#by my grandfather the farmer doing our garden

[dontforgetukraine]

Hryhoriy Bakalo, Photo - 1953

"I am Bakalo Hryhoriy Omelkovych. I was born at the end of 1923 in the village of Bohuslav. There were seven children in our family. We lived together with our grandfather and grandmother, Yavdokha.

We were not wealthy, but, for those times,we were not poor either. We were considered well-to-do. They demanded our father join the collective farm: they often came to our house and threatened him.

Little Vasyl was afraid of strangers and cried,so our mother took him out of the house. So he caught a cold and died.

When joining the collective farm, my father gave away the horses and all the livestock, so only a cow remained in our own household. As a successful owner, my father was appointed either foreman or head of the collective farm stable.

The farmers from the collective farm reluctantly accepted the collective farm (it could be called silent sabotage), and treated the collective farm poorly. A rider could leave a horse warmed up by running in the cold, etc.

In the end, poor care, lack of fodder, and unsuitable premises with the onset of autumn cold led to the death of horses. My father was accused of this.

He had an opportunity to "make amends": they offered him to organise the seizure of horses from those people who had not yet joined the collective farm. He did not agree, so he was arrested.

My father's arrest was a signal that a brigade would come to confiscate property.They came to us to seize our property on a horse-drawn sleigh (late November - early December 1932).This entire confiscation brigade included local peasants, but as they said, "not ours" led them.

It was very difficult to hide something from the brigade of collectors. They took everything with them, even clothes and canvas. They burned the icons right in the middle of the yard.

Using sticks, they found two sacks of wheat, one of flour, pine cones and seeds buried by my father in the yard. The utensils from the oven, including the dish in it, were also taken.

In total, they took eight carriages of goods (food, clothing, household goods, utensils, cloth, potatoes). They also took the cow, chickens, ducks - meat; before that, my father had slaughtered a heifer, so they took it too (it was hanging in the attic).

They did not find only the bag of flour, hidden in the barn under the barrel. I think that the older ones could have gone somewhere and there, maybe even survived, but they were "blacklisting" right after the arrest of our father. They were not allowed to leave the village.

Our mother cooked soup from the bag of flour left, and what she managed to exchange for clothes and jewelry (a necklace): water and a little flour...

By the spring, in February, when it got a little warmer, everyone was so exhausted that they could only lie down. Only I walked. I remember my sister calling: "Hrysha, go catch a frog and bring it to me."

I walked around the garden, went down to the river and then came back. "No," I said. And she asked: "Give me the scissors, I'll cut my hair and eat it." I handed over them and stood at a distance. She suddenly threw them at me, almost hitting me.

Later, my sister bit the skin on her fingers. Our mother beat her and wrapped her fingers with rags, but she took off the rags and again bit and sucked her fingers.

Our mother poured soup,and I carried it to my brothers.When I ate my share,I was sitting waiting, maybe,something else left for me.Mother:"Take it to Arkhyp." I brought it,and he said:"Put my bowl down,I don't need it." Then he died. Ivan didn't ask anything, he died quietly.

In March and April, everyone died except for me, Kolia and our mother. Our mother periodically, twice or even three times a week, went away to exchange that junk. And my brother and I wandered around the village.

My brother did not want to walk because he was thin, his legs and arms were like sticks, and his stomach was huge and transparent: the liver and intestines were visible.

My father returned seven months later after he had been taken away, in May, unshaven for seven months, scary, barely able to move his swollen legs wrapped in rags. My mother wasn't at home.

And I said: "Dad, now we will survive - there are only four of us: you, mom, Kolia, and me," and Father only replied: "They took all my strength there." The next morning, he went to the collective farm to sharpen scythes.

In the evening, he brought a quarter of a beet and some soup - he earned for the day. He gave it to us, told us to eat little by little, and lay down and wheezed. Foam came out of the mouth and nose. I ran to our neighbour, saying: "Something is wrong with dad."

She came, looked - "your father died." She covered him with a black blanket. He had been lying like that for two days until our mother came. Everything she earned was spent on the coffin and digging the grave..."

The carriage came to take him to the cemetery, and our neighbour came, asking: "Take my Pylyp to the cemetery too (the neighbour's son was my age). As I won't be able to take him there..." They took Pylyp away. On the way, someone else was taken away.

A storm broke out there. Thunder, lightning, rain, wind. The diggers quickly left. My mother covered the hole with her own hands..."

Source: Holodomor Museum

[kindred-sims]

A letter to Matthew Dailey from his daughter Agnes, 189x

Dearest Papa,

I miss you, don’t ever doubt for a moment that I do. I can hardly believe its been this long since Will and I left, I do hope that you might be able to come and visit us soon. You’d find that things are humming along very nicely here, we have a full field of crops – a cash crop, Will says. I didn’t understand it at first, but he insisted that its what all the farmers are doing these days and will prove to be a much better payout versus a regular assortment of differing crops.

I suppose it makes enough sense when you really think about it, but I’m not sure how comfortable I am at the thought of sinking all our money into just one crop. What if a storm were to blow through and destroy everything?

Oh well, I suppose I needn’t dwell on it too much.

At the very least, we were finally able to purchase our cow after months of saving, and we have a fine bunch of chickens as well. Will has also built me a couple of planter boxes as well so that I may plant my own little garden, full of food I can feed our family with. We’re not quite where we want to be yet, but Will is confident that we’ll receive a bountiful harvest by the end of the summer. I only pray that he is right.

I’m sure Aunt Winifred has told you by now, as I know it is quite literally impossible for her to keep anything to herself, but you are to become a grandfather in just a few short months! Yes, it seems our crops are not the only things that are steadily growing around here, as I have discovered myself to be expecting. Other than the occasional fit of morning sickness I have been coping well enough, and Will has been an absolute dear. Oh how he fusses over me so, I can barely take a step forward without him rushing over to see if I'm alright. I think it will be both a relief and joy for both of us once the baby finally arrives, and I’m sure this will give you even more reason to come and visit us, I know that you will be very eager to meet your first grandchild.

Give my love to auntie for me.

Your loving daughter,

Mrs. Agnes Barclay

[trulybetty]

Sunday | Week In Review VIII

This week's Sunday in review is sponsored by your local Farmer's Market sugared doughnuts, proudly provided by @secretelephanttattoo IYKYK 🍩

Hope everyone had a good week this week! 🙌 Tumblr is still doing it's thing with it's notifications in my activity tab. It's mostly just full of likes and some mentions (I still come across a couple on my dash I wasn't notified of), but mostly it's affecting reblogs. Anyway, if you have something you think I'd be interested in seeing or want to share - feel free to send me an Ask/DM or tag me!

Light reading week again, but it's not to say it wasn't filled with some gems!

T R U L Y U P D A T E S . . .

Happy Birthday (Joel)

W H A T I R E A D . . .

Grocery List (Frankie) by @frenchiereading I'm a sucker for domestic fluff and even more so when it stems from the Shared Breaths universe 💕 - not going to spoil this one if you haven't read the main series (which I will always shout out) - but there's a broccoli recipe here that still makes my mouth water when I think about it and I really want to try making it (if only I could conjure Frankie just as easily)

You’re Perfect for Me (Marcus P.) by @boliv-jenta The Marcus Pike thots were out in full effect this week and it started for me with this little one shot. Marcus needing some help unwinding from a tough day? Sign me up!

machine wash warm (Marcus P.) by @idolatrybarbie some more domesticity, this time from our boy Marcus (he's made for it really) and while short, it doesn't skimp on the feelings and a man who will wash your bedding and deal with the fitted sheet? Yes please!

Delta Landscaping | Chapter 6: Jeeps, Texts, and Sliders (Triple Frontier) by @rhoorl This series has be in a permanent choke hold and I'll eat up anything Jess puts out (have you checked out her Dieter series and her Frankie one shot, because you should!) and this series is the gift that keeps on giving and helps satisfy my Will Miller thots. This weeks installment is no different - we've got tensions building with Will and Katie, Benny and his big brother relationship with Connor, Santiago being Santiago and David living his best life (I want to be his bestie). Hands down one of the best things to come from thots over the Delta boys clearing Reader's garden in @goodwithcheese's 'Layover Series' (which you should read too)

The House (Jack) by @gemmahale I was so happy to get started on this series this week! The week took a left turn and I couldn't devour the rest of it as I wanted, but this is on the docket to catch with this week! It's full of intrigue and mystery and that's just the first chapter! I can't wait to see how this plays out with Andrea getting reacquainted with her grandfathers property and the history it holds.

glass (Marcus P.) by @idolatrybarbie I could be bias because this was written based on the prompts I sent over for Bea's fifty follower celebration, but it doesn't need that, because it's so good all in on it's own! We've got fluff, we've got Marcus (did I mention it's Marcus?), we've got some spice and we've got action! I'm never one to pressure authors to write fanfics, but if Bea were ever to expand on this I'd be all over it.

Butter (Joel) by fuckyeahdindjardin A happy birthday celebration for our main man Joel Miller was more of a gift to us I think. This is so incredibly sweet (pun fully intended) and was just a delight to read that had me squealing all the way through with it's toe curling pure fluff at it's best. In need of a birthday cake to bring home Joel comes across Reader closing up for the night and in exchange for fixing her shutter, she bakes him a cake. Don't sleep on this one!

What Do We Have Here (Javier P.) by @secretelephanttattoo El treated us twice this week! Now I'm still behind on Narcos (hey, I managed an extra episode this week, now a staggering five and a half episodes in!), but even if you didn't have a clue who Elisa was, the spiciness of this fic would soon make up for it! I also learnt a new word, epaulettes. Smut and education in one fanfic? What more can you ask for?

Headshots (Marcus P.) by @secretelephanttattoo Okay, the second of El's offerings this week? Not only has she been bringing the Marcus thots this week, but the fluff too! Imagine showing up to the FBI headquarters to take head shots for the agents and running into Marcus Pike multiple times over the course of a week? Wait, you don't have to! El has crafted it for us and I hear there may be a second part (series?) in the works!

Hypothermia (Joel) by @morallyinept I am the worst camper, so much so Joel Miller would probably leave my sorry ass for the clickers after the grief he'd have with me. But I hope that would be after I get to snuggle up to him for just warmth...

M E M O R A B L E P O S T S . . .

I had some interesting confessions in my Ask Inbox: Joel Thots + Oscar's Cupcakes

All of @penaonthestreets-javiinthesheets's mood boards, because they are all a mooood and a delicious delight for the eyes

The Gif™️ thots were out in full force

Maggie getting the Marcus Pike Puddles going with pancakes and cuddles visuals

Will Miller visual thots, I don't need an excuse to enjoy this over and over again.

B R O U G H T T H E J O Y . . .

How well and truly this community is so lovely - I had a really shitty day at work yesterday and by time I logged in later that night I had some wonderful messages, tags and mentions from absolutely amazing people. I can't even remember how I stumbled back onto Tumblr, but I'm so glad I did. This space really can feel like you're shouting into the abyss sometimes, but sometimes you get a response back with a 'my thots too' and you start to build your own little community.

I think I mentioned it the other day, but likes and numbers really won't hold their value. It's the reblogs with the comments, the thousand gifs/emojis or the back and forth discussions of WIP's in DM's that really make this all the worthwhile.

And also a Costco sized container of pico de gallo... it's about balance friends. But seriously, I've pushed the limits of what I can put it on this week.

T H I S W E E K ' S J A M . . .

This week's song is brought to us by my Chiffon feels as I got back into writing for Dieter x Bryony and this song is very them coded...

Hope everyone is having a fabulous Sunday, whatever it is you're doing and I wish you all a great week ahead! 💕

[alinalioness]

Alina and Singing Monsters 4 Chapter:Plant island.

Meanwhile, with heroes.

The heroes sailed by boat to the plant island. The girls looked at the map while Alina marked the route with flags.

Christina:What else do you know about the monster world?

Alina:I know that their world in the form of a donut.

Girls:Wow!

Katya:And how can some islands be located?

Alina:Some of them are in the sky, and even almost near space.

Christina:They don't even need air.

Pladdie:We've arrived! This is the same Plant Island.

The heroes were surprised to see the island and immediately headed there. The island itself was filled with plants, from grass to trees.

Krash:It's like a whole forest.

Donut:And there are so many different trees.

Later, they saw Mammott and Furcorn sitting on the grass and eating apples. They just came up.

Mammott:Oh, hello!

Kayna:Hi guys. Have you seen any of my friends?

Furcorn:(I noticed the other characters) Oh, yes. For example, one of them is a round and a red bear. Almost like them (Points to kikoriki).

Krash:Hey, it's Barry.

Mammott:And we also saw people. Such as a farmer and a bird lover. Along with creatures like them.

Leo:It's Jose, Sana and their costumes.

Lance:But there should also be their Negabosses.

Furcorn:If you want, we'll show you the rest of the newcomers.

Two monsters led the heroes to the right place. When they arrived, they saw Barry, Jose and some island monsters tending the vegetable garden. Sana and Guardian Bird keeper put birdhouses in the trees. Liszt made swings out of plants for Furcons. And Alla and the rest of the costumes of Chapter 1 and 5 watched the plants.

Alina:They were found. (With the others, they stood in the center) Hello everyone!

Barry:That's how the meeting is. Our.

Everyone immediately turned around.

Balan:How are you all doing?

Jose:Everything is fine, Mr. Balan, Barry and I are making a vegetable garden for everyone.

Familiar male voice:And we are...

Boog, Eliot, Toy Jammer, Drumpler and Clamble came out of the bushes.

Eliot:We just tasted a delicious tree before it disappeared.

Alina:It's great, of course, but the hunters will find us and catch us. We don't know where he is now.

Noggin:Are they going to catch us?

T-rox:What did it mean to them?

Alina:We don't know, but obviously nothing good is going to happen. We also need to warn your boss and go straight to the others.

Mammott:To the bosses, we have two. Entbrat and his father are a rare version of Autumn.

Carlin:Then let's go.

Everyone headed towards the palace and stopped near it. Noggin immediately knocked on the door

Noggin:Good afternoon, plant boss, I have news for you.

Three versions of the Entbrat came out of the palace. They were very happy to see the heroes.

Krash:You said there were two of them.

Furcorn:And this is their grandfather, it's all about age. He's retired if anything.

Entbrat:Greetings to you, even beginners. What's the news?

Noggin:That girl named Alina says that we need to collect all the monsters and warn the others.

Autumn:What's the big deal?

Alina:The fact is that the hunters will come after us anyway and catch us.

Bardolf (Epic Entbrat):We absolutely understand and will go with you.

Jumping Jack:And by the way, we listened to their song plants. Even the werdos were singing.

Tawkerr:It's about us. We can sing to you.

Parlsona:You can also sing along with us.

Christina:Yes, but only Alina knows the lyrics.

Sana:We also. While you were gone, we remembered.

Entbrat:Well, a song is a song. Let's.

Everyone lined up and started singing.

Song "Plant island"

Verse 1:

[Parlsona]

Every monster knows... how plants grow!

And every monster cares!

And they know how they shape and they feed them!

And they keep them alive!

Let's watch plants grow! (2x)

Chorus:

[Parlsona and Tawkerr]

Everything here is alive! (2x)

Verse 2:

[Tawkerr]

They sleep when it gets gold.

And the leaves turn.

They turn red and they turn gold.

They need sunlight and water and earth and the air to keep them alive.

That's how plants grow! (2x)

Chorus:

[Parlsona, Tawkerr and heroes]

Everything here is alive! (2x)

Verses 3:

[Parlsona]

A note becomes a chord,

Becomes a phase,

Becomes... a melody!

[With heroes]

And a melody... becomes... a monster!

Chorus:

[Parlsona, Tawkerr and heroes]

Everything here is alive! (2x)

You plant a seed

It settles is... and then it bursts!

And then it splits, and makes a twin!

Then, there were more.

Look, across the landscape, and you'll find.

It's just a bunch of plants! (Echo)

After the song, the heroes clapped.

Krash:It's not a bad song.

Alina:Well, then. (Took out the map) The next island will be cold.

Entbrat:If anything, there is no need to be afraid. You won't have a function to freeze there.

Christina:Great, then.

Alina:Well, go ahead.

Everyone immediately took their places on the boat and sailed.

To be continued...

[fishsfailureson]

I made soup this evening

My parents had been out for several hours and I had realised that me and my older brother would have to sort dinner out by ourselves- so I decided that the best option would be to rummage through the fridge and the pantry, gather up what ingredients we had and throw them in a pot. We had no meat that was not frozen, but I could make do with vegetables.

I've made many improvised meals before- following the whims of my heart rather than any recipe (in fact that is how I normally prefer to cook). Generally I use the same building blocks but I tweak it slightly depending on how I'm feeing or what's available. I used beef stock this time simply because we had an open container with enough liquid for two people (and a bit left over). For the vegetables I used two small potatoes, a small white onion, a couple spring onions that needed to be used up and two brown mushrooms (we only had a couple). For herbs I used parsley, rosemary and thyme from our garden. I added some garlic, black pepper, salt and some spice mix that my mother and I bought in a farmer's market while on holiday. Because I felt like being a little fancy I added a small splash of red wine vinegar as well (we have way too many vinegars and oils in our cupboard- might as well use them).

As I stirred the soup, I started wondering about what brought upon the circumstances that created that moment. What echoes of the distant past could be heard in the soft swishing of the broth or the hum of the stove's fan? What tragedies and triumphs culminated in me standing there in my family's kitchen stirring a pot of soup? Frankly, it's a silly thing to think about.

When we think of consequences of historical events we rarely think of the smaller ones- which is understandable, as they're often a lot less noticeable. Sometimes these small consequences will have much greater consequences of their own- perhaps earning them a place in the history books.

It feels oddly surreal to me that something as simple as picking a handful of parsley might have long-reaching consequences. There's something both terrifying and comforting about that knowledge. Terrifying because I fear what pain I may bring upon this earth, but comforting, because it means that my life might matter a little. Maybe the consequences won't be so bad.

I'm sure when my great-great-great grandfather came to this country he had no idea that I would be able to search up his name on some bizarre device and find actual information about his life. He had no idea I would ever type our ancestor's name (someone who was important enough to get a short wikipedia page in Danish) into this machine and sigh in frustration because almost all the information is in his mother tongue- a language that I do not speak yet. I'm sure he'd have no idea that I would exist- and that I would be standing there in a kitchen, stirring soup, and thinking of him and countless other people who would've stared in wonder at the life I lead.

Maybe none of this makes sense. Frankly, I don't know what I'm talking about right now or why I'm typing this. It's late, and I've been doing a lot of thinking today. I wrote a poem about a house sparrow with a political message my parents would not approve of, I watched a video about wikipedia table of content poetry, I've drawn some art. But honestly? Nothing makes much sense if you stare at it enough, so I might as well go with the flow.

Oh, and the soup was nice by the way.

[nel-world]

hi

co worker

KWAMI: Hey there!

CO-WORKER: Hey, how's it going? Just wrapping up some reports.

KWAMI: Same here. Busy day, huh?

CO-WORKER: Definitely. Speaking of which, I need some advice unrelated to work. I've been chatting with this girl for a bit, and we're planning to hang out and grab a bite to eat.

KWAMI: Nice, sounds like a plan.

CO-WORKER: Yeah, but I'm kind of struggling to choose a restaurant. Do you have any suggestions?

KWAMI: Well, it depends on what she likes.

CO-WORKER: She loves Indian food.

KWAMI: Got it. There's a great Indian restaurant called "Bombay Bistro" nearby.

CO-WORKER: That's perfect! Thanks!

KWAMI: No problem. Gotta go now. // Kwami: Hey there! Thanks a lot for recommending the restaurant.

Coworker: No problem at all. Hope you enjoyed it.

Kwami: Actually, I need some advice. We're meeting again for a second date. Do you have any movie suggestions?

Coworker: That sounds amazing! there is a movie khkh playing at amc theater.

Kwami: By the way, are you coming to the party on Friday night?

Coworker: Not sure yet.

Coworker: By the way, did you hear what our boss said about the new project?

Kwami: No, what happened?

Coworker: He mentioned that we might need to work some weekends to meet the deadline.

Kwami: Seriously? That's going to be tough.

Coworker: Yeah, but if we manage it well, it should be fine.

Kwami: Agreed. .// scene: with co worker …party

COWORKER: Come on, man, I told you I'd get you up one of these days. Drinks?

COWORKER: No.

KWAMI: You alright? You seem a little quiet.

ROOMMATE: There's a party.

ERROL: I just dont want to go to parties.

MAX: Oh, man. But parties are great! Free food, free drinks, and lots of people. What's not to like? You haven't lived until you've woken up in a stranger's garden, wearing nothing but a captain's hat and a smile on your face.

Parties are where you master the art of small talk. Do you think I was always this charming? No way. It was the parties. If you don't learn to love them, you'll end up being that weird person who never goes to parties. Is that what you want?

no man i cant do it..

// // KWAMI: It's so good to see you. It's been a while.

CO-WORKER: Yeah, it has. I really need a friend right now.

KWAMI: What's going on?

CO-WORKER: I haven't heard from her. You know, the girl I went on a date with.

KWAMI: Oh, breakup?

The most dangerous animal in the jungle: the female human. One minute she takes you to the heights of ecstasy, and the next, she can shatter your soul with a single glance.

CO-WORKER: I'll be okay. She's the first girl in ages that I've… you know, really liked.

CO-WORKER: I've started writing poems again. I find it helpful. Do you want to hear one?

CO-WORKER: "I thought I was your man, the yin to your yang. But now I sit in the dark and say damn."

KWAMI: I got it.

Yo.

KWAMI: How's work? // // Father Joseph: Your grandfather saved all of his life… to bring the family to this country. He got a good job in the stockyards, had a nice little house in South Chicago. I was about 12. Somebody sold him on the idea he ought to move to the country and become a dairy farmer. Well… he buys some land, you know, and gets a couple hundred cows. Within five months, every one of those cows was dead with disease. It was the Depression. Couldn't sell the land. There was no work. So one day… he took off. Didn't come back. My brothers and me, we split up… to live with friends and relatives. Chasing a stupid dream causes nothing but you and everyone around you heartache. Notre Dame is for rich kids, smart kids, great athletes. It's not for us. You're a Ruettiger. There's nothing wrong with that. You can have a damn nice life. Frank is gonna take over plant number two. In a couple of years, he'll make more than me and Johnny. He's in charge of the expansion program.

[eviesessays]

7. Who are the best cooks in your family?

My aunt Mary was a great cook.  She was the wife of my mother’s oldest brother, Jack Schreyer.  My maternal  grandparents, Peter and Anna Ottenbritt Schreyer immigrated to Canada from Bergensdorf, Germany in early 1900.  The Canadian Government was giving wheat farmers land in exchange for bushels of wheat at harvest time.  Land in the prairies was plentiful and wheat was scarce .  It was just five years before my grandfather owned his farm outright.  He continued to enlarge his holding so my uncle Jack and my aunt Mary inherited a very large wheat farm.  Aunt Mary was in charge of the vegetable garden.  She also milked the cows and killed the chicken for dinner.  She made sauerkraut in a wooden barrel and she churned her own butter which was the greatest tasting butter ever.  She made quarts of dill pickles and preserved jars of every vegetable to use through the long cold Winter in Ladywood, Manitoba.  She baked her own bread, both black and white.  She shared with me the joy of what is still today my favorite sandwich, cucumber on black bread.  She made the very best perogies always smothered in onions, butter and sour cream. My aunt Mary was an incredible cook.

My mother was a great cook.  Every Sunday there was a roast of beef or chicken for dinner.  She breaded pork chops that were tender enough to cut with a fork.  I still don’t know how she could do that.  Her talents escaped all her children except perhaps my brother, Carl.  He was not a gourmet cook  but an adventuresome outdoors man.  He hunted and fished .  He made an annual pilgrimage to Bella Coola in British Columbia to catch his limit of sockeye salmon.  He canned and smoked sockeye and Coho salmon. He hunted deer and moose .  He  cut meat into ribs and roasts and made his own sausage. He had a smoke house and smoked some meats.  Later in his life he began making wine.  His primary choices were raspberry and Saskatoon berry wine.  I liked his fish and meat much better.  I do not know of any special culinary talents of my other siblings.  Once when Michael and Dora visited Warner, Michael and I decided to make a watermelon, cantaloupe, champagne punch.  By the time we finished tasting it along the process I dont think we were reliable judges of our product.

Of my children, Peter makes great turkey chili.  that is his entire repertoire.  Heather abdicated her cooking chores to John when she returned to work.  They are now retired but John is still cooking.  Robin’s husband, Bob was a great cook and did all of it.  He also did all the shopping.  He continued until a few weeks before he died after a long battle with brain cancer.   Jaylyn is the best cook of all my children and her husband is equally as good. They serve epic dinners that  are better described as feasts.  

Then comes the next generation and I think Anne is the greatest cook.  There is no challenge that she will not tackle.  I would not even consider planning a, “leg of lamb” dinner, but no hesitation from Anne.  There is no spice, herb, grain  or exotic vegetable too hard to find or no equipment  too much of a nuisance.  Anne’s significant other, Dan is a chef and readily admits Anne is a better dessert cook.  Her Tiramisu is incredibly delicious and her carrot cake melts in the mouth. I think Anne is the best cook in the family.  Hillary makes delicious and exquisitely beautiful cakes.  Kalote makes delicious salads and breakfast sandwiches and both are probably better cooks than i am aware of.  Digger has a most eclectic diet.  Having spent several years in Japan, he has a repetoire of rice recipes.  Harry and Will are appreciative partakers of any meal prepared by others.  Anne is the best  cook.

[crazyblondelife]

Old Fashioned Southern Peach Cobbler

The peaches have been so sweet and delicious this summer and there is nothing like a ripe fresh peach! I bought a few more peaches than we could eat last time I went to the farmer’s market so I decided to make a peach cobbler with the really ripe ones and just the smell of it baking brought back so many memories for me!

When I was a little girl, we traveled to Hartwell, Georgia often to see my grandparents. It was a long drive but we went at least once a month, if I’m remembering correctly, because my grandfather (Pops) had Parkinson’s Disease and wasn’t doing well. My main memories of him were lying in bed and I don’t remember the year he died, but I wasn’t even 10.

That is a sad memory, but there are fond memories as well! My grandmother, we called her Big Mama, (she was tiny), was a great Southern cook! I remember her picking greens (turnip, mustard, etc.) from the garden and making a big pot along with cornbread and pinto beans. I still love that meal to this day! She made a fabulous pound cake and she canned everything. I have memories of eating oatmeal with her canned pears on top and I can still remember the taste of those pears, but I’ve yet to find a recipe that tastes the same.

When we were there in the summer, sometimes all my cousins would be there as well and it was a house full of people! The adults wanted the children outside as much as possible and I have memories of Big Mama giving us whole peaches, peel and all, and sending us outside to eat them. They were so sweet and juicy and the juice ran down our faces as we devoured those peaches. Of course, we had no cellphones and her television was not the greatest (she mainly used it to watch football games), so we found things to do and I don’t ever remember being the least bit bored! It was certainly a simpler time in many ways.

I’m sure my Big Mama made peach cobbler although I don’t remember…my mother made the peach cobbler I remember eating and the recipe I’m sharing today is very similar!

“The history of peach cobbler as a Southern dish dates back to the early 1800s when African Americans started to combine fruits like peaches with spices and flour to make a sweet, tasty dessert. This combination was then covered with a biscuit-like topping and baked.”

My cobbler recipe doesn’t have a biscuit topping (I’ve made those and don’t like them as well), it has more of a sweet batter that cooks with the peaches and has the most amazing flavor. It’s crunchy on the edges and soft and bread like on the inside. It is indescribably delicious! Add a scoop of vanilla ice cream and you’ll feel like you’re in food heaven!

When this cobbler came out of the oven, I realized that I had no vanilla ice cream but I wasn’t about to take the time to go and get some! We ate it right away! There is still a small serving left that I’ve hidden in the back of the refrigerator and I’ll eat it when I can sit on the front porch and savor those last few bites!

There are so many good memories associated with food, especially if you grew up in a household where food was regularly prepared and you ate as a family! I think that’s so important and hopefully families are trying to make it a priority. My mom made lunch every Sunday after church and we ate dinner together almost every night. We also went to her mother’s house at least once a week to eat a meal! We rarely had a “fancy” dinner, but believe me when I say that it was always good and summer dinners with garden fresh veggies and corn bread were my favorites!

That was a long preface to a peach cobbler recipe, but for some reason, this one just brought back all the memories! I know you’ll enjoy!

{"image":"https://i.imgur.com/letdEcK.png","name":"Old Fashioned Peach Cobbler","prepTime":"PT15M","cookTime":"PT40M","totalTime":"PT55M","description":"This fabulous Southern dessert will become a favorite!","yield":"5","author":{"@type":"Person","name":"Suzanne Smith"},"recipeIngredient":["5 or 6 fresh, ripe peaches, peeled, cored and sliced (about 4 cups)","3/4 cup sugar","1/4 teaspoon salt","For the batter:","6 Tablespoons unsalted butter","1 cup unbleached, all purpose flour","1 cup sugar","2 teaspoons baking powder","1/4 teaspoon salt","3/4 cup milk","ground cinnamon"],"recipeInstructions":["Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.","Add the sliced peaches, sugar and salt to a saucepan and stir to combine.","Cook on medium heat until the sugar is dissolved and helps to bring out juices from the peaches. Remove from heat and set aside.","Slice butter into pieces and add to a 9x13 inch baking dish. Place the pan in the oven to melt the butter. Once melted, remove from the oven.","In a large bowl mix together the flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt. Stir in the milk, just until combined. Pour the mixture into the pan, over the melted butter and smooth it into an even layer.","Spoon the peaches and juice over the batter. Sprinkle cinnamon generously over the top.","Bake at 350 degrees for about 38-40 minutes. Serve warm, with a scoop of ice cream, if desired."],"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Recipe"}

What are your memories of food and growing up? Do certain foods bring back memories? Leave a coment and let me know!

[partnersrelief]

2023 GED Class Roll Call

Behind each portrait of the new 2023 GED students is a story of overcoming challenges and the impact of conflict to pursue the dream of completing their education.

Meet Serena.

"My name is Serena. I was born in Thailand, but our family had some problems. We had to move to Myanmar when I was 8 because my grandfather broke his leg and my parents had to take care of him. My father sent me to school when I was 8 years old. I went to a school that taught grades 1 to 6 in my village. It is a small village near Laikha township. In the summer holidays, we went to the temple school to learn the Shan language for free for about 3 months, but at the government school, we had to pay to attend and study there.

When I was 12, the army caught my uncle and tried to make him become a policeman, but he escaped to Thailand. Then, the army suddenly came to my family and took all of our money. My father was very furious. He didn’t know how to solve this problem. Then he started to drink alcohol and take drugs. After a few months, he became like a foolish man. He hurt my mother all the time. My mother had to run away every night.

I didn’t like it, but I couldn’t prevent him. I didn’t want to live at home. Then, my mother sent me to attend school in Laikha, where I completed high school. While I attended school, I lived with other people for almost 4 years. I didn’t want to stay with my parents because my father hurt my mother every day. I wanted a happy family without fighting and hurting.

One day my father was doing better than before, so I came back and helped my family. We are farmers, so we had to work in the fields and in the garden every day. If we were lucky, we would find something in the morning that we could eat in the evening. We had to buy seeds like grain, then plant it, grow it, take it to sell, and then start over again every year. It is so difficult to make an income. No matter how much we worked, we couldn't get a lot of money. It was just enough for the day-to-day. I didn’t want a life of finding things in the morning to eat in the evening.

I would like to have higher education like my friends, but my village doesn’t have any internet so I couldn’t join online classes. There are also no in-person classes because most of the people in my village are farmers. They don’t have time for studying. Because there is no internet and no opportunity to study, I decided to come to Thailand, find a job and, if I have a chance, study. This was my idea. Then I found the GED program at SEED.

If I pass the GED test, I will use this knowledge to get scholarships for a university abroad because I want to attend one, but my parents can’t support me. They cost a lot of money to attend. I want higher education and I would like to support myself and study without depending on others. I want to improve my English skills. I would like to speak English like my mother language.

One day, I will go to help our village since most of the people want to improve their English. When I was young, I didn’t have the chance to learn English. Now I am happy to learn it and I enjoy it so much.

These are my thoughts and my real story. I hope you will understand it."

We’re so grateful for all the ways your love in action is lifting up these students so their education is not stolen from them by conflict.

Be on the lookout for more incredible stories from our GED students in Chiang Mai!

Donate Now

[wytfut]

Bibblies (bib overalls)

I wear bib overalls. A lot. Probably more than I should (maybe?). 

In the past I was wearing them so much that folks around town would get confused in conversation, if I wasn’t wearing them..  Start stuttering half way thru the second sentence....  “who are you??”

My hero the late Roger Welsch wore bib’s religiously.... though most likely not during shoots of his sunday morning CBS program “post card from Nebraska” or when being in the limelight. 

Met up with Roger face to face at our local “Camp Creek Thrashers” show one year. There he stood with an arm full of farm implement tshirts (lingerie for his wife), and in bibs. 

As a kid growing up part time out on “the farm” in the Boelus area, you’d see bib overalls common place. This would be late 50′s thru to mid 60′s.  Nobody thought nothing of it. It was the standard wear of the day. Hell even “Ma farmer” would be wearing them with big cuffs, picking eggs, gardening, etc. 

Most times back to Boelus, the mission was weddings, funerals, family reunions, graduations, etc . It wasn’t uncommon to see menfolk wearing a brand new pair of bibs, 4″ cuff (some of those guys I’d swear as much as 8″), white shirt with tie, and a sport coat. Don’t forget the untanned forehead, with maybe a touch of “cow lick”. Some of these guys would even attempt to throw on a bit of shoe polish on their chore boots. Depended on their Wife I’d suppose if they were married. 

From the mid 60′s on to the mid 70′s....  The hippies picked up on that type of clothing. It was not uncommon to see “them” wearing bibs. Lots of cool patch's “Agnews Angels”, Ecology, Peace not war, Keep on trucking, American flag, etc.

I remember my Mom buying both grandfathers “paisley” printed bibs during this period of time. Which my Mom thought was hilarious. 

Both Grandpas wore them until they were rags. It had nothing to do with being paisley, it had to do with comfortable clothes and they had survived the depression days...... nothing was wasted. 

That move kinda took the thunder out of my Moms sense of humor, probably surprised her more than anything....  She’d I’m sure had imagined them being embarrassed to never wear them, where in the end it was quite the opposite. 

In 1972, At 18 years old. I bought a pair of bright orange corduroy “UFO” branded bibs. I was working for NDOR then, out western part of the state. I didn’t get the life out of them as I had wished,..... they shrunk short, and I was having a growth spurt. ... These bright orange UFO branded bibs, were my very first pair of Bibs.... that I remember.

1977 my Hunny and I moved to Waverly. With getting to know folks around town, I was noticing that the rural folks weren’t wearing bibs not near as much as the last time I was back in Boelus. ....  folks my age. Some of the old gaurd still were, but it was more and more rare as attrition changed. Maybe we were just too close to Lincoln, or not near enough to Boelus.

My go too’s were/are “keys”... but I’d wear “Clovers”, and the others (depended on who was on sale at the time). 

Suddenly around the mid 80′s I self noted that no one rural was ever caught wearing bib’s.   The younger farm crowd just wouldn’t be caught dead wearing them. Im not certain if it was defining farmers, or that very heavy people wore them too much. Could possibly be the “hippie” era.... 

Oh well.... I kept wearing them. Being a career linesman at the local Mom/Pop phone company.... I found out that most heavy winter gear, is just that heavy and very cumbersome.... at least back in the day...  Carhart no exception. 

Also if you sweat outside in the winters of Nebraski..... you were going to freeze before the day was done.

I found the perfect winter gear, (not extreme weather) was layered tshirts/sweaters, and a pair of jeans with demin bibs over that, and a heavy sweat shirt (hoodie).      This just confirmed my habit of wearing bibs to even more. 

SIDE NOTE: where did all those wonderful super heavy hoodies go. You just can’t find them anymore.. Todays hoodies, I’ve got to wear 2 sets, to get the same affect of those old timey ones.

My Wife dislikes me wearing Bibs most of the time, at least in public...   she doesn’t like them. Degrading in appearance, and they make a ton of noise in the dryer. 

Being a touch introvert, she doesn’t like to draw attention to herself, but doesn’t mind a good joke at times...   Possibly not my jokes, but a good guffaw...

Some friends of ours used to hold a somewhat formal Xmas dinner annually for a few of us.....

 SIDENOTE: Pam Owsley can cook (Hostess of the formal Xmas dinner)

And I had decided that I was going to wear my brand new pair of Bibs to this years event. Had a nice loud tie, and a button up shirt. ...   Patti finally gave in, only because we knew everyone there very well....   and well, they know I’m some sort of nut.    I wore them proudly,   remembering past times in Boelus. 

In the past 10 years or so, I’ve changed brands a bit. Duluth clothing line came out with their “fire hose” material based bibs that were gusseted at the crotch. 

OH LORDIE are those comfortable. Wear like iron (I still have my first pair). The material is nice to the touch, but bullet proof. 

Unfortunately, i found out they are made in China shortly after I bought them. I had it in my head with the name like “Duluth” ... it had to be American made.

 They are a bit hot (I found that out wearing them riding on a hot day home from a long trip), and shrink more than denim. They still fit, but definitely not oversized.

This past year, one of my shows on YouTube....  Puddin’s Fab Shop.... I learned that there is only one company left in the USA that makes bibs here. 

WHAT???? all of these big time old company’s with very American names, were not made in America??? Possibly one of the last commodities still made here.   NO SIR .... NOT TRUE.

Puddin’ who shoots his weekly show, lives in Oklahoma. And his proud state makes the last pair made in USA...    “Roundhouse” bib over alls. 

Visiting the web site.... I’m impressed. A very large assortment. Different weights, types, sizes, grades....     a kind of a  mecca for Bibs....

Guess there’s hope for me and my bad habits. Got a pair for Xmas. I’m impressed.

[justlookfrightened]

Prompt request: after retiring Jack takes up gardening

CW: Mentions of wild animal death

Jack stared. It looked like one compact bundle of dappled brown fur lying there in the ornamental grass, but when he looked closely he could see five … no, six tiny bodies. One raised its head and blinked at him.

Bunnies.

Well, that explained what had happened to the row of lettuce yesterday. All twelve plants just gone, looking like someone had taken scissors and sheared them off even with the soil.

Not these bunnies. They looked like hopping out of the nest — really just a fur-lined depression in the ground — would be beyond them at the moment. But they must have a mother around somewhere.

“Bits,” he called, voice low but urgent. “Bitty. Come and see.”

Bitty walked over from where he had been tsk-ing over the peas, which, yes, had a distinctly gnawed appearance.

“Look, lapinou, bunnies,” Jack said.

Bitty’s eyes went wide and his face went pale.

“How’re you going to do it?” he said.

“Do what?” Jack said.

“Kill them,” Bitty said, and turned and walked toward the house.

Jack hurried to follow, pausing only to slip off his mud-caked gardening shoes before stepping on the deck.

“Why would I do that?” Jack said, watching Bitty fuss with his pots of mint and basil, very deliberately not looking in the direction of Jack’s garden.

“Because rabbits will eat just about everything in a garden clean down to the ground,” Bitty said, plucking mint leaves off a plant. “And they reproduce like … well, you know. Uncle Peter used to drown them in a bucket of water. He said it was more humane than other ways.”

“Bitty —“

“Of course, my cousin Timmy wanted to shoot them once he got a BB gun,” Bitty continued. “But Uncle Peter and Aunt Marilyn wouldn’t let him.”

Thank God for small mercies.

“Bitty, I’m not going to kill any rabbits,” Jack said.

“But you’ve put so much work into the garden,” Bitty said. “And it produced so well last year, and it’ll probably do even better this year, and I do appreciate all the fresh produce to cook with, and so does the rest of the neighborhood, and it’ll all be a big waste of all your time and effort if the rabbits overrun it and eat everything up. An’ unless you’re planning to make rabbit stew, the rabbits don’t do us a lick of good. And I, for one, am not gonna skin any rabbits.”

“Bits, we’re not going to kill any rabbits. And they do do us good. I see the way you smile when you see them hopping around. That’s good enough for me.”

Bitty looked at the garden, and then uncertainly up at Jack.

“But the garden —“

“If they eat every plant in the garden, we’ll just buy what we need at the market,” Jack said. “I know nothing beats home-grown, but the price can be too high if it means turning us into bunny executioners.”

“You mean it?” Bitty said, smiling for the first time since he saw the nest.

“Of course, lapinou. I’m not going to invite them in, but if we do our best to keep them out, and they still get in, well, we’ll deal with it.”

Jack went in to shower and start researching how to rabbit-proof a garden. It clearly would not be easy; there would be chicken wire fencing to install (complete with a section on top of the ground outside the garden), natural repellents to buy, maybe a motion-activated sprinkler.

Jack was still reading and making notes when Bitty brought him a tall glass of iced tea — thankfully not sweetened — but infused with the mint Bitty had picked earlier.

“You’re happy as a clam up here with something new to learn about, aren’t you?” Bitty said.

“I guess so,” Jack said. Yes, he was happy. He hadn’t really noticed as he clicked through websites and blogs looking for the best advice.

It was kind of like the winter he was planning the garden, just looking for something to do after retirement. He’d learned the pH of his soil and how to treat it when necessary, researched different varieties of vegetables and planting schedules, developed an actual affection for mulch and compost (and knew the difference between the two).

Then that spring, he’d worked hard to change a large corner section of the back yard into a garden. They hired someone to bring a rototiller to turn the soil over to start, but there was plenty of physical labor to do once he was gone.

Jack started to understand why gardeners seemed to live so long — he was a 40-year-old retired athlete and a day working in the garden left him exhausted. But it was a pleasant kind of exhausted that came with fresh air and sunshine and, sometimes, Bitty in a ridiculous wide-brimmed hat. Which didn’t seem so ridiculous after Jack got sunburned on the back of his neck.

More rows of shoots disappeared the next few days while Jack laid in his supplies, but he found it hard to begrudge the rabbits for eating the bounty all around them. Still, it would be nice if he and Bitty got some vegetables from the garden.

Jack started by installing a chicken-wire fence, stakes hammered deep and wire securely fastened. He extended the wire fence a foot out from the base and covered it with mulch. He spread powdered repellent along the entire perimeter.

The whole time, the bunnies watched him. He was out there enough that they seemed to have decided he wasn’t a threat.

When he was done, he hooked up the hose and dragged it clear to the other side of the yard. There, just along the fence line, he had planted a couple of rows of lettuce and peas — the things the rabbits seemed to like best.

He gave the plants in what he thought of as the rabbits’ garden a good water, and retreated to the deck to see if the rabbits would find them.

“I thought you were going to do a motion-activated sprinkler,” Bitty said from his seat at the table.

“Maybe if I have to,” Jack said. “But for now I’m trying this.”

They were both watching as the mother rabbit hopped out from the hedge. She turned to look at them, nose twitching, and made her way to the rows of new plants.

[afrosolarpunk]

When I think of solar punk, I think of my grandparents. I think there are many approaches and solutions to solar punk depending on where you live, the climate, rural or urban, land availability, budget and so on.

But for me, I remember my grandparents and I think it is crucial to gather the knowledge of our elders and let it feed into the new we create. Both were farmers and extremely resourceful. Long before my mother was born, and while our country was still under British rule, they had tried to live in the city as labourers. It was the modern thing to do in a colony, leave what was called the primitive life of huts, farming, animal herding and hunting behind and instead contributing to the colonial project. It goes without saying that this project was extremely racist that they were destined to be labourers for the rest of their lives. They both hated it.

In the city, my grandfather had done several manual jobs including working in an industrial bakery and working in a sausage factory, which lead to him never eating sausage again. My grandmother worked as a cook and housemaid for an Indian family (above Africans in the colonial construct) and found it demeaning. She had two miscarriages during this time.

It was then that they decided to turn their backs on the city and return to the village. For many this would have symbolized a step back, a step away from civilization, and it also meant a lot more hard work. But instead of living in a crowded, dirty slum (Africans were not permitted to live outside these slums), they got to build their own homes in an ancient tradition. Instead of breaking their backs for a demeaning overseer and paid pennies, they got to do whatever they wanted with the fruit of their labour. My grandfather immediately set up gardens which he cultivated with vegetables for sale back in the city. My grandmother followed suit and always made sure to make some money of her own. It was after this return that my mother was born.

The work was hard, but not any more or less than it would have been back in the city. In the village they were their own lords and weren‘t dependent on anyone else but themselves. It‘s where they were human and among those who saw them as such.

I think about this a lot and I think about how I could perhaps improve on their project. Find a way to build on what they left us. This is where I would love to continue, adding solar punk to the mix. Some people hate rural Africa, want to hide it and I get why, it‘s not nice to be reduced to it. But I love it, I see it as a chance, as something that can be cultivated and grown.

[bluebellhairpin]

The Perfect Partner

Masquerade AU!Levi Ackerman X Fem!Reader

A/N: It says Fem!Reader, but I’ve tried to use minimal female pronouns anyways, so hopefully them fem-ness isn’t too noticeable. I hope y’all don’t mind too much. - Nemo

Summary: It’s your first masquerade ball, and thanks to the resident Princess, you got to dance with the most mysterious - and reclusive - guest. The problem? Everyone seems to know the weight of what dancing with him means. Everyone except you. 

Listening to: ‘Romantic Flight’ by John Powell

Part Two - ‘The Perfect Plan’ 

Masterlist

Making the move from your small hometown to the city of Paris was tiring enough, but adding having to attend a ball in less than a few days - a masquerade no less - made you feel even more exhausted. 

Your small group of servants were tired too, you could see it on their faces, but they diligently sought out a costume and mask for you to wear - perfectly fitted and covered in silk and lace. You swore them tomorrow off work. They more than deserved it. 

Stepping onto the grounds of the Chateau, you had no choice but to take a moment and admire it. It was like the building itself demanded it. 

There were lit torches, blazing a warm glow across every footpath in the grounds. The main walkways, one of which you'd made your way to stand on, were covered in a soft red fabric. Those two things alone made you feel more important than what you were. 

Your family's rank was born from an act of kindness. Generations ago, your great-great grandfather helped keep safe, and nurse a young man back to health. He did not know who the man was, nor did he care. He believed it was his duty to his fellow man to care for each other. That man he helped believed in paying kindness - no matter what form - forward. Your grandfather saved his life, and to the man that was the highest form of kindness anyone could offer. 

That man was the Prince, next in line for the throne of France, and he made your family what it is today. He was why you are here today. 

Still, over the generations, your family has been close friends with the coexisting Princes or Princesses. For you, you'd been passing letters to and getting them in return from the Princess since she could read. Even though you were a good handful of years older, the friendship between you and Princess Historia Reiss was strong. Even though you'd never met face-to-face in her almost eighteen years on earth, you felt an obligation to her. Like an older sibling would to a younger one. 

Finishing mulling over what had brought you here, and the outside decor, you made your way up the stairs leading to where all the other guests were congregating. 

The ballroom was - by far - the biggest room you'd seen in your whole life. Streams of baby blue fabric bled down from the ceiling, paired with the gold and blue wallpaper and the candelabras, it alone would've been a sight to see. But one other thing in the room demanded attention too. The chandelier was absolutely enormous. It shined with layers upon layers of diamonds and gold. You were almost cautious to walk near it because it's weight was too much for the Chateau's old ceiling.

You gently snatched a champagne glass from a passing waiter, taking a quick sip to lull your pumping heart back into submission. You weren't this nervous before, too distracted by the bright lights and colours to realize exactly what being here meant. 

You were alone, in a room full of people you'd only spoken to through letters, or seen in passing and in portraits. Being with them in person was completely different. It was new. It was scary.

"(y/n)! - Oh, excuse me, I'm so sorry -" A woman called to you, nudging a passerby as she came towards you in a hurry of blue fabric, "- (y/n) is that really you behind that mask!" 

You were a little shocked. Those blue eyes, the pinned back blonde hair. Was this Historia? 

"Uh, yes. I'm (y/n)." You stuttered. She slipped off her mask, grinning widely, and pulled you into a hug.

"Oh, after only writing to you for so long, it's absolutely wonderful to finally have you here!" She pulled away. This was definitely Historia. You laughed.

"How did you know it was me?" 

"I know everyone else here. You're the only one that was invited that I've never actually spoken to before." She said, linking your arm with hers and placing her mask back on. "It was all part of the plan." 

"What plan? -"

"- Oh look, here. You must meet these people!" She pulled you into a group, all of people around her age. You were too old to be being pulled around. "(y/n), these are two of our resident Knights, Mikasa and Eren, and this is my bookkeeper, Armin. Mikasa, Eren, Armin, this is my oldest and closest friend, (y/n)!" 

Mikasa offered you a polite nod, smiling lightly, as did Armin, the latter waving slightly. Eren, however, looked a little confused. 

"I thought Yimr was your closest friend?" he asked, tilting his head. 

You'd heard of Yimr, and how 'close' her and Historia were. You didn't know if these three knew what was really meant, but from the look in Eren's eyes, he at least didn't. 

"Well yes, and no, but that's not the point. The point is - oh my." 

"'Oh' what?" You asked, turning to where Historia had been distracted to this time. There, parting the crowd of guests like Moses at the Red Sea, was a man. He was dressed in all black, with a coat of satin red flowing behind him, and a mask to match. He seemed important. He was handsome. 

But you had no idea who he was. 

He approached Historia, bowing lowly, and most other guests went back to mingling and dancing. 

"Your highness," he said, rising to stand his full height, and even though he wasn't that tall he still posed a great deal of authority. His eyes flicked over to you. "And friend." Then he looked back to the group of wide-eyed teenagers behind Historia. "And other friends." 

"Good evening," Historia said, smiling over at you. "Here, I'll introduce you." she said, turning back and adding the new man into your circle. She tugged on your arm again, bringing you half a step forward. "Here is (y/n), she's been my friend since forever, and (y/n), this is -" At the pause in her stentace the man nodded, offering his hand out to you.

"Care for a dance, (y/n)?" 

Historia almost swung you around and into his arms, so you supposed you had no choice but to take his hand.

───────✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰✧.｡:✱───────

You'd never been to a ball like this before. You'd been to them, sure - ones with village folks, filled with farmers, bakers, and other lower-class nobles. You loved those balls. 

This was so different. The room wasn't stuffy, the music was less buoyant, and the food was much more varied. But this man, this stranger - even though everyone but you seemed to know exactly who he was - he was making it feel a bit more bearable. 

Even if he'd barely spoken, he still made you feel awfully comfortable - a far reach from how others acted towards him.

He introduced himself as Levi, and coming from Germany, he was a very good French speaker. You never would've guessed he wasn’t native if he didn't say. He almost smiled at that. Aside from the occasional small talk, and back and forth questions, he wasn't very conversational. You didn't mind, you were too caught up trying to not trip over. 

"Hey," he said, casting you out of your worried daze and straight into his grey eyes, "Stop fretting. Feel the music, from your toes to the tips of your hair. Let it flow through you, and your body will do the rest.”

That was the most he’d said in one go all evening. So you made sure to listen. To the music. To your body, and to his. You felt how his hand tightened in yours and how he pulled your waist closer to him. You saw how his eyes glossed over yours before fluttering to take in the rest of your obscured face, and how he took in a deep breath right before he took you both around the room. He must’ve been magic, that’s the only reason why he was able to make your dancing together feel like you were floating across the marble floor.

It was nothing short of amazing.

He took your attention for three more dances after the first. By the time you were done, you needed another drink, and you were ever so grateful that you wore a mask - he was close enough that he might have felt the heat from your cheeks that returned everytime he pulled you even closer otherwise. But even though your time together dancing was over, he didn’t just up and leave. He hooked your arm in his - much like Historia did much earlier - and guided you back outside to the gardens. 

You could feel the prying eyes on you as you went with him, but you oddly found yourself really not caring. No one spared you a second glance when you were on your own, or even with the Princess. What was it about Levi that they were so curious about? 

Wordlessly, he reached to where your hand was resting in the crook of his elbow, lacing his fingers with yours. He was being so kind to you, so gentle. Even though he - rather unceremoniously - stole you from Historia and her introductions, you didn’t really mind. 

“How are you friends with the Princess?” he asked, now walking in among an empty waist-high hedge maze, and tilted his head over to face you. “I’ve never seen you before, or heard of you, which is odd. Our family and hers are… Very close.” 

“Odd indeed. She’s never once mentioned you or your family in her letters either.” He barked out a short laugh at your quick response. 

“You really don’t know who I am do you?” He asked, a lace of amazement in his voice.

“Well you don’t know who I am either, so we’re even.” He clicked his tongue, releasing a ‘tch’ noise and shook his head.

“I could tell you were new the moment I first saw you. The look on your face when you entered the ballroom earlier, that’s not the face of someone who’s been here before.” He stopped walking, turning to stand toe-to-toe with you instead. “Who are you?” 

“Lowly, at best. Only a rank higher than a knight.” you answered, smiling, “But I am also happy. Very happy.” Levi then got a very soft look in his eyes. The kind that told you, on the inside, he was melting. 

“That’s all anyone could ever wish for. To reply ‘who are you?’ with ‘I am happy’.” You broke into light giggles, smiling and nodding at him. After you settled, you squeezed his hand, and saw he had a smile on his lips too.

“Now I’ve told you who I am. So who are you?”

[callmefitz]

ever since I wrote that fic where it’s old!Percy rejoining his friends in the afterlife, I wanted to drop some of my other future!TTP headcanons

If s1 happens at 0 CGK (cute gay kiss), the fic took place at 87 CGK (or roughly when Percy Jr. is ~100

Electricity is introduced and commodified in universe around 60 CGK because I say so. Miss me with “medival ages and shit” there exists a grainy weathered photo of the TTP Gang in old age together inbetween the pages of one of Wens’s books.

Speaking of Wensclaus, he takes over the throne in his early twenties. Not because anything happens to Amir or Rupert, but because they set a precedence of turning over the throne to the next generation as an extension of this continued dismantlement of absolute power.

I headcanon that adult! Wensclaus never marries, he’s aro/ace. He, however, forms a gang similar to that of his fathers’ consisting of the Southern royal twins, Joan and Cecily’s son, Darling and Percy’s son, and the fairy queen’s daughter. Together they fight a multitude of evils and do so in style.

Eventually, Wensclaus takes on a mentee from the Hinterlands. Their name is Law, a non-binary goat farmer who Wensclaus eventually adopts. It’s really cute trust me- it’s all about the found family trope. They ascend to the throne in their mid-twenties similar to Wensclaus. Rupert goes overboard with being a grandfather. Amir tries to real him in, but “this time it’s practical, Rupert! They mentioned they liked reading, so I had every one of our histories and scientific journals transcribed and sent to their castle!”

Darling and Percy get together long after the events of season three, when Darling’s youth has subsided and Percy’s ambition has mellowed. With gray hairs and new humility, they learn to bring out in the best in each other. Cecily like, totally ships it.

Cecily also pioneered electricity alongisde the southern princess. (what, like it’s hard?). The first electrical circuit to power a light bulb is named the Cecilian Circuit.

Out of all their friends, Rupert is the first to die. There’s some poetic metaphor there about how the character who starts it all is the first to leave; but it’s well past midnight so I won’t get too into it. It’s of natural causes, of course, but it doesn’t lessen the blow to Amir. People from the East, west, north and south travel miles and miles for the funeral. It’s said the city was clothed in black. That day a great golden statue of the two former Kings is ordered by Monarch Law for the center square of the heartlands. In secret, however, they also request a marble statue be discreetly installed in the former hollow, which was about a day’s ride from the bustling city. They have it blessed by the fairy queen, so that it may last indefinitely. Amir visits it often.

Joan is the next to leave. She was a good two decades into retirement, but her good friend, the southern queen, requested aid against a sorcerer from a nation across the waters. Joan sacrificed herself and saved countless lives. For weeks, the royal guard wore black to celebrate their fallen commander.

Darling, Amir, Cecily, and Percy Jr. live long into old age. Darling meets his granddaughter, Lavinia, shortly before he leaves. Cecily spends endless days constructing intricate gardens using Joan’s pensions. When she passes, they are made into the first national park. Amir passes just a week before Percy- when the fic I referenced earlier occurs, Percy is returning from the funeral. Amir’s final words to Percy were promises that “Don’t be afraid, Percy. We’ll see you again soon.”

On 87 CGK, Percy discovers Amir is right. Reunited with his family, he sets off for the next great adventure.

[ambiguously-ambitious]

Chapter Two: Settling In

Author: ambiguoslyambitious (me!)

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2,678

Summary: Bela Rivers has just spent her first night in Riverland Farm and the gravity of the work needed to maintain the farm has finally hit her. How will she manage to restore the once thriving farm back to its former glory? Meanwhile, rumors of the new farmer's rudeness has quickly spread amongst the townspeople. Will Bela be able to save her reputation? Or has her chance for a fresh start already been tarnished?

Caw-Caw!

Ugh, Bela groaned internally, burying her face in her pillow to hide from the early rays of the morning sun. There’s no way it’s already tomorrow.

After Mayor Lewis and Robin had departed from the dilapidated farm, Bela had simply thrown her luggage in the front room and thrown herself on top of the surprisingly new bed in her grandfather’s old room.

Seems like they did some renovations before I arrived. Bela thought gratefully. It didn’t take long for Bela to succumb to her dreams, her grief and long journey both taking a heavy toll on her.

Caw-Caw!

Bela groaned again, this time reluctantly pulling herself to her feet. She knew that she had several long days worth of work ahead of her and the sooner she got started the better.

She rummaged through her luggage and settled on a faded pair of ripped jeans, paired with an old t-shirt and boots. She styled her hair away from her face, taking a moment to stand over the kitchen sink and splash some cool water to remove any remnants of sleep from her eyes.

As she prepared to exit the farmhouse she noticed a dozen packets of seeds on the kitchen table with a small note next to it. Bela picked it up, feeling slightly embarrassed that she had failed to notice it sooner. It read,

Dear Bela,

This is just to help you get started. Good luck!

Mayor Lewis

Bela gave a small half-smile at the mayor’s act of kindness. It was heartwarming to experience kindness from someone who was pretty much still a stranger.

Maybe, Bela mused. Things will be different. In a good way.

She strolled out of the farmhouse, the crisp spring air nipping at her nose. She found a chest behind the house filled with old tools.

Hmm, Bela glanced out at the property riddled with overgrown grass, discarded tree branches and stones. Where do I start?

After pondering for a moment, she decided to grab the scythe. She figured clearing the grass was the easiest task to perform.

First, Bela sighed. I’ll clear out the main island and make a patch for a garden and plant the seeds Mayor Lewis gave to me. Then, I’ll clear the routes to town and up The Mountain.

With a plan in place, Bela began wildly swinging the scythe, desperate to rid the farm of the knee-length grass. Hours go by before Bela was able to completely clear the path to the farmhouse from town. She took a seat on her front steps, fully taking in the magnitude of Riverland Farms.

Shit. Bela thought to herself as she gulped down a bottle of water. Looks like I have my work cut out for me.

_____________________________________________________________

“Honey,” a kind, yet tired voice called out. Caroline had just finished restocking the shelves at Pierre’s General Store. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Have fun and tell the women to drop by sometime.” Pierre responded without looking up from the register. Today had been yet another slow day as Pierre struggled to compete with the nearby Joja Mart.

Caroline grabbed her sun hat from the counter and left without another word to her husband. I wish he would spend less time worrying about the store.

She walked out of the nearly perpetually empty store to meet with her friends in the town square.

“Hello, Caroline!” a cheery voice greeted her.

“Olivia! This is perfect timing.”

“I know!” Olivia responded, strutting over to the housewife. As usual, Olivia looked as though she was heading towards a photoshoot for Forbes magazine. ”Let’s not keep Jodi waiting.”

The pair quickly made their way to the edge of the square near the cemetery, where Jodi was already standing there waiting.

“Caroline! Olivia!” Jodi smiled at them. “How is everything?”

Caroline smiled back, “Oh, Jodi, you know how it is. Same as always.”

“Oh, I’m in a lovely mood today.” Olivia waved a hand across her perfectly made face and chuckled lightly. “I’ve managed to make quite a lot of money through some of my stocks. I think I might be able to make a significant payout and hire a landscaper to help maintain the yard.”

Jodi and Caroline quickly exchanged a look. Both women were housewives, struggling to make ends meet and keep their children in line. They would never admit it, but they were both a bit jealous of Olivia’s wealth and free time.

“Now,” Olivia continued on, seemingly unperturbed by the pair’s jealousy. “If only Victor would find himself a job, then things would be perfect. How are your kids?”

“Well, Sam’s gotten himself a part-time job at Joja Mart.” Jodi answered, fidgeting with the end of her braid. She gave Caroline a sympathetic glance before continuing, “And Vincent is still having trouble focusing on his lessons with Penny. Luckily, she’s been dropping by the house to give him extra lessons."

“Ah, Adrian has been struggling with the new math Penny introduced.” Caroline said, nodding in agreement. “And Abigail’s been slacking off with her online classes ever since that new Prairie King game came out.” She shook her head in disappointment.

“Hmm,” Olivia nodded. “I think Victor mentioned that they’ve been practicing in the saloon.”

“Oh, Yoba,” Jodi rolled her eyes. “That’s all Sam’s been talking about this week. Part of the reason why he got his job was so he could get it.”

“Ah, well, at least it’s been keeping the kids busy.” Suddenly, Olivia’s eyes narrowed. “Have any of you met the new farmer?”

Caroline sighed, knowing that Olivia always changed the conversation to gossip.

“Well,” Jodi answered shyly. “I tried going to that old farm with a bean casserole to welcome her, but no one answered. I even visited Mayor Lewis to just make sure that Bela had actually moved in and he said she arrived here Monday.”

“Well, when I went over there, I saw her working out in the field.” Caroline said, as the other two leaned in closer. “But, when I tried calling out to her, she just ignored me.”

“No way!” Jodi exclaimed.

Olivia gasped in surprise, “How rude!”

“I know!” Caroline sighed. “Forgive me, Olivia, I know things in the city are different, but I didn’t expect her to outright ignore me.”

“No, I understand, Caroline.” Olivia responded. “You would think she’d be a bit more polite. Didn’t Lewis say that she was around Victor and Sam’s age?”

Jodi nodded, “You’d think a young woman like that would have had better manners.”

“Hmph,” Olivia stuck her nose up sharply. “Seems as though we have another Andy in town.”

Caroline and Jodi looked around the square quickly, happy to see it empty at this hour.

“Olivia!” Caroline chastised lightly. “You’re too blunt.”

“Yeah,” Jodi agreed. “Maybe she’s just a bit shy like Sophia.”

“Well, at least Sophia has the decency to say hello,” Olivia shot back. “People like her are the reason why people like you think people from the city are so rude.”

Caroline and Jodi shoot another glance at one another, remembering when Olivia and Victor had arrived in Pelican Town just the year before. With her extravagant looks and taste for the finer things in life, many in town had been intimidated by her and her wealth.

“Hopefully, you just caught her on a bad day, Caroline.” Jodi said, trying to give the new farmer the benefit of the doubt.

“Hopefully,” Caroline sighed. “Well, ladies, I should probably help Pierre close the shop and get dinner ready for the kids. I’ll see you all again soon.”

Jodi and Olivia nodded in agreement, each of them bidding their farewells before heading their respective ways back home.

“You know, Caroline,” Olivia said in an unusually cautious tone of voice. “Sometimes, you and Jodi are too kind for your own good.”

“Goodbye, Olivia.” Caroline gave a weak smile.

Olivia rolled her eyes playfully, “Have a good night.” Not even a minute later, Olivia was opening the door to her beautiful manor where her son sat in the kitchen, nose buried into a book as usual.

“What did I say about bringing books into the kitchen, Victor?”

“Mother,” Victor raised his eyes sheepishly. “Apologies. I was just waiting to see if you needed any help with dinner and figured I would entertain myself. I’ll bring this back to the library at once.”

“It’s all right.” Olivia smiled. “And don’t worry about dinner, I’ve already prepared something for us.”

Victor turns to return his book to the library before Olivia continues, “Wait just a moment, dear.”

“What is it, mother?” Victor furrows his eyebrows in curiosity. Hopefully, not another inquisition about my unsuccessful job search.

“Have you heard anything about the new farmer, Bela Rivers?”

“What do you mean?” Victor frowns. “I haven’t yet gotten the chance to meet her, but I assume it’s because she’s been busy fixing up that old farm.”

“Hmm, interesting,” Olivia says, turning to grab their dinner from a pot on top of the stove. “I was just curious if you’ve heard anything from any of your friends, like Abigail.”

“Abigail?” Victor asks, rolling his eyes. “Did something happen with Caroline?”

“Well,” Olivia turns around, a glint of mischief in her dark eyes. “Since you ask, Caroline mentioned that Ms. Rivers appears to be quite rude.” She eagerly scanned her son’s face in hopes of inciting a reaction.

“Rude?” Victor’s eyes widened in surprise. “How so?”

“Apparently, when Caroline went over there she spotted the new farmer working out on the field. When she tried calling out to her, she just completely ignored Caroline. Can you believe that?”

“Hmm,” Victor frowned. “Perhaps she was preoccupied.”

“Still,” Olivia rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t take much to say, ‘Hello’ or ‘I’m busy, can we talk another time?’”

“I suppose so.” Victor stroked his chin in thought. “Perhaps, I’ll head over to make my introduction.”

“I wouldn’t waste my time.” Olivia said, carefully serving a plate of spaghetti to her son. “Jodi also wasn’t able to talk to her.”

“Oh, come on, Mother. Don’t be so judgmental.” Victor gratefully accepted the plate. “And have you forgotten that she’s from Zuzu City, like we were? She might not be used to the townspeople’s friendliness. I know I wasn’t.”

Olivia sighed before taking her seat across from her son. “You may be right. If you do decide to pay her a visit, make sure to extend an invitation to dinner.”

“Of course.”

“Now that that’s settled,” Olivia said, the mischievous glint in her eye returning. “Let’s talk about your job prospects.”

_____________________________________________________________

Victor Jenkins decided to pay this mysterious farmer a visit. He decided to bring a simple wooden basket, adorned with beautiful faux green leaves, holding one of his mother’s finest, iridium-quality aged Blue Moon wines as a welcoming gift. Inside the basket, Victor had written a simple note, inviting the newest resident to Pelican Town to dinner at the Jenkins’ residence.

His mother, Olivia, was a bit apprehensive about this invitation, especially since she had heard of the newcomer’s rebuff of her friends, Caroline and Jodi.

Regardless, Victor decided to try and engage with the farmer. After ensuring that the wine was secure in the basket, he promptly exited the manor and began heading west out of town towards Riverland Farm.

Maybe , Victor pondered. This newcomer is focusing on fixing up that old farm. If she grew up in the city, perhaps she didn’t realize the importance of antiquated pleasantries in a small town like this.

He chuckled to himself, remembering how awkward it was when he and his mother first arrived in Pelican Town. Similar to the newcomer, Victor and his mother had resided in Zuzu City. He was studying engineering at the prestigious Pellcar University, while his mother worked as an accounting manager at Joja Corporation.

Hmm, Victor thought. I wonder if Ms. Rivers worked in the same department as Mother.

After about twenty minutes, the cobblestone street of the town square had morphed into a simple dirt path. As he approached Riverland Farm, he was amazed at how much had already changed on the main island. The path he was on was clear of grass and any other debris, and across the farmhouse was the beginnings of a simple strawberry patch.

It seems as though the new farmer has been quite busy, Victor noted, looking around in admiration. However, it appears that quite a lot of work still needs to be done. He noticed that there were still many large stones and fallen tree trunks littered across the property.

After surveying the field and determining that the farmer wasn’t outside working, Victor walked up the steps of the farmhouse and politely knocked, his hands rapping against the wooden door quickly, yet loudly. He waited patiently before knocking once more, a bit more urgently. This time, the door suddenly gave in.

I suppose the farmhouse is in need of maintenance as well, Victor thought, wondering what his next move should be.

Well, Victor gently pushed the door open, I do suppose the door is unlocked.

“Hello?” Victor called out, peeking his head inside the farmhouse when he heard no response. “Ms. Rivers?” His eyes swept across the room, searching for the newcomer.

“Ms. Rivers?” He called out again, cautiously stepped inside the farmhouse. “My name is Victor Jenkins. Might I ask where you are, Ms. Rivers?”

The front room was surprisingly spacious, containing only a small table, chair, television and fireplace. He looked over to the left and noticed a small kitchen, also barely decorated and only containing the simplest of appliances. To his right, he noticed a door that stood slightly opened.

That must be her bedroom, Victor thought, There’s no way she could still be asleep, is there? It’s the afternoon.

He decided to walk over and knock once more. “Ms. Rivers? Are you in there? I don’t mean to intrude.”

Once again, there was no response.

Getting slightly impatient, Victor slowly pushed the door open wider and was annoyed to see the new farmer sweeping with her back towards him.

How rude! Victor was annoyed that his mother may have been right about the new farmer. How can she act like she hasn’t heard me calling her for the past five minutes?

Victor cleared his throat loudly. “Excuse me, Ms. Rivers. Did you not hear me knocking?”

Victor looked on in astonishment as Bela continued to sweep without acknowledgement.

“Ms. Rivers,” Victor raised his voice in annoyance. “I did not want to believe the rumors, however, you are acting just as rude as the townspeople have described you. How disappointing!”

Bela swept whatever dust she had managed to collect into a dust pan, finally turning to see a stranger in her doorway. She dropped her dust pan, screaming in fear. She gripped her broom with both hands tightly, pointing it at a man whose face changed from an expression of annoyance to one of fear and confusion.

‘“Who are you?!” Bela screamed, waving the broom threateningly.

She didn’t hear me? Victor thought in confusion. He looked at the angry and scared farmer, realizing that she must be deaf.

“My name is Victor,” he said slowly, taking extra care to emphasize each word. “I live in Pelican Town.”

Bela’s face burned bright red in embarrassment as she promptly lowered her broom. She raised her hand in a waiting gesture, before looking around the room for her hearing aids. She hadn’t worn them in days since she had been spending most of the time working in the field and didn’t think she needed to.

“I-I’m sorry, Victor,” Bela apologized, the red refusing to leave her face. “But, how did you get in here?”

“I’m afraid that your door was unlocked, Ms. Rivers.” Victor answered sheepishly. Now that the farmer was no longer threatening him with cleaning supplies, he couldn’t help but notice her beauty.

“Bela. Just call me Bela.” She nervously tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Well, Bela,” Victor raised the arm holding the basket, “Welcome to Pelican Town.”