, an autumn trip outside the country, or anything else. Whichever vibes you want to go for 😋😋.

It's what people I know usually do but they let their kids bring their s/o and their family. So when a lot of the kids already have s/o's, it's gonna get harder and harder to take group photos😅😅. It's when the families are already familiar with each other enough yk.

And I wanna see character and reader's family interactions🔥🔥😋. How'd they interact with their little cousins, how they'd deal with interrogation from family members, how they'd try to win their family's favor, silly shenanigans they'd do with reader while on the trip, etc.

This is alrdy getting pretty long but I have to get this out. Scenario ideas!!! Reader's little cousins go through the character's bag. thats it lol. Embarrassing childhood stories. Interactions between the s/o's. "So what do you do?" conversations and other ppl answer "doctor/lawyer/engineer and other impressive sounding stuff" and the character just answers "...I play soccer" IDKK but it's fine in the end bc ppl probably know who they r. Speaking of, some person in the family fangirling/fanboying over the character bc they're rlly into soccer. NOT NECESSARY TO THE PROMPT THO so ignore this if you want🫶🫶

Any characters really but heh.... rin😼🥶😴😴🥶. Also now that I read over the prompt, this seems sooo Isagi. I don't really have a preferred format so it's up to you🫶. sorry if it's too long lmao 😭😭

“𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐯𝐬. 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲”

a/n: i am aware that everyone has different families, but for the sake of making it funny, i made reader’s family pretty chaotic!

ft. itoshi rin, isagi yoichi

𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐫𝐢𝐧

a/n: rin and sae are on good terms here! (art credits go to 1omya on X)

your family’s idea of a relaxing vacation was flying twelve hours to a quiet countryside villa in italy during peak autumn season, renting out an entire stone estate surrounded by vineyards, and somehow turning it into survivor: family edition. you knew it was going to be chaos the second your aunt asked in the group chat, “should we all bring our significant others?” and thirty messages later, the answer was yes. and that was how rin itoshi ended up in tuscany, standing stiffly in a turtleneck, carrying your pink suitcase like it personally insulted him, and regretting every life choice that led him here. 

“you okay?” you asked sweetly, looping your arm through his as you walked toward the villa. 

“i already hate it here,” he muttered. 

“you say that, but you look cute with the autumn leaves in your hair.” 

he deadpanned, “i’m going to throw myself into a wine barrel.” 

the villa was already buzzing when you arrived. your cousins were running through the vineyard like feral woodland creatures. your mom was yelling at someone to stop touching the antique chandelier. your dad was trying to operate a pizza oven. and your great aunt, who had just discovered the bidet, was giving an enthusiastic tutorial to anyone within earshot. rin looked like he was actively trying to astral project. 

then the interrogations started. 

“so, rin,” said one aunt, sipping her wine with the measured look of someone who professionally judges wine and people. “what do you do?” 

“i’m a soccer player,” rin said flatly. 

“oh, that’s nice,” she said with the tone of someone who thought that meant he coached toddlers. 

“professionally,” he added. “in europe.” 

someone at the table choked on a breadstick. 

“wait,” your cousin whispered, eyes wide. “wait. rin. rin itoshi?” 

“unfortunately,” he muttered, already sensing what was coming. 

“NO WAY. I FOLLOW YOUR FAN ACCOUNT,” they yelled, which immediately summoned a second cousin from across the villa who screeched “I HAVE HIS JERSEY SIGNED” and a third who appeared out of the hedges, clutching a soccer ball like a talisman. 

and that’s how rin was cornered at the dinner table, being grilled about world cup stats by three cousins and your aunt, who suddenly “remembered watching him play against spain.” meanwhile, another cousin was secretly filming him from behind a wine bottle like a biologist observing a rare animal. 

you leaned over and whispered, “having fun yet?” 

“your cousin just asked if i’d sign her forehead.” 

“you should. she said she’d tattoo it.” 

he blinked. “what the hell is wrong with your family?” 

“genetics.” 

somewhere in the chaos, your little cousins broke into his room and started going through his suitcase. you walked in on them holding his designer jacket like it was a relic from a museum. one of them tried to wear it. it reached the floor. another was snooping through his skincare bag. 

“what is this?” they asked, holding up his eye cream. 

“expensive,” he said, snatching it back. “put it down before i cry.” 

honestly, you were impressed with how he didn’t immediately flee to the airport. sure, he was grumpy 85% of the time and muttered threats like “i will fake my death and disappear into the hills,” but he also helped your cousin pick olives off the trees. he taught your younger cousin how to juggle a soccer ball and got way too into it. and when your grandma cornered him with a glass of homemade limoncello and asked if he loved you, he answered without hesitation. 

“yeah,” he said. “i do.” 

you didn’t hear it firsthand, but your grandma told everyone at breakfast. you couldn’t look at him without smirking. he threatened to put you in the pizza oven. 

rin’s family arrived a few days into the trip, and the contrast was hilarious. his mom was quiet and sweet, immediately bringing you a scarf she knitted and complimenting your italian. his brother sae showed up in sunglasses like he was there to cause problems on purpose. 

“yo,” sae said, sitting next to your dad. “you know your daughter’s out of rin’s league, right?” 

rin almost choked on his wine. 

somehow, the itoshis blended in perfectly. his mom and your mom started a wine club (which was just them drinking and ranking cheeses). his dad and your uncle bonded over espresso. sae teamed up with your cousin to build a bonfire that was technically illegal. someone’s dog peed on the vineyard. rin started drinking espresso like water. you weren’t sure if it was for the caffeine or emotional support. 

one night, after a chaotic dinner involving three languages, a spilled lasagna, and your aunt accidentally texting the wrong rin her apple strudel recipe (a kid in osaka got it), you pulled him aside into the garden. 

the moonlight lit the leaves gold. the air smelled like wine and pine and the burnt crust of whatever your uncle put in the pizza oven this time. you leaned on the railing. he stood next to you, arms crossed. 

“you survived,” you said. 

“barely.” 

“but you didn’t hate it?” 

he glanced at you. “your cousin asked if i was gonna propose.” 

you grinned. “and what did you say?” 

“… i said not with her watching.” 

you laughed, eyes crinkling. he looked at you like you hung the moon. 

“you really love me, huh?” you teased. 

he rolled his eyes. “you’re lucky you’re hot.” 

“so lucky.” 

and then, because it was your family and nothing was sacred, someone threw a wine cork at you from the balcony and yelled “GET MARRIED ALREADY!” 

you both turned. 

rin shouted back, “MIND YOUR BUSINESS.” 

you? you just laughed. because honestly? this was already better than any fairytale. just rin, your ridiculous family, and the chaos that made life sweet.

𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢 𝐲𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐢

a/n: art credits go to jyauii on X

you weren’t really sure what possessed you to bring isagi yoichi to your family’s yearly summer beach trip. maybe it was because your little cousins had been bugging you about your mysterious soccer boyfriend for months. maybe it was because your mom asked a little too sweetly if “yoichi could come, if he’s free, we’d love to have him.” or maybe it was because you wanted to see if he could survive your family’s unique brand of chaos. turns out? the man’s got survivor instincts. 

you’d barely parked the car before one of your younger cousins launched himself at isagi like a heat-seeking missile, declaring a wrestling match to establish dominance. “he’s testing you,” you said, deadpan, while isagi politely got tackled into the sand. 

“i think he wins,” isagi wheezed, pinned under a four-foot-tall ball of energy. 

the beach house was packed. like, “how did we pass the fire code” packed. your family didn’t just vacation, they migrated. aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, family friends, and that one mysterious extra person no one ever explained, everyone was here. and now, so was isagi, wearing his nicest shorts, polo shirt, and a hopeful smile, completely unaware that he was about to be questioned like a man on trial. 

your mom greeted him with a hug. your dad sized him up. your aunt took one look and whispered, “he looks polite. that’s suspicious.” you gave him a sympathetic pat on the back. “good luck,” you whispered. “they smell fear.” 

he handled it pretty well, all things considered. by the time dinner rolled around, he was already holding a baby in one arm and flipping burgers with the other, like some sort of domestic action hero. your grandma called him “helpful.” your uncle called him “a decent enough guy, for someone who wears ankle socks.” 

but of course, the moment of truth came during the infamous family dinner interrogation, where your relatives ask everyone under 40 what they do for a living, purely to judge silently afterward. 

“so, yoichi,” one of your uncles began, already swirling a glass of wine like a villain, “what is it that you do?” 

“i play soccer,” isagi replied, like a fool. silence. 

“for a local team?” another asked, squinting. 

“… i play professionally. in germany.” 

your aunt blinked. “for which team?” 

“bayern munchen.” 

a beat. then your cousin, who’d been silently scrolling under the table like a short-attention span ipad kid, let out a strangled squeak and went, “NO FREAKING WAY. YOU’RE ISAGI YOICHI? I HAVE YOUR FIFA CARD.” and that was that. 

it was over. 

your uncle’s wine glass trembled slightly. your younger cousins screamed. your grandma, bless her, just nodded and said, “ah. so he’s on television.” she then resumed eating her grilled fish like nothing happened. 

you could see the shift. suddenly, your relatives weren’t just tolerating isagi, they were trying to impress him. your cousin who once called soccer “just people kicking balls around” was now pretending he’d always been a diehard fan. your aunt googled how to say “go, isagi!” in german. your uncle who played a little in college suddenly decided it was time to “kick the ol’ ball around again,” which ended in him tripping over a cooler and blaming the sand. 

later that night, your younger cousins raided your shared suitcase and found a photo album his mom had secretly slipped in “for memories.” mistake. big mistake. 

“LOOK AT BABY YOICHI!” one cousin yelled, holding up a photo of isagi with his signature ahoge and bright yellow rain boots, pouting dramatically at the camera. “WHY IS HE CRYING HERE?” 

“his cake had no frosting,” you explained solemnly. “dark day.” 

another cousin flipped to a picture of him sleeping with a soccer ball clutched to his chest. “i’m gonna send this to my group chat.” 

“i’m being blackmailed by children,” isagi mumbled. 

you kissed his cheek. “you’re doing great, love.” 

honestly, he kind of was. he helped the kids build a sandcastle shaped like a turtle, he got tricked into joining a beach volleyball game where the ball hit him in the face twice, and he somehow ended up in a conga line started by your aunt after two piña coladas. it was beautiful. and terrifying. 

then his parents showed up. 

his mom brought handmade onigiri for everyone, which instantly won the hearts of your entire extended family. his dad complimented your dad’s grilling technique, which led to them bonding over charcoal like long-lost brothers. the two families mingled like this was the summer crossover event of the year. your mom and his mom were already planning a joint potluck. your grandma offered his dad a homemade remedy for back pain that involved vinegar and prayer. someone suggested a badminton match that turned into an all-out olympic-level war. it was perfect. 

as the night wound down and the fire pit crackled, you and isagi found a quiet moment alone by the shore. the moonlight glinted off the waves. laughter echoed from the deck behind you. you kicked off your shoes and sighed. 

“that was… a lot,” you said, leaning into him. 

“you think your uncle’s gonna send me that photo of me covered in ketchup?” he asked softly. 

“he said he’s using it as your contact picture.” 

he groaned and let his forehead fall against your shoulder. 

“yoichi?” 

“mm?” 

“thanks for coming.” 

he smiled into your skin. “you kidding? i’d survive a thousand uncles if it means getting to do this with you.” 

you grinned. “you really like me, huh?” 

“more than soccer.” 

“liar.” 

“… equal to soccer.” 

you nodded, satisfied. “i’ll take it.” 

and as you stood there, wrapped in his arms, sand between your toes and half your family plotting a family soccer tournament with him as the coach, you thought yeah. this was gonna be one hell of a vacation. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[pinkrangersarah]

some modern day f7 + snow things

merlin

merlin used to perform at kid's birthday parties as a magician throughout high school. although he stopped doing this, he still does magic as a hobby. sometimes he misses the kids because, unlike his roommates, they were always fascinated by his tricks.

he has black cat named yen sid who ignores everybody except for merlin (although jack is a pescetarian, so he 100% watches jack eat every single day and waits for an opportunity to steal his food). merlin tried building him a cat-io, but he kept injuring himself so the triplets pushed him out of the way and finished it themselves.

he teaches Korean at the community center part time.

his bad habit of impulsively buying more house plants has led to many of them dying.

the lord of the rings is his favorite book series of all time, and he has dressed up as gandalf on many occasions. (and, yes, he will be a nuisance and stand in front of doorways and shout 'you shall not pass')

fuck it, he also has a senior long-haired white cat named gandalf. he is much less of a goblin and the only one of the two cats allowed in jack's room.

mains pikachu in smash bros. has a secret pikachu onesie that only his roommates know about.

arthur

arthur is a part-time substitute gym coach at the local elementary school, but also owns and manages his own gym.

surprisingly does not have the best eating habits in spite of this. he's not necessarily unhealthy, but Jack once watched in horror as he downed a whole bag of cheeto puffs by himself.

the story of king arthur and the knights of the round table has a special place in his heart because that's who he was named after. monty python and the holy grail is his favorite movie.

he has a good-girl rottweiler named 'excalibur', which all of his friends agree is a dumb name for a dog so they just call her 'cali'. cali loves yen sid but yen sid does not return the feeling. gandalf tolerates her but steals her bed when she's been annoying, though this doesn't mean much since cali will just squeeze onto it with him.

he and merlin are half-brothers. their father is a police chief and their mother--arthur's step-mom and merlin's biological mom--is a school teacher.

has a crush on a girl who works in her grandmother's bakery and volunteers at the local wolf sanctuary. he added more red to his wardrobe when he found out it was her favorite color.

collects antique swords.

jack

step-son of a ceo who owns several jewelry and clothing stores. he co-manages one of them, though he hates his co-manager.

still very much a womanizer, to the point where arthur, hans, and merlin are constantly betting on how long his latest relationships will last.

jack has never really liked being alone. he likes his alone time, but has never liked the idea of living alone.

lowkey commitment issues due to his father's untimely death and his mother remarrying not even half a year after it. (also applies to canon)

suffers from mild insomnia and nightmares. jack used to sleepwalk as a child.

still pays the rent, plus the water bill since he uses the most of it.

has the spice tolerance of a toddler.

high-key literature snob but also a fan of music, so disney adaptations of classic stories are always complicated to him. he hates the story changes but he recognizes a good song and composition when he hears it.

has every single edition ever printed of all his favorite books.

jack has a complicated relationship with one of the workers at the bookstore. on one hand he finds her fascinating to talk to and they have similar interests, but on the other he also thinks of her as very weird due to her interest and affiliation with the occult (and the fact she's rebuffed him several times).

actually wears contact lenses, only wearing his glasses when absolutely necessary.

hans

hans is the son of a restaurateur. he works alongside his father as a sou chef. his twin sister, gretel, is a lawyer.

he doesn't have the heart to tell merlin, but he hates yen sid. as cute as the cat is, he's sick of chasing him out of the kitchen and cleaning up his messes, mainly the flour and soil he drags all over the house.

has kicked all of his roommates out of the kitchen at least once because none of them can cook and always make a mess.

likes gordon ramsay but can't stand to watch most of his shows.

he has to try them every single time oreo or kitkat comes out with an absurd new flavor.

abandonment issues. hans doesn't like being home alone, and will accompany whoever wherever just to avoid it.

weird al is his favorite creator that isn't a chef.

thanksgiving is his favorite holiday.

he made jack see a somnologist (a doctor specializing in sleep disorders) once because of his nightmares and mild insomnia, but it ended up jack insisting it was a waste of time and hans dating said somnologist.

pino, noki, and kio

their inventions became too much to keep in the garage, so they moved to the basement. they spend so much time down there, it's essentially their room/workshop.

they pay the electric bill since their inventions are what drive it up so high.

the three of them aren't into video games much, but they have spent hours on 'minecraft'.

kio is lowkey afraid of cali and endlessly tries to get yen sid to like him, always to no avail.

despite the fact they are always together and their mutual love for building, the triplets each have vastly different interests.

pino is very into crime and thrillers; listens to crime podcasts to relax and has seen every single episode of 'law and order'.

noki is into Trash™ (things that tend to be popular with a specific demographic, usually teenagers, and mocked by everyone else) and b-movies, and is also a lowkey hopeless romantic.

kio likes horror, but because he shows absolutely no reaction to anything merlin and arthur occasionally contemplate whether he's sane or not.

snow white

snow is the daughter of a deputy mayor. despite this, there are still plenty of people who don't treat her well because of her appearance. snow loves herself the way she is, though.

a regular at arthur's gym, actually, though he never noticed her til merlin started dating her.

snow eventually found out about merlin's secret pikachu onesie and thought it was cute, so she bought a matching one even though she's not very familiar with pokemon (merlin teaches her though).

'the princess bride' and 'stardust' are her favorite movies of all time.

apples used to be her favorite fruit.

likes to write in various different colored gel pens.

[deskgirl]

Fandom: Our Flag Means Death Rating: General Main Characters: Wee John, Izzy Hands Setting: Post-season 2, "nobody dies/everybody lives" timeline

For the Izzy and Crew Event, a slice of life piece. I'm posting this here for now, but I'll upload to AO3 eventually.

Excerpt:

“What the fuck’s a leisure activity?” the man asked, growing more confused and frustrated.

“Stuff you like doing. Like having fancy drinks and blowing stuff up just for fun and telling people to fuck off when they’re wasting your time.” Wee John paused for emphasis, holding his drink aloft. “So fuck off.”

~

Sharing a Drink

~

A rum bottle flew across the crowded bar and shattered. Someone flung a chair in response. The gift of a thrown chair was clearly not appreciated as it was returned with equal force. A pistol went off, smoke pluming up from a third table totally uninvolved in the dispute but clearly annoyed by the disturbance. Rather than settling things, though, this only encouraged more thrown objects in more directions, a fair number of them sharp and pointy. This was generally ignored by everyone else in the bar as they were too busy getting drunk or cheating at cards.

Standard fare for a “den of iniquity,” as Stede liked to call these pirate-friendly dives. Or was it den of antiquity? Something like that. This particular den of inebriety had become the crew’s new favorite tavern until Jackie could get herself reestablished. In a lot of places, the beer was shit, but the bar here served decent stuff, barely watered down at all. The atmosphere was kind of bougie, but the prices weren’t bad and you hardly ever had to step over a dead body on your way to the outhouse. 

Wee John relaxed on a bench seat tucked against the wall, resting his back as he guarded the drinks the crew had left with him before scattering to the wind. John’s corner table provided a nice vantage point to watch the doors and his friends as they got up to their usual shenanigans. 

Frenchie and the Swede were doing something by the dice tables that would probably get them kicked out before the night was over, Jim was coaching a nervously laughing Oluwande through a game of darts against Archie and Zheng, and he thought he saw Lucius and Black Pete necking in the shadows by the coat rack. Zheng’s scary aunt had been here a minute ago, but John saw her slip out through the kitchen and knew better than to ask questions. 

“Whoa, look at you!” 

Wee John glanced sidelong at the man who’d staggered up to his table. He was about average as far as pirates went: a smattering of piercings, tasteful battle scar here and there, bit of gunpowder under the nails, short beard that needed a proper trim and oil, and a dusty leather jacket over what was probably the only shirt the man had to his name.

The unwanted visitor was also clearly deep in his cups, judging by his gaping expression and faint swaying. 

“Yer a big bastard,” the man continued. 

“That so?” Wee John asked as if it were news to him.

The other man paused, perplexed. “Yeah, mate.”

“You should see my brother. There’s a reason everyone calls me Wee John,” Wee John said, going back to sipping his drink. It was a fancy little thing in a narrow glass, orangey pink with a curl of grapefruit peel on top. He’d been feeling fancy when they all came in here riding high on their last raid, and nothing said fancy like a garnish. 

“I bet,” the other pirate laughed, dropping his hands to the table heavily. The crew’s drinks rattled and sloshed. “Let’s see what you can do, yeah? Arm wrestle, what’cha say?”

“No thanks. It’s my day off.”

“Your what?”

“My day off,” Wee John explained. “It’s like a mini vacation.”

“What’s a vacation?” 

“It’s a day when you don’t work. You’re supposed to do leisure activities.”

“What the fuck’s a leisure activity?” the man asked, growing more confused and frustrated.

“Stuff you like doing. Like having fancy drinks and blowing stuff up just for fun and telling people to fuck off when they’re wasting your time.” Wee John paused for emphasis, holding his drink aloft. “So fuck off.”

“You–!” The other man reared back, teeth bared, then lunged at Wee John. John distantly hoped that he’d come around the table instead of vaulting it. It’d be a real dick move if he knocked over everyone’s drinks. 

Suddenly the man went very still, his body hunched forward, arms out and shoulders stiff, all of his forward momentum halted by the feather-light touch of a blade at his throat. 

“I know you’re not fucking with my crew,” a familiar voice rasped from behind the drunk man. Izzy Hands stepped to the side and tilted his head so the unfortunate bastard could have a better look at who’d gotten the jump on him.

The drunk pirate’s eyes widened comically. “You’re…”

Izzy let the man flounder for a moment, clearly enjoying the recognition. “I am.” He eyed the other man up and down, taking his time, then sucked his teeth as if disappointed. God but he was a dramatic little shit. Wee John found it rather endearing now that it was being directed at someone else. 

“I didn’t know he was with you, Mr. Hands, I swear,” the man said. He still hadn’t moved and neither had Izzy’s knife. 

“That’s unfortunate,” Izzy said with a dash of fake sympathy. There was a long pause where John had the satisfaction of watching a fat drop of sweat roll down the man’s temple and into his beard. Then Izzy sniffed and slowly drew the blade away. “Luckily for you, I’m in an unusually good mood. Now, take my man Mr. Feeney’s advice and fuck off before I change my mind.” When the man continued to stand there, he made a shooing gesture with his knife.

As if an invisible cord had been cut, the man backpedaled wildly, bumped into someone behind him who spilled their beer and started swearing, then spun and ran off.

Izzy held himself tall for a moment longer before slowly deflating, leaning his hip against the table for support. Wee John recognized the signs of fatigue. The little man had pushed himself hard yesterday during the raid. Probably made himself sore the same as Wee John had with his back. 

“Hey,” Wee John called. When Izzy looked over, he patted the spot on the bench to his left.

Izzy hesitated before carefully shifting his weight and coming around the table. He startled when Wee John took hold of his elbow but didn’t protest the help as he eased himself down onto the bench. 

“Drink?” Wee John asked.

“You offering?” 

Wee John waved a hand at the table. “Crew’s offering.”

Izzy snorted softly as he perused the selection of abandoned drinks. After a bit of thought, he went for the half-tankard of ale. 

“Whose is this?” Izzy asked idly. He gave it a sniff before tipping it back to take a drink, not waiting for Wee John’s reply first.

“Archie’s,” Wee John said. “You know, I coulda handled that guy.”

“I know,” Izzy reassured as he wiped at the corners of his mouth with his thumb. “But like you said, it’s your day off. You’re not getting paid to work off the books so don’t bother.”

“That how you’re gonna play it?” Wee John gave his shoulder a squeeze. “You could just admit you like us, you stubborn little fucker.”

“I could also just jump in the bay.” 

Wee John chuckled. 

“Anyways, don’t act like I’ve done you any real favor.” Izzy gestured with his newly acquired tankard. 

When Wee John looked, he could see the drunk bastard who’d run off now sat at a table near the door and speaking heatedly to another man. He looked somewhat better kempt, with a long, red coat and dark hair tied at the nape of his neck. He was flanked by two bruisers who seemed intent on the conversation as well. 

“That’ll be his captain,” Wee John guessed. “They’re gonna jump us when we leave the bar.”

Izzy hummed in agreement.

“Should we tell the others? Leave out the back?”

Izzy eyed what was left in the tankard before throwing it back. He let out a satisfied sigh. “No need to ruin the crew’s fun. What’s a vacation without a bit of bloodshed?” 

“I don’t think you know what a vacation is.”

“Nope,” Izzy agreed. “Now pass me that drink with the lime wedge in it.”

[mudhamster]

CHWHWN: 28. December - " 4 days left"

The holidays were a whirlwind of Kacchan's snarky relatives with lots of opinion, way too much food, and mulled wine in the backyard.

It was nothing like the quiet atmosphere he used to share with his mother in the days between Christmas and New Year's. They usually did puzzles, watched TV reruns, or went for walks in the snow. At no time did he feel the urgent need to leave the room to catch his breath.

But with Kacchan, from the moment he set foot in the kitchen as the new odd guy, it was a state of exception. Kacchan fit into the picture like one of a dozen noodles in a pot, but he stood out like the only spinach-flavored fusilli, if you knew what those looked like. Izuku didn't really know why, but it seemed like everyone in this house wanted to meet him. He could tell the difference between Masaru's side of the family and Mitsuki's side of the family by the sheer ferocity with which his hand was shaken. Regardless of the eyes.

At the of the first day, he felt like an over-announced surprise guest who was nothing but a disappointment in the end. (Even if everyone kept telling him how sweet he was). And the uncle, the 'useless' uncle who slept in the guest room, was not useless at all in his opinion. Sure, he didn't design designer clothes or coach the upper class on the latest superfoods or diets… he was 'just' the boss of a giant fast food chain...?!

On the second day of Christmas, when the atmosphere was a little quieter because it was mostly Masaru's relatives sitting around the campfire, Izuku thought for the first time how it would be to actually be here together. How it would make him feel. To be a fully accepted part of the family. To sit around the fire and roast marshmallows as Kacchan's partner every year. Not to burst with emotion when Kacchan brought him a second pillow from inside, seeing that he was cold despite being so close to the fire. He was ready to go all out if the slightest chance presented itself.

Today was Thursday, the second day that the house was empty because everyone was back at work. The uncle had left as well… but the futon (which didn't smell like death, by the way, but rather like antique lavender oil) was still lying next to Kacchan's bed. They could have put it away, but it made sense to sit on it in the evening and watch all the All-Might interviews Kacchan's parents had recorded over the years. And whether it seemed possible or not, there had been two so far that Izuku hadn't known.

At the moment, Izuku was sitting in the kitchen reading the newspaper when he heard Kacchan stomping down the stairs. He had a training appointment with Eijirou in a little over an hour, as exemplary as he was.

He heard the classic groan of the handrail as Kacchan skipped the last few steps and jumped straight into the hallway outside the kitchen door, pushing an empty cup next to the coffee pot. Kacchan burst through the door and shot him a smirk when he spotted him at the table. "Anything interesting?" With a hidden smile, Izuku watched as Katsuki poured himself a cup of coffee and slid into the chair opposite him. "Nope. But they've published a calendar of events for New Year's." The newspaper was snatched out of his hand and turned once. While Katsuki skimmed over the listings, Izuku lowered his face into his hand and silently watched as he burned the tip of his tongue on the fresh coffee. Another tiny memory that would burn itself into the corners of his brain forever. Just like the time they spent together in the evening. Or when Mitsuki burnt the crème brûlée at the last moment and kicked them both out with far too much money to buy a replacement dessert. It had been a turbulent few days, but he had never been as happy as he was here with Kacchan. "So, Shrine?" Kacchan asked across the table, turning back the newspaper and marking the shrine he had obviously chosen with a tiny burn mark, "You and me?" He let his eyes wander over the display and took a deep breath. The shrine he had chosen was much more traditional than the one on the outskirts of the city center. They would have to travel some distance out of the city and into the mountains. "What about the rest of your family?" "They come too. Someone has to drive, or do you think I'll take the train in this outfit? Tch." Ah, the outfit. Izuku had thought it was some kind of advertisement… but in fact, the people in front of the shrine among the snowy trees and mountains were exceptionally… colorful. "Do you even have a kimono?" "N-no," he replied, and Kacchan sank back into the chair, his lips curled into a thoughtful pout. Izuku flipped a page, back to the local shrines, and handed the paper back to Kacchan, "I've only ever been normal…" "You've never been inside, to the altar?" …To the altar. Ugh. "No." "Hm." Izuku was burning with curiosity. What kind of altar? But Kacchan closed the newspaper, dumped the rest of his black coffee into the sink and saluted him before leaving him to wonder alone in the kitchen.

[butternuggets-blog]

DRACULA: A Modern Adaptation

My script for a modern tv adaptation of Dracula, based on the novel by Bram Stoker Also on AO3

EPISODE TWO

201     EXT. CASTLE DRACULA

There is a figure standing inside the now-open door, far enough back that Jonathan has room to enter. It is DRACULA, holding an antique silver lamp, standing stock still like the world’s most awkward dinner date.

DRACULA

[in English] Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own will!

That was a strange turn of phrase. Perhaps something was lost in translation. Dracula’s English is heavily accented and practised but slow, each word carefully chosen. He is new to the language. He looks like a tall, old man with white hair.

Jonathan steps across the threshold. His fate is sealed.

Dracula, smiling, darts forward and shakes Jonathan’s hand. Jonathan winces; his grip is too strong, too tight, and the flesh deathly cold.

JONATHAN

Count Dracula?

Dracula nods.

DRACULA

I am Dracula. Come in; the nights are cold in the mountains and you must be starved.

JONATHAN

I am quite hungry, yes, but if it’s too much trouble-

DRACULA

No trouble at all!

202     TRACKING SHOT - INT. CASTLE DRACULA – DINING ROOM

Dracula leads Jonathan “along the passage…up the staircase…and along another passage” to the dining room [possibly a drawing room, judging by the description in the novel] set with plates for dinner but no food. Dracula opens a side door and shows Jonathan the guest bedroom and ensuite bathroom.

203     INT. CASTLE DRACULA – GUEST BEDROOM

DRACULA

Please, wash your hands and refresh yourself, and I will summon the servants to come and lay out dinner.

Dracula leaves.

204     INT. CASTLE DRACULA – GUEST BEDROOM ENSUITE

Jonathan washes his hands, noticing that the bathroom has no mirror.

JONATHAN

That’s odd.

205     INT. CASTLE DRACULA – DINING ROOM

Jonathan leaves the bathroom and returns to the dining room where Dracula is waiting. He is pleasantly surprised to see that the table is laden with a feast: “..roast chicken…some cheese and a salad…and a bottle of old Tokay, of which [Jonathan has] two glasses”. He sits down and begins to eat.

JONATHAN

My compliments to the chef.

DRACULA

I will pass it along.

Dracula is sitting opposite Jonathan, at the head of the table. He is not eating.

JONATHAN

[gesturing] You won’t…

DRACULA

No, thank you. I have dined already tonight, and I do not sup.

He speaks fluent English with an intonation from another time.

JONATHAN

Oh, before I forget-

Jonathan pulls out an envelope and hands it to Dracula. He opens it and retrieves the letter inside, unfolding it.

Dracula tuts, sympathetically.

DRACULA

Gout; a painful condition indeed. Mr Hawkins has great faith in you!

JONATHAN

I should hope so; he helped train me!

DRACULA

Oh?

JONATHAN

While I was still doing my solicitor training in Exeter he let me sort papers and answer phones in his office. And now I work for him! It’s all come together quite brilliantly, really.

DRACULA

And led you here to me! Tell me, how are you finding our little part of the world?

JONATHAN

The Carpathians are…quaint. Very rural…not that there’s anything wrong with keeping to tradition! It’s good to be able to hold onto culture.

DRACULA

Our traditions are what is holding this country back! We need to divorce the past and marry the future if we are to survive this evolving world.

Jonathan looks self-conscious. He wants to ask an awkward question but isn’t sure how to broach the subject. He goes for it.

JONATHAN

…on the ride here, the people in the coach were calling you-…things.

DRACULA

Ordog? Stregoica?

Jonathan nods.

DRACULA

Capitalism makes monsters of us all. I am an eternal optimist looking to raise people to the exalted peaks of the twenty-first century, and everyone else prefers to consign themselves to mud.

Wolves howling outside cuts through the conversation, startling Jonathan. He looks nervous; Dracula takes notice, smiles.

DRACULA

Ah, you city dwellers. But you must be tired. Sleep well and dream well, and stay abed as long as you want. I have to be away till the afternoon.

Dracula stands up; Jonathan does as well. Dracula opens Jonathan’s bedroom door for him, bows deeply, and leaves.

206     FADE IN – INT. CASTLE DRACULA – GUEST BATHROOM ENSUITE

It is day again; late afternoon specifically. Jonathan, dressed messily in pyjamas and a bathrobe, walks sleepily into the bathroom. He pulls a toilette bag out and is surprised to find that his modern mirror has been replaced with an antique silver-backed hand mirror.

207     FLASHBACK - INT. GOLDEN KRONE HOTEL – ROOM SEVEN

The Old Man rifles through Jonathan’s belongings. He swaps out the mirror with the antique, pocketing it.

208     INT. CASTLE DRACULA – LIBRARY

Montage of Jonathan getting dressed, having breakfast, and entering a library. Jonathan is astonished; he wanders the room slowly, with a look of wonder on his face. As he moves in a slow circle around the library, carefully inspecting the collection, the windows set in the walls behind him show the sped-up setting of the sun.

The library collection holds many glossy, modern books, magazines and newspapers. They are in excellent shape if well-read and all dated to the early 2000s. There is a Whitaker’s Almanac on a table sitting beside Jonathan’s work document case.

Go wild set dressers! Throw in some Lonely Planet, some National Geographic. Whatever’s funniest!

The Count enters the room.

DRACULA

[gesturing to the bookcases] I see you have found my friends!

JONATHAN

You have an impressive collection.

DRACULA

I thank you. I have tried to capture London, and England, within these walls but the true spirit of a country must be experienced! It cannot simply be read. I have taught myself English but even that…[vague gesture]…to speak words in another tongue I have only parroted back to myself; it is not enough to know the grammar and form, I must be fluent!

JONATHAN

But you do! You speak very well, especially for being self-taught.

DRACULA

[raises a finger] “Very well” is not fluent. Here I am noble, I am boyar. The people know me and their place and I am master. But if I am a stranger in a strange land, one who cannot make myself understood with the correct inflections, the correct intonation…no. You must correct me when I make error-

JONATHAN

Make ‘an’ error.

DRACULA

What?

JONATHAN

You mean…um…when you make “an” error.

Dracula smiles warmly, “…his lips [run] back over his gums, the long, sharp, canine teeth showed out strangely…”, his arms wide. Jonathan blinks at the fangs but he’s British; politely ignoring the eccentric appearance of wealthy people is in his bones.

DRACULA

There! You see? I am learning already. Now, tell me about the house you have purchased for me in England.

JONATHAN

Oh! Yes.

He retrieves a sheaf of papers from his document case. The bag has a four-digit combination lock; one…seven…zero-seven, Mina’s birthday.

JONATHAN

The estate is called Carfax…

209     INT. CASTLE DRACULA – LIBRARY

A montage begins of Jonathan and Dracula reviewing and signing the paperwork for the estate.

Jonathan pulls out printed maps and blueprints for Carfax. He shows Dracula drone-shot photographs, and has him sign a thick sheaf of forms.

Behind them, night moves on.

Dracula leaves temporarily; while he’s gone Jonathan packs away his forms and circuits the library again. Reading the spines, he finds a well-worn book with no title. It’s an atlas; it falls open in Jonathan’s hands to a map of England.

[Camera zooms in] There are three places circled; the area in Purfleet where Carfax is, Exeter and Whitby.

210     [FADE-IN] INT. CASTLE DRACULA – DINING ROOM

The perspective fades through the map to show Dracula and Jonathan seated in the dining room again, talking and eating- well, Jonathan is eating- dinner. Perspective fades through the scene again; now they are sitting before the fire, still talking, Jonathan nursing a crystal glass of brandy.

A loud rooster crow sounds from outside the castle. Dracula, startled by the noise, jumps to his fleet.

DRACULA

Look at the time; it is dawn again! I apologise for keeping you up, my friend, you must get some sleep. You are far too interesting a tour guide for new home!

Dracula bows politely as Jonathan smiles, pleased and self-effacing. Jonathan returns the bow as he stands; he turns slightly to put the glass down on a side table beside his chair and when he turns back Dracula has vanished.

211 INT. CASTLE DRACULA – GUEST BEDROOM

Jonathan is lying asleep in bed, twitching, tossing and turning restlessly. Eventually he comes out of REM sleep and sighs heavily; it’s clear he is not going to get much sleep.

Jonathan opens his eyes and gets out of bed.

212 INT. CASTLE DRACULA – GUEST BATHROOM

Jonathan is shaving, the camera focussed on his reflection in the silver-backed mirror which shows the audience the entirety of the room.

As he scrapes the safety razor down one cheek, there is a visible depression on his right shoulder as if someone is placing a hand there even though there is no one standing behind him in the mirror.

DRACULA

Good morning

Jonathan startles. The razor slips. Jonathan hisses in pain and drops the razor; he fumbles with his toilette bag for a plaster but an inhumanely strong grip on his shoulder forces him to turn around. Up this close Dracula seems a little younger; one or two fewer wrinkles, and there is grey peppering his white hair.

There is a hungry fury blazing in his eyes.

Dracula lunges for Jonathan – aiming for his face? His throat? Jonathan stumbles back a step and the movement shifts the crucifix up and out from beneath his shirt a little.

Dracula’s fingers brush the beads and he snaps back as if slapped. Jonathan, breathlessly, and Dracula, resentful, eye each other for a long moment.

DRACULA

Be careful with yourself. Bleeding can be more dangerous than you think in this country.

JONATHAN

…I know..germs…

DRACULA

Mmm

Dracula suddenly grabs the mirror and dashes it against the wall. It shatters. Jonathan gapes at the sudden carnage. He does not notice that Dracula has vanished.

JONATHAN

Wha-

He is standing in the bathroom alone.

213     INT. CASTLE DRACULA – DINING ROOM

Jonathan leaves his rooms and finds breakfast set for him in the dining room. Dracula is not there.

[fade out, scene overlap] Jonathan wipes his mouth with a napkin, and gets up from his chair, having finished his breakfast. He starts to leave.

214     INT. CASTLE DRACULA

[Aerial shot] Jonathan walks the corridors. A few doors, close to the guest quarters; [close up shot; side profile] Jonathan tries one door but, rattling the handle, finds it locked.

He is confused; many old manors shut up sections of the house if they are disused or in need of repair but this room is close to his own, clearly clean and well-used. It should be fine.

He lets his fingers drag on the door handle as he releases it. Dust. Jonathan looks confused and deeply concerned.

[Close up shot; side profile] Jonathan dashes to another door. [Close up shot] Dust on Jonathan’s fingers; another locked room.

A montage of frantic hands rattling dusty, locked doorknobs attached to various doors. [Aerial shot] Jonathan runs deeper into the castle, [various camera angles] finding more and more doors to numerous rooms locked tight. At first they were mostly clean; by the end Jonathan is reaching through thick cobwebs and layers of dust to try the doors.

Jonathan has double-backed on himself and stops. Light from a blue sky shines through the gap in the walls. Jonathan walks forward.

215     EXT. CASTLE DRACULA - BALCONY

[Aerial shot] The hall is leading him out onto a balcony. “…The view [is] magnificent…the castle is on the very edge of a terrible precipice…a thousand feet [down]. As far as the eye can see is a sea of green treetops, with occasionally a deep rift where there is a chasm. Here and there are silver threads where rivers wind in deep gorges through the forests.”

[Upper bust shot; close up] Jonathan slumps, pale-faced and shaking, against the balcony railing. The full horror of his situation finally sinks in.

He is a prisoner.

JONATHAN

[shakily] He's his own servants. ...that's actually quite impressive.

He does not like he finds his remark funny. He looks terrified.

AUTHOR'S NOTES

For Mina's birthday, I used the day and month of Florence Balcombe's birth. She was Bram Stoker's wife.

[campbitch]

below the cut you will find the shadyside high school yearbook, featuring the senior class of 1998.

TRISHA CONRAD:

likes — shopping in the mall her dad owns, gary fresno, giving fabulous parties

remembers — the murder game, the senior table at pete's pizza

dislikes — rich girl jokes, bad karma, overalls

quote — "what you don't know will hurt you."

CLARK DICKSON:

likes — debra lake, poetry, painting

remembers — trisha's party, the first time he saw debra

dislikes — nicknames, dentists, garlic pizza, tans

quote — "fangs for the memories."

JENNIFER FEAR:

likes — basketball, antique jewelry, cool music

remembers — the doom spell, senior cut day, hanging with trisha and josie

dislikes — the way people are afraid of the fears, pierced eyebrows

quote — "the only thing to fear is fear itself."

JADE FELDMAN:

likes — cheerleading, expensive clothes, working out

remembers — ice cream and gab fests with dana

dislikes — cheerleading captains, ghosts, sat prep courses

quote — "you get what you pay for."

GARY FRESNO:

likes — hanging out by the bleachers, art class, gym

remembers — cruising down division street with the guys,

dislikes — his beat up civic, working after school every day, cops

quote — "don't judge a book by it's cover."

KENNY KLEIN:

likes — jade feldman, chemistry, latin, baseball

remembers — the first time he beat marla newman in a debate, junior prom with jade

dislikes — nine year olds who like to torture camp counselors, cafeteria food

quote — "look before you leap."

DEBRA LAKE:

likes — sensitive guys, tennis, clark's poems

remembers — baskeetball games, when clark painted her portrait

dislikes — possessive boyfriends and jealous girlfriends

quote — "i would do anything for you, but i won't do that."

STACY MALCOLM:

likes — sports, funky hats, shopping

remembers — running laps with mary, stuffing our faces at pete's, mr. morley and rob

dislikes — psycho killers, stealing boyfriends

quote — "college, here i come!"

JOSH MAXWELL:

likes — debra lake, debra lake, debra lake

remembers — hanging out at the old mill, senior camp out, coach's pep talks

dislikes — funeral homes, driving his parents' car, tomato juice

quote — "sometimes you don't realize the truth until it hits you right in the neck."

JOSIE MAXWELL:

likes — black clothes, black nail polish, black lipstick, photography

remembers — trish's first senior party, the memorial wall

dislikes — algebra, evil spirits (including marla newman), being compared to her stepbrother josh

quote — "the past isn't always the past — sometimes it's the future."

MICKEY MEYERS:

likes — jamming with the band, partying, hot girls

remembers — swimming in fear lake, the storm, his first gig at the underground

dislikes — dweebs, studying, girls who diet, station wagons

quote — "shadyside high rules!"

MARLA NEWMAN:

likes — writing, cool clothes, being a redhead

remembers — yearbook deadlines, competing with kenny klein, when josie put a spell on me (ha ha)

dislikes — girls who wear all black, guys with long hair, the dark arts

quote — "the power is divided when the circle is not round."

MARY O'CONNOR:

likes — running, ripped jeans, hair spray

remembers — not being invited to trisha's party, rat poison

dislikes — social studies, rich girls, cliques

quote — "just say no."

DANA PALMER:

likes — boys, boys, boys, cheerleading, short skirts

remembers — senior camp out with mickey, homecoming, the back seat

dislikes — private cheerleading performances, fire batons, sharing clothes

quote — "the bad twin always wins."

DEIDRE PALMER:

likes — mysterious guys, sharing clothes, old movies

remembers — the cabin in the fear street woods, sleepovers at jen's

dislikes — being a "good girl", sweat socks

quote — "what you see isn't always what you get."

WILL REYNOLDS:

likes — the turner family, clubbing, playing guitar

remembers — the first time clarissa saw him without his dreads, our booth at pete's

dislikes — lite fm, the clinic, lilacs

quote — "i get knocked down, but i get up again..."

TY SULLIVAN:

likes — cheerleaders, waitresses, fears, psychics, brains, football

remembers — the graveyard with you know who, kenny klein's lucky shot

dislikes — painting fences, valentine's day

quote — "the more the merrier."

CLARISSA TURNER:

likes — art, music, talking on the phone

remembers — shopping with debra, her first day back to school, eating pizza with will

dislikes — mira block

quote — "real friendship never dies."

MATTY WINGER:

likes — computers, video games, star trek

remembers — the murder game (good one, trisha)

dislikes — people who can't take a joke, finding clark's cape with josh

quote — "don't worry, be happy."

PHOEBE YAMURA:

likes — cheerleading, gymnastics, big crowds

remembers — that awesome game against waynesbridge, senior trip, tailgate parties

dislikes — when people don't give it their all, liars, vans

quote — "today is the first day of the rest of our lives."

***stacey, will, clarissa, and phoebe are poc, being depicted in their images as black (stacey, will, clarissa) and asian (phoebe).

[hellogirlslikegirlslikeboysdo]

And the lights are not fluorescent, and there are no words on the page. - Literary Communities Essay

Author's Preface and Ch. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7

Description: My final portfolio for one of the creative writing courses I took based around exploring the creative nonfiction essay in its many literary forms, with any and all identifying names or signifiers censored out.

In my many years as the daughter of a full-time teacher (in companion with my few years as the daughter of two full-time teachers), I have bore unwitting witness to a myriad of violations of the human spirit. One wide and ever-expanding enough to fuel one of those documentaries that makes people tear up in the theater and leave telling each other something along the lines of “Wow, that was so deep.”, over and over and back and forth.

I’ve seen class disparities become educational disparities, the breakdown of the overarching student drive and the subsequent breakdown of the heart of teaching (aka the literal teachers themselves, the deterioration of licensing standards for teachers across the board. I was even (un)lucky enough to gather around the dinner table, each and every sorry night, to be sorely reminded of most below-the-college grade level educator’s mainly shared experience of taking second retail or service jobs to balance out their salaries that are blatantly below minimum wage, intense and inescapable job creep, and their time wasted by the endless meeting and group exercises and always unraveling assignments and requirements, always at the cruel hand of the undeniably cruel act of having each and every decision they make in regards to their own classroom scrutinized, critiqued, and forcibly “mended” by politicians, principals, and committees with absolutely no experience in their line of work, nor clue what the everliving heck they are on about.

I will not even bother, my dear School Superintendent, with the regurgitation of my dear mother’s testimony of the grueling and degrading reality of teaching Pre-K within the state of Florida today, along with the past 25+ years. You do not, I presume, need that burden of knowledge anymore than I do.

However, just like the previously mentioned theoretical documentary, awareness of these issues is usually meant with the proverbial “Damn, that sucks dude.”, followed by the gradual chatter of resumed conversations and the scattering of unfazed individuals.

In the interest of actually having something done about even just a tiny, miniscule part of literally any of this, I am writing to you today an introduction of a concrete proposal concerning the overwhelming need for a comprehensive writing program in [REDACTED] elementary schools’ shared [REDACTED]’s curriculum. For years, teachers have used antiquated means and methods to teach creative writing, failing to teach anything that truly sticks with their students outside of the educational environment, let alone anything that applies to the world of creative writing outside of said environment. My proposal calls for a group of reading/literacy coaches and experts, experienced in the field of creative writing and training and instructing others, to direct work and collaborate with teachers to train them for the effects of the implementation of a proposed replacement writing program.

With your approval, this proposal will be later presented to the School Board and all teachers and principals statewide, for funding and/or collaboration with this plan. Thank you for your time.

[themculibrary]

Fics with Two-Word Titles Masterlist 2

part one

Antique Explosion (ao3) - emma98 darcy/steve T, 3k

Summary: Bucky Barnes doesn't have a lot to laugh about. But Darcy noticed that whenever she inappropriately flirted or talked about Steve Rogers, Bucky had a little chuckle.

So she'll take one for the team and sexually harass Captain America in order to get the Winter Soldier to smile. Someone has to do it.

(Darcy flirts relentlessly and poorly with Steve until he breaks).

Balancing Instincts (ao3) - Xennie_B steve/tony T, 7k

Summary: A/B/O fic: When Steve gets hit with a weapon and its effects cause his dynamic to change, Tony is unsure how their relationship is going to continue.

Dearly Beloved (ao3) - Hollyspacey darcy/steve E, 21k

Summary: Darcy has 99 problems, and her first assignment for SHIELD is, like, 98 of them.

As if going back home to deal with all of the people who made her childhood miserable wasn't bad enough, she's also stuck in holy matrimony with a surly supersoldier who can't even deal with her under normal circumstances.

deep dive (ao3) - Deisderium steve/bucky E, 16k

Summary: In which single dad Bucky Barnes has a crush on his daughter’s dive team coach and thirsts awkwardly. That’s it, that’s the fic.

Desert Glass (ao3) - nicasio_silang howard/maria M, 4k

Summary: Her father still isn't home. Her mother is dead, but Maria has her scarlet red lipstick, and her dark, clever eyes. She's made herself a ham and cucumber sandwich; she lies on her bed and takes small bites upside-down, the fission book splayed open across her stomach. She considers the life of the spy Howard thinks she is.

Dialling Tones (ao3) - Run_Ravager_Run T, 11k

Summary: Gamora is making calls in the middle of the night, Rocket is building dangerous contraptions at the breakfast table, Drax is a terrible cook, and Peter suspects his newfound family is rupturing at the seams.

Do-Over (ao3) - gottalovev steve/tony T, 14k

Summary: Steve woke up six months ago into a future that leaves him indifferent. There is work, and not much else. His current mission is a basic search and rescue operation to retrieve an American who was kidnapped by a terrorist group ten days ago. He won’t let the fact that the hostage is Howard’s son be a distraction.

Grease-stained (ao3) - nekare pepper/tony T, 4k

Summary: This is what being Iron Man is.

Kissin’ Dynamite (ao3) - crime_fighting_spiderling pepper/tony, mj/peter G, 27k

Summary: Where Peter and his class go on a field trip to Stark Tower.

Mandatory Fun (ao3) - Neverever steve/tony T, 6k

Summary: Steve loses a bet to Tony and has to go to Las Vegas for a fun-filled vacation. Or it was fun until people started thinking that they were married.

Moonlight Serenade (ao3) - emma98 darcy/steve M, 3k

Summary: The moon is still hanging high in the sky after the Avengers beat Thanos back, and the humidity is probably just as high as that moon.

Darcy’s SWEAT is sweating, but she’s wandering in the woods anyway, when she happens upon a moonlit pond, a couple of naked people, and the perverted opportunity of a lifetime.

Moving Home (ao3) - loves_buckybarnes layla el-faouly/steven/marc E, 38k

Summary: Layla is missing living in Cairo so she asks Steven and Marc if they want to move to Cairo, her father left her the house in her name, the house she grew up in, so they decide to go visit and see if they want to live there.

No Regrets (ao3) - Heather pepper/tony M, 4k

Summary: She receives fifty text messages in under seven minutes when the bombs go off in Vienna.

Five thousand miles apart, not currently speaking, and not technically more involved than as company owner and CEO, and Pepper's still the first point of contact people think of when the world wants to know, Is Tony Stark okay?

Paris, 1956 (ao3) - Wikiaddicted723 (orphan_account) bucky/natasha E, 5k

Summary: The Algerian War spills over the streets of Paris, and the KGB's best assets have been sent to pour fuel into the fire. Posing as the ideal married couple--young, beautiful, and nauseatingly in love--the Black Widow and the Winter Soldier must prevent the Algerian Peace Envoy from ending the conflict.

Unknown and overlooked in a foreign country, away from the ever-looming threat of their handlers, they take a moment. Resume their affair.

Perfect Body (ao3) - IronShield steve/tony E, 12k

Summary: Steve Rogers is struggling with his sexual desires, he doesn't know if he should share them with anyone. One day, out of curiosity he reads some SteveXTony fanfiction and Tony wonders if the fanfic matches up the the real deal. The first chapter sets it up, chapter 2 and on will contain all the smut!

Under Stars (ao3) - vulcanscully steve/tony T, 14k

Summary: Commander Tony Stark, just kicked off the USS Expedition for mutiny, finds comfort in an ensign wandering the halls of the USS Quinjeti at 0400 hours. Southern comfort, no less.

Unusual Weather (ao3) - novembersmith steve/bucky E, 8k

Summary: Bucky’s been at the Avengers Tower for three weeks before he finally gives in to Steve’s gentle coaxing and Stark’s cheerful waving of fistfuls of circuits, and lets them scan the arm.

It doesn’t go well.

Urgent Care (ao3) - Jo (jmathieson) clint/phil E, 45k

Summary: When a gorgeous young paramedic named Clint Barton walks into Dr. Phil Coulson's ER, both of their lives get a lot more complicated.

wild creature/s (ao3) - anomalocaris M, 13k

Summary: “You got no idea, buddy,” Bucky said; laughed rueful and short. “I’m a goddamned animal. They ought ‘a put me down.”

“Are you,” said the man.

Winter Undone (ao3) - DCAngst steve/bucky T, 74k

Summary: What if, after the Endgame battle, Dr. Strange used the time stone to save Tony and undo 80 years of Hydra for Bucky? In other words, 1945 Bucky ends up in 2023 and has to come to terms with…a lot.

[thejestglobe]

Les start-up conquièrent le monde en reproduisant l’Empire romain

https://thejestglobe.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/06/Les-start-up-conquierent-le-monde-en-reproduisant-lEmpire-romain-file.webp.jpg-file.webp Quand les start-up se rêvent en Empire romain : la nouvelle lubie des tech bros Le nouvel empire de la Silicon Valley De plus en plus de jeunes entrepreneurs de la tech, surnommés « tech bros », se tournent vers l’Empire romain comme source d’inspiration pour réinventer leur modèle de réussite. Fini les traditionnels séminaires de gestion ou de leadership : désormais, l’idéal consiste à suivre les pas de Jules César, avec toges en lin et stratégies d’expansion dignes des grandes batailles antiques. Un incubateur de start-up basé à Paris vient même d’installer un véritable Forum romain au milieu de ses open spaces. Entre deux sessions de code, les futurs dirigeants déambulent sur des dalles en marbre, arborant fièrement leurs notebooks comme s’il s’agissait de lances de légionnaires. Selon les responsables de l’incubateur, cette reconstitution grandeur nature offrirait une plongée immersive dans la discipline et la rigueur militaire romaines, jugées indispensables pour briser toute concurrence à l’image des anciennes provinces soumises à la Pax Romana. Dominer LinkedIn comme César Dans cette ambiance de conquête, l’exploit ultime consiste à « soumettre » au moins trois provinces LinkedIn afin d’obtenir un financement en capital-risque. Les start-up sont ainsi évaluées en fonction de leurs tactiques de réseautage, tandis qu’un tableau de bord revêtant l’aspect d’une carte de l’Empire recense les « territoires » encore à conquérir. « Lever des fonds, c’est un peu comme assiéger une cité rebelle », confie Marcus Aurélius B., entrepreneur en série costumier, en ajustant sa couronne de laurier. « Il faut savoir inspirer la crainte tout en flattant l’orgueil de l’investisseur, comme les légions de César faisaient trembler l’Europe. » Au cœur de ces nouveaux rites, des séances de coaching pour apprendre à prononcer un pitch en latin et balancer des métaphores militaires connaissent un succès fulgurant. D’après certains, il ne serait plus possible de participer à une table ronde sans entonner au moins un chant de marche romain. Malgré l’excentricité grandissante de ces méthodes, de nombreuses recrues continuent de s’y plier, persuadées que l’ascension fulgurante des plateformes numériques ne peut se faire autrement qu’en reproduisant le faste et la puissance de la Rome antique.

[eternal-haunt]

While leading the way upstairs, she recommended that I should hide the candle, and not make a noise; for her master had an odd notion about the chamber she would put me in, and never let anybody lodge there willingly. I asked the reason. She did not know, she answered: she had only lived there a year or two; and they had so many queer goings on, she could not begin to be curious.

Too stupefied to be curious myself, I fastened my door and glanced round for the bed. The whole furniture consisted of a chair, a clothes-press, and a large oak case, with squares cut out near the top resembling coach windows. Having approached this structure, I looked inside, and perceived it to be a singular sort of old-fashioned couch, very conveniently designed to obviate the necessity for every member of the family having a room to himself. In fact, it formed a little closet, and the ledge of a window, which it enclosed, served as a table. I slid back the panelled sides, got in with my light, pulled them together again, and felt secure against the vigilance of Heathcliff, and every one else.

The ledge, where I placed my candle, had a few mildewed books piled up in one corner; and it was covered with writing scratched on the paint. This writing, however, was nothing but a name repeated in all kinds of characters, large and small—Catherine Earnshaw, here and there varied to Catherine Heathcliff, and then again to Catherine Linton.

In vapid listlessness I leant my head against the window, and continued spelling over Catherine Earnshaw—Heathcliff—Linton, till my eyes closed; but they had not rested five minutes when a glare of white letters started from the dark, as vivid as spectres—the air swarmed with Catherines; and rousing myself to dispel the obtrusive name, I discovered my candle-wick reclining on one of the antique volumes, and perfuming the place with an odour of roasted calf-skin. I snuffed it off, and, very ill at ease under the influence of cold and lingering nausea, sat up and spread open the injured tome on my knee. It was a Testament, in lean type, and smelling dreadfully musty: a fly-leaf bore the inscription ‘Catherine Earnshaw, her book,’ and a date some quarter of a century back. I shut it, and took up another and another, till I had examined all. Catherine’s library was select, and its state of dilapidation proved it to have been well used, though not altogether for a legitimate purpose: scarcely one chapter had escaped, a pen-and-ink commentary—at least the appearance of one—covering every morsel of blank that the printer had left. Some were detached sentences; other parts took the form of a regular diary, scrawled in an unformed, childish hand. At the top of an extra page (quite a treasure, probably, when first lighted on) I was greatly amused to behold an excellent caricature of my friend Joseph—rudely, yet powerfully sketched. An immediate interest kindled within me for the unknown Catherine, and I began forthwith to decipher her faded hieroglyphics.

‘An awful Sunday,’ commenced the paragraph beneath. ‘I wish my father were back again. Hindley is a detestable substitute—his conduct to Heathcliff is atrocious—H. and I are going to rebel—we took our initiatory step this evening.

‘All day had been flooding with rain; we could not go to church, so Joseph must needs get up a congregation in the garret; and, while Hindley and his wife basked downstairs before a comfortable fire—doing anything but reading their Bibles, I’ll answer for it—Heathcliff, myself, and the unhappy ploughboy were commanded to take our prayer-books, and mount: we were ranged in a row, on a sack of corn, groaning and shivering, and hoping that Joseph would shiver too, so that he might give us a short homily for his own sake. A vain idea! The service lasted precisely three hours; and yet my brother had the face to exclaim, when he saw us descending, “What, done already?” On Sunday evenings we used to be permitted to play, if we did not make much noise; now a mere titter is sufficient to send us into corners.

“You forget you have a master here,” says the tyrant. “I’ll demolish the first who puts me out of temper! I insist on perfect sobriety and silence. Oh, boy! was that you? Frances darling, pull his hair as you go by: I heard him snap his fingers.” Frances pulled his hair heartily, and then went and seated herself on her husband’s knee, and there they were, like two babies, kissing and talking nonsense by the hour—foolish palaver that we should be ashamed of. We made ourselves as snug as our means allowed in the arch of the dresser. I had just fastened our pinafores together, and hung them up for a curtain, when in comes Joseph, on an errand from the stables. He tears down my handiwork, boxes my ears, and croaks:

“T’ maister nobbut just buried, and Sabbath not o’ered, und t’ sound o’ t’ gospel still i’ yer lugs, and ye darr be laiking! Shame on ye! sit ye down, ill childer! there’s good books eneugh if ye’ll read ’em: sit ye down, and think o’ yer sowls!”

‘Saying this, he compelled us so to square our positions that we might receive from the far-off fire a dull ray to show us the text of the lumber he thrust upon us. I could not bear the employment. I took my dingy volume by the scroop, and hurled it into the dog-kennel, vowing I hated a good book. Heathcliff kicked his to the same place. Then there was a hubbub!

“Maister Hindley!” shouted our chaplain. “Maister, coom hither! Miss Cathy’s riven th’ back off ‘Th’ Helmet o’ Salvation,’ un’ Heathcliff’s pawsed his fit into t’ first part o’ ‘T’ Brooad Way to Destruction!’ It’s fair flaysome that ye let ’em go on this gait. Ech! th’ owd man wad ha’ laced ’em properly—but he’s goan!”

‘Hindley hurried up from his paradise on the hearth, and seizing one of us by the collar, and the other by the arm, hurled both into the back-kitchen; where, Joseph asseverated, “owd Nick would fetch us as sure as we were living: and, so comforted, we each sought a separate nook to await his advent. I reached this book, and a pot of ink from a shelf, and pushed the house-door ajar to give me light, and I have got the time on with writing for twenty minutes; but my companion is impatient, and proposes that we should appropriate the dairywoman’s cloak, and have a scamper on the moors, under its shelter. A pleasant suggestion—and then, if the surly old man come in, he may believe his prophecy verified—we cannot be damper, or colder, in the rain than we are here.’

* * * * * *

I suppose Catherine fulfilled her project, for the next sentence took up another subject: she waxed lachrymose.

‘How little did I dream that Hindley would ever make me cry so!’ she wrote. ‘My head aches, till I cannot keep it on the pillow; and still I can’t give over. Poor Heathcliff! Hindley calls him a vagabond, and won’t let him sit with us, nor eat with us any more; and, he says, he and I must not play together, and threatens to turn him out of the house if we break his orders. He has been blaming our father (how dared he?) for treating H. too liberally; and swears he will reduce him to his right place—’

* * * * * *

I began to nod drowsily over the dim page: my eye wandered from manuscript to print. I saw a red ornamented title ‘Seventy Times Seven, and the First of the Seventy-First. A Pious Discourse delivered by the Reverend Jabez Branderham, in the Chapel of Gimmerden Sough.’ And while I was, half-consciously, worrying my brain to guess what Jabez Branderham would make of his subject, I sank back in bed, and fell asleep. Alas, for the effects of bad tea and bad temper! What else could it be that made me pass such a terrible night? I don’t remember another that I can at all compare with it since I was capable of suffering.

I began to dream, almost before I ceased to be sensible of my locality. I thought it was morning; and I had set out on my way home, with Joseph for a guide. The snow lay yards deep in our road; and, as we floundered on, my companion wearied me with constant reproaches that I had not brought a pilgrim’s staff: telling me that I could never get into the house without one, and boastfully flourishing a heavy-headed cudgel, which I understood to be so denominated. For a moment I considered it absurd that I should need such a weapon to gain admittance into my own residence. Then a new idea flashed across me. I was not going there: we were journeying to hear the famous Jabez Branderham preach, from the text ‘Seventy Times Seven;’ and either Joseph, the preacher, or I had committed the ‘First of the Seventy-First,’ and were to be publicly exposed and excommunicated.

We came to the chapel. I have passed it really in my walks, twice or thrice; it lies in a hollow, between two hills: an elevated hollow, near a swamp, whose peaty moisture is said to answer all the purposes of embalming on the few corpses deposited there. The roof has been kept whole hitherto; but as the clergyman’s stipend is only twenty pounds per annum, and a house with two rooms, threatening speedily to determine into one, no clergyman will undertake the duties of pastor: especially as it is currently reported that his flock would rather let him starve than increase the living by one penny from their own pockets. However, in my dream, Jabez had a full and attentive congregation; and he preached—good God! what a sermon; divided into four hundred and ninety parts, each fully equal to an ordinary address from the pulpit, and each discussing a separate sin! Where he searched for them, I cannot tell. He had his private manner of interpreting the phrase, and it seemed necessary the brother should sin different sins on every occasion. They were of the most curious character: odd transgressions that I never imagined previously.

Oh, how weary I grow. How I writhed, and yawned, and nodded, and revived! How I pinched and pricked myself, and rubbed my eyes, and stood up, and sat down again, and nudged Joseph to inform me if he would ever have done. I was condemned to hear all out: finally, he reached the ‘First of the Seventy-First’. At that crisis, a sudden inspiration descended on me; I was moved to rise and denounce Jabez Branderham as the sinner of the sin that no Christian need pardon.

‘Sir,’ I exclaimed, ‘sitting here within these four walls, at one stretch, I have endured and forgiven the four hundred and ninety heads of your discourse. Seventy times seven times have I plucked up my hat and been about to depart—Seventy times seven times have you preposterously forced me to resume my seat. The four hundred and ninety-first is too much. Fellow-martyrs, have at him! Drag him down, and crush him to atoms, that the place which knows him may know him no more!’

‘Thou art the man!’ cried Jabez, after a solemn pause, leaning over his cushion. ‘Seventy times seven times didst thou gapingly contort thy visage—seventy times seven did I take counsel with my soul—Lo, this is human weakness: this also may be absolved! The First of the Seventy-First is come. Brethren, execute upon him the judgement written. Such honour have all His saints!’

With that concluding word, the whole assembly, exalting their pilgrim’s staves, rushed round me in a body; and I, having no weapon to raise in self-defence, commenced grappling with Joseph, my nearest and most ferocious assailant, for his. In the confluence of the multitude, several clubs crossed; blows, aimed at me, fell on other sconces. Presently the whole chapel resounded with rappings and counter rappings: every man’s hand was against his neighbour; and Branderham, unwilling to remain idle, poured forth his zeal in a shower of loud taps on the boards of the pulpit, which responded so smartly that, at last, to my unspeakable relief, they woke me. And what was it that had suggested the tremendous tumult? What had played Jabez’s part in the row? Merely the branch of a fir-tree that touched my lattice as the blast wailed by, and rattled its dry cones against the panes! I listened doubtingly an instant; detected the disturber, then turned and dozed, and dreamt again: if possible, still more disagreeably than before.

This time, I remembered I was lying in the oak closet, and I heard distinctly the gusty wind, and the driving of the snow; I heard, also, the fir bough repeat its teasing sound, and ascribed it to the right cause: but it annoyed me so much, that I resolved to silence it, if possible; and, I thought, I rose and endeavoured to unhasp the casement. The hook was soldered into the staple: a circumstance observed by me when awake, but forgotten. ‘I must stop it, nevertheless!’ I muttered, knocking my knuckles through the glass, and stretching an arm out to seize the importunate branch; instead of which, my fingers closed on the fingers of a little, ice-cold hand! The intense horror of nightmare came over me: I tried to draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice sobbed, ‘Let me in—let me in!’ ‘Who are you?’ I asked, struggling, meanwhile, to disengage myself. ‘Catherine Linton,’ it replied, shiveringly (why did I think of Linton? I had read Earnshaw twenty times for Linton) ‘I’m come home: I’d lost my way on the moor!’ As it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a child’s face looking through the window. Terror made me cruel; and, finding it useless to attempt shaking the creature off, I pulled its wrist on to the broken pane, and rubbed it to and fro till the blood ran down and soaked the bedclothes: still it wailed, ‘Let me in!’ and maintained its tenacious gripe, almost maddening me with fear. ‘How can I!’ I said at length. ‘Let me go, if you want me to let you in!’ The fingers relaxed, I snatched mine through the hole, hurriedly piled the books up in a pyramid against it, and stopped my ears to exclude the lamentable prayer. I seemed to keep them closed above a quarter of an hour; yet, the instant I listened again, there was the doleful cry moaning on! ‘Begone!’ I shouted. ‘I’ll never let you in, not if you beg for twenty years.’ ‘It is twenty years,’ mourned the voice: ‘twenty years. I’ve been a waif for twenty years!’ Thereat began a feeble scratching outside, and the pile of books moved as if thrust forward. I tried to jump up; but could not stir a limb; and so yelled aloud, in a frenzy of fright. To my confusion, I discovered the yell was not ideal: hasty footsteps approached my chamber door; somebody pushed it open, with a vigorous hand, and a light glimmered through the squares at the top of the bed. I sat shuddering yet, and wiping the perspiration from my forehead: the intruder appeared to hesitate, and muttered to himself. At last, he said, in a half-whisper, plainly not expecting an answer, ‘Is any one here?’ I considered it best to confess my presence; for I knew Heathcliff’s accents, and feared he might search further, if I kept quiet. With this intention, I turned and opened the panels. I shall not soon forget the effect my action produced.

Heathcliff stood near the entrance, in his shirt and trousers; with a candle dripping over his fingers, and his face as white as the wall behind him. The first creak of the oak startled him like an electric shock: the light leaped from his hold to a distance of some feet, and his agitation was so extreme, that he could hardly pick it up.

‘It is only your guest, sir,’ I called out, desirous to spare him the humiliation of exposing his cowardice further. ‘I had the misfortune to scream in my sleep, owing to a frightful nightmare. I’m sorry I disturbed you.’

‘Oh, God confound you, Mr. Lockwood! I wish you were at the—’ commenced my host, setting the candle on a chair, because he found it impossible to hold it steady. ‘And who showed you up into this room?’ he continued, crushing his nails into his palms, and grinding his teeth to subdue the maxillary convulsions. ‘Who was it? I’ve a good mind to turn them out of the house this moment?’

‘It was your servant Zillah,’ I replied, flinging myself on to the floor, and rapidly resuming my garments. ‘I should not care if you did, Mr. Heathcliff; she richly deserves it. I suppose that she wanted to get another proof that the place was haunted, at my expense. Well, it is—swarming with ghosts and goblins! You have reason in shutting it up, I assure you. No one will thank you for a doze in such a den!’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Heathcliff, ‘and what are you doing? Lie down and finish out the night, since you are here; but, for heaven’s sake! don’t repeat that horrid noise: nothing could excuse it, unless you were having your throat cut!’

‘If the little fiend had got in at the window, she probably would have strangled me!’ I returned. ‘I’m not going to endure the persecutions of your hospitable ancestors again. Was not the Reverend Jabez Branderham akin to you on the mother’s side? And that minx, Catherine Linton, or Earnshaw, or however she was called—she must have been a changeling—wicked little soul! She told me she had been walking the earth these twenty years: a just punishment for her mortal transgressions, I’ve no doubt!’

Scarcely were these words uttered when I recollected the association of Heathcliff’s with Catherine’s name in the book, which had completely slipped from my memory, till thus awakened. I blushed at my inconsideration: but, without showing further consciousness of the offence, I hastened to add ‘The truth is, sir, I passed the first part of the night in—’ Here I stopped afresh—I was about to say ‘perusing those old volumes,’ then it would have revealed my knowledge of their written, as well as their printed, contents; so, correcting myself, I went on ‘in spelling over the name scratched on that window-ledge. A monotonous occupation, calculated to set me asleep, like counting, or—’

‘What can you mean by talking in this way to me!’ thundered Heathcliff with savage vehemence. ‘How—how dare you, under my roof?—God! he’s mad to speak so!’ And he struck his forehead with rage.

I did not know whether to resent this language or pursue my explanation; but he seemed so powerfully affected that I took pity and proceeded with my dreams; affirming I had never heard the appellation of ‘Catherine Linton’ before, but reading it often over produced an impression which personified itself when I had no longer my imagination under control. Heathcliff gradually fell back into the shelter of the bed, as I spoke; finally sitting down almost concealed behind it. I guessed, however, by his irregular and intercepted breathing, that he struggled to vanquish an excess of violent emotion. Not liking to show him that I had heard the conflict, I continued my toilette rather noisily, looked at my watch, and soliloquised on the length of the night: ‘Not three o’clock yet! I could have taken oath it had been six. Time stagnates here: we must surely have retired to rest at eight!’

‘Always at nine in winter, and rise at four,’ said my host, suppressing a groan: and, as I fancied, by the motion of his arm’s shadow, dashing a tear from his eyes. ‘Mr. Lockwood,’ he added, ‘you may go into my room: you’ll only be in the way, coming downstairs so early: and your childish outcry has sent sleep to the devil for me.’

‘And for me, too,’ I replied. ‘I’ll walk in the yard till daylight, and then I’ll be off; and you need not dread a repetition of my intrusion. I’m now quite cured of seeking pleasure in society, be it country or town. A sensible man ought to find sufficient company in himself.’

‘Delightful company!’ muttered Heathcliff. ‘Take the candle, and go where you please. I shall join you directly. Keep out of the yard, though, the dogs are unchained; and the house—Juno mounts sentinel there, and—nay, you can only ramble about the steps and passages. But, away with you! I’ll come in two minutes!’

I obeyed, so far as to quit the chamber; when, ignorant where the narrow lobbies led, I stood still, and was witness, involuntarily, to a piece of superstition on the part of my landlord which belied, oddly, his apparent sense. He got on to the bed, and wrenched open the lattice, bursting, as he pulled at it, into an uncontrollable passion of tears. ‘Come in! come in!’ he sobbed. ‘Cathy, do come. Oh, do—once more! Oh! my heart’s darling! hear me this time, Catherine, at last!’ The spectre showed a spectre’s ordinary caprice: it gave no sign of being; but the snow and wind whirled wildly through, even reaching my station, and blowing out the light.

There was such anguish in the gush of grief that accompanied this raving, that my compassion made me overlook its folly, and I drew off, half angry to have listened at all, and vexed at having related my ridiculous nightmare, since it produced that agony; though why was beyond my comprehension. I descended cautiously to the lower regions, and landed in the back-kitchen, where a gleam of fire, raked compactly together, enabled me to rekindle my candle. Nothing was stirring except a brindled, grey cat, which crept from the ashes, and saluted me with a querulous mew.

Two benches, shaped in sections of a circle, nearly enclosed the hearth; on one of these I stretched myself, and Grimalkin mounted the other. We were both of us nodding ere any one invaded our retreat, and then it was Joseph, shuffling down a wooden ladder that vanished in the roof, through a trap: the ascent to his garret, I suppose. He cast a sinister look at the little flame which I had enticed to play between the ribs, swept the cat from its elevation, and bestowing himself in the vacancy, commenced the operation of stuffing a three-inch pipe with tobacco. My presence in his sanctum was evidently esteemed a piece of impudence too shameful for remark: he silently applied the tube to his lips, folded his arms, and puffed away. I let him enjoy the luxury unannoyed; and after sucking out his last wreath, and heaving a profound sigh, he got up, and departed as solemnly as he came.

A more elastic footstep entered next; and now I opened my mouth for a ‘Good morning,’ but closed it again, the salutation unachieved; for Hareton Earnshaw was performing his orison sotto voce, in a series of curses directed against every object he touched, while he rummaged a corner for a spade or shovel to dig through the drifts. He glanced over the back of the bench, dilating his nostrils, and thought as little of exchanging civilities with me as with my companion the cat. I guessed, by his preparations, that egress was allowed, and, leaving my hard couch, made a movement to follow him. He noticed this, and thrust at an inner door with the end of his spade, intimating by an inarticulate sound that there was the place where I must go, if I changed my locality.

It opened into the house, where the females were already astir; Zillah urging flakes of flame up the chimney with a colossal bellows; and Mrs. Heathcliff, kneeling on the hearth, reading a book by the aid of the blaze. She held her hand interposed between the furnace-heat and her eyes, and seemed absorbed in her occupation; desisting from it only to chide the servant for covering her with sparks, or to push away a dog, now and then, that snoozled its nose overforwardly into her face. I was surprised to see Heathcliff there also. He stood by the fire, his back towards me, just finishing a stormy scene with poor Zillah; who ever and anon interrupted her labour to pluck up the corner of her apron, and heave an indignant groan.

‘And you, you worthless—’ he broke out as I entered, turning to his daughter-in-law, and employing an epithet as harmless as duck, or sheep, but generally represented by a dash. ‘There you are, at your idle tricks again! The rest of them do earn their bread—you live on my charity! Put your trash away, and find something to do. You shall pay me for the plague of having you eternally in my sight—do you hear, damnable jade?’

‘I’ll put my trash away, because you can make me if I refuse,’ answered the young lady, closing her book, and throwing it on a chair. ‘But I’ll not do anything, though you should swear your tongue out, except what I please!’

Heathcliff lifted his hand, and the speaker sprang to a safer distance, obviously acquainted with its weight. Having no desire to be entertained by a cat-and-dog combat, I stepped forward briskly, as if eager to partake the warmth of the hearth, and innocent of any knowledge of the interrupted dispute. Each had enough decorum to suspend further hostilities: Heathcliff placed his fists, out of temptation, in his pockets; Mrs. Heathcliff curled her lip, and walked to a seat far off, where she kept her word by playing the part of a statue during the remainder of my stay. That was not long. I declined joining their breakfast, and, at the first gleam of dawn, took an opportunity of escaping into the free air, now clear, and still, and cold as impalpable ice.

My landlord halloed for me to stop ere I reached the bottom of the garden, and offered to accompany me across the moor. It was well he did, for the whole hill-back was one billowy, white ocean; the swells and falls not indicating corresponding rises and depressions in the ground: many pits, at least, were filled to a level; and entire ranges of mounds, the refuse of the quarries, blotted from the chart which my yesterday’s walk left pictured in my mind. I had remarked on one side of the road, at intervals of six or seven yards, a line of upright stones, continued through the whole length of the barren: these were erected and daubed with lime on purpose to serve as guides in the dark, and also when a fall, like the present, confounded the deep swamps on either hand with the firmer path: but, excepting a dirty dot pointing up here and there, all traces of their existence had vanished: and my companion found it necessary to warn me frequently to steer to the right or left, when I imagined I was following, correctly, the windings of the road.

We exchanged little conversation, and he halted at the entrance of Thrushcross Park, saying, I could make no error there. Our adieux were limited to a hasty bow, and then I pushed forward, trusting to my own resources; for the porter’s lodge is untenanted as yet. The distance from the gate to the grange is two miles; I believe I managed to make it four, what with losing myself among the trees, and sinking up to the neck in snow: a predicament which only those who have experienced it can appreciate. At any rate, whatever were my wanderings, the clock chimed twelve as I entered the house; and that gave exactly an hour for every mile of the usual way from Wuthering Heights.

My human fixture and her satellites rushed to welcome me; exclaiming, tumultuously, they had completely given me up: everybody conjectured that I perished last night; and they were wondering how they must set about the search for my remains. I bid them be quiet, now that they saw me returned, and, benumbed to my very heart, I dragged upstairs; whence, after putting on dry clothes, and pacing to and fro thirty or forty minutes, to restore the animal heat, I adjourned to my study, feeble as a kitten: almost too much so to enjoy the cheerful fire and smoking coffee which the servant had prepared for my refreshment.

I suppose this is a way for others to be able to read the book? I am unsure at this point.

[tubaislammim278]

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Buying & Selling: Paintings, sculptures, antique furniture, vintage items.

Renting: Artwork rentals for offices or events.

14. Vacation & Travel

Renting: Vacation homes, RVs, boats.

Buying & Selling: Travel-related services, experiences, and packages.

15. Construction & Industrial Equipment

Renting: Tools, machinery, construction equipment.

For Bideex specifically, I would suggest checking out the platform directly for up-to-date listings in these categories. The platform's user interface and the community's preferences will likely influence which categories are most active at any given time.

[2iwillteachyoutoberich]

Dwellings of 81 Quarry Hill, Stone Cliffe

Hidden within the estate's depths, where brick walls and cobbled paths blend seamlessly with the natural surroundings, lies a series of dwellings and vaults that once stored the riches of the estate’s past.

Within the dwellings of 81 Quarry Hill, Stone Cliffe, the elegant lifestyle continues to unfold, revealing spaces that delight the senses and soothe the soul. The estate is not only a dwelling but a living canvas upon which the traditions of yesteryear and the luxuries of modernity are artfully painted.

Stepping from the sunlit conservatory into the grand hall, the estate’s blend of history and modernity becomes more palpable. Antique mirrors reflect the soft glow of chandeliers, illuminating the hall's intricately carved oak panels and stonework. The delicate interplay of light and shadow creates an almost ethereal atmosphere, where residents and visitors alike are transported into a world of bygone elegance.

Ascending the grand staircase leads to a gallery-like corridor, where bedrooms fan out in a pattern that radiates warmth and hospitality. Each bedroom tells its own story through a unique palette of colours, fabrics, and furnishings. The master suite is a private sanctuary with silk drapes framing windows that overlook the gardens. An antique four-poster bed stands as a testament to the estate’s enduring elegance, while the en suite bathroom, with its claw-foot tub and marble vanity, promises relaxation amid serene luxury.

The rooms echo the surrounding lush landscape, designed to evoke the spirit of hospitality that characterized the estate’s heyday, making each resident feel like a cherished member of the household.

Beyond the estate’s walls, the outdoor spaces continue to impress with their variety and natural beauty. The estate's gardens are not just picturesque but also practical. Lavender and rosemary bushes line the herb garden, infusing the air with their fragrant aroma. Fruit trees, lovingly pruned and tended, bear apples, pears, and plums, adding to the estate’s bounty. This abundance is celebrated in the kitchen, where chefs can create gourmet dishes using ingredients that have travelled only steps from garden to table.

A secluded garden nook reveals an outdoor amphitheater, where residents can enjoy open-air performances under a starlit sky. Whether for poetry readings, concerts, or private celebrations, this space provides a magical setting that transforms with the seasons.

The estate also embraces sustainable living, a commitment evident in its practices and infrastructure. Solar panels discreetly placed on the rooftops generate renewable energy, while rainwater harvesting systems provide irrigation for the gardens. Beehives, located near the orchard, support the local ecosystem and produce honey that sweetens the estate’s morning teas.

As evening descends, the estate takes on a different rhythm. Lanterns glow softly along the pathways, guiding the way toward the pavilion and the stables. The stables themselves, with their polished wood and brass fixtures, house well-cared-for horses ready for a ride through the estate's extensive trails. Horse lovers can explore the grounds on horseback, tracing the paths once trodden by the estate’s historic coaches.

At night, the grand fireplace in the great room crackles warmly, drawing guests into its flickering embrace. Here, conversations linger, stories are shared, and the bond between the estate and its people strengthens. It is a space where time slows down, where the worries of the day melt away, and where every moment becomes a cherished memory.

In every corner of 81 Quarry Hill, Stone Cliffe, the spirit of grace and hospitality shines brightly. This is a place where past and present coexist harmoniously, where nature’s beauty is celebrated, and where luxury is not just a feature but a way of life. For those fortunate enough to call this estate home, it is a sanctuary that transcends mere residence, offering a retreat into a world of timeless elegance, historical legacy, and unbridled natural splendour.

[truelistmarketing]

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[thakeham]

Side Table, Dressing Table - 19th century mahogany coaching table. Folding top over supports and ring turned stretchers. circa. 1850

[yolandagrayantiques]

Antique Victorian Oak Folding Campaign Writing Compendium Desk Table (Circa 1890) - Yolanda Gray Antiques

This is a fine quality antique English Victorian oak folding campaign-writing table, circa 1890, in good working condition.