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sunspearesque · 7 months

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Forbidden Fervor

Summary: Douse the fervor raging within, bestow upon me the forbidden release, frigid and honed, dripping with crimson... Let it carve through my dread as relentlessly as time erodes the vigor from an aged soul.

A/N: yo, idk what happened here.. i saw the inspo and we dove headfirst. i’m so very sure old man nasty spirit possessed me or something cause idk how i wrote this.. but yeah enjoy the filth i guess? lmfao.. also, i did use some of the famous lines from the show/books—specifically the scene where he stabby stab the pink little man at the brothel just because :3 the rest tho are the whispers of my little brain hehehoho

Pairing: Oberyn Martell × OFC from WoV

Rating: E (18+ only)

Content: established relationship (marriage); canonical racism (against dornish people); threat of assault (nothing happens); we hate Lannisters in this house; protective!Oberyn; depiction of injury/attack; use of weapons (dagger); Wet and Wanting™️; primal urges, kinda sorta; a hint of possessive!Oberyn; inappropriate use of weapons; dagger riding (don’t look at me); unprotected p in v; creampie (the man has a breeding kink what can i say?); quoting mr. darcy

WC: 1.9K

Read on AO3 • moodboard

A grand retinue accompanied Prince Oberyn Martell and his wife Nala on their journey north to attend the wedding of Lord Stark's eldest son. The journey was replete with delightful surprises and, regrettably, some less pleasant ones. One of their travel days found them lodged in an inn nestled amidst the forested lands of the North. The weather was cold and crisp, the air dry and biting, causing Oberyn to grumble about the layers of clothing encasing his form. Nala found his discomfort amusing—this man is averse to decency.

As they were enjoying their meal in the inn, a trio of golden-haired men strode in, their disdainful expressions evident as they cast disparaging glances at the other patrons. Murmuring curses under their breath, they took a seat at a nearby table, much to the discomfort of those around them. Nala sensed the tension in the air, recognizing the unmistakable look of Lannisters. She knew all too well her husband's scorn for them. Desperate to diffuse the situation, she attempted to divert his attention away from them, whispering softly, “My love, look at me,” noticing his gaze fixed upon them with obvious contempt.

The Lannister men, oblivious to her attempt to diffuse the tension, noticed her caress on his thigh and exchanged mocking remarks amongst themselves. “Why does such beauty consort with that Dornish bastard?” one of them jeered, his laughter echoing loudly in the room. “This whore should try to get with a real cock... a Lannister one,” another added, patting his bulge and leering at her. “Just give him a shaved goat and an olive oil bottle and be done with it,” the third chimed in before all three joined in uproarious laughter.

Nala could feel the blood charring beneath her skin, her heart pounding in her ribcage as she dreaded her husband's reaction to the insults. She observed the vein running through his neck pulsating beneath his golden skin, indicating the rage boiling within him. Despite his efforts to conceal it, a smirk tinged with bitterness adorned his face, masking the fury that simmered beneath the surface.

With graceful poise, he rose from his seat, his hand drifting toward the dagger secured at his hip—a weapon fashioned in the likeness of two intertwined vipers; its smooth, golden surface gleaming in the dim light of the inn. Slowly and deliberately, he approached their table, his gaze locking onto the perpetrator who had called his wife a whore.

Oberyn's tongue clicked disapprovingly as he addressed the men, his tone dripping with mockery. “Do you know why the world despises a Lannister?” he quipped, his words laden with scorn. “You believe your wealth, your lions, and your gilded pride make you superior to all.” The Lannister men exchanged smug glances, sharing a condescending chuckle amongst themselves. One of the trio stealthily reached for his sword, attempting to draw it from its sheath without detection. Yet, unbeknownst to them, he noticed—he always does.

“May I tell you a secret?” Oberyn continued, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “You're not a golden lion. You're just a pink little man who is far too slow on the draw.” With a swift motion, he unsheathed his dagger and plunged it into the hand of the man who had insulted his wife, the same hand he had earlier used to pat his cock. Piercing between the carpals of that hand, it now lay on the table. The man let out a guttural wail, paralyzed in his place as the dagger twisted amidst flesh, bone, and veins.

“When I pull my blade, your friend starts bleeding,” Oberyn stated calmly, a smirk playing on his lips. “Quite a lot, I'm afraid. So many veins in the wrist.” He observed the man writhing in pain before turning his gaze back to the other Lannister. “He'll live if you get him help straight away,” he added mockingly, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Decisions,” Oberyn remarked, his head tilting slightly as his gaze shifted to the bleeding man again. “And when you speak of a dornish princess—my wife—you will address her as ‘your highness,’” he continued, his tone carrying a dangerous edge. “Lest you wish for me to sever your tongue at its root.”

He withdrew his dagger from the man’s hand, the Dornish soldiers surrounding him, swords and spears at the ready. One of them addressed him, “What shall we do with them, Your Highness?”

“Nothing,” Oberyn replied calmly, wiping the blood from his dagger with the end of his shawl. "I reckon they've learned a lesson or two about manners from the Dornish, and I expect they'll find their own way out.” With a dismissive wave, he turned to walk toward Nala, who stood frozen with fear, wide-eyed, and breathing shakily.

“Apologies, my love,” he said tenderly, encircling his arms around her waist and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. Nestling her gently in his embrace, as though she were the most delicate of blossoms.

Ever the viper; deadly, dangerous, unpredictable... and mine.

A familiar primal heat stirred within her, much to her chagrin as she cursed herself for succumbing to it.

Gods be good, this shouldn’t ignite a fire within me and make me crave him and the dagger he wielded in my defense.

She kissed him with fervor, her hands caressing his face, yearning to melt into him and merge with him completely. As they parted, both breathless, he chuckled softly. "I see you enjoyed that, princess?" he whispered, prompting a blush to bloom across her cheeks—was I too obvious?

He pulled out the chair for her to resume her place at the table, a gallant gesture amidst the chaos caused by the departing Lannisters, who left mutilated and humiliated.

Throughout the meal, Nala’s gaze remained fixed on Oberyn, her desire for him evident in her unwavering stare. Yet, her eyes also flickered occasionally to the dagger sheathed at his side, her longing palpable. Catching her subtle glances, Oberyn couldn't help but tease her with a smirk. “My love, you are eyeing that dagger as if it were your lover,” he quipped, his tone playful and suggestive.

She regarded him incredulously, her expression stern, before a laugh escaped her lips, unable to resist his irreverence. “What? People engage in all forms of pleasure,” he remarked casually, a hint of mischief in his tone. “I’d be curious to witness you attempting one of these forms, my love,” he added, raising an eyebrow, his smirk unyielding—the infamous smirk that both infuriated and delighted her.

“How in the Seven Hells would I engage in such forms, Oberyn?" she retorted, her tone a blend of amusement and exasperation, unsure whether to marvel at his wit or roll her eyes at his audacity.

He chuckled, unfazed, and resumed his meal, prompting her to shake her head in bemusement before following suit, both indulging in their food as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

—

As they retired to their chambers, the earlier unpleasant encounter and their playful banter lingered in her mind, unable to shake off the eagerness she felt for him.

Not surprisingly, he seemed equally consumed by their earlier conversation. Upon entering their room and securing the door behind them, he immediately closed the distance between them, kissing her hungrily. His hands roamed over her body, gripping her ass firmly, igniting a fire within her and causing desire to pool between her thighs.

Breaking away from their passionate embrace, he strode to the bed and plunged his dagger into the mattress, securing it firmly in place. Only the gleaming, serpent-shaped handle remained visible.

"What... what are you doing?" Nala inquired, perplexed by his actions.

“I long to see you mount it," he declared simply, taking a seat on the wooden chair facing the bed.

"Mount it how?" she questioned, furrowing her brow in confusion.

"Like you mount my cock every night," he replied with a crooked smile.

She stood in stunned silence, her thoughts swirling with a mixture of surprise and anticipation. The unexpected request from her husband both startled her and ignited a flicker of excitement deep within her. It was not uncommon for him to embrace unconventional pleasures, to seek out new experiences in their intimate moments together.

She offered a gentle smile before beginning to shed her dress, letting the fabric cascade down her form like water, revealing the delicate curve of her clavicle, the supple swell of her breasts and their hardened peaks, her glistening cunt between her thighs, before finally pooling at her feet.

His gaze lingered upon her with a hunger that seemed to devour her, as if he yearned to possess this beauty solely for himself, to adore… to pleasure and treasure... wholly and entirely his.

She moved with grace toward the bed, settling and facing him, her eyes fixed on the dagger embedded in the mattress before her. It was the very same dagger he wielded to protect her, a silent warning to any who dared to show her disrespect.

She lifted herself slightly before sinking into it, feeling the cold metal filling her searing flesh. Her eyes closed, lips parting as she relished the peculiar sensation, the ridges of the handle gliding against her inner walls, deliciously. It was unfamiliar yet pleasing, strangely fitting. She quickened her pace, with each rise and fall, soft moans escaping her lips and filling the room. Her breasts bounced with each movement, a testament to the pleasure coursing through her.

Oberyn watched her with an insatiable hunger, enchanted by her allure. She accepted his offerings eagerly, with devotion, her yearning unwavering as she sought to be filled with everything that was his. Whether his fingers, his cock, or even his dagger, she embraced it all, an extension of him in every way.

He felt the bulge in his breeches grow bigger, his cock throbbing painfully with desire, yearning to pierce that sweet cunt of hers, to fill her with his seed over and over again til it takes. He longed to hear her soft moans as he pushed her to the brink of bliss, feeling her warm, wet, and wanting in his embrace.

He freed his hardened cock, his hand beginning to caress it with slow, deliberate strokes, as she mounted his dagger with unyielding ardor, deriving her pleasure from it. Her gaze met his, lethal and luring, eyes that could have felled him had she not been his.

Her movements became erratic, her moans blending into strained whimpers. She slipped her hand down frantically to circle her soaked clit, driving her closer to her release. Collapsing onto the mattress, she murmured his name, her thighs trembling with pleasure.

Rising from his seat, he approached her, cradled her languid form, and moved her to the center of the bed, laying her on her back. He spread her thighs apart, watching her clenching sex seep her release, delicately. He nudged the head of his cock to her entrance. Her cunt sucked him in effortlessly, eliciting a soft whine from her lips as he filled her. He laid atop her, his weight offering a comforting warmth she had always longed for, drawing her closer to him before thrusting into her fervently.

Mine, my love, mine… all fucking mine, the Others take them all.

He nipped at the tender flesh of her breasts and shoulder, his warmth flooding her as he spilled his cum deep within her, his breath ragged.

After their heaving chests stilled, she gently raised her hand to brush the damp curls from his forehead, meeting his gaze. “I love you most ardently, my fierce viper,” she whispered.

#asoiaf #oberyn martell #oberyn martell fanfiction #pedrostories #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #oberyn nymeros martell #oberyn martell x ofc #oberyn martell smut #house martell #dorne #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fic #fan fiction #aura’s fics

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andrevasims · 5 months

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Random medieval inn based on Lion's Pride Inn from World of Warcraft, cause my dad's been playing that again lately & it's the only medieval-themed thing I've ever had much interest in, if only for the nostalgia of it :P

You can't use beds/dressers on community lots without OFB though, so the second floor is empty lol

But it does have a basement for shady meetings

#ts2 interior #ts2 exterior #ts2 decor #ts2 build #ts2 #ts2 pictures #sims 2 pictures #sims 2 #sims2 #sim places

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pearlsephoni · 1 year

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Spiking Heartbeats: Team-Building

Can also be read on AO3!

Rating: T

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Relationships: Platonic Karasuno First Years, platonic Hinayachi (Hinata & Yachi), pre-relationship Tsukkiyama (Tsukishima/Yamaguchi), pre-relationship Kagehina (Kageyama/Hinata)

Characters: Shoyo Hinata, Hitoka Yachi, Tadashi Yamaguchi, Kei Tsukishima, Tobio Kageyama

Word Count: 2.9k

Summary:

“Ditch?” Yachi repeats, looking extremely unsure of herself. “Ditch,” Shoyo confirms.

In April 2010, Hinata Shoyo and his childhood friend Yachi Hitoka leave Miyagi Prefecture to attend university in Tokyo. Shortly thereafter, an attempt to avoid compulsory hazing during their medical school orientation leads to an unlikely new friendship with three fellow first years

A/N: Written by @r0mantic-era as part of our collaborative series of Haikyuu Hospital Playlist AU fics, featuring the Karasuno first years as the 99s! Originally published on AO3 on March 25th. Further author's notes can be found there.

***

Hinata Shoyo sits with his back pressed against the wall of a crowded room, clutching his abdomen and gritting his teeth.

While an off-key rendition of Katy Perry’s Hot and Cold warbles through the cramped space, his stomach churns the overabundance of food he’d eaten during dinner. Eager to please his new seniors as they piled meat on his plate, Shoyo had shoved down piece after piece, constantly replaced in a never-ending stream, and ignored his body’s growing protests.

Now, he’s paying the price.

Beside him, Yachi gnaws on her fingernails, free hand twisted into the fabric of his tee shirt. “Hinata,” she mumbles. “I can’t do this.”

“Hurghh,” Shoyo groans in response, battling a wave of nausea as it rolls over his body. Although he prides himself on his stomach, he’s never been able to eat like Yachi. Bile rises in his throat.

Noticing the telltale signs, Yachi hurriedly presses her water bottle into his hand. “Drink,” she urges, glancing nervously over to their left. When Shoyo follows her gaze, he sees cases upon cases of alcohol stacked against the wall. The thought of getting hazed with alcohol in this state…Shoyo chokes down a gag and immediately looks away, back towards the front of the room.

“Wonderful performance! Everyone give a big hand to Hakuba-kun!!” announces Yamamoto Akane, one of the older med students running the retreat. “Who’s next?” The upperclassman’s eyes gleam while she scans the crowd, like a lion surveying a herd of antelope, as Hakuba Gao—one of their fellow first years—hurries off the stage, cheeks flaming.

“Hinata, I will pass away if I have to sing in front of the whole class,” Yachi hisses in his ear, pure dread plastered across her face. “Please!”

Shoyo chugs the water and finishes in several gulps before wiping the back of his hand across his mouth with a sigh. Sweet relief hits his system when he swallows, easing the pressure in his stomach just enough to respond properly. “I’m in no shape to perform, either,” he whispers back. “Let’s ditch.”

“Ditch?” Yachi repeats, looking extremely unsure of herself.

“Ditch,” Shoyo confirms, holding out his hand to his oldest and dearest childhood friend with a grin. Clearly conflicted, Yachi stares at him, torn between her fear of getting in trouble and her obvious desire to leave.

After a minute, Shoyo makes the decision for her. “We won’t get caught,” he asserts confidently. Momentarily grabbing her hand, he climbs to his feet and leads her out the back door. Yachi follows without protest, stage fright more anxiety-inducing than any punishment their seniors can deal out.

The fresh night air kisses his lungs when they slip outside, clearing away his food-induced queasiness until it is nothing more than a faint, dull ache. Creeping across the porch of the inn, Shoyo makes to turn the corner when Yachi grips the edge of his tee shirt.

“Hinata, wait! Look!” Yachi warns under her breath, gesturing ahead.

Sure enough, he spots two other seniors leaning against the exit of the venue. Shoyo can’t remember their names, but the scowls on their faces are more than enough of a deterrent. “Damn it!” he curses quietly.

Their department orientation retreat is located high in the mountains at a walled inn with only one entrance: in short, there is no escape.

“The toilet?” Yachi suggests, pointing at a very sad port-a-potty a little ways away.

Shoyo wrinkles his nose. “We’d reek something awful if we went there.”

Yachi pales at the reminder. “And then we wouldn’t be able to make any friends for the rest of medical school!” she concludes, whisper rising in pitch.

Shoyo flicks her on the forehead. “You’re doing it again.”

“My bad.” Yachi rubs the spot with a small blush, embarrassed by the call-out. “Um, well, what about that shed?” She raises one finger to point toward the back of the courtyard. Sure enough, there’s a small shed there, with blue paint peeling off the door and a rusted tin roof.

“Great thinking!” Shoyo praises, dashing towards the back. Yachi follows after, inching along the side of the inn pressed to the wall like some sort of secret agent. Once she joins him by the front of the shed, Shoyo grabs the door handle and wrenches it open with a loud creak.

“Eep!” Yachi lets out a tiny shriek, which Shoyo barely manages to muffle with his hand.

Two pairs of eyes stare back from the far end of the tiny supply shed, which is actually the size of a small closet. Shoyo vaguely recognizes the pair from the day’s earlier activities—they’re fellow first year students.

An outdated SONY portable CD player sits on the ground, bracketed by their shoes. The cord of a pair of wired headphones travels up the space between them only to diverge at their shoulders, an earbud traveling to each ear.

“Oh, great,” says the first guy—he’s clearly huge, even though his frame is hunched and folded into itself in an attempt to make himself small. “This is what I was afraid of.”

His friend, similarly big but not quite as colossal, sits squished beside him with his arms wrapped around his knees. He’s a little mousy despite his big size, with a smattering of freckles across his face and jittery knees. “Tsukki… They can hear you.” His voice is soft and a little sweet.

“That’s the whole point, Yamaguchi,” replies ‘Tsukki’, who rolls his eyes behind square-rimmed glasses. “This shed is occupied. Go make out somewhere else.”

“Make out?!” Yachi squeaks, horrified.

“We’re running away from compulsory Karaoke,” Shoyo corrects, face flaming. “Yachi is my childhood friend!”

‘Yamaguchi’ perks up at that. “Tsukki and I are childhood friends, too!” he offers excitedly. “And we also came here to avoid performing!”

“Shut up, Yamaguchi,” Tsukki mutters.

Shoyo frowns at that. What’s this Tsukki guy’s problem?

“Sorry, Tsukki!” chirps Yamaguchi, flashing a toothy smile, completely unfazed by the fact that his friend just told him to shut up.

Shoyo exchanges a glance with Yachi that says, These guys are weird. She meets his eyes in agreement, lifting a hand to chew on her fingernails.

“Well, Tsukki—,” Shoyo begins.

“That’s Tsukishima to you.”

“Well, Tsukishima,” he amends. “You don’t own this shed, so you can’t complain if we join you.” Without waiting for an answer, he steps inside, extending a hand to pull Yachi in after him. She closes the door hastily and leans against it awkwardly.

“It was already cramped in here,” Tsukishima huffs.

Shoyo appraises him, squinting to see under the dim light bulb. “You’re really whiny, aren’t you?”

“Don’t say that about Tsukki!” Yamaguchi retorts immediately, uncurling his spine abruptly. His lanky limbs practically vibrate with defensive intensity. Tsukishima sighs through his nose.

“Whining is all he’s been doing since we met!” Shoyo points out, squeezing into the spot beside Tsukishima and bumping the boy over to the side with an aggressive scoot of the hips. “Yacchan, come sit here,” he instructs, patting the newly vacated space.

Tsukishima plucks the earbud from Yamaguchi’s ears and rolls up the headphones before tucking them and the Walkman into his jacket pocket. “We’re only letting you stay here because you’re both tiny,” he mutters, now pressed up against Yamaguchi due to the narrow dimensions of the shed. Yamaguchi looks rather uncomfortable, contorted awkwardly against the wall to make more space. Tsukishima’s hands are tightly clasped in his lap, his face oddly redder than it was just a minute prior.

“Tiny?!” Shoyo jabs Tsukishima in the ribs with his elbow, sensitive about his height. “I’m a very respectable height, you know. You’re just…freaky!”

Yamaguchi snickers into his hand. Shoyo is starting to think that he’s not quite as nice as initial appearances had suggested.

“Shhhh,” Yachi interjects worriedly. “You two are going to get us caught! Can’t we all just be quiet?!”

Shoyo can’t really handle awkward silence, though, when he’s not preoccupied by a task. “My name’s Hinata Shoyo. She’s Yachi Hitoka,” he tells Tsukishima and Yamaguchi. “Yacchan and I are from Miyagi Prefecture.”

“I’m Yamaguchi Tadashi from Tokyo,” Yamaguchi tells Shoyo, twisting his torso in an attempt to find a better sitting position. “And this is my best friend Tsukishima Kei! Tsukki scored in the top percentile on the entrance exam for this program,” he announces proudly, puffing out his chest like he’s sharing his own scores and not somebody else’s.

“Shut up, Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima groans, burying his head in his hands. Shoyo thinks he catches a glimpse of pink cheeks peeking through Tsukishima’s fingers.

“Sorry, Tsukki!”

“Shhhh!!” Yachi begs, hushing them all again. “What if—”

The door to the shed swings open.

“Ahhh!! We’re sorry!!” Yachi yelps, immediately getting to her knees to beg for forgiveness.

The person standing there stares down at her, eyes wide. “Huh.” And then he looks up.

Flat black hair cut like a bowl sits above piercing eyes, cobalt like the blue of a Mikasa volleyball. Shoyo traces the stranger’s small nose down to his deeply set frown, lips curved like Cupid’s bow. The boy is tall, hands shoved into the pockets of a black Adidas tracksuit.

The first coherent thought that Shoyo manages to formulate is: Cool.

“Oh, it’s this asshole again,” Tsukishima states, matter-of-fact. “The one who was trying to boss us around during the games earlier today. Kageyama, right?”

Kageyama’s face clouds like the sky before a storm. “You were the reason our team ate lunch last,” he mutters. “All the yogurt was gone by then. Jerk.”

“So you’re not an upperclassman?” Yachi asks, relief blossoming across her face. She scrambles to her feet and grabs Kageyama’s sleeve, pulling him inside before quickly shutting the door. “Phew… Now everybody be quiet!” she orders. “I don’t even want to think about what they’ll do to us if they find us.”

At her command, the shed falls silent for a while. Kageyama shuffles his feet awkwardly before crouching on the ground in a flat-footed squat. Shoyo watches him with intrigue; he can’t help it. Kageyama is…he’s eye-catching.

“What are you staring at?” Kageyama grunts after a little while, breaking the quiet.

“Nothing,” Shoyo says immediately, a flush crawling up his neck. Caught red-handed. “Iwasntlookingatanything!”

“What?” Kageyama prods, leaning closer. “Are you even speaking Japanese?”

“O meu nome é Shoyo Hinata,” Shoyo jokes, feeling his skin grow sweaty under his clothes.

Kageyama stares at him blankly and tilts his head, clearly confused. Shoyo stifles a laugh. This Kageyama guy has some pretty cute behaviors, he has to admit.

Yachi swats Shoyo’s arm gently. “His name is Hinata Shoyo. I’m Yachi Hitoka. We’re from Yukigaoka in Miyagi Prefecture,” she says timidly.

Kageyama nods, looking rather solemn. “I’m Kageyama Tobio. I’m from Sendai, so I’m from Miyagi, too.”

“No way!” Shoyo whispers, fighting to keep his voice down. “I’m a huge fan of the Sendai Frogs!”

“The volleyball team?” Tsukishima perks up for the first time since Kageyama entered the shed. “I guess you have some taste, after all, Shrimpy. The Frogs have some of the best blockers in the V-League.”

Before Shoyo can contest the ‘shrimpy’ comment, Kageyama speaks up: “The Frogs have weak offensive power; they only just made the jump from division two to division one. The best team in the V-League is hands-down the Schweiden Adlers.”

“You take that back!” Shoyo protests, seething, right as Tsukishima exclaims, “The Adlers?! The fucking Adlers?!”

“Be quiet!!” Yachi begs.

“I’m just stating facts,” Kageyama retorts, crossing his arms. “The Frogs are shitty.”

“The Frogs are not shitty!” Shoyo declares, heated in a way he only is when it comes to his favorite sport. He played wing spiker for his school team all through high school until it was time to study for university entrance exams—so sue him for being a little overly passionate. “They’re about to thrash the Adlers in their next match!”

“You’re a dumbass if you think—” Kageyama begins, meeting Shoyo’s glare head-on, when the door swings open for a third time.

“Having fun?” asks Yamamoto Akane, standing in the entryway, incisors sharp in her sparkly white smile.

Shoyo fails to suppress his audible gulp.

***

“Our next performers will be a group of five! They specially volunteered to perform this next song and they’ll be cleaning up the whole place once we call it a night!” announces Yamamoto, hitting play on the iPod Nano attached to the stereo speakers.

As the familiar Woaaaah of Justin Bieber’s Baby starts to reverberate through the room, Yamaguchi clutches his microphone like a lifeline, horror-stricken. Yachi’s knees knock together like a baby giraffe. Tsukishima stares blankly ahead.

“I don’t know this song,” Kageyama announces into his microphone, prompting giggles from the audience.

“Just do ad-libs!” Yachi squeaks, lowering her microphone so that she’s only audible to the five of them. “Who knows what the upperclassmen will do if we don’t try!”

“I know you love me, I know you care,” Tsukishima says, completely deadpan, into his microphone in accented English. He sounds like he’s reciting a passage for class.

What follows is the flattest, worst musical performance that Shoyo has ever witnessed, much less participated in. Despite the fact that English was never his favorite strongest subject, Shoyo’s firm grasp on pop culture and five years of playing guitar as a hobby mean that he and Yamaguchi manage to halfway carry the tune, stumbling over the lyrics. Yachi, who Shoyo knows to be an incredibly gifted pianist and lovely singer, spends the verses breathing loudly into the microphone and warbles out the refrain pitchily, halfway hiding behind Tsukishima, who is still doing a monotone robot impression (but somehow seems to know every word, including the rap).

As for Kageyama…he just yells, “Hey!” into his microphone every few seconds, so gruff it’s almost aggressive.

Their rendition is awful, objectively, and their classmates clutch their stomachs the whole time, peals of laughter ringing through the room. Shoyo knows they mean it in good fun; when the song comes to a painful end, the other first years drunkenly hoot and holler with good-natured enthusiasm. Nonetheless, Yamaguchi and Yachi still seem to be moments away from death by mortification.

Thankfully, the event ends shortly afterward, with their fellow students stumbling into the sleeping quarters; everyone is freshly of age and unused to drinking.

Kageyama, Yachi, Yamaguchi, Tsukishima, and Shoyo remain behind, where Yamamoto hands them all trash bags and a few brooms. “Hopefully this serves as a good lesson about being good team players instead of sneaking off to avoid participating,” she tells them. “It was so sweet of you five to offer to clean all this up in place of your very tired seniors!” Yamamoto stretches her arms above her head and yawns, exaggerated. “See you in the morning~”

Once they’re alone, Yamaguchi slumps back against a wall. “I can’t believe we got caught,” he groans.

“We wouldn’t have gotten caught if these two menaces could keep their voices down,” Tsukishima snarks, bending over and getting to work, plucking up paper plates and red solo cups by their rims with two fingers, wrinkling his nose. “God damn it, everything is sticky.”

“You were being loud, too!” Shoyo objects, hands on his hips.

“Let’s just hurry and get this over with,” Yamaguchi interrupts, pinching the bridge of his nose. Abashed, Shoyo joins Tsukishima in cleaning up, along with everyone else.

They finish the job in just thirty minutes, partially because Shoyo and Kageyama somehow end up competing as to who can collect the most trash: it all starts innocently enough, with Kageyama side-eyeing Shoyo’s less-full trash bag with a smirk. Shoyo can’t really even explain how it devolves into the two of them furiously stuffing garbage into their bags as fast as they can.

Shoyo thinks he hears Tsukishima whisper, “single-celled organisms” to Yamaguchi, who snickers in response, but he graciously elects to ignore them.

Once clean-up is finished, the five of them haul the bags out to the dumpster.

“We did it!” Yachi cheers, releasing a huge sigh of relief. Shoyo grins as he watches the tension flow out from her body, fully, for the first time that evening. Without warning, however, she stiffens again.

“What’s wrong, Yacchan?” he asks, genuinely concerned. “Did we forget something?”

“No, no! It’s all okay!” Yachi digs the toe of her converse into the dirt, fiddling with her small purse. “It’s just, um… Um, well, my parents got me a digital camera. To record memories of my time at university. And…I…Will you all take the first picture with me?” she squeaks out, completely pink in the face.

“In front of the dumpster?” Tsukishima raises a skeptical eyebrow.

“Ah, no, um…maybe in front of the inn?”

“Of course, we can!” Shoyo interrupts, marching over to the front of the main building and shucking off his shoes. “Everyone, stack your shoes here. We can put the camera on top of the pile and use the timer setting!”

Surprisingly, Yamaguchi and Tsukishima and Kageyama all surrender their shoes to the pile without a fight. Yachi’s red converse sit at the very top, flipped upside down so that the little camera can rest on a flat surface. Idly, Shoyo wonders if tonight is the start of something interesting.

“I’m clicking the button!” Yachi announces, pressing down before hurrying to the front steps of the inn, where the others are already waiting. She sits in the very center, sandwiched between Kageyama and Shoyo. Yamaguchi and Tsukishima perch on the step behind them.

Shoyo watches the little green light flash, counting down from ten…nine…eight…seven…six…five…four…three…two…

He raises two fingers in a peace sign and stretches his mouth into his widest smile.

Click.

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wyrmguardsecrets · 1 month

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You're all angry that Argent Pedo is being held accountable for being caught in LION'S PRIDE INN on a character whose age only said 'YOUNG'. Are they trying to convince you it always said 'YOUNG ADULT' and that I'm just on a crusade? Make yourselves a throwaway blog that can't be traced to your main and send me a DM, I'll send you the screenshots myself. Otherwise, just accept your friend was on a child toon in Goldshire.

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semperama · 1 year

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I was tagged by @jouissants to answer these book questions. Thanks, friend!

An estimate of how many physical books I own: Too many and somehow still not enough! My guess is somewhere in the ballpark of 150? 200 maybe? Probably no more than 200.

Favorite author: WHO can pick a favorite. My usual answer to this is Wally Lamb, but it's been so long since I've read one of his books, I'd have to think about whether that's changed.

A popular book I've never read and never intend to read: Pretty much any blockbuster YA novel, but to pick something theoretically more in my wheelhouse: One Hundred Years of Solitude. After white-knuckling my way through Love in the Time of Cholera, I just can't do it again.

A popular book I thought was just meh: The Night Circus. That book was all concept and no execution, to me.

Longest book I own: Probably either The Stand or It, not sure which is longer. Stephen King loves to put out a crazy-long book.

Longest series I own all the books to: Stephen King's Gunslinger series, which I actually still haven't read, oops.

Prettiest book I own: My mom just bought me an edition of Anne of Green Gables that has a really pretty illustrated cover.

A book or series I wish more people knew about: Ummm I don't know, I'm so bad at ~discovering niche books on my own. Most of the time I'm reading books that are either classics or well-reviewed or talked about a lot. I guess one book I really enjoyed that I haven't heard many people talk about is The Inn at Lake Devine by Elinor Lipman. I think I saw it on a list somewhere as a recommendation for people who like the movie Dirty Dancing, and it ended up being so unexpected and really, really great.

Book I'm reading now: Just finishing listening to Lie With Me by Philippe Besson on audiobook, and I checked Weyward by Emilia Hart out from the library, but I haven't started reading it yet.

Book that's been on my TBR list for a while but I still haven't got around to it: So many, because I'm very slow at reading lately. I've started reading East of Eden approximately 20 times and never managed to finish it, so let's go with that.

Do you have any books in a language other than English: I have many, because my husband and father-in-law buy me books in other languages whenever they travel somewhere out of the country. I have the first book in The Witcher series in Polish, the first three Harry Potter books and Alice in Wonderland in Hebrew; Pride & Prejudice and Jane Eyre in French; and The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe in Japanese.

Paperback, hardcover, or ebook?: When I buy a physical book, I prefer hardcover, because it bothers me how beat-up paperbacks get so quickly. These days I almost exclusively read ebooks though. It's just so much easier to have them in my phone, and I'm out of space on my bookcases anyway, ahaha.

tagging: @psicygni, @apeacebone, @boxboxlewis, @blamemma, @veryspecificfantasies

#about me #books

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 4 months

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There has been a controversy where I live in the Borough of Milford, Pennsylvania, over whether to pass a resolution in support of Pride Month. This is conservative area, with groups like The Rod of Iron, a cult that worships the AR-15 led by a son of Rev. Moon, based nearby, and there is opposition in the area to endorsing Pride Month. This column is from remarks I made tonight to the borough commissioners in support of Pride Month. The resolution passed in a unanimous vote.

It’s hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that it was 55 years ago next month that I was on my way from my loft on Broome Street to the Lion’s Head bar on Christopher Street in Manhattan when I walked right into what would become known as the Stonewall Riot. That night is what gay pride and Pride Month is about. On June 27, 1969, police from the NYPD vice squad were busting the Stonewall Inn, a gay bar on Christopher Street. A crowd gathered across the street from the bar as cops led gay customers from the bar in handcuffs and put them into the back of what they used to call a “paddy wagon” that had been parked in front of the bar.

When a trans woman protested the way cops were prodding her with their nightsticks, two cops grabbed her and forcibly threw her into the back of the paddy wagon. The crowd began throwing coins at the cops, jeering and calling them “pigs.” Then a paving stone flew through the air and broke the Stonewall’s front window. Two cops slammed shut the back doors of the paddy wagon, and as it drove away, more paving stones were thrown. The cops retreated inside the bar and the crowd surged across Christopher Street yelling, “Let them go! Let them go!”

It was the gay community’s Rosa Parks moment, when a black woman in Montgomery, Alabama, refused to sit in the back of the bus and was arrested, setting off the Montgomery Bus Boycott, which began in December of 1955 and lasted until a Supreme Court decision a year later declared that segregating a mode of public transportation was unconstitutional. It was the beginning of the Civil Rights Movement, which led eventually to the Civil Rights and Voting Rights laws of the mid 1960’s.

On the night of June 27, 1969, gay people in Greenwich Village rose up and said, we’re not going to take it anymore. What was it? It was everything – being forced by societal norms to live in the closet if you wanted a job, or to rent an apartment, or to get a loan at a bank, or any of the other ordinary things straight people took for granted. It was illegal in June of 1969 to serve an openly gay person a drink in New York State, so all the gay bars in New York City, including the Stonewall, were run by the mob. The police were paid off to keep them open. Busts of gay bars like the bust at the Stonewall happened all the time. It was part of the price you paid if you were gay, to get arrested for buying a drink in an establishment open to the public. That night, gay people said, we won’t put up with it anymore. That weekend, as people walked home after squads of cops in riot gear had cleared the streets, was the first time I had ever seen gay people openly holding hands in the street. The chains were off.

I wrote a story on the front page of the Village Voice, “Gay Power Comes to Sheridan Square,” about the Stonewall riot. If you had told me, or anyone for that matter, that a movement would be born that would lead to the decriminalization of gay sex, to same sex marriage, and to gay people, for the first time in the nation’s history, being allowed to serve openly in the military, you would have been asked what you were smoking.

A year later on the anniversary of Stonewall, the first Gay Pride parade marched up Fifth Avenue from Washington Square Park. There wasn’t yet a Pride Month – that would come later – but a movement was born that over a period of the next four decades brought about all those things. Gay people had to fight for rights everyone else already enjoyed.

My part in the gay rights movement was to write about and champion the right of gay people to serve openly in the United States Military. I come from a family with history of military service. My grandfathers and my father and my uncle and my brother and I all served. All we had to do was sign on the dotted line and take the oath and we were soldiers. But during the time we were in the Army, gay Americans had to do something extra. They had to hide who they were, because it was illegal to be gay and serve in the military.

Think about that for a moment. You are a young man or a young woman, and you are patriotic, and you want to serve your country, but if you are gay or lesbian or trans or anything in any way other than heterosexual, you must commit a crime to do your patriotic duty, as perhaps your father or mother or grandfather had done.

Memorial Day will be here next week, when as a nation we mourn those who gave their lives in serving their country in the military. Have you ever thought of how many veterans were gay, or lesbian or trans, whom we mourn and thank on Memorial Day? Have you ever thought of the debt we owe them? Have you ever thought of the patriotism they felt as they wore the uniform, the pride they took in their service to this country?

Let me share a story my father told me many years ago, before the law imposing “don’t ask, don’t tell” was repealed. In the winter of 1950, my father was serving in the 2nd Infantry Division as a company commander. His unit was part of an attack ordered by General Douglas MacArthur to drive the Chinese Army out of North Korea. To put it bluntly, it didn’t work. After a series of battles with the Chinese Army, the 2nd Infantry Division was in retreat through a valley that became known as “The Gauntlet.” His company was bringing up the rear of the retreat under punishing fire from the Chinese Army. In a last, desperate attempt to escape the valley, my father ordered his men over a hill. Dad’s company was pursued closely by the Chinese army as they took multiple casualties and carried their wounded. As they reached the top of the hill, a machine gunner set up his machine gun and began strafing the Chinese Army as they climbed the hill in pursuit of dad’s company. He stayed there, firing his machine gun, until the last soldiers in dad’s company had carried their wounded to safety. He killed dozens of Chinese soldiers and he was killed protecting the retreat of dad’s infantry company.

After that build up, it won’t surprise you to learn the machine gunner was gay. Since before the 2nd Infantry Division had been sent to Korea to fight, he had been relentlessly harassed and teased and bullied by his platoon mates. Everyone in the company knew this was happening and did nothing to defend him. And yet he stayed on that hill and fired his machine gun defending his company until a Chinese bullet took his life.

Dad told me that the next day after his company had reached safety in the rear area, they held a service for their company mates who had lost their lives. Dad said that when the name of the machine gunner was read out, people started to weep openly. Dad said that despite the fact that others had died that day, and others would be killed as the war dragged on, it was the saddest moment in the war for him, because he had known about the abuse of the gay soldier in his company, and he had done nothing about it, and yet the man gave his life to save his fellow soldiers.

I tell you this story because I want you to think about where patriotism and pride come from, and what they really are. Patriotism isn’t a right; it is a privilege that is born in the heart. Pride isn’t just about a lifestyle or sexual identity. Pride is about what we all gain when we are free and can celebrate that freedom together, as individuals and as citizens of our great country.

Pride is a dish best served warm, and from the heart. I hope you will join us as we celebrate Pride Month together.

[Lucian Truscott newsletter]

#LGBTQ #LUCIAN TRUSCOTT newsletter #gay pride #patriotism #articles

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satureja13 · 6 months

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Vlad's Therapy Game - Part 3 (There is a Poll below) Vlad is still playtesting. And while he took a walk through the village and admired Tiny Can's work, it slowly went dark, the stands closed and the folks went to the Lion's Pride Inn.

He heard the music from the inside. 'The Dublin Pub Crawl' by The Irish Rovers was playing.

'We all went in to Kitty McGee's for we're a jolly crew We all went in to Kitty McGee's to have a drink or two Kitty McGee's, in Dublin town upon the crawl A hell of a time was had by all, down where the beer and whiskey flew'

He had nowhere to go and so he went in. Maybe someone takes pity on him and gives him some food? He already felt a bit weak on his legs. And his job at the sculptor only started early next morning... There are so many known faces here! Ms. Coombes, their former teacher, Travis (Jeb and Ji Ho's Roadie) and Uncle Stefan, who raised Jack. But they are just NPCs Tiny Can created and none of them recognized him.

As soon as Gia, the bartender, saw Vlad, she stopped him. Gia: "I'm sorry. You can't enter as long as your status is unclear. Go to the castle after you got paid tomorrow and ask for an audience to talk to the Queen about your status. You can sleep in the shack behind the Inn and I'll care for your horse after my shift. But that's all I can do for you."

And so Vlad went over to the shack...still hungry. Let's hope Diablo finds a better place for the night. At least he can eat some grass and would't have to go to sleep hungry. And then this cute - but somehow really delicious looking bunny approached Vlad... should he...? It's just a game. But the thought of eating a bunny makes him uncomfortable. He does eat meat, but killing the animal himself is a whole different thing. But he's so hungry. And he'll have to survive the night and the next day working before he gets paid...

Vlad tried to escape this situation by going to (try to) sleep. But when he stood up and stepped inside the shack, he saw stars and almost fell unconscious. He has no choice...

In the meantime, Gia was caring for Diablo. The way she looks at him. Is she having the same thoughts about Diablo as Vlad has about the bunny? Ö.ö'

Phew. She finally leaves the stable. But Diablo decides it's better to stay awake and alert. No one will eat him. No matter how 'useless' they think he is!

Gia: "You weren't about to eat that bunny, were you?" Vlad: "Uhm..."

Gia: "You really must be very hungry then." And she gave him a plasma fruit! A HFN for Vlad and the bunny ^^'

This will help him (and the bunny) to survive the night and the next day. After he had the plasma fruit (that really tasted like a real one outside of the game), he lay on the straw in the shack and pondered about his ingame experiences so far. Even though many events here were upsetting and annoying, they still were managable and there had been no moment where he wanted to scream 'OUT!'. So Tiny Can improved a lot. And of course the Therapy Game will be annoying and hard. They all know that. Therapy is no rose garden after all and as far as he can speak for the others, they are determined to change their lives for the better and are willing to work hard for it. And he will help them by testing this game and make sure it's safe for them. He decided to playtest also the following day and then report back to Saiwa. And then he fell asleep under the stars that shone through the missing shingles of the shack and the bunny watched over his sleep...

TMI: Even though Vlad got killed by the Killer Bunny once, he isn't resentful. Vlad's sweet memories with Bunnies: on their trip to Henford and at Beltane.

The situation with hungry Vlad and the bunny reminds me of some quests in games that gave me a hard time. There was one in World of Warcraft where I had to use torture on a prisioner to get information. It's many years ago. I did it but I still feel uncomfortable about this. Killing when I get attacked ingame is ok for me, but this - I don't know. I play computer games for over 40 years now and I am still not dulled ^^' Do other players even have such thoughts? Let's find out:

You are also very welcome to leave a comment with your thoughts.

This is a very enthralling topic for me these days while we explore the Therapy Game and there will be more situations like this. I'm so curious how the Boys will deal with them. It's also very different from other games because the Boys act as themselves and it really feels like they are a part of their ingame surroundings.

From the Beginning ~ Underwater Love ~ Latest 🕹️ 'Therapy Game' from the beginning ▶️ here 📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 17-22 ~ 23-28

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laloward · 1 year

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thancred has been isekai'd to the lion's pride inn

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delmorii · 1 year

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3. Red (Extra Credit)

Over a decade ago…

Fall was well and truly settled over Eorzea, dead leaves dancing in the wind through New Gridania’s boughs. An elezen lancer, miqo’te bard, and lalafell white mage were walking toward the inn, each of their hands full with paper bags. The miqo’te was talking animatedly, her face red even in the low light of the gathering evening. Her lion-tuft tail was swishing excitedly behind her as they walked, and she was certainly the most animated of the three: smiling nervously, posing loud questions, and overall had a sort of jittery energy to her.

They passed under the amber lights of the lamp posts, the ivy coiled around the metal frame as if a reminder to the metal that this was a city of nature. Their steps sounded out against the wooden floor of the inn with solid thuds, a pleasant sort of sound after the continuous crunch of dead leaves. Nymomo took the lead to the innkeep, tapping on the desk to announce herself– and her stature– to the proprietor. After a few words and a name, they were permitted to one of the booked rooms with their parcels.

Alfoux knocked on the inn room door, and after a masculine ‘come in’ was heard from within, he pulled the door open to let Nymomo and Lucy enter before him. Nymomo strode in with a cheerful “hi!” to Sune, who smiled faintly as they all traipsed in. Nymomo reached the table first, and began depositing her parcels on it as she started to speak.

“Not too eventful today, all in all. We took watchman posts, like you asked. How’re you feeling?” She turned from the table and strode toward the bed: Sune looked at himself: he was wrapped in bandages around his middle and arm, and he lifted his non-bandaged hand to give her a wiggly ‘so-so’ gesture.

“Wishing I was out there with you. They’re saying another week… another week!” He grunted, brows drawing together. “Don’t they know a war is going on?”

“Of course they do, that’s why you’re in this room to begin with,” Nymomo replied, examining his injuries. As she did, Lucy and Alfoux also began depositing their bags on the table and began pulling out what they brought– delicious pies, warmed bread, and wrapped salted meats– a handful of Sune’s favourites. He looked over to the table and smiled.

“Thank you. You’ve all made this wait bearable with–with–” he faltered, catching sight of Lucy’s face. She grinned, stepping closer to him so he could see her face more clearly: not that he needed it, really. It was impossible to miss the bright red marks inked on her face, though her surrounding skin was also reddened– tattoos tended to irritate the skin, after all! Sune stared, wide-eyed, before breaking into a wide grin and throwing the covers off his bed in a hurry, swinging his legs over the side.

“Hey!–” was all Nymomo got out before Sune was pushing himself up and out of bed, closing the gap between him and Lucy to grab at her shoulders.

“You did it! You’ve decided to stick with us, then?” He asks excitedly: Lucy beamed, her tail swishing behind her.

“I did! I wish you’d been there, but I suppose you not being there helped me decide– I know I only joined to learn red magicks, but, there’s more to this life than exchanges, right?” She beamed: Sune grinned back, and she knew why. It was his lesson he taught her, seeing beyond what other people could do for her, and the pride in his expression made all the pain during the tattoos worth it. Sune pulled her into a hug, which she happily returned. A pair of thuds announced that Nymomo had slid off the bed, and her tutting followed.

“Sit! Sit right back down before you tear your stitches–” she scolded Sune, who pulled away from Lucy with a smile. He gave her shoulder a squeeze before letting go, looking down to Nymomo and apologising, moving back to the bed. Lucy went back to the table, beaming, and she shared a look with Alfoux: he gave one of his rare smiles, and his soft words were missed by Sune and Nymomo as the white mage corralled the dark knight back into bed.

“The reaction you were hoping for, I believe?”

“Yes,” Lucy replied with a smile, pulling out another pie and setting it aside. It was official: she had joined Dreadblade, and the red tattoos across her face marked her to the world as one of them.

–

Two years ago…

Lucy was looking at her hands. Laselk was a few fulms away, but keeping his distance. His words were met with a resounding silence as she stared at her shaking fingers, a memory dredged up in the middle of their argument.

“I… I have to be like this, Laselk. To succeed… I have to be cold. Aloof. I have to lock my heart away and discard the key.”

“You do not have to be like that, Lucy. You can still run this new business– and still remain yourself…”

Lucy’s hands shook. After Sune died, she’d recoiled into her own head, and once more saw people only as… transactions. Various means to an end. It was the only way she survived the mental onslaught that followed his death: Alfoux silently leaving Dreadblade, and Nymomo vanishing off to who-knew-where for years on end… when they’d lost Sune, they all had lost themselves. His lessons faded into the back of their minds, because without him, what did it matter? Who were they becoming better for? Who would smile and squeeze their shoulder and say ‘I’m proud of you’?

When Lucy looked over her shoulder, she had to blink a few times: Sune was gone, but his order– the same order that held the tenants of his teachings– survived, and somehow, she’d met another dark knight. Somehow, he was saying the same words to her… and Lucy considered, if only for a moment, that maybe she could try again.

Maybe she could be a person again, and not a shell of who she could be. Maybe she could be kind, and honest, and caring… and not succumb to her nature.

Perhaps she could be better than her own nature and circumstances.

Perhaps.

#ffxiv #ff14 #final fantasy xiv #lucea eldrin #ffxivwrite2023

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der-karibisch-heyder · 2 years

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Caribbean Currency 2

Continuing from the last post I made.

(Pictured: Florentine Guilder from 1341)

So I did a bit more reading around, mostly in the interest of grasping living wages and cost of living in the 17th and 18th centuries. In doing so I came across more in depth information about Dutch currency beyond the Lion Dollar, namely the Guilder.

Guilder, which is the English term for Gulden, which is German and Dutch for just “golden”, an informal term for “gold penny”. It is largely considered interchangeable with the Florin, as the currency was widely used all across the reach of the Holy Roman Empire. Anyway.

A Guilder was essentially worth half a Lion Dollar. Recall earlier, a Lion Dollar is worth between 4 and 5 Shillings in English currency. It takes 20 shillings to make a pound, thus 4 to 5 Lion Dollars to make a pound. Hence, it takes about 10 guilders to make a pound, so a Guilder is roughly equal to 1/10th the value of the pound or English Guinea. This is all noteworthy because the Guilder was the long accepted go-to currency for foreign reserves, likely due to its equal value and standing with the Florin and its widespread use across central Europe.

In reading on all this, I too found the values of ships were often rated in tonnage. Specifically about 20 pounds to the ton. Using some ships in Devil’s Eye for a quick reference...

La Demonia Roja, a massive Manilla Galleon, weighs in at 1000 tons of storage, giving it a massive value of 20,000 pounds.

The Barracuda, a simple schooner, weighs in at a mere 100 tons, giving it the value of 2000 pounds.

The Barracuda’s long standing rival and competitor from their piracy days, the Dutch vessel Diantha, being a converted Fluyt (a ship with a unique design meant to maximize tonnage without taking up too much area), weighs in with 400 tons for a value of 8000 pounds.

The HMS Cavalier, a 6th Rate warship oared frigate captained by an old former friend of Ravyn Hurley’s father, Post-Captain Jack Davenport, weighs in at 300 tons for a value of 6000 pounds.

For comparison’s sake, the annual wage of the First Lord of the Treasury of England was 4000 pounds. It’s a little sad that Ravyn’s pride of a ship is worth less than that, but such is life. Middle class wages were expected to be anywhere between 40 and 75 pounds a year, which is about what would be expected for a merchant trader who owned a ship. Given the costs of a ship and hiring a crew to captain and sail the ship, the loans must be outrageous. Despite that, a ship was a long term investment that often paid for itself several dozen times over several decades of use, which is why piracy for stealing such vessels was a lucrative business to begin with.

Other notable wages and fees of the 17th and 18th centuries include:

Coach rides were 5 pence per mile if you rode inside the coach, and 2 pence per mile if you rode on the outside.

River ferrying was about 3 pence per mile.

A cheap shared bed at an inn would cost you 2 pence a night - but an unfurnished room for rent would only cost 1 shilling a week, so it was actually cheaper to pay by week if you were staying over long term. (Things like this are again, why Ravyn needs Robert around to manage the crew’s finances!)

Servants only made between 2 and 5 pounds a year in earnings, but their estate would pay for their clothing, food, and board, which were the most common and costly expenses of living at the time. A more experienced housemaid could make up to 8 pounds a year, and an exceptional housekeeper could make up to 15 pounds a year.

Lastly, it was generally assumed anyone making 500 pounds or more a year were considered wealthy to some degree or another. I don’t know how far up one must go the wealth ladder to be considered nobility or aristocracy, though.

As for the money the Heyder family pulls in, I’m still working that out. I’m imagining Robert having a fairly large amount of disposable income, but not enough to where he can just liberally throw money at any and every problem he comes across. Otherwise it would start begging some questions. I’ll get back to that later.

#OOC #real history #given the Heyder family's closeness with the Hawthornes #and the fact both of Robert's sons work jobs #it wouldn't make sense for the family to be fabulously wealthy #but they are more comfortable than most #again im still working on it

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rylandfalkov · 2 years

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TT: Which inn was it?

"Lion's Pride Inn, of course! That's where all the fun stuff happens!"

lol thanks @chothulu

#ama

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sp00t-the-n00b · 1 month

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Spoot's WoW Classic Adventure: Northshire Noobery

Hello! I am Spoot, and I have always been a bit of a noob when it comes to games, even though I play them all day. Today I decided to start a new adventure in World of Warcraft Classic. I tried to take a screenshot during character creation, but I pressed the wrong button.

Here I am after creating my character. I swear nothing happened between me and the man behind me.

I was told by the soldiers at Northshire Abbey to go on a murderous rampage. Also I found a pretty dress.

After murdering some kobolds who just wanted to chill around their campfires and sing kumbaya, as well as the local wildlife, it was time to formally train as a paladin of the holy light. After which, I was told to go kill more kobolds.

As I was performing my holy murder duties, I found a sister in Christ.

Here I am, murdering an otherwise docile kobold who clearly had it coming.

After I killed enough kobolds, I returned to the marshal for my next orders...

Well, I don't know what to say to this one, other than to obey a direct order from a superior officer, so, uhhh...

I'm assuming he meant kill them, so I guess that's what I'll do.

I found a bald mage with my actual name and began wondering if there was some Twilight-Zone level tomfoolery afoot, as I am actually bald in real life. I almost turned the game off to grab my tinfoil hat, but I decided to persevere.

I was now tasked with beating up a bunch of thugs who took over some poor lady's vineyard for... reasons?

Turns out they were just a bunch of hungry bums who just wanted a few grapes for a snack. They objected to me taking their snacks away, so naturally, as a holy paladin of the light, I brought swift justice upon them.

I then met a friendly night elf named Lorerain who excitedly clapped for me when I completed my mission. She told me she liked my name, to which I thanked her. The next thing she said, however, caught me a bit off guard...

Now, I'm not sure what that means, perhaps a heavy night-elvish accent? Or perhaps it isn't English at all? As best I can tell, she was trying to say that if I killed an 'orn', which I'm guessing is supposed to be 'orc' I should say that he just got Spooted. I simply replied 'Yes' and moved on.

My next mission will bring me out of cozy little Northshire Valley and into the great wide world of Azeroth, at the Lion's Pride Inn in Goldshire. Until next time...

#gaming #video games #world of warcraft #wow #wow classic #noob

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whitepolaris · 3 months

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Stone Lion Inn

Foul play is afoot, and guests at the Stone Lion Inn like it that way. They walk the halls, their inquisitive minds trains on finding a murderer. Of course, it's all a game, right? After all, they signed up for a murder-mystery weekend in an old historic inn. Tensions are high, but the stakes aren't real. But then, who was the little girl lurking on the third floor, one member there and gone the next? Or the older gentleman in period dress in the basement? Employees say they've been residents of the inn since long before it started taking boarders. One steeped in tragedy, the other in pain, the two remain within, making their presence known and startling guests.

It there is one thing that paranormal investigators can agree on, it is this: The past is never truly past. If it were there would be nothing to investigate. Within the walls of a stately inn, history is remembered not just by the staff, but by all those who played a part. Certain buildings retain their memories in the form of memorabilia, relics of the party that present-day owners may find quaint or fascinating. Others may take pride in that part. Still others find a different way to remember, as the souls of those who walked before dwell within, a reminder of days gone by.

The Stone Lion Inn was built in 1907 by F. E. Houghton as a home for his large family. He built the house right next door to the one they'd already outgrown. When he and his wife moved in, they had twelve children, including a daughter named Augusta. She was very playful child, her names and toys confined to the third floor. Tragedy struck the Houghton family, however, when the little girl was just eight years old. She contracted whooping cough that left her bedridden. Because medicines of the day were often placed with opium and codeine, the child died of an accidental overdose. Houghton was devastated by the loss of his little girl.

The Houghtons lived in the home for many more years before moving on some time in the 1920s, when it was leased out as a funeral home. In 1986 it was it was purchased by Becky Luker. With the help of her sons, she was determined to fix the place up and turn it into Guthrie's first bed-and-breakfast. Howeveer, things took a strange turn when she began renovations.

During the night, she could hear the sounds of someone walking around upstairs and up and down the back staircase. On several occasions, Luker called the police, but no intruders were ever found. The large third-floor closet, where her son stored his toys, was routinely ransacked by an unseen presence. There were other events that the Lukers found strange, until from the Houghton's children cleared up some of the mystery. They told her of their sister, Augusta, and identified the chest in the third-floor closet as one they'd used in their youth to store toys. They also related that, after their parents had fallen asleep, they would often creep along the back staircase for some late-night entertainment.

There appear to be several restless souls in this stately mansion, but the best known is the little girl named Augusta. Though rarely seen, she might be found tucking the Luker family into bed at night, or touching their faces to wake them up in the morning. Some guests have complained that the child played on their bed while they were trying to sleep. The most common manifestations of Augusta, however, come in the form of footsteps up and down the back stairs, the sound of giggling, and the sound of a wooden ball being rolled across the third floor.

Many people claimed that Houghton himself haunts the basement. Many have seen him, but more have sensed his presence in other ways. The sudden scent of pipe tobacco, for example, is one of his common methods of announcing himself. Though the Stone Lion Inn is a nonsmoking establishment, the scent still pops up from time to time, which seemingly no source. Phantom voices are also reported, such as a laughing woman. While some guests find the phenomena fascinating, others are frightening to the point of leaving.

Several paranormal investigate groups, including the Oklahoma Paranormal and Research Investigations team and GHOULI (Ghost Haunts of Oklahoma and Urban Legend Investigations), have investigated the house with interesting results. Among the findings: electronic voice phenomena (EVPs) of a young girl's voice, as well as that of an older man. Electromagnetic field meters have gone off in places with no discernible sources, and cold spots have been felt throughout the inn.

Restless souls notwithstanding, the Stone Lion Inn has become famous for other reasons: Murder Mystery Weekend. During this time, guests can partake in a whodunit-style party in which one of the guests is more than they seem. Guests can stay out in one of the six bedrooms that features private baths and sitting rooms, claw-footed tubs for two, and a full gourmet breakfasts.

If you're looking for a first-class mystery weekend, book well in advance. Although there is never a bad time to stay at the Stone Lion Inn, Augusta is most often found sneaking up and down the back staircase between the hours of 10 p.m. and 12 a.m. The laughing woman is heard around 4 a.m. Mr. Houghton, however, seems to appear at a random, keeping to no schedule but his own. -Scott A. Johnson

#type read #weird oklahoma

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