Lmst

Lily-Rose Depp – Archie Andrews photoshoot at the Maria Cristina Hotel in San Sebastian, September 2018 https://www.girlselfie.com/651718/lily-rose-depp-archie-andrews-photoshoot-at-the-maria-cristina-hotel-in-san-sebastian-september-2018/ #Andrews #Archie #Celeb #CelebPhotographs #CelebPhotoshoots #celebrities #Celebrity #Cristina #Depp #hotel #LilyRose #Maria #photoshoot #San #sebastian #september

Sebastian Walcott is a tall shortstop https://www.rawchili.com/mlb/49041/ #a #ball #Baseball #FrontPage #is #lone #MLB #Rangers #sebastian #shortstop #star #tall #Texas #TexasRangers #texas_rangers_prospects_and_minor_league_news #TexasRangers #walcott

Panthers star leaves game after being hit https://www.rawchili.com/nhl/44237/ #AddOns #Aho #Apps #Carolina #CarolinaHurricanes #Florida #FloridaPanthers #FloridaPanthers(NHL) #FloridaPanthers #Hockey #Hurricanes #Mobile #MobileAppsU0026AddOns #National #NationalSports #Neutral #news #NHL #NHLPlayoffs #Overall #OverallNeutral #Panthers #Playoffs #Point #Sebastian #SebastianAho #sports #SportsNews #the #To #ToThePoint #u0026

#EAS #WEA for Crawford, #AR; #Franklin, #AR; #Sebastian, #AR: National Weather Service: #TORNADO WARNING in this area until 8:30 PM CDT. Take shelter now in a basement or an interior room on the lowest floor of a sturdy building. If you are outdoors, in a mobile home, or in a vehicle, move to the closest substantial shelter and protect yourself from flying debris. Check media. Source: NWS Tulsa OK ** DO NOT RELY ON THIS FEED FOR LIFE SAFETY, SEEK OUT OFFICIAL SOURCES ***

(bz Basel) Belgier Red Sebastian: “Was andere über dich denken, ist doch komplett egal!”

Der belgische ESC-Star Red Sebastian über seine Kindheitsflucht ins Wunderland, queere Symbolik und was ein Strauss mit Empowerment zu tun hat.

Direktlink

#andere #basel #belgier #denken #komplett #sebastian

Sure, some folk got that Aquaman Seahorse for Mer-Man to ride on but can that sing catchy songs as it carries Mer-Man into battle? Sebastian can. 🦀

#merman #thelittlemermaid #sebastian #mastersoftheuniverse #motu #masterverse #actionfigures #toys #disney #sebastianthecrab

Cool work by Simon Sebastian in Copenhagen
#art #painting #streetart #graffiti #artwork #mural #fediart #urbanart #Cph #Sebastian #FreePalestine

A British touring production of “Twelfth Night” in the late 1990s. #111Words #TwelfthNight #WilliamShakespeare #Viola #Sebastian #ToledoOhio #Theater #Acting #Hats https://andrewjshields.blogspot.com/2025/04/a-british-touring-production-of-twelfth.html

My Next Door Neighbor is a Vampire

“My next door neighbor is vampire,” Rivi tells me.

“Keeps late hours?” I ask.

“No,” Rivi says. “She’s an actual vampire.”

We are sitting on the front porch of the house Rivi shares with Boone and Tina. The sun is out today for what feels like the first time in weeks, which is a welcome change from the endless gray we’ve been caught up in as winter refuses to go away. If there’s such a thing as vampire weather, I doubt that today would be what I would classify it as.

“I know that I’m going to regret asking you this,” I say, “but how do you know she’s a vampire?”

“She told me,” Rivi says. “Duh.”

“Duh. Of course.”

She points across the street at a small green house that sits just alongside the river that flows through the center of town. “That’s her place there. Her name is Miette. She’s a hundred and fifty-six years old.”

“A hundred and fifty-six? She must look like a shriveled apple person.”

Rivi punches me in the arm. “She’s a vampire, dumbass. She looks young and hot.”

“Duh,” I say, rubbing my arm.

“Duh.”

“So how did you meet this vampire?” I ask.

“I was sitting out here night before last eating Skittles, and she was out digging in her garden.”

“Gardening at night. How very R.E.M. of her.”

“That’s what I said! So of course I had to go over and see what she was doing.”

“Very brave of you,” I say. “Going into the vampire’s lair to check out her vegetable garden.”

“I didn’t know she was a vampire then,” Rivi says. “I mean, that wouldn’t have stopped me going over, obviously.”

“Obviously,” I agree. I peer at the green house—the vampire house—and find
nothing unusual about it. It’s very well kept, and looks very inviting. Just what a vampire house would look like, I think. Lure you right in with all of its hominess and cuteness.

“So I say hi and introduce myself. She says her name is Miette, and that she’s trying to get the rest of her garlic bulbs in the ground, even though it’s probably too late for them to come up this year.”

“Garlic,” I say. “In a vampire’s garden.”

“Hey, just because she’s a vampire doesn’t mean she doesn’t like garlic.”

“I don’t know, Rivi. I’m pretty sure all the vampire literature says that vamps hate garlic.”

“Don’t believe everything you read on the internet, Sebastian,” she says.

“It’s a hundred and fifty years of literature, but whatever. Go on.”

“So we get to talking, and pretty soon I’m helping her dig in the dirt, because you know me. Always helpful.”

“That is not the you that I am familiar with, but please continue.”

“She’s from Quebec originally, she says, but she moved to Maine about fifty years ago. Lived on the coast for a while, but felt it was a little too stereotypical being on a cliff overlooking the sea. Too goth, but not in a cool way. So she moved here in 2015, bought her house from an old couple looking to relocate to Florida, and the rest is vampire history.”

“About that,” I say. “How exactly did the whole vampire thing come up in the line of conversation? You didn’t cut your finger on a trowel and let her suck on it, did you?”

“There was no sucking of anything involved, thank you very much. You’re such a pig.”

“Vampires are known for sucking, Rivi,” I say. “Also, I am not a pig.”

“Oink oink,” she says. “Miette just brought it up in conversation. Said that I seemed cool and she figured that if I was going to be living across the street from a vampire, I probably should know what the deal is. So I don’t think she’s rude if she’s turning down invitations for brunch or afternoon dips in the kiddie pool in the yard.”

“She’d need a lot of SPF in her sunscreen.”

“It’s cool. I’m a night owl. I’m sure we’ll get a lot of hanging out time together once the sun goes down. About time I made a friend in this town anyway.”

“A friend who is a vampire.”

“Don’t be racist, Sebastian.”

“I am not being racist, Rivi. I just don’t believe in vampires.”

“Well they believe in you.”

“Do they.”

“Of course they do,” she says. “I told Miette all about you. She’s looking forward to having you for dinner.”

I lean back in my chair. “Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re making a joke or not.”

Rivi pats me on the knee. “It’s just a little nibble, Sebastian.”

“I’m not being nibbled on by your vampire Québécoise, Rivi.”

“Just a little nibble,” she says. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“Wait, did she nibble on you?”

“None of your beeswax,” Rivi says. “But maybe. She didn’t break the skin, though, so she says I’m not going to turn into a vampire or anything.”

“Oh, good,” I say. “I was worried there a second.”

“You were?” she asks.

“Of course not. There’s no such thing as vampires.”

“Yes, there is.” She points across at the green house. “There’s one living right in there right now.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” I say.

“Totally racist,” Rivi says, leaning back and folding her arms over her chest.

“It’s not racist to not believe in vampires.”

“That’s just what a racist would say.”
I look up at the vampire house (because now I’m going to be calling it that forever), and for just a second I think I see a curtain in a window on the top floor crack open, and then fall closed again. Because someone lives in that house, I think. And it’s not a vampire.

“If anybody in this town has a friend who is a vampire,” I say, staring at the window, “it would have to be you.”

“S’what I said,” Rivi tells me. “You’ll see. You’ll meet her pretty soon.”

“Can’t wait. I can ask her all about her time in Canada. How she became a vampire. It’ll be a real interview. With. A. Vampire.”

Rivi punches me in the arm again. “Racist.”

“Shut it.”

About seven hours until sunset.

Guess I need to keep track of these things now.

#Rivi #Sebastian

🎞️ C'est la sortie cinéma à ne pas manquer cette semaine : #Sebastian ou les nuits fauves d'un escort boy en 2025

[Cinéma] "Sebastian" ou les nu...

Review: Sebastian – “controversial and compelling.” Read it here https://bit.ly/42iYsGH by @FrankieWriter

In UK and Irish cinemas today.

#Sebastian #film #RuaridhMollica #MikkoMäkelä #review

#Sebastián Arquitectos https://ift.tt/CxbmiNA | posted by afasia | daily entries on contemporary art and architecture #afasiaarchzine #afasiaarq |

#architecture #arquitectura #design

New square . Montón de Jiloca Sebastián Arquitectos . photos: © …

🇺🇦 #NowPlaying on #BBC6Music's #LaurenLaverne

SebastiAn:
🎵 Love In Motion (feat. Mayer Hawthorne)

#SebastiAn

https://vaaticanrecords.bandcamp.com/track/sebastian-love-in-motion-feat-mayer-hawthorne-jp-buckle-kiss-me-quick-2

https://open.spotify.com/track/0dJ0pX1MohcF33LpFssliC

Quinta temporada de Black Butler ganha trailer #abril #animejapan #blackbutler #cielphantomhive #cloverworks #crunchyroll #elitebritânica #emeraldwitharc #quintatemporada #sebastian #trailer https://alternativanerd.com.br/animes-mangas/quinta-temporada-de-black-butler-ganha-trailer

Zombie Chickens and Poultrygeists

Rivi and I are sitting on the porch at Boone and Tina’s new house, where they have given Rivi a temporary (or permanent, because who can really say) room in which to live. I have been over helping them to unpack, which has mainly consisted of carrying boxes up a flight or two of stairs, or down into the basement. I have been reminded just how much I hate moving, but I do it without complaint. I’m just happy to have my friends close by again.

“I haven’t seen any ghosts in the house yet,” Rivi says. “I’m very disappointed.”

“You will,” I assure her. “This house is almost as old as ours is. I promise you people have died in it.”

“They better have, or I’m moving back to California.”

I lean forward in my chair. “Listen, child, and I’ll tell you a Stephen King Country story that happened just yesterday at our house.”

“Is it scary?” she asks.

“Don’t know yet. Have to wait and see. Want to hear it or not?”

“Of course I do,” she says. “Spill.”

“So yesterday, as it’s starting to creep over into sunset, Hunter and I are sitting on the porch, because it’s forty-five degrees outside for a change, and we’re enjoying the warmth after weeks of sub-freezing temperatures. There’s still a foot of snow on the ground…”

“As I can see from where I sit,” Rivi interrupts.

“… and it’s super misty, because the warm air is bringing all that moisture up from the snow. It’s really pretty, and it’s really quiet, since we’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“Not like this nowhere,” she says.

“You live on a corner in a town, right on the street. It’s not the middle of nowhere. Shut up and let me tell the story.”

“Fine. Grump.”

“So we’re sitting on our porch, and Hunter looks out across the field and says, ‘Is that a chicken?’ I look where she’s looking, and sure enough, there’s a chicken walking across the snow, a fat, fluffy hen.

“‘Yep,’ I say. ‘That’s a chicken.’

“’Is it one of ours?’ she asks. The coop with our chickens is on the other side of the property, so it’s doubtful that one of them has come over here. It’s still too snowy for them to want to leave their run, and they hardly ever travel unless it’s in a group. The chicken we are looking at in the field is a breed called a Lavender Orpington, and until a month ago, we had two of them. One of them died back in early February, one of those mysterious chicken deaths which seem to just happen sometimes, where you have no idea what the cause is. As is our tradition with dead chickens, we put her into an open cardboard box and set her out deep in the trees on the property, returning her to nature. Circle of life, and all that.

“’I don’t think that’s ours,’ I say. ‘I’ll go to the coop and count ours, see if anyone is missing.’ I put on my boots and walk over to the coop, and it’s slushy and wet and slippery, so it takes a while to get there. I count the chickens, and then count them again to be sure: twelve chickens. The correct number. I slosh my way back to the other side of the house, and see that Hunter has lured the random chicken closer by leading her with a trail of chicken feed.

“’All our chickens are in the coop,’ I say.

“’I think…’ Hunter says. ‘I think this is our dead chicken.’”

“Shut up,” Rivi says now, peering at me.

“I’m not making this up,” I say. “Now that I can see this chicken up closer, it absolutely looks like our dead one. I know that chickens all look alike to people who don’t keep chickens, but you can definitely tell them apart when you see them every day. This chicken that is pecking at the feed by our porch is the same one that was dead, that I put in a box and carried out into the woods.”

Rivi punches me in the arm. “Why didn’t you tell me this yesterday? I would have come right over!”

“It was getting dark,” I say. “There wasn’t time to mess around.”

“So what happened next?” she asks.

“I went back to the coop to get the chicken hospital. It’s an old dog crate that we use when we have to quarantine chickens for whatever reason. It’s too big to carry in all the ice and snow, so I just grabbed one end and dragged it across the property, while Hunter kept the zombie chicken occupied with food pellets. When I got close enough, we herded her up onto a snow pile, and then I grabbed her and we stuck her in the hospital.”

“Your dead chicken is now and alive and in the hospital,” Rivi says.

“And the hospital is in the mud room today, because we’re still working out where to keep her until we can reintroduce her to the flock.”

“Your dead chicken, who is now a zombie, is going to be put in with the rest of the alive, not-zombie chickens,” Rivi says.

“More or less,” I say. “I swear to you this chicken was dead when I put her in a box. And even if she was just in a coma or something, it’s been nearly a month. We’ve had negative temperatures, wind chills in the minus twenties, and anything that she could eat is under a foot or two of snow. I have no idea how this chicken survived.”

“And you’re going to put her into the coop with the normal alive chickens,” Rivi says. “This really is Stephen King Country.”

“Right? Do you see what you’re living in now?”

“This is the sexiest place I’ve ever lived,” she says. “Even if it is in the middle of nowhere.”

“You’re not going to be bored,” I assure her.

“I guess not.”

“Might be eaten by zombie chickens, though.”

“Show me a good time, Sebastian,” Rivi says. “Show me a good time.”

#Rivi #Sebastian