#white painted brick chimney

[unstablexbalor]

New York Roofing Tile

Huge elegant white three-story wood exterior home photo with a tile roof

[ruhele]

New York Roofing Tile Huge elegant white three-story wood exterior home photo with a tile roof

[smilecupcake]

Exterior in Nashville

A modest traditional two-story brick building with a gable roof.

[aubreefisher]

image of a two-story, elegant, white building with a gable roof. Mid-sized elegant white two-story wood gable roof photo

[pretzel-box]

Summary: You're a mortal fisher that catches the attention of an ancient sea god without knowing it.

Tags: Some 'fluff', mortal reader, sea god sebastian

Words: 2,6k

There was a small village that was cradled on the edge of an unknown island like a forgotten secret among humans, made out of solid stone, earth and sand while being shaped by the restless waves of the deep ocean. Narrow cobbled streets would wound between the homes of sun-bleached woods and weathered bricks while fine smoke curled up from the going chimneys, mingling with the salty sea air. Many signs of a life gathered around this place despite its unknown status.

The endless ocean surrounded the village on all sides, an eternal sentinel, its deep blue waves gently lapping at the shoreline as if it were whispering ancient lullabies. The sun hung low in the sky, casting the world in hues of gold and lavender, where the horizon blurred into a seamless meeting of sea and sky. The sound of gulls crying in the distance echoed through the air, carried by the wind that rustled through the tall grasses and wildflowers growing at the island’s edge.

Farther out, where the cliffs rose jagged and defiant against the endless ocean, the waves crashed with a furious roar, sending white spray high into the air. Yet here, within the village, the sea was gentle—a mirror reflecting the sky’s fading light.

Small fishing boats bobbed in the harbor, tethered to wooden posts worn smooth by years of use. Their painted hulls were chipped and faded, yet they held a quiet dignity, as if they had borne witness to centuries of tides, storms, and the steady rhythm of life. Nets hung drying on the docks, draped like lace over the old wood, waiting for the morning light to send the fishermen back to the open sea.

The wind picked up, carrying with it the scent of salt and damp earth. A few villagers, their faces lined with age and the sea’s touch, gathered in quiet conversation near the docks, their voices low, as if unwilling to disturb the peace. Lanterns flickered to life in the twilight, casting a soft, golden glow over the village, like stars scattered across the earth.

As the day gave way to dusk, the village seemed to breathe, a living thing, connected to the ocean and sky in a way that was timeless. The sea, the cliffs, the forest—they were all one with the village, woven into its very being. And as the stars began to emerge, one by one, above the endless horizon, the island seemed to settle into itself, cradled by the ocean’s eternal embrace, waiting for whatever secrets the tides might bring.

"Listen, my child. Our story began long ago, when the gods still walked the earth and the stars were young."

Once upon a time…

The land was molded by the hands of glorious deities, their fingers painting the skies and carving the rivers. They placed the sun on the horizon and the plains upon the earth. The world flourished, but with its growth came envy, as some gods overshadowed others. To gain power, they created life—humans, born from their desire for control.

At first, humans worshiped their creators with devotion, pledging loyalty to one deity, then betraying the next. They defiled the divine in their thirst for more, striking down gods one by one. Until, at last, only humans remained, reigning over the world they had once been given. The gods, once mighty, were destroyed by the very hands that they had shaped.

The lesson was clear for the mortals: gods could not be trusted.

You grew up in the small village, cradled by the sea, raised between the wind and the waves as if you were a child of nature itself. The first thing you learned was your origin, that you were descended from the gods—gods who were flawed and fallible. Your grandparents told you stories of your ancestors, how they fought with their lives for the right to live on this island, battling forces far beyond their comprehension.

Ages ago, a fierce god named Solace ruled over these waters. His rage, directed at both his siblings and their creations, churned the oceans into relentless fury. Your ancestors tried to cross the waters for months, many drowned and many got sacrificed to soothe the will of the deity that ruled in the waters. His anger blinded Solace, his envy and his feelings were like a sharp sword, pointed at himself. Your ancestors tricked him, like they did with so many other deities before. They sealed him into the ocean, robbing him of his necklace that he wore. And after they triumphed over him, the ocean came to rest. All thanks to the necklace that secretly holds Solace his powers.

A necklace that rested around your neck, a family piece that was given down as the generations passed. It was a sea shell pendant, reflecting in beautiful blue-silver hues as if the sea itself was placed upon you. And you wore it with pride.

Your mother gave it to you the day you joined the family tradition, stepping into the life of a fisher. It was a simple gift, passed down through generations, as much a symbol of your heritage as the sea itself. You learned to live in harmony with the waves, to respect the life beneath the surface, and to take only what was needed. Your family had always been blessed by the ocean, and so would you. It was honest work—give and take—where you not only harvested from the sea but also protected it, keeping it clean and honoring its depths.

"Keep calm," you murmured to yourself, the words a quiet mantra as you sat in your small boat. The sun was warm on your back as you focused on tying the loose strings of your net, the gentle rocking of the boat a familiar comfort.

Your mother had taught you to knit the nets in the old traditional way, every knot a connection to your ancestors. Your father, in turn, had shown you the art of fishing—how to hunt with respect, how to make the death of the fish swift and painless, and how to use every part of it in reverence for the life taken. A true fisher never wastes, for the sea gives generously but only to those who understand its balance.

The rhythm of your hands, the whisper of the wind, and the quiet lap of the waves against the boat—they all wove together like a song. You were part of something much larger than yourself, connected to the ancient currents of the sea, just as your family had always been.

You lifted your finished net, admiring the neat knots with a smile of quiet pride. A rush of happiness filled your chest as you hugged the net, feeling accomplished. You had honored the legacy of your ancestors, crafting the tool with care, just as they had done for generations. It was a simple but profound joy, knowing that you were connected to something so old and enduring.

With a steady breath, you prepared to cast the net into the water, hoping for a good catch to feed your family tonight. The gentle hum of the waves blended with your thoughts, and as the net unfurled, you missed the soft snap of a string breaking. But the sudden blue shimmer at the corner of your eye did not go unnoticed.

Your heart dropped as you realized it was your necklace—the one your mother had given you. Somehow, it had tangled itself in the net, and as you began to fish, it slipped from your neck effortlessly, tumbling into the water before you could react. You watched in stunned silence as the delicate jewelry disappeared beneath the surface, swallowed by the depths in an instant.

The sea, ever so calm just moments ago, now seemed impossibly vast and unyielding. That necklace was more than just a piece of jewelry; it was a part of you, a part of your family. And now, it was gone.

It sank slowly, the glimmering stone catching the last rays of sunlight as it shimmered just beneath the surface, suspended in the water like a delicate promise about to be broken. You watched, helpless, as it drifted deeper, the blue hue of the ocean swallowing it whole. Your heart pounded in your chest, a heavy sense of dread filling you as the necklace—your link to your family, your ancestors—vanished silently into the dark water below.

Your hands slackened, the net forgotten, slipping from your grasp into the boat. Without a second thought, instinct took over. Before you even realized what you were doing, you dove headfirst into the water, chasing the fading glint of silver.

The coldness of the ocean hit you like a shock, but you didn’t care. You kicked your legs, your arms pushing against the water, desperately reaching for the necklace as it continued its slow descent. The light above you grew dimmer as you sank deeper, the world around you a muffled echo of the surface. You could barely see now, the shimmering silver reduced to a distant gleam.

The water pressed in on you, chilling your skin and constricting your lungs. Panic began to claw at the edges of your mind, but you couldn’t stop—wouldn’t stop. It was more than just an heirloom; it was the weight of your ancestors’ blessings, the legacy of your family, and it was slipping further and further away.

Your lungs began to burn, the pressure of the deep water pressing against your chest, but still, you reached out, fingers stretching into the darkness. The necklace was now just a faint blur, fading into the abyss. Desperation surged through you as your arms flailed in the icy depths.

The darkness was overwhelming, the cold water pressing in on all sides as you sank deeper, the faint shimmer of your necklace vanishing into the abyss. Your chest burned, lungs screaming for air, but your limbs were too heavy, too numb. The weight of the ocean dragged you down, and for a moment, you felt yourself surrendering to the pull, the necklace gone.

But then, something strange happened. A warmth surrounded you, gentle and reassuring, cutting through the icy water. A firm hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you upwards with a strength that felt both human and not. Yet, the darkness caught you and you passed out.

The first thing you felt was a pair of warm lips on yours, innocent, shy and yet somewhat dedicated. A wet hand was placed close to your throat. Then your head shot up as reality caught up to you, the water in your lungs creeping up your throat as you coughed it all out.

Coughing, disoriented, you blinked away the saltwater from your eyes, the world around you blurred. As your vision cleared, you found yourself being held by a man—no, something far more. His eyes, a deep and endless blue, locked onto yours. His presence was as overwhelming as the ocean itself, powerful and ancient, yet there was a softness in the way he held you.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. The stranger's arm was still wrapped around you, steadying you against the gentle rocking of the waves. His dark hair flowed around him, as though it were a part of the sea, and his skin, shimmering faintly in the light, seemed to glow with a quiet radiance. He wasn’t human, no, but he felt familiar.

“Breathe,” he whispered, his voice like the soft murmur of the tide, calming and steady.

You did, drawing in deep, shaky breaths, your heart still racing from the shock. “Who… who are you?” you stammered, your voice weak, barely above a whisper.

He gazed at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable but his eyes filled with something tender, something that made your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear. "Sebastian," he finally said, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "I live within these waters."

You nodded slowly, still dazed, as you tried to comprehend what had just happened. The cold of the water, the rush of drowning, and now… this.

Then, the realization hit you like a wave crashing over your head. “My necklace,” you breathed, panic swelling inside you again. You turned to look down into the water, but there was no shimmer, no sign of the silverish blue. “It’s gone… my necklace… I lost it.”

Sebastian’s eyes followed yours, and for a moment, a flicker of something like regret passed over his face. “The sea does not return everything,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a kind of sorrow that seemed to echo from somewhere deep within him. "Not all that it takes can be given back."

Your heart sank, the weight of his words settling heavily inside you. The necklace—your family's necklace—was gone, lost forever to the depths. Tears pricked at your eyes, but you fought them back, not wanting to break down in front of this strange, beautiful man who had saved your life.

Sebastian’s gaze softened as he watched you, and before you could react, his hand reached up, brushing gently against your cheek, his touch feather-light. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, and you could hear the sincerity in his voice, the sadness that lingered in his words. “I wish I could have saved it for you.”

You swallowed hard, nodding, though the ache in your chest was still raw. “It was my family…” you whispered, your voice trembling. “It was important.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, simply letting his fingers linger against your skin, his presence steady, grounding. “Your family's memory doesn’t live in that necklace,” he said softly, his eyes searching for yours. “It lives in you. In everything you carry with you. That cannot be lost, not to the sea or anything else.”

His words, gentle and warm, wrapped around your heart like a soothing balm. You nodded again, still feeling the loss, but somehow, in his presence, the grief didn’t feel quite so unbearable.

For a moment, you simply floated there together, the waves lapping gently against your bodies, the sun casting a warm, golden light over the surface of the water. Sebastian’s hand stayed close to yours, his touch lingering, as though he couldn’t quite bring himself to let you go.

“Why did you help me?” you asked after a long silence, your voice barely above a whisper, unsure if you wanted the answer.

Sebastian’s gaze flickered, his deep blue eyes searching yours. “Because,” he said softly, a hint of something more in his voice, something unspoken, “I couldn’t let you go.”

There was something in the way he looked at you, an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. You couldn’t understand it, the pull between you two, but it was undeniable. He had saved you—not just from drowning, but from something deeper, something you couldn’t quite name.

For now, you let the quiet peace of the ocean surround you, content in his presence, even as the necklace drifted farther into the depths, lost but somehow no longer the most important thing in your heart.

You finally took the time to admire his large form, he was as pretty as the mermaids from the childhood stories, as gentle looking as the ocean and his eyes, his eyes were like the ones of a god. You never saw someone like him before, but he mesmerized you.

He had placed you back into your boat, his hand lingered a bit longer on your cheek than anticipated and you could feel a mutual spark between you two.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Here we have a home that demonstrates how stark white walls don't mean that a house can't be colorful. Why, however, they painted all the exterior brick blue, I don't understand. Anyway, the 1991 contemporary home, located in Pauma Valley, California, has 3bd, 3.5ba and is listed for $1.15M.

Enter an open "foyer." The front door is painted purple inside. Love that.

Immediately to the right is a big bright living room with a contemporary fireplace. I think that the colorful chimney is wallpaper, there's a blue square painted on the wall with an orange door to the left that matches the Mona Lisa art.

Also in the living room is a recessed wet bar.

The open concept living/dining room features a custom made conversation pit. I'm disappointed that the furnishings don't seem to be included. But, I guess there's enough color for the buyers to put their own stamp on it.

Look at the tile column that appears to be made of Legos. The stairs and seats in the pit are made of concrete, so all that's needed are some cushions.

Brightly striped wall in the dining room has a neon sign that says, "Steak Me Home Tonight." I wonder if it conveys.

The spacious powder room has pink toilet paper roll wallpaper.

The kitchen has white cabinetry and features a blue island, but accessories provide pops of color.

In the family room, a floor-to-ceiling fireplace looks funky with raised geometric shapes painted gray. I suppose that you can repaint it, if you want. Light blue shelving and cabinets provide the color in the room.

Purple carpeting in the primary bedroom. I see what they were trying to do with the bed, but it's just not bright enough.

I prefer this bedroom with the mural and geometric shapes.

Check out the bright yellow wall of cabinets in the home office. That desk would be easy to duplicate.

Colorful wallpaper and doors.

The basement is a blank canvas.

This home is located in a country club.

Nice entrance to the driveway, but I think it would look classier if they hadn't painted the bricks.

Path to the front door looks nice.

The kidney-shaped pool kinda looks heart-shaped, too. A privacy wall surrounds the property.

They didn't show it, but there's a sun room or conservatory in the back.

Unusual elevated yard area has a ladder to get to it.

https://www.realtor.com/realestateandhomes-detail/15759-Pauma-Valley-Dr_Pauma-Valley_CA_92061_M28257-29025

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Reflections

Chapter Three

Master List / Real People Master List / Reflections Master List

Pairing: Mia MacAlsdair x Au Tom Hiddleston

Warnings: none, 18+ Minors do not interact

A/N: I apologize in advance should my Scottish/English interpretations be incorrect. I am Canadian playing in a world of my own making. Do not @ me.

**I do not tag. **To be notified of updates and new works, subscribe to me or the story on AO3 for email notification, or follow the library blog @tilltheendwilliwrite-library  with notifications turned on so you’re not missing out. An account is required to access my work on AO3. For more information on how to get your FREE AO3 account, see this post.

Mia marvelled out the car window at the house. The pictures didn't do it justice. 

It was Tudor style; the white-washed daub between the timber frames, steeply pitched gables, and thatched roof made it easy to distinguish between that and other periods. Brick and pipe chimneys smoked merrily. The casement window glass gleamed with shine and a fresh coat of white paint. 

Two years of Covid and a subscription to Home and Garden Television, along with Tubi and their shows on restoration projects across the UK, apparently imparted lessons that were paying off. 

The door was kelly green with a white climbing rose clinging to the wall. The plant crossed the lintel and spanned the area above the house's main floor windows. Someone had taken great care of the garden, for flowers bloomed in veritable heaps of colour below every window before the well-kept yard spread out in a wash of lush green lawn, meticulously mowed. 

Trees surrounded the property, but she could make out more buildings farther into the grounds, though Jacob - her driver - pulled up in front of the cobblestone path that led from the raked gravel drive to the door. 

"It's bigger than I thought," Mia murmured, allowing him to get the door and her to step outside. The house was triple the size of anything she could afford back in Canada.

The fresh air was crisp and clean, and the sun peeking through the clouds was lovely. She stood and basked, eyes closed, taking it in momentarily before moving away from the car. 

She couldn't help but smile at the unique roof and the fancy thatching. After hours of devouring the shows on home restoration for period properties, she had enormous respect for the men and women who could accomplish such an incredible craft. It was truly remarkable that, after hundreds of years, such material and labour were still used today. 

Before she could touch the doorknob, already in love with the door's colour, it swung open to reveal a short, stout woman wearing a frilly apron. Her hair was flaming red, her eyes emerald green, but her cast of wrinkles bespoke her age. Still, her smile was wide and welcoming, if a little guarded. 

“Camila MacAlasdair?”

"Mia, please," she smiled and held out her hand. "Mrs. Bailey?"

"Ock, we don't shake the hands of family," she huffed, grabbing Mia's wrist and hauling her forward into a hug that should have come from someone the size of Fergus. "Yer wee gran would 'ave taken one look at ye and known ye were Callum's girl. Ye've yer da's eyes."

Mia leaned into the hug - though leaned down was more accurate. "You knew them well?"

"I've been keeping house for yer grandparents since yer da was a wee lad. It was a shame what happened with yer mum. A true shame. Would that they had lived to see ye and tell ye all this themselves." 

Grief tugged at Mia's heart for her lost family. "Yeah."

"Bah!" Mrs. Bailey set her back and lightly patted Mia's arms. "Here I am holdin' ye in the door like an eejit when yer probably puggled. Let's get ye a scran and settled 'afor I go talkin' yer ear off." 

The woman turned on her heel and set off into the house.

"Puggled?" Mia murmured to Jacob, arriving with the first of her bags. 

"She means tired," chuckled the very British Jacob. 

With the thicker accents of the Scots she'd spent the last week with, it was a shock to have Jacob greet her in a voice that reminded her of Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice. 

He'd been kind enough to help her decipher a few of Fergus and Ivy's more colourful sayings. 

Your head's full of mince was one of them. Your bum's out the window was another.

"Ah," Mia nodded, wondering if there was an app for deciphering Scottish - and British - English as even Jacob caused her to blink in confusion when he asked if she were 'taking the piss' and had to explain himself. 

She would see about that later. Fergus gifted her a fancy new phone with what he termed better encryption and security. It was also already attached to her household expenses and ran on the nation's phone service.

Mia stepped beyond the threshold and bit her cheek to keep her jaw from dropping. The low-beam ceiling was spectacular! 

Dark wood separated by white dab spanned the spaces between beams that looked like entire trees held up the ceiling. The wood flooring had planks that were so wide they, too, looked like they came from a whole tree. The rich dark brown of the well-loved wood made the house feel so warm.

She stepped into a kitchen right out of a fairytale. 

Expansive windows threw light across the floor, reflected off the pans hanging above the antique stove and glinted on cut crystal vases filled with sweet-smelling flowers. Pots of fresh herbs sat in the window sills. Butcher block countertops ran the length of all the cabinets and covered the island. 

An enormous fireplace occupied one wall, but a pot belly stove sat in the center, glowing a merry orange with the cheerfully burning fire. The mantel was another massive piece of timber, upon which sat a host of - what Mia assumed were - ancient kitchen utensils. They looked neat, some dull or rusted with age, while others carried a dark patina and still more shone with copper. 

Before the fire, a round rug of burgundy and cream anchored two forest green wingback chairs with a small round table between them. It was of caramel-coloured wood, the top a little scarred with age, but it held a tea tray with the most gorgeous bone china tea service Mia had ever seen. 

The white china fairly blazed against the dark backdrop, while the purple thistle and green leaves caressed the curves of the china with delicate brush strokes. 

A small but fancy chandelier hung over the sink, but recessed pot lights covered the ceiling and would likely add to the warm glow at night, though they weren't currently on.

Mrs. Bailey poked a few mounds of dough back down at the island into their bowls before covering them with sunny yellow tea towels.

"Is that bread?"

"Aye. I always make bread on Mondays." There was something in how she said it, almost as if she challenged Mia to say something contrary.

Mia toed her shoes off beside the door and drifted closer. "I always wanted to learn, but Colt said it was a waste of time."

Mrs. Bailey's sharp eyes jumped to her face and the bruises she attempted to tone down. It wasn't easy to hide, not without also covering her freckles, and Mia didn't want to do that anymore. 

"Ye've quite the keeker. I've some salve to help if ye want it."

"Did you make that too?"

Mrs. Bailey burst out laughing. "Naw! I'm a baker and a cook, alright, but I'm naw chemist."

Mia grinned. "I'd love to try the salve. I'm not sure which is worse, the black when it was fresh or the sickly yellow-green it is now."

Mrs. Bailey's brows drew together, and thunder filled her face. "The bloke who did it, he gonna be a problem?"

Mia snorted. "No. I left him in Canada, and he has no idea I'm here."

Her face cleared. "Good. Would've given 'im a good hard smack with a pan for laying hands on a lady."

Mia laughed. "No one has ever called me a lady."

"Yer lady of this house now, so expect to hear it." Again, there was tension behind the words.

Mia wasn't always the best at social cues in the fancy circles Colt aspired to. Still, after years in the foster system, not that she'd lived in any genuinely horrible situations, she'd learned to read people and the tension in their bodies reasonably well. 

Only one of her homes was a bad place where the father drank excessively. He never touched any of the kids under his care, but he often yelled, smashed things, and made threats. She learned quickly to go to her room and stay out of his way.

So when Mrs. Bailey's brows pulled together in worry, and she picked at a crusty bit of dough on the island, Mia attempted to put two and two together. 

"You know, I was thrilled when Fergus told me the house and the people associated with it were taken care of," she said, attempting to appear like she was admiring the pots hanging over the stove and not about to freak out. "I don't know the first thing about a place like this other than it's gorgeous, and I still can't believe I get to stay here. I wouldn't want people to think I would come here and make crazy changes, like fire everyone. It's not in my nature, and honestly, after the last few years, I'm just happy to have a home."

The last came out a bit of a hoarse whisper as surprise tears seared her nose and throat. 

"Ye've had a time of it, haven't ye, Mia?"

She made the mistake of glancing at Mrs. Bailey, compassion in every line of her face, and broke down in tears. 

"There now." The older woman enveloped Mia in a hug and rubbed her back. "Been a hard road, but yer here now. And we look after our own. Ye have yerself a wee greet. Then I'll show ye the house and put the tea on."

Mia sniffled. "Does tea include fresh bread?"

Mrs. Bailey chuckled. "Of course!"

Mia hugged her tight. "Excellent."

~

The house was a dream. 

All the times Mia watched someone restore their period home on television, she'd sighed in longing. However, after the first time she pointed out how gorgeous the craftsmanship of those older buildings was, even the restored barns, Colt snorted in contempt and called them filthy she hadn't brought it up to him again. 

Laying on her back on a beautiful wide bed with a thick white duvet, Mia stared at the crisscrossed ceiling and let the tears come. 

She'd been so blind to Colt's faults, so desperate for love and affection after being alone most of her life that she ignored his red flags. Some, she even turned around and placed on herself as her faults. She'd accepted blame and tried to change herself when he was in the wrong.

Tears dripped down her cheeks, but they didn't last long. She cried for broken dreams and lost love, but she wasn't cynical enough to believe that would be the end for her. Mia would love again, but she'd learned tough lessons and would guard her heart with higher walls next time. 

For now, she would put Colt behind her and move on with her life. It was here, it was new, and though it was a little scary, it was also exciting. 

She sat up, wiped her face, and took in the sun-drenched bedroom. A fire burned in a beautiful iron grate in a modest fireplace between two floor-to-ceiling windows. Cream club chairs offered a welcome seat to soak in the view or the heat. Antique dressers now held the clothing she purchased, as did the pair of wardrobes. And, of course, the same stunning floor of overly wide wooden planks felt like they'd been polished smooth with literal generations of feet. 

Off the bedroom was a bathroom straight out of a fantasy novel. A clawfoot tub sat on a riser within the confines of an alcove beneath a large octagonal window. The plank flooring gave way to large slate tiles, slightly misshapen, clearly hand-hewn. Again, it felt polished beneath Mia's feet. 

A double sink sat in a vanity that looked like an antique dresser, while the mirror above appeared hand-carved or made from the bones of old crown moulding. It was magnificent, with the small wall sconces glowing on either end. 

In virtually every room, some potted plant or vase full of flowers added greenery to the space, and her bathroom was no different. 

She wasn't sure what the leafy plant on the sink was called, but she was determined to learn how to care for them and help out. 

As Mrs. Bailey - first name Cora - showed her around through receiving rooms, drawing rooms, her late grandfather's study, the dining room, and five guest rooms, she introduced Mia to Oliva and Skye. The young women helped with the housework, general cleaning, laundry, and the like. 

Cora explained the two women had received the items shipped from Edinburgh, found the boxes with her clothing, and unpacked them into the master bedroom. 

It felt a little weird moving into what once was her grandparents' space, but Cora assured her the mattress and bedding were new, changed out when they learned she would be coming to stay. Her grandparents' clothing and the like were stored in the attic until she decided what she wanted to do with it. They had yet to bother with the rest of the house, as Mia could add or edit as she pleased. 

So far, Mia was under the impression that her grandparents had impeccable taste. The antiques were glorious and well cared for. What brick-a-brack she saw seemed well chosen and possibly of value. Clearly, her grandmother had a thing for Waterford Crystal, not that Mia blamed her. 

Her grandfather - apparently - carved and painted wooden ducks. The gorgeous creatures were lovingly displayed in his former office, riding the plate rail that ran the room's circumference. 

They had stored her art supplies, works in progress, and finished paintings there. 

Mia vaguely wondered if that was where her talent came from before Cora shooed her along, talking about how the house was fully renovated right before Covid hit, keeping the old world charm while modernizing things like the insulation, the lighting, wiring, plumbing, heat and air. 

She could only imagine the hundreds of thousands of dollars spent modernizing the house while retaining its classic look and feel. 

The house tour ended in one parlour where another potbelly stove glowed brightly beside a burgundy velvet sofa. Skye was there with the tea tray, Olivia a step behind with another of fresh bread, preserves, and a crock of whipped butter. 

Mia intended to invite the women to stay, but Cora shooed them out, sat with a thump on the couch, and made to pour the tea, but Mia beat her to it. 

She wasn't much for superstitions, but her mother always laughed and said, 'the lady of the house poured the tea unless she wanted to end up enceinte.' Mia was eight when she finally asked what the word meant, but she never forgot the way her mother laughed and explained about the silly old wives' tale. Still, it was one of the weird things that stuck in her brain and arose at odd times. Like now, when she realized this was her house. She owned it, lock, stock, and barrel. 

It made her hyperventilate a little. 

Then, as she handed Cora a delicate tea cup, the woman bluntly asked how she got the black eye. 

It surprised Mia, but she told Cora the truth. When an ocean separated them, there was no point in lying to save face or protect Colt. But, as Cora poked a little at still raw feelings, Mia felt the fresh prickle of tears. 

It was only a week—seven days from losing everything to gaining everything. 

Cora made a displeased sound with her tongue and changed the subject, but the thunderous set of her brows said if she ever met Colt, he might become intimately acquainted with one of the cook's larger frying pans. 

She asked instead about Mia's art, and happy to talk to someone about her joy, Mia ate three slices of bread, liberally spread with butter and jam, drank two cups of really lovely tea, and nattered on about what she did and why. She thought it might bore the woman, but Cora's eyes were excitedly bright, though a bit of confusion lingered.  

"Well, ye've all the time in the world to paint now, love," Cora grinned. "Yer grandad had a woodworking shop near the barn that might suit ye if we clean it out."

The idea of it excited her when Cora encouraged her to have a walk around, but Mia returned upstairs to change first. It was roughly six degrees Celsius, and coming out of a Canadian winter when minus forty wasn't unheard of, six degrees was relatively balmy, but Scotland was damp in comparison. Mia learned quickly that you could get rained on at any time. 

Thus, she'd ended up sprawled across the bed, staring at the ceiling, attempting to adjust to the metamorphosis her life went through in a short amount of time. 

Quiet laughter echoed in her head, and she closed her eyes as the gentle touch of a caring hand danced across her forehead. 

Loki was patiently waiting for her to unpack his things. 

Smiling, Mia looked around the room. The dresser across from the foot of her bed was long and low with a vase of fresh flowers but otherwise empty. 

It took very little time to unpack and cleanse the altar and set everything back as it should be. Once finished, Mia admired her handiwork before rummaging through the bags brought up by the maids. A few pretty crystals and a pewter bowl joined her collection, as did two silver candlesticks meant for fat pillar candles. She bought two in vanilla, two in citrus, and two with a cinnamon kick.

For now, she placed the cinnamon-scented ones in the holders, and the others remained wrapped in tissue paper she tucked into a drawer. 

Loki hummed his pleasure, the warmth of it like the summer sun glowing in her chest. 

"I'm glad you like it. Thank you for leading me here."

Here is where you belong.

Mia grinned. Yeah, she felt that, too.

Next Chapter

[frostedlemonwriter]

Kitchen Adventures - Chapter 1

Mr. Moran’s old seafoam green pickup truck rumbled down the winding road that led through this old neighborhood. Past old but well-maintained houses with manicured lawns surrounded by trees on each side, the ancient heavy leaf-laden boughs hung over the road in a natural arch. Houses made of brick and wood were built during Acadia’s boom after the war when the fishing industry took off to help serve a hungry nation. Acadia wasn’t even a fraction of its former glory, but people remained. The pickup truck drove up to the intersection of St. Mary’s and Glenfiddich before it turned and disappeared in the evening mist.

A rough stone wall stained by the constant cold rain bordered a two-story home that housed an average family. Each window lit up from the inside with signs of movement and life. Oak-scented smoke rose from the chimney in an unbroken shaft into the clouds above, with a wrap-around porch covered by an awning held up by faux classical columns. High-backed wooden chairs painted white beside tables covered in empty bottles and wine glasses.

Two teenage women sat on the old stone wall with their hands clenched together. Ryan Byrnes ran her free hand through her dark brown hair and flipped to one side. A miniature cross dangled off the thin hoop through her earlobe; her thin lips painted an aubergine color with a silver stud piercing her bottom lip. While her girlfriend, the ginger-haired Kaytlin Amber, was clad in a denim jacket with various patches upon its surface. A messenger bag lay strapped around her torso.

“I hate these parties,” Ryan broke the silence.

Kat smirked while she brought her phone up to check her texts. Two from her mother and one from her father. In typical fashion, she rolled her eyes at the orders and summons to return home.

“At least your parents are normal,” Kat replied. “My parents throw dinner parties for political bullshit reasons with people they hate.”

“Your dad is a politician, babe.”

Kat waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, “I know. Still, everything is so fake.”

“He’s the fakest person I know,” Ryan kissed Kaytlin’s cheek. “You are the realist person I know.”

Kaytlin turned her head to give her girlfriend a soft kiss.

“I gotta head home,” Kat sighed.

With a sigh of her own, Ryan wanted to spend more time with her best friend and girlfriend. Still, there was plenty of time together once they graduated in just over a month. Kat’s father owned a condo in the city that he only used when he had to visit the city. As a graduation present to both young women, they will stay there through the next four years of college as long as they take care of it.

Kaytlin hopped off the wall while she gazed at Ryan for a moment. After a bit, Kat pulled out her camera from the messenger bag. After she fiddled with some settings, Kay kneeled in front of her girlfriend before urging her not to move. Ryan was used to it and loved being an impromptu model. Considering that a photo she was in helped Kaytlin get into Oregon State University’s photography program.

“My perfect muse,” Kat remarked before she leaned in to kiss Ryan. “I’ll text you. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Kaytlin waved before she walked over to the bike that she had had since they were in middle school. A depression in the grass from the bicycle corrected itself once Kat departed. Down the road where the town’s most expensive houses resided – the mayor, the DA, and various lawyers and doctors lived.

With a glance at the woman disappearing down the road, Ryan prepared to go back inside, where her parents and their friends were undoubtedly drunk. Another moment lingered before her stomach grumbled, which forced her hand as dinner called Ryan’s name. Her parents were always social with the neighbors, which meant a lot of food and alcohol. For Ryan, it meant she had to be social when all she wanted to do was watch her cooking shows; read her culinary books for the hundredth time; or even play a video game, which she did a bit more rare as Ryan got older.

While she made her way through the house with a bowl of chili, Mr. Henderson cooked and brought it over. Ryan went to her private sanctuary in the entire world – her bedroom. It was the smallest room in the home as her two older brothers got the bigger ones she preferred. Dozens of posters and photos cover her walls. Bands she had always loved dominated most of the walls, with the popstar Juju taking center stage. A twin-sized bed dominated the right side of the room with a shelf built into the wall above, which held books by famed chefs Niki Yoshimoto, Melissa Kim, and various others.

Upon a metal desk, her laptop opened with a green pipe screensaver that just caused various lights to play across the room. Purple and green lights strung around her room. Ryan's chef jacket hung off a hanger from the back of her open closet door. She turned on The Owl House on her laptop; this was her favorite of all time outside of culinary shows. Ryan locked the door after she finished her dinner and brushed her teeth. With her phone clutched in her hands, she curled up on her bed.

While Ryan was always an early riser, she decided to jog around the neighborhood to help let out some energy and work on her health. After working at Doc Henderson’s, a five-star Zagat restaurant catered to the elite of Acadia and its surrounding towns, Ryan discovered that stamina and fitness would make the intense professional kitchen a bit easier to handle. Ryan steeled herself for the long day ahead with her phone playing Tegan and Sara through her earbuds.

The school day was a drag since Kaytlin didn’t share many classes. They would see each other often until the lunch break, which allowed both of them to have jobs to save each cent for their move to the city. After a couple of hours spent hanging out, Kat would drop off Ryan before she took herself to work.

An old Victorian manor turned restaurant where the first doctor that lived in Acadia dwelled back when the town first formed. The back door led to a large dry storage room with a locker room off to the side. A space that smelt of the astringent chemicals that kept it clean. Several old metal lockers lined the wall. Ryan stuffed her backpack into the cubicle before she put on the whole chef’s outfit, including the jacket and pants, and made sure the black skull cap properly secured her hair.

“Miss Byrnes, good to see you,” Chef Joseph Woodward called out to the young lady as she entered the kitchen.

The Chef was an imposing man with broad shoulders, a well-trimmed graying beard, and a small American flag pinned to the chef jacket’s lapel. It was a sign that the man had cooked on the American Culinary team and was a certified Chef de Cuisine. Outside of Chef Ashly Willow, Ryan’s most revered chef, this man was the most influential in how she cooked. From dishwasher to prep to garde manger in less than a month, she had been on the most decorative and knife-heavy station for the past half year, which had improved her knife skills by leaps and bounds, along with plating.

“How are you, chef?” Ryan replied.

“Great,” Chef Joseph answered, “Can I have a moment of your time, please?”

Ryan nodded and followed the chef toward what used to be an old storeroom converted to a fully functional office. Photos of the owners and the chef with various great culinarians and chefs of the past and present.

“You aren’t in trouble. Please relax a little,” The chef said to Ryan.

Ryan’s shoulders softened as she sat down to listen to the chef. Who explained to her how well she had been doing and how quickly she had picked up the basics of knife work. Not to mention the design on the plates of the salads and desserts was quick and precise, and even Ryan would admit this is the part she enjoyed the most. She was making art on a blank plate canvas. Even if it was someone else’s design, Ryan learned something each time. The chef praised her but gave the young woman some more pointers on how to be more efficient in her movement. Before, he stated that Ryan would be working with Sous Chef Allison Daveys on the grill station tonight. One of the most prestigious and complex stations for it involved the precise cooking, cutting, and resting of proteins. Chef wanted her to work on each station for a week before going to culinary school. For her education, more than a need for help on the stations. The chef's goal was to expose the young woman to many other techniques before she left.

“I recognize the talent, potential, and natural understanding for cooking that you possess,” The chef wasn’t a man to give out compliments for no reason. “I think culinary school is the best thing for you. Just keep working on your skills. Find a part-time weekend job at a nice restaurant near the school. Join the ACF as a student.”

The chef liked to hear himself talk; however, Ryan made a mental note of his advice to write down later in the culinary notebook she kept in her backpack. The American Culinary Federation was already on the young woman’s radar, which solidified her wanting to join their student program. He explained more about what Ryan should do, tweak, or change, and after a bit, the chef sent Ryan off to work under the Sous Chef.

Ryan enjoyed the opportunity to work on the grill. To learn how to temp a piece of meat just by touch. To properly rest and cut a beautiful protein. It was a rather busy Monday night, but it wasn’t hard for the young woman to keep up with the demands of the guests. By the night's end, her steaks were perfect no matter what doneness the guest wanted. Her fish was properly cooked and not overdone. The chicken was juicy, not underdone, but not overdone. The young woman was proud of herself and even received praise from the cooks around here. Even the Sous Chef who was on the station with her seemed impressed.

By the time the restaurant was closed, Ryan was in the locker room, paying no heed to the other cooks around her who had changed into their street clothes. She wrote the advice the chef de cuisine gave her. The way to slice meat - against the grain! - written across the top of the page.

When her girlfriend called to tell Ryan to get her butt outside, Ryan was excited, still pumped from the night, that she got into Kat’s sedan and kissed her girlfriend. The young chef-to-be couldn’t help but go on about the evening, which Kaytlin found adorable. Despite her job at McDonald’s being awful. Kat was just happy for her girlfriend. Just like Ryan supported every step of Kat’s desire to be a photographer.

After a bit, Kaytlin stopped her car in front of Ryan’s home. They quickly kissed before Ryan made her way across the damp lawn. Once inside, she greeted her mother, ignored her brother's snide comment, and disappeared into her room. Ryan lay on her bed with a bit of a huff; when she closed her eyes, Ryan thought of her girlfriend, but her mind drifted to Portland. Kat would make waves in the photography world, while Ryan would open her food truck to help fund her future restaurants and catering business. It was a great idea, but Ryan knew it would be hard. A smile crossed her face because the idea she would be doing this with her best friend, girlfriend, and soulmate was such a great, awesome thing that many wouldn’t get.

The last few weeks in Acadia went by much quicker than anyone expected. Yet, the weekend before school started for both women, the young women packed up Kat’s car with both of their clothes, books, and anything they could fit, as they were thankful the furnished condo was an actual option. A dark and dreary day with heavy rain didn’t slow them down after a quick farewell to Ryan’s parents. Kat cranked the engine to life and looked at her girlfriend.

“Ready?” Kat asked.

There was a lot of weight to that singular word.

Ryan took her girlfriend’s hand for a moment, “Yes.”

Always Wit U by Juju played over the speakers after Ryan started her Spotify playlist. The two teens sang the lyrics together while Kat drove the car out of the neighborhood. One of the lovely sunny days to start their new lives together in the big city, at least it was a big city to them, and it couldn’t have been more perfect. Ryan’s left knee bounced as they rode on the highway. Kaytlin placed her hand on her girlfriend’s knee, which calmed both women as they got closer to their new home.

Portland was their favorite city as the place had a unique aura compared to Seattle or any of the major cities in California. There were tall buildings, yet no high rises like in Seattle. Plenty of trees and green areas, and once you enter the city, there’s a sign that welcomes you with the city’s unofficial motto - Keep Portland Weird. The young women truly loved the city because everyone seemed to be themselves without worry or the need to change. As if societal taboos didn’t exist here, though that was untrue, it is still great not to have to feel like changing themselves.

Kaytlin pulled off to the side close to the Willamette River, where several bridges spanned across the gentle elbow of the river’s bend. She knew her girlfriend well enough that Ryan didn’t say anything as Kat removed her camera. Despite having been best friends since elementary school and lovers since sophomore year. The sudden inspiration that Kat would receive always amazed Ryan as she would see something and knew it would make a great photo somehow. To work on pure creative intuition and instinct was something that Kat always had. Ryan didn’t know if she had such a thing despite what her former chef informed her some weeks ago.

“It’s beautiful,” Kat said.

Ryan looked over the river as the sun played off the water's surface. Without another word, she climbed back into the car. Kat pulled them into an underground car park with its code-activated gate and a fancy elevator.

After a long elevator ride, they carried their boxes and bags through the unremarkable hallway leading to their condo. Once Kat unlocked the door, they both had a key given to them by her father, but Kaytlin was always a bit of a gentleman, in a sense. Once inside, Ryan loved how minimalistic and modern the interior was.

“Dad paid a lot of money for some fancy-schmancy interior designer to make this place look good. Then his dumb ass never comes here,” Kat groaned, but the man had a lot of money.

Kaytlin always scoffed at the idea. Her parents had money, but Kat worked to save her own, not wanting a cent from either one, which was another thing Ryan admired about her girlfriend. The desire to truly become independent of her parents in every way. Kat was different than all the other rich, posh girls in school that Ryan knew.

Surprisingly it didn’t take them too long to unpack everything, which left Ryan some time to look down at Portland below. Like ants below her, people went about their daily lives. Cars drove through the streets that led to where they had to go, wherever that may be.

“Are you sure you don’t mind cooking tonight?” Kat whispered, arms wrapped around Ryan’s stomach.

“Don’t be silly,” Ryan replied. “I am 

They spent the weekend making their shared home their own with various posters, pictures, and the purple and green lights that Ryan had strung in her old bedroom. The future chef made every meal to practice her knife cuts and other techniques she had seen on YouTube or in the textbooks for her first semester. Kat proclaimed the food was excellent each time, and though Ryan thought it tasty, she knew it wasn’t as good as her girlfriend claimed. However, Ryan loved how much Kat supported her, as it pushed her to want to make great food every time.

“Let me take a picture of it,” Kat looked at the plate of food and glanced up at her girlfriend.

Ryan shook her head. Despite being pretty plates, Ryan felt her food wasn’t ready to be photographed. The young woman’s confidence did balloon a little as she couldn’t deny that they did look good.

Ryan kept her habit of jogging early in the morning, with Kat joining her sans camera. They would explore their area of the city with small boutiques, cafes, and bars. Not to mention the bus stops for Ryan and Kat. What stood out was the open-air market a few blocks from where they lived.

“Let’s stop a moment,” Ryan said, out of breath with her legs burning.

Kat nodded, “Yeah, babe. I need to catch my breath anyway. I am dying!”

Ryan glanced at her girlfriend, whose brow glistened in beads of sweat that glistened in the early morning sun. Her focus, however, switched to the sizable market that sat on the corner of a rather busy intersection. Despite the time of day, the market was a hub of activity. Workers filled their stalls with fresh produce, fish, and a few butchers with beautiful cuts of meats.

“Wow,” Ryan whispered to herself.

The young chef smelled produce and sampled everything she could as she and Kat talked with the vendors; this was one of the eye-opening moments of Ryan’s life as her palate acquired new flavors. Just like her old chef used to advise her to do every time the restaurant got fresh ingredients. The visit was great despite Kaytlin lamenting that she should have brought her camera. It made Ryan desire to create fantastic, award-winning food from those who cared about the quality of their produce, beef, fish, or what-have-you, even higher than before.

The weekend ended after a dinner of flank steak, shiitake mushrooms, and fingerling potatoes, all ingredients Ryan found at the open-air market. The two women sat down to watch a movie, snuggling against one another as the weekend drew close. With both of their classes starting on Monday, they made sure both of their backpacks were ready to go.

Kaytlin quickly fell asleep, but Ryan couldn’t catch more than an hour of sleep at any time. Like a ship lost at sea, she tossed and turned beside her girlfriend, who slept through it all. Ryan couldn’t even explain why she was so nervous about tomorrow as she stared at the ceiling. Not like tomorrow was an important test or exam, but it felt like the first step in the long journey of her life. After some time, Ryan fell asleep for a few solid hours before getting up for her morning jog.

Ryan’s nerves improved as the jog ended, and she sat down, freshly scrubbed from her shower, dressed in her chef’s outfit for class. Ryan sipped on her coffee with still over an hour before her first class began. The young woman knew which building and room her classes would reside in as all the culinary courses were in the same place. Kat was going to drive them both today since her class was later in the day, so there was no need for the bus today. Tomorrow would be different with the early morning baking class and the ServSafe sanitary course.

The campus was large, with well-manicured green lawns that separated several large brick-faced buildings. Large groups of students traveled between the parking lot and their classes. A decent amount of them dressed in the same uniform as Ryan.

“You got this, babe,” Kat assured as she stopped close to Ryan’s building.

After a quick kiss, Ryan smiled and thanked her girlfriend for the support. Then she stepped out into the cool, windy morning. The most significant first step on the journey of becoming one of the chefs she had admired her whole life. A few students like her outside the giant production kitchen made small talk as they waited for the introductory class to begin. Ryan paid most of them no attention as she watched the older students in the kitchen. They made soups and stocks in one part while several students chopped, sliced, and minced vegetables under the watchful gaze of a chef. In a separate part of the kitchen, students made candies with what appeared to be molten sugar. Another had students pulling loaves of bread from an actual wood-fired brick oven. An excellent, wonderful, glorious place in Ryan’s mind, and she couldn’t wait to get started with it all, especially as these students she watched were starting new classes in their second, third, and fourth semesters and already knew something.

“My name is Sally, and this is Joesph,” A young blonde-haired woman gestured toward her apparent twin brother.

Ryan snapped out of her mind and looked at two dressed the same as herself with their university-issued knife bags and backpacks.

“Oh, sorry, I’m Ryan. It is a pleasure to meet you both,” She cocked an eyebrow, “Twins?”

Joseph nodded his head and pushed his thick hipster-like black-rimmed glasses up his nose.

“Sally is three minutes older.

“And I always remind him of it,” The woman added.

Before the twins could continue, an older woman in a chef’s jacket with a briefcase, a backpack, and a knife roll arrived to herd the students into one of the many classrooms set off the production kitchen. The broad-shouldered woman’s voice was low and husky, which commanded the attention of all who heard her. She introduced herself as Chef Melissa and explained her history of working with some of the best chefs in the country. Then the chef spent most of the time describing what to expect this semester from the classes since the first semester was the same for every culinary student. After that, everyone had to introduce themselves to their classmates, and Ryan hated this part yet participated when it was time.

With false confidence, Ryan stood up, “My name is Ryan Byrnes. I’m from just up the road a bit in Acadia. I’m a double major student in culinary and baking. I want to open a food truck and run a restaurant one day. My favorite chef is Ashly Willow. Would love to meet her one day.”

Ryan had to will herself to shut up and sit down, and it felt like everyone judged her, despite no one outside of the twins thinking twice about it. As the chef-professor ended the hours-long class, she led the students through the kitchen, including the bakery, candy shop, ice carving room, and even the restaurant open daily. Then after the chef proclaimed that Wednesday would be a lecture followed by time in the kitchen, she wished everyone a good rest for the beginner's baking course started before the sun rose above the horizon since their baked goods are what the cafeteria and restaurant sell throughout the day.

Well into mid-afternoon, Ryan said goodbye to her classmates once the class was over. Who was quick to trade numbers with each other, but then it was off to the bus for the young woman. She was thankful it didn’t take long to get to the condo, and Ryan was in the apartment alone for the first time. When she went through the culinary textbook, she found a bolognese recipe that Ryan had tried before. Dinner was decided for tonight, and Ryan was determined to have her first photo-worthy dish.

And assuredly, Kaytlin would love to take the photo.

[shamrockqueen]

Escape the cold : chapter 1

Pairing : soft Bucky x reader

Warnings : Fluff, angst, dreary moments, Sexual content (eventually), secretive Bucky

Word count : 1334

AO3 link

You had to get away. Anywhere had to be better than the life you left behind at the workhouse. No matter how far, no matter how treacherous the path. Even as the snow beat down onto the back of your head, you would’ve rather keeled over right then and there than turn back.

You didn’t even know where you were headed anymore on this whiteout; just as long as you made it somewhere you would have been overjoyed.

Through the mass of blanketed white was a gray structure in the distance. It barely looked like more than a smudge on the horrid landscape, but if you focused as hard as your eyes could manage, a thin roof came into view. Stiff walls and a crumbling chimney. It was perfect, an oasis in a desert, and shelter from the snow storm.

Your legs can’t move any faster, but you try to push them to their limit and trudge forward towards this shelter. You’d been fortunate enough to grab boots, although they were ill-fitting, but no such luck with a good coat. The wind whipped right through the modest jacket you’d snatched from your bunk-mate, stinging your skin like shards of ice. No matter what, you pushed forward.

You kept your head down, only glancing up to see how much closer you’d gotten. More of the house came into view, as did its current state. At one point in time it must have been two stories, painted red, with what may have been a garden.

Now the second floor appeared to have sunken in on itself halfway, leaving only the remainder of one side window. The paint was faded in some spots and almost completely peeled away in others; but in the few crevices there were remnants of red poking through the curtain of snowfall.

There were bricks thrown together for what might have been what was left of low stone walls, and behind them were thin sticklike reeds that hadn’t been buried by the downpour just yet.

Whatever miracle had kept this house standing you would be forever thankful as you forced your legs to trudge towards it faster. The door was wedged into the doorframe crookedly; but with its long since rusted hinges it didn’t stand as much of a barrier. You pushed it away to gain entrance, but later set it back up to cover the open doorway. It was best to keep more of the cold away.

It was a shock to be able to stand upright as you were no longer being hit by the heavy wind. Finally, you could try and wait out the snowstorm. Hopefully it will end soon.

You toss some scraps of wood into the still-standing fireplace. Willing to risk catching the whole place on fire, as the chimney may have been destroyed by time. You dig through your pockets for the meager items you’d grabbed before leaving. You felt so lucky to have nicked some matches, and hoped they were still dry.

Next was some bread, which has since gone hard. You had managed to steal half a loaf; you couldn’t believe your luck. Especially since you’d almost been caught taking it from the kitchen.

You felt overjoyed when the matches were still dry and dragged the head of one along the rough side of the little matchbox to ignite the little stick before setting it in the little bits of kindling you could scrounge up.

You tuck in by the fire and nibble on some bread for a while. This should blow over by the night, or it should've. Each day and night blurs together, and the meager food you brought didn’t outlast the harsh environment.

You were used to never eating much, but as little white spots started to form on the bread, you knew your days would be numbered. You picked the spots off and tossed them away before eating what little was left.

The fire never got very big and the old wood never burned for very long, and the few pieces to be picked off the walls or found lying around were growing sparse. Eventually you had to venture further inside the dilapidated house for more. You find what used to be the kitchen and start picking up any debris you can find.

Yet, it wasn’t much, and in desperation to not be COLD and hungry you tear into the shards of wood that had once been the cupboards.

When you do, cans of old food fall down onto you from a higher shelf.

The sharp pain of being struck by the cans went completely unnoticed when you saw the prospect of food. You scramble for it and grab at whatever wasn’t already open from time. All the labels were either horribly faded or gone completely, leaving whatever was inside to the imagination.

Your fully dirty nails would be no match for even the weakest of tin, so you scramble to find a way to open it.

You pull out more drawers and find one full of knives, some rusted and others only dull. You grab one of the better ones and use it to stab into one of the cans. Inside you find almost gray jellied meat that probably expired god knows how long ago.

You didn’t care what it was or how it smelled as you shoveled your fingers into it and scooped the food into your hungry mouth.

You tried not to pay mine to the taste of the cold sludge as you swallowed for sustenance.

You’d forced down some pretty awful grewal in your lifetime, but this was putrid. You tried so hard to hold back your bile, desperate to keep what little was in your stomach already.

You can feel the spasms take over before the cold food bubbles back up your throat. It hit the floor with a sickening splat until all your guts were fully spilled. That meat mush was a lot hotter coming back up than when it went down. There was even a bit of steam coming out from where it seeped through the gaps in the floorboards.

The smell was putrid, further turning your already severely twisted guts.

Your knees buckled under from the pasms that rocked your stomach and you fell to the cold and wet floor.

Your head hit back on one of the still-standing cupboard doors; you hadn’t torn off its hinges for firewood. You hadn’t even had a chance to carry your scraps of wood to the dying fire.

You have many regrets in life, but you didn’t want to regret finally having the courage to escape. As your stomach cramped painfully, you had no choice but to curl up on the floor.

You couldn’t have counted the days you were already stuck in that cabin and you were simply exhausted. You let yourself nod off in the cold embrace of the dilapidated kitchen. Sleep should make the night go by faster; it wouldn’t be so bad just to rest for a little bit.

Everything still hurts, from the sickening twist of your stomach to the chill in your bones, but you just wanted to rest now. You shivered in your little spot on the floor as you began to drift.

The cold didn’t hurt as much anymore, not as your weary body finally settled on the hardwood. The wind seemed to die down as the house stopped cracking from the pressure. The old cabin was at last peaceful as it was blanketed by night. The bright white of the snow that surrounded the whole building faded to a dull blue to a dark black as your body finally fell to exhaustion.

All was still and quiet, but in your ear you could swear you almost heard the gentle sound of music being played from some far away place. There was barely a hum of a baritone ghosting over the words to a song long forgotten. It was a comforting sound as the world drifted away.

Chapter 2 link

I lost the original and had to repost it.

[blackbutlerfandomnerddomain]

Day 8 (September 30) - Free Day!

Birds chippered and sang songs of pleasant memories of night and morning, the sunlight shining around the calm neighborhood of the Queendom of Roses’ beautiful winter landscape. Every single building of brick coated in winter decor and snow and icicles on every framed window and gutter drain in a beautiful painting like state. Deep in the special view of the town surrounded by trees and buildings in perfect unison of nature and man is a cute little two story home big enough for a typical family just perfectly centered of the town’s main road and the nature path that goes up into a large majestic mountain, bricks of the walls deep red and secured in a warm snug but one can tell is able to be cool during the hot summer days and nights with a black well done shingles with a very lovely matching red and black chimney that comes up the left side of the home peeking out the top of the roof splitting it open like a hole of a giant. Within this home a young man finishes spreading some strawberry jam across soft yellow toast and places the piece of bread on a plate alongside three other slices of toast with different spreads from marmalade to butter to a chocolate butter spread to go in harmony with the jammed one. 

Ace smiles, nose flush from the cold, as his pale freckled hands grab the wooden tray in his hands and turned on his fuzzy slipper heel around and waltz out the kitchen’s open wall with a soft hum. He made his way to the stairs and got to the second floor with no worries of the morning time rolls, pausing his step once one of the doors opened and a tall muscular tall steps out scratching at his bare chest with a tired yawn. The older one turned his head and looked over at Ace with the wooden tray, “Morning lil bro..” He mumbled. The younger chuckles, “Morning big bro.” The older brother glanced at the tray then to these stairs by the hall's end and slowly smirks, Ace feeling a ping of dread imminently in his chest. “Rocket, no-” The two gingers move in fast walks down the hall to those steps as they both try to step forward the other while one has a smirking expression of older sibling tease and the other has a worried yet stern expression. “I just remembered a fun story to tell our guest-” “You are not waking up my Housewarden to tell an embarrassing story about me, fuck off!”

Ace opens the single door up the stairs, shutting his older brother out in a fast swift door slam. He sighs once the door was closed and turned to the room, a small loft or attic like space where it’s very vast of wooden beams and brick walls that has faded and stained over the many years, scattered boxes full of different things and junk and some trash bags full of more junk but otherwise the floor was rather clean and tidy, a large brick block of the chimney showing from the fireplace on the ground floor, and in the room’s center in a large sofa with a few thick blankets and a red and white patterned quilt is a small red haired boy who’s all snuggled and comfy under the warmth of the covers gifted him, a single small window shines the sun light down to his beautiful doll like face as if the Heavens present the beautiful art piece before the ginger haired lad.

After catching the nearly forgotten air that left his throat, Ace walked closer to the sleeping Riddle who now stirs softly as he begins to wake up from his slumber. “Good morning rosebud.” He said softly as he allowed his boyfriend to sit up on the soft sofa and watch him yawn and stretch, Riddle dressed in a large basketball t-shirt as his red hair is a mess, before he placed the wooden tray of a cup of tea and the toast spread with a smile. Riddle smiles sleepily and carefully takes the cup of warm tea into his hands, his plush lips blowing against the steam as his cheeks flush in morning winter air and the tea’s heat bouncing off his face.

~  ~

Night Raven Collage’s lovely Mirror Chamber gets really crowded as winter break comes to the day, a fun moment of time where everyone heads home for the ends of December and the beginning of January.All seven dorms huddle together in the room, chats and murmurs flying across the room as the students stand around excitedly to go to their hometowns for the weeks to come while carrying bags and other forms of luggage with their persons. As everyone is distracted, a small group of a dorm huddles near each other to not get lost or trip over with the waves upon waves of students around them. 

Ace holds Riddle’s hands as he whines, “Please call me when you have time! I want to make sure you’re not lonely, and if you ever need to talk to me as a boyfriend or as a fellow Heartslabyul school mate please call me!” Riddle giggles softly as he squeezes the ginger’s hands back, “Of course, that goes for you too Ace.” They both soon stare at each other, the look of despair of the idea of parting clear in their eyes as Ace’s lip quiver. “Great Seven you’re like a puppy separated from their owner.” Said Trey, astonished by the way his childhood friend has Ace Trappola on his small palms of his hands after a few months since the two became a thing.

“Alright, those who live in Lake Core within the Queendom of Roses, please step in line and cross the mirror!” Called out Crowley among the sea of students, many already moving forward in hurried feet and hurried goodbyes and promises to call. With said eyes and hesitant movements, Riddle leaned up fast and gave Ace a peck on the lips before letting go of his hands. Trey, similar to his friend, gave Cater a kiss on the lips as well and a tight hug. “Call me if you’re stressed, ‘kay Cay?” He whispered, just loud enough people heard though. Unlike the two in front of them, these two were very obviously a couple which no one really complained about, they minded their own piece. Cater squeezes and nods. Once that was out of the way, the green haired man and redhead Housewarden parted from their different ginger lovers and headed to the mirror. Though it was obvious from Riddle’s walk he was dragging his cold feet desperately behind him…

—

Ace and Riddle walked down stairs to the ground floor living room, barely missing the Christmas tree that is resting right by the stair’s end as the branches reach out and touch them softly. Now the kitchen is a man with a rugged strawberry blond thin beard who’s pouring a cup of coffee in a red clay mug dressed in a fuzzy red robe and black checkered sweatpants, his height taller than the three young men in the home and his eyes a cool misty orange like a cloudy sunrise within tired eyes of age. The man smiles at the pair as he sips the coffee with a groggy yet still welcoming voice, “Good morning you two. Sleep well? Sorry if the attic was cold, Riddle.” Riddle shook his head, “Oh no it was fine, honest! Thank you again for letting me stay the night, I’m sorry that it was last minute.” “Nonsense, a friend of my son was in need of a place to stay, it’s the least I can do.”

Ace smiled some and moved to the left so his father could walk to the living room area down the hall, turning to his boyfriend with a softer smile and even softer eyes, “How are you feeling?” He asked, a hand on his small shoulder. The redhead rubbed his arm some, eyes towards the tile floor of the kitchen. Ace rubbed his red locks and mumbled, “It’s okay babe, take your time. I’ll get my coat and I can show you around Carol Marsh to relax your head.”

~  ~ 

Ace eats some of the pulled pork his father and brother made earlier that night, the TV playing the season’s biggest game of championship croquet as the three males sit on the baggy sofa of the living room with plates in their hands. He and Rocket lean close to each other as they stomp their feet in a single beat of six, grinning ear to ear. “Come on Lewis Hair! Go go go!” They both cheer and chant as an athlete hurries to dress in red and white, watching as his mallet swings down as he rides his noble pure white steed and hitting a black ball into a hoop above. The Trappola family shoot up and cheer, the father being quick and catching the food when they stand, the brother jumping up and down cheering a song of victory, and the youngest jumping on both their old backs laughing and cheering.

It’s been a good two weeks since Ace arrived back for winter break and it’s been very fun and very Trappola; He visited his grandparents and mother, he’s been staying primarily with his dad, his older brother Rocket has a few weeks off from his job, he got great gifts for Yule, and now his hometown croquet game of The Wanderers have won the winter season game of the championships! Winter break is just good for him. Outside of these fun activities he also joined in video calls with his closest friends from Basketball Club or some Heartslabyul folks, meeting up with Deuce at one point and chilling at the ice rink with him, and of course being in a distance away from one another he also had a video call or two with his boyfriend Riddle who he’s aware is slowly losing it back home. 

As if on cue, Ace’s attention to his family and the celebration he’s feeling was pulled away thanks to his phone vibrating in his pocket. Upon taking his phone out he sees a familiar cute picture of said boyfriend during his recent birthday celebration, hinting the redhead is calling him now. “Excuse me, I have to take this.” Said the shorter one of three as he goes to the dining room, the fireplace still hung with stockings with care and warming the room so perfectly well even as the embers were dying low, rolling his red eyes at Rocket’s little teasing as he answers, “Hey there Riddle, miss me-” He pauses. He heard a familiar noise, a noise he grew more than familiar after dating this young man. “H-Hey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying…?” He hears Riddle sniff, his heart breaking in his ribs. “Ace I… I can’t… I can’t deal with this anymore…” Ace feels his blood run ice cold upon hearing those words, picturing his boyfriend’s red and tear and snot covered face hiding somewhere cold and alone as he calls him. 

Riddle shakily clings to his cell phone for dear life, tears rolling down his cheek, one being slightly red and swelling. He hiccups through the phone’s mic as he tries to be quiet with his distraught noises as if trying to not alert his mother his tears but also to not let Ace know he’s crying so. “Okay okay, breath, breath babe, where are you right now?” Like Bloody Hell you can come see me… He thought but shakes his head to not think of it. “I-I’m at home, in my room… M-Mama and I had a fight b-because I told her that I… I was the one who ov…overblotted in the beginning of the y-year a-and…” He chews his bottom lip that trembles with the front row of his teeth as he recalls back of a few minutes ago. As he said, his mother was mentioning disgust of the Heartslabyul’s Overblot incident during the start of September, completely oblivious to who had the Overblot. Riddle, in pride of his dorm and making the plan to be more bold the new year to come, speaks up and confesses it was he who overblotted that day in the year prior. “Why would you overblot? What could possibly get you so stressed? You’re a Rosehearts, imagine what people will say if they hear this!” Are just a few gems his mother mined and presented out her mouth upon hearing the brave yet clumsy confession. It soon led to an argument where the son wanted to have a proper discussion of the mother’s actions in his life which suddenly took a harsh turn as her palm connected to his cheek, yanking his voice out his throat in a terrifying manner. He listened as she ranted and raved of his “disrespect” of his words and treatment towards her in numbed silence before she shunned him to his room in a huff.

“Second floor right?”

Riddle blinks and nods until he recalls he wasn’t seen yet, “Y-Yes… I-I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… I-I know you’re busy and–” “Don’t even apologize. She’s gonna pay for making you cry!” Why the Housewarden found the words sweet, he knew he couldn’t let his boyfriend get into literal legal trouble over this, especially so late at night. “Ace, no, you can’t–” “Oh-ho-ho, like fuck I can’t! You’re not just my boyfriend, you’re also my Queen! And that means I’ll protect you from everything and everyone!” Riddle gasped, a tear sliding down his cheek as his heart floated into his throat. Ace… He thought, feeling himself smile softly at the idea of his lover protecting him so diligently in battle like a brave Knave with his Queen. He shakes his head again. It still won’t help “Ace–” “Turn around.”

Confused yet curious, as he always seems to be dating this ginger trouble maker, turn his body around until he’s facing his main window right behind his bed frame. He pauses fast seeing a silhouette of a person on a broom by the window. He doesn’t even have the wait for the flier to knock on the glass before he hung up the phone and leaped onto his red plush bed and swung that window wide open, the cold air clinging fast onto his skin as he stared up at the one and only Ace Trappola sitting there on his broom with a look like he left as fast as he could. Ace smirks down at him, “Did someone order a boyfriend?”

Riddle couldn’t help but smile at the cheesy line, his heart feeling better than earlier. That was until fear hit him like a truck when hearing an oh so familiar voice of a woman come from the hall outside his bedchamber door. “Riddle? What is that noise?”

Heart beating fast, Riddle tries to shoo Ace away, “Leave, you have to leave now..!” He stretches his arms out until his palms on the firm chest of the ginger and goes to push him away as his hushed raspy whisper of a voice coaches him away. But instead of turning away like instructed, Ace held those hands in his own, eyes soft but serious as to his voice, “I can’t do that and you know it. Please, get on the broom, rosebud.” As heels click and clack against hardwood floors Riddle weighs the options of banishing Ace away for the night when he came all this way or, and as foolishly as it sounds, take the offer of fleeing the scene. “Let me help you…”

The door of his bedroom opened right when he made the crazy choice, his body leaped from the bed into Ace’s arms that held home close in warm comfort as if that’s what those arms were made for, the winter air nipping and hugging tight around him officially now as he managed to the outside finally. Within a flash the pair were already a good mile away from the Rosehearts’ estate as the screaming calls of Riddle’s mother fades deeper and deeper into the wind that whisk and howl against his sore ears, his sock covered feet shiver in the cold as he clings to Ace tightly, holding back the verge of sobbing in fear ice will form in his eyes instead of the sad tears of pain and… freedom.

—

After that moment the night prior Riddle calmed down in the comforting space of the Trappola’s home’s attic and soon called his mother that he needs space from her and turned off his cell for the night in thanks of Ace’s support and care throughout the night, he doesn’t fully quite know when he’ll leave to go back but he knows when he does he has to make a very hard decision.

Riddle glanced up from his mitted hands as Ace hurried over with two cups of warm drinks in his own mitted hands, a strong sense of deja-vu hitting him like sea sickness on the great wide ocean. “Hey, I ordered you a Strawberry Latte since I don’t really know what else you would’ve liked. Don’t worry, best coffee Queendom of Roses can offer!” Ace said with a smile as he hands Riddle the cup of joe, who smiles small in return and accepts the cup. The two sit side by side on the park bench, sipping their coffees in small silence as people of the town walk around the park or the shops nearby. “So,” Ace started, not yet looking at Riddle in case it was not the right time, “What do you want to do now?”

Riddle looks down at his latte in his hand and sighs, his breath visible due thanks to the cold of winter greetings, “I honestly don’t know… How… How do I even face her? I-I disrespected her wishes and—” “No no no, don’t start that rosebud. Disrespecting her wishes? You stood up for yourself and she’s the one who crossed a line and disrespected you.” The Housewarden sighs. He knows Ace is right, but he still can’t quite shake the feeling of quilt that consumes his chest and heart. He hears a sigh beside him before he feels an arm snake around his shoulders and huddle him close, his face going warm at the sudden intimate nature of the hug. “A-Ace—” “I know it’s scary. I may not ever know what you’re going through. But I do know I love you too much to let you do this battle alone. Things will get better. I promise.”

Riddle slowly let his shoulders fall less tense as his head soon found it’s way resting peacefully against the shoulder it leans on, watching the winter scene in front of them in silence as the feelings of happiness, sorrow, and peace buzz in his chest like a busy bee hive.

—

Life afterwards was chaotic but was much easier in flow. Right after calming down in the park, the pair went back to Ace’s home and opened up to his father and brother on what happened and that… Ace and Riddle are in love. Ace’s family accepts the relationship whole-heartedly, sure his mother might need some time to wrap her head around it but otherwise it went well! Though, sadly, Riddle wasn’t meant to stay at the Trappola’s for long. But he was lucky to have Trey offer a home for the rest of the final week of Winter Break where he calmed down better and hung out with him and Chenya for the rest of the vacation.

School life is also somewhat better after the break! Ace managed to become the Basketball Club’s team captain and they even won some games thanks to Ace’s strong leadership! It didn’t take much longer after the first day back where everyone became aware of the two polar opposites’ romantic relationship together, and they were all mostly positive words and manners of the two. By the time the semester finally came to an end, starting a new life with Ace starting as a sophomore and Riddle in his senior year, things finally came to an end with Riddle’s heartache and sorrows. Many were shocked if they heard that after the break a year earlier Riddle went to Azul for a favor, in exchange of this so-called favor he was going to give the octopus his very special Unique Magic until the contract was fulfilled… To get away from his mother.

Court was tedious, to say the least. Azul’s step-father, a well good lawyer who handles many cases, was able to give Riddle the win he needed to finally breath outside his family’s name as he finished up the disownment of them with testimonies of neighbors, Trey, Chenya, and students of Night Raven of the treatment towards him for years of his life. Every Rosehearts’ face and name was dragged across the sticky mud they call estrangement and dishonor throughout that nail biting terrible process that was merely drawn out due to Mrs. Rosehearts’ many pleas and arguments on the matter. In the end, Riddle felt like he was able to breathe again when the courts allowed him freedom from under that iron fist and led thumb. His heart was so eager and full of life once again as if he’s been dead for years!

And throughout every step, Ace was always there smiling and comforting him as lovers do…

“Rosebud, come on, we’re going to be late!”

Riddle blinked and looked from the wall he was facing. There standing in the hallway is Ace dressed to the nines in a suit and tie and his ginger thick hair groomed back, his face no longer that typical youthful teenage smoothness he was somehow gifted with but now filled out in the sharp edges of the jaw and neckline. The man there instead of that trouble making loving teenager he knew smiles as he leans on the wall. “You know how Deuce gets when we’re late.” The redhead smiles and walks to him, pecking his lips as he gets closer, at long last their height isn’t as bad as the past’s.

After many years of back and forth battles, the two were able to settle in this average plane of a happy life together domestically. Riddle graduated and gave the crown to Ace who has grown to a great Housewarden, worked hard and got a job as a child doctor. Though he wasn’t Doctor Rosehearts anymore, but a Doctor Clover after the amazing surprise in the graduation of Trey a year earlier for Riddle with his family offering to take the lad in as his own. But of course he still wasn’t just Doctor Clover forever as things went swimmingly well and fast sometime after Ace graduated and got a job as an officer of the law in town, which yeah it wasn’t as car chasing save the damsel kind of fun Ace grew up with but he’s happy with it the most, and after one faithful February 14th the ginger went on one knee and asked his former Housewarden, enemy of teenage feels, first love, crush, and boyfriend the very wait worthy question; “Will you marry me?” “Sorry, just enjoy memory lane.” Said Riddle as he snuggles against Ace’s stern neck and gives the warm flesh a soft peck with a giggling smirk. He hears Ace snort and feels his strong arms hug him close. Thank Seven you were in my dorm… He thought in glee as he hugs his husband back with a good squeeze.

FINAL DAY OF RIDOACE IS HERE! I'M GONNA CRY!

I also for no reason made Riddle's and Ace's houses on the Sims4

Just go to Raestorm666 for a free download!

@ridoaceweek, thank you so much for letting me explore this ship as I did! I hope to see yall next year! Also, feel free to send asks my way of these two if you so desire!

[o-craven-canto]

Extracts from Alan Weisman, The World Without Us, 2007. The book considers the material aspects of human civilization and how long they would last, unattended. If humans were to vanish from Earth, if all maintainance and repairing work ceased, what would happen to what we leave behind?

(The book went on to inspire two speculative documentaries, Life After People by History Channel and Aftermath: Population Zero by National Geographic, emphasizing different aspects of it. They were neat.)

Chapter 2: Unbuilding Our Home

No matter how hermetically you’ve sealed your temperature-tuned interior from the weather, invisible spores penetrate anyway, exploding in sudden outbursts of mold—awful when you see it, worse when you don’t, because it’s hidden behind a painted wall, munching paper sandwiches of gypsum board, rotting studs and floor joists. Or you’ve been colonized by termites, carpenter ants, roaches, hornets, even small mammals.

Most of all, though, you are beset by what in other contexts is the veritable stuff of life: water... moisture enters around the nails. Soon they’re rusting, and their grip begins to loosen... As gravity increases tension on the trusses, the ¼-inch pins securing their now-rusting connector plates pull free from the wet wood, which now sports a fuzzy coating of greenish mold... When the heat went off, pipes burst if you lived where it freezes, and rain is blowing in where windows have cracked from bird collisions and the stress of sagging walls. Even where the glass is still intact, rain and snow mysteriously, inexorably work their way under sills. As the wood continues to rot, trusses start to collapse against each other. Eventually the walls lean to one side, and finally the roof falls in...

While all that disaster was unfolding, squirrels, raccoons, and lizards have been inside, chewing nest holes in the drywall, even as woodpeckers rammed their way through from the other direction... Fallen vinyl siding, whose color began to fade early, is now brittle and cracking as its plasticizers degenerate. The aluminum is in better shape, but salts in water pooling on its surface slowly eat little pits that leave a grainy white coating... Unprotected thin sheet steel disintegrates in a few years. Long before that, the water-soluble gypsum in the sheetrock has washed back into the earth. That leaves the chimney, where all the trouble began. After a century, it’s still standing, but its bricks have begun to drop and break as, little by little, its lime mortar, exposed to temperature swings, crumbles and powders.

If you owned a swimming pool, it’s now a planter box... If the house’s foundation involved a basement, it too is filling with soil and plant life. Brambles and wild grapevines are snaking around steel gas pipes, which will rust away before another century goes by. White plastic PVC plumbing has yellowed and thinned on the side exposed to the light, where its chloride is weathering to hydrochloric acid, dissolving itself and its polyvinyl partners. Only the bathroom tile, the chemical properties of its fired ceramic not unlike those of fossils, is relatively unchanged, although it now lies in a pile mixed with leaf litter.

After 500 years, what is left depends on where in the world you lived. If the climate was temperate, a forest stands in place of a suburb; minus a few hills, it’s begun to resemble what it was before developers, or the farmers they expropriated, first saw it. Amid the trees, half-concealed by a spreading understory, lie aluminum dishwasher parts and stainless steel cookware, their plastic handles splitting but still solid... The chromium alloys that give stainless steel its resilience... will probably continue to do so for millennia, especially if the pots, pans, and carbon-tempered cutlery are buried out of the reach of atmospheric oxygen. One hundred thousand years hence, the intellectual development of whatever creature digs them up might be kicked abruptly to a higher evolutionary plane by the discovery of ready-made tools...

If you were a desert dweller, the plastic components of modern life flake and peel away faster, as polymer chains crack under an ultraviolet barrage of daily sunshine. With less moisture, wood lasts longer there, though any metal in contact with salty desert soils will corrode more quickly. Still, from Roman ruins we can guess that thick cast iron will be around well into the future’s archaeological record, so the odd prospect of fire hydrants sprouting amidst cacti may someday be among the few clues that humanity was here...

In a warmer world... drier, hotter desert climates will be complemented by wetter, stormier mountain weather systems that will send floods roaring downstream, overwhelming dams, spreading over their former alluvial plains, and entombing whatever was built there in annual layers of silt. Within them, fire hydrants, truck tires, shattered plate glass, condominia, and office buildings may remain indefinitely, but as far from sight as the Carboniferous Formation once was.

No memorial will mark their burial, though the roots of cottonwoods, willows, and palms may occasionally make note of their presence. Only eons later, when old mountains have worn away and new ones risen, will young streams cutting fresh canyons through sediments reveal what once, briefly, went on here.

***

Chapter 3: The City Without Us

Under New York, groundwater is always rising… Whenever it rains hard, sewers clog with storm debris… With subway pumps stilled… water would start sluicing away soil under the pavement. Before long, streets start to crater. With no one unclogging sewers, some new watercourses form on the surface… Within 20 years, the water-soaked steel columns that support the street above the East Side’s 4, 5, and 6 trains corrode and buckle. As Lexington Avenue caves in, it becomes a river.

Whenever it is, the repeated freezing and thawing make asphalt and cement split. When snow thaws, water seeps into these fresh cracks. When it freezes, the water expands, and cracks widen… As pavement separates, weeds like mustard, shamrock, and goosegrass blow in from Central Park and work their way down the new cracks, which widen further… The weeds are followed by the city’s most prolific exotic species, the Chinese ailanthus tree… As soil long trapped beneath pavement gets exposed to sun and rain, other species jump in, and soon leaf litter adds to the rising piles of debris clogging the sewer grates.

The early pioneer plants won’t even have to wait for the pavement to fall apart. Starting from the mulch collecting in gutters, a layer of soil will start forming atop New York’s sterile hard shell, and seedlings will sprout…

In the first few years with no heat, pipes burst all over town, the freeze-thaw cycle moves indoors, and things start to seriously deteriorate. Buildings groan as their innards expand and contract; joints between walls and rooflines separate. Where they do, rain leaks in, bolts rust, and facing pops off, exposing insulation. If the city hasn’t burned yet, it will now… with no firemen to answer the call, a dry lightning strike that ignites a decade of dead branches and leaves piling up in Central Park will spread flames through the streets. Within two decades, lightning rods have begun to rust and snap, and roof fires leap among buildings, entering paneled offices filled with paper fuel. Gas lines ignite with a rush of flames that blows out windows. Rain and snow blow in, and soon even poured concrete floors are freezing, thawing, and starting to buckle. Burnt insulation and charred wood add nutrients to Manhattan’s growing soil cap. Native Virginia creeper and poison ivy claw at walls covered with lichens, which thrive in the absence of air pollution. Red-tailed hawks and peregrine falcons nest in increasingly skeletal high-rise structures.

Within two centuries… colonizing trees will have substantially replaced pioneer weeds. Gutters buried under tons of leaf litter provide new, fertile ground for native oaks and maples from city parks. Arriving black locust and autumn olive shrubs fix nitrogen, allowing sunflowers, bluestem, and white snakeroot to move in along with apple trees, their seeds expelled by proliferating birds… as buildings tumble and smash into each other, and lime from crushed concrete raises soil pH, inviting in trees, such as buckthorn and birch, that need less-acidic environments…

In a future that portends stronger and more-frequent hurricanes striking North America’s Atlantic coast, ferocious winds will pummel tall, unsteady structures. Some will topple, knocking down others. Like a gap in the forest when a giant tree falls, new growth will rush in. Gradually, the asphalt jungle will give way to a real one.

***

Chapter 7: What Falls Apart

(context: this chapter describes Varosha, a city in Cyprus evacuated in 1974 after the Turkish invasion, and left abandoned until 2019)

[Two years after abandonment] Asphalt and pavement had cracked… Australian wattles, a fast-growing acacia species used by hotels for landscaping, were popping out midstreet, some nearly three feet high. Creepers from ornamental succulents snaked out of hotel gardens, crossing roads and climbing tree trunks… Concussions from Turkish air force bombs, Cavinder saw, had exploded plate-glass store windows. Boutique mannequins were half-clothed, their imported fabrics flapping in tattered strips…

Pigeon droppings coated everything. Carob rats nested in hotel rooms, living off Yaffa oranges and lemons from former citrus groves… The bell towers of Greek churches were spattered with the blood and feces of hanging bats.

Sheets of sand blew across avenues and covered floors… Now, no bands, just the incessant kneading of the seathat no longer soothed. The wind sighing through open windows became a whine. The cooing of pigeons grew deafening.

Varosha, merely 60 miles from Syria and Lebanon, is too balmy for a freeze-thaw cycle, but its pavement was tossed asunder anyway. The wrecking crews weren’t just trees, Münir marveled, but also flowers. Tiny seeds of wild Cyprus cyclamen had wedged into cracks, germinated, and heaved aside entire slabs of cement…

Two more decades passed… Its encircling fence and barbed wire are now uniformly rusted, but there is nothing left to protect but ghosts. An occasional Coca Cola sign and broadsides posting nightclubs’ cover charges hang on doorways… Fallen limestone facing lies in pieces. Hunks of wall have dropped from buildings to reveal empty rooms… brick-shaped gaps show where mortar has already dissolved. Other than the back-and-forth of pigeons, all that moves is the creaky rotor of one last functioning windmill.

In the meantime, nature continues its reclamation project. Feral geraniums and philodendrons emerge from missing roofs and pour down exterior walls. Flame trees, chinaberries, and thickets of hibiscus, oleander, and passion lilac sprout from nooks where indoors and outdoors now blend. Houses disappear under magenta mounds of bougainvillaea. Lizards and whip snakes skitter through stands of wild asparagus, prickly pear, and six-foot grasses. A spreading ground cover of lemon grass sweetens the air. At night, the darkened beachfront, free of moonlight bathers, crawls with nesting loggerhead and green sea turtles.

***

Chapter 10: The Petro Patch

If, in the immediate aftermath of Homo sapiens petrolerus, the tanks and towers of the Texas petrochemical patch all detonated together in one spectacular roar, after the oily smoke cleared, there would remain melted roads, twisted pipe, crumpled sheathing, and crumbled concrete. White-hot incandescence would have jump-started the corrosion of scrap metals in the salt air, and the polymer chains in hydrocarbon residues would likewise have cracked into smaller, more digestible lengths, hastening biodegradation. Despite the expelled toxins, the soils would also be enriched with burnt carbon, and after a year of rains switchgrass would be growing. A few hardy wildflowers would appear. Gradually, life would resume.

Or, if the faith of Valero Energy’s Fred Newhouse in system safeguards proves warranted—or if the departing oilmen’s last loyal act is to depressurize towers and bank the fires—the disappearance of Texas’s world champion petroleum infrastructure will proceed more slowly. During the first few years, the paint that slows corrosion will go. Over the next two decades, all the storage tanks will exceed their life spans. Soil moisture, rain, salt, and Texas wind will loosen their grip until they leak. Any heavy crude will have hardened by then; weather will crack it, and bugs will eventually eat it.

What liquid fuels that haven’t already evaporated will soak into the ground. When they hit the water table, they’ll float on top because oil is lighter than water. Microbes will find them, realize that they were once only plant life, too, and gradually adapt to eat them. Armadillos will return to burrow in the cleansed soil, among the rotting remains of buried pipe.

Unattended oil drums, pumps, pipes, towers, valves, and bolts will deteriorate at the weakest points, their joints… Until they go, collapsing the metal walls, pigeons that already love to nest atop refinery towers will speed the corruption of carbon steel with their guano, and rattlesnakes will nest in the vacant structures below. As beavers dam the streams that trickle into Galveston Bay, some areas will flood. Houston is generally too warm for a freeze-thaw cycle, but its deltaic clay soils undergo formidable swell-shrink bouts as rains come and go. With no more foundation repairmen to shore up the cracks, in less than a century downtown buildings will start leaning.

… When oil, gas, or groundwater is pumped from beneath the surface, land settles into the space it occupied… Lower the land, raise the seas, add hurricanes far stronger than midsize, Category 3 Alicia, and even before its dams go, the Brazos gets to do again what it did for 80,000 years: like its sister to the east, the Mississippi, it will flood its entire delta… flare towers, catalytic crackers, and fractionating columns, like downtown Houston buildings, will poke out of brackish floodwaters, their foundations rotting while they wait for the waters to recede.

… Below the surface, the oxidizing metal parts of chemical alley will provide a place for Galveston oysters to attach. Silt and oyster shells will slowly bury them, and will then be buried themselves. Within a few million years, enough layers will amass to compress shells into limestone, which will bear an odd, intermittent rusty streak flecked with sparkling traces of nickel, molybdenum, niobium, and chromium. Millions of years after that, someone or something might have the knowledge and tools to recognize the signal of stainless steel. Nothing, however, will remain to suggest that its original form once stood tall over a place called Texas, and breathed fire into the sky.

I cannot really describe the feeling I get from reading these portions in particular, only that it’s the strongest I ever got from any book. It’s certainly not one of joy: I don’t want humans to disappear -- in fact, there are a lot of humans among my family and friends -- and I don’t want human civilization to vanish, after the unspeakable effort it took to put together, with all the promise that, despite everything, it shows. It’s not one of sadness or fear, either. I suppose it’s just one of awe, of terrible grandeur, similar in kind to what I feel when considering the alien horror and beauty of evolved life, its sheer multi-layered complexity, or the unthinkable vastness of geological time.

[elizabethplaid]

At 6am, I gathered the courage to check out my room.

The chimney really is gone. (The bricks are on the front lawn now!) I wish I could've moved my stuff. Though he did cover things with a tarp, my bed was definitely dusty.

I napped in the hospital bed (in the living room), and I slept better than I expected, considering how anxious I was.

Old pictures of the "before" are below the cut:

The original "closet" was the width and depth of a bookcase. People didn't have a lot of fancy clothes back in the day, so they got along fine with hangers on hooks, rather than a proper closet rod. Right next to the closet is the old chimney (eg not hooked up to the current boiler). It made for a funky bump-out in the room, which only got worse when dad built the bigger closet.

Have I mentioned my green wall paint is called "Tinker Bell"? I love this color. It looks blue-toned with the flash and painted floor, but it looks a lot warmer in daylight.

Below my room is the living room. It was originally divided into 2 rooms, but we tore down the wall in 2009. This pic was taken right before we moved in, in 2005, so the bookshelf hadn't been painted yet. That bookshelf space corresponds to the tiny-closet upstairs.

The next pic is from 2009, after we had redone the living room. The dividing wall is gone; the shelves are painted white; the walls became that dusty blue that's used throughout the house. Just a single picture hanging on the chimney section of the wall. ------

So yeah, both rooms will get bookshelves in that space. It means we don't have to mess with the wood trim too much. And we do have some leftover Tinker Bell paint. The insides of the shelves will be painted white, like the living room shelves. The shelf dimensions are large enough that I could have my 1-4 scale dolls standing up. I'll probably stash stuffed animals up there, maybe with larger art books near the bottom.

Not sure if I'll get a wood-board ceiling or just white, in the bookcase. It looks nice in the closet, so it'd be nice if we could match it.

[ela-meadows]

Rubble - Content Warning War, Violence, Child Loss

Shelled buildings crumble Haze of unrelenting heat Razed city called home

Yellowing paint peels Room hangs open to the world Child’s bombed out bedroom

Blood bright as fresh wine Leaches unheeded from hands Digging through rubble

Crow caws misfortune Warning things won’t be alright I flee with nothing

They say I’m safe now Early frost on strange window Alien country

Pink headband and dress Soft brown eyes lit with delight Crumped, fading picture

Seen and done too much Imbibe drink of forgetting Dreams filled with debris

Poetry:

Podcast:

https://app.aureal.one/episode/2088932

Image Description: A small green plant determinedly grows out of a crack in the mortar of the tan brick chimney of and old house. The structure around the dormer window next to the chimney is painted an off white. The paint is chipped and peeling.

[activate-shadow-of-the-window]

Day 6 of No One Except @mr-orion Asked November (NoOneExOriAskNov). I’m really coming to appreciate the ‘auto’ edit button on Apple devices.

Five and a half of the Hermit Civilizations in my Horizon au, because I’m tired as hell. From top to bottom, there is Bdubs’ Land of Livingstone, Cub’s Climbing Spires, Doc’s Maw, False’s Umbra, Gem’s Evergreen, and unfinished Scar’s Technicolor City.

I kinda just chose random sections of each hermit’s aesthetics and building styles to make these civs.

I’m gonna draw these places a lot more for landscape and building practice, of which I have almost none.

In-depth descriptions below the cut. They’re what I based these sketches on.

There are two great hills, steep and rocky, that surround the vale at the center of the Land of Livingstone. Straddled by two great bridges of white rock and creeping vines, their arches swirl with carvings and gradients. Similar odd shapes dot the valley, anchored into the sides of the hills: rusted buildings of metal and brick, adorned with half-crumbled chimneys and long shut doors. Nature has reclaimed this place, as the flower forest grows closer every year, and even the great bridges look as if they are about to buckle. But the ancient buildings persist, unwilling to yield to the land. Some still halfheartedly belch smoke, spooking the birds into flight.

The sun is hot and inescapable in the southern realm of Climbing Spires, its beams blanketing the red sand and enormous rock formations that give this kingdom its name. Adorning these spires are buildings, spindly and delicate yet sturdy enough to cling to the colorful rock. Perilous staircases and thin walkways of metal and wood are contrasted by robust columns and arches of sandstone and brick. What little fresh water can be found here is carefully shuttled about through pipes and waterfalls, adding a sense of movement to the otherwise eerily still architecture.

Whether the Maw got its name from the great spines of ice on its surface or the toothlike rocks of its underground is unclear, but wherever it came from, this land has a fitting name. Icy and inhospitable, the surface is deceptively barren of buildings aside from a few circular boreholes reinforced with iron. But these are no mere pits; they are the entrance to the subterranean complex below the snow-covered landscape above. Practical and brutalist, the underground buildings of this land are home to many strange machines that farm food without light and produce material in seconds, making this underground world one of the Land of the Sunrise’s best kept secrets.

The simple name for the land of Umbra is fitting; forested and shady, the thick canopy of trees hide the incredibly advanced yet eerily dark civilization whose inhabitants are almost never seen. Smooth buildings of dark stone and tinted glass manage to be imposing in their small size, draped with strange foliage that glows unnatural colors of red and blue. Towers that mimic trees and doorways like metal cave mouths are obscured beneath years, if not decades, of underbrush. This realm is closed to most outsiders, and not even traders may come any closer than the upper canopy.

True to its name, the queendom of Evergreen is completely forested in pine, spruce, and fir trees. The deep green canopy is broken by tall castles, their pale tiled spires and dark wood halls evoking a sense of regality and wonder. Thin, arcing bridges connect stone tower to stone tower, allowing their inhabitants the ability to cross rivers and valleys without ever touching the earth. Below these great structures is a dark, fertile ground from which mushrooms and sweet berries readily grow, a thick layer of undergrowth that houses foxes and wolves alike.

Too big to be called a city, yet too small to be an empire of its own, Technicolor City seems to have been plucked straight out of a painting. Every building is unique and colorful, yet they all perfectly meld into a skyline that seems to be made of jewels, aided by perfectly swooping hills covered in flowers and trees. Wide boulevards share space with quaint streets and footpaths, each and every one lit day and night. Every inch of the city seems to reach out in welcome to all comers.

[keeper-of-all-the-random-things]

Healing Dream

For @amonthofwhump March Trope-a-thon Day 5.

You are traveling in the woods when you stumble upon a strange abode.  As you approach, you see the house is built of so many tissue boxes.  Brightly colored, multi-patterned boxes like painted bricks. 

Curious, you walk around. 

The doorway and windows are covered with thick blankets.  Tissue paper peeks out from the cardboard chimney, a white flame.

A tabby cat relaxes by the side of the building.

Around the back, an old woman stokes a fire under a large black cauldron.  She beckons you over to sit in one of the plush chairs ringing the fire.  Once she’s satisfied with your comfort, she passes you a bowl of clear liquid from the cauldron.  It tastes of salt and herbs and sends a revitalizing warmth through you.

The cat emerges and lays by your feet. 

You drift off into a peaceful sleep.

---

When you wake, you are bundled deep in the comforter of your bed.  The cat rolls over where it sleeps in your lap.  A near empty box of Kleenex rests by your head.

You stretch out and inhale deeply.

The scent of warming chicken broth wafts in from downstairs. You’ll get up soon, but for now, you bask in warm afternoon sun and good feelings.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

What do you think of the renovation of this 1892 home in Milwaukee, WI? I can't decide. It's like a combination of old/new and they did leave historic elements. 5bds, 4ba, asking $639K.

It's attractive, but if you're a purist, then you wouldn't like the wood painted white. Coffered ceiling is still here, so are the columns and arch, plus the fireplace. Looks like the original floor was sanded to make it lighter.

Original stairs, but they've been stripped and lightened.

Undeniably an attractive room, color wise.

Moving to the next sitting room, the color changes to greens. The crown molding is still intact. There's a window in the wall. Could this long room have been a sun room or porch?

Looks like a back porch/room was converted to a small office and mudroom.

Modernized guest powder room with wall niches.

Very nice dining room. Interesting architectural feature- the small area on the left. Wonder if that's original.

Beautiful archway to the kitchen.

Total kitchen revamp. There's a brick chimney. Like the counters and backsplash.

Don't particularly like the thing they made for the light fixture. Just hang the fixture, that frame isn't necessary, and it's off-center.

Whatever this is, is cute.

Going upstairs to the bedrooms.

Oh, here we go with the gray. This is the primary suite.

The en-suite bath is completely open.

Bedroom #2. The exposed brick looks like it was redone with new brick.

Completely redone bath. Nice tile.

Finished attic. boy, they hired a professional stager- look at the pillows in the baskets and the little seating area.

This is nice, a 2nd fl. terrace. The stager put up a shade.

The yard and garden are gorgeous.

The yard goes way back to the end of the .33 acre lot.

Gate and a long driveway.

The 2 car garage is around the block.

Beautiful Beaux Arts style home.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/2365-N-1st-St-Milwaukee-WI-53212/40455932_zpid/?