#frugal simplicity

[petula-xx]

Less is More

I've been decluttering and reducing my possessions for years. Right now I'm going through the process again.

The older I get the less I need, or want, in the house. A life of frugal simplicity feels so right now.

I've never been a hoarder but regularly re-evaluating my possessions has resulted in so much stuff being moved on and, in most cases, not replaced.

3 bags for the op shop, 2 for the bin and a hard rubbish collection in the planning are the result of my current efforts. A clean out of the garden shed is next.

This will not be my last declutter. The need to continue to simplify my life is very natural now.

[tmarshconnors]

Qualities That Define a Minimalist Person

A minimalist person is someone who adopts a lifestyle that focuses on simplicity and intentionally reduces the clutter, distractions, and excess in their lives. Here are some qualities that often define a minimalist person:

Simplicity: Minimalists prioritize simplicity in all aspects of their lives. They seek to simplify their possessions, daily routines, and commitments to create a sense of calm and clarity.

Intentionality: Minimalists are intentional about their choices. They carefully consider what they bring into their lives, whether it's physical possessions, relationships, or commitments. They focus on what truly adds value and eliminates what doesn't align with their priorities.

Decluttering: Minimalists actively declutter their physical spaces, getting rid of items they no longer need or find joy in. They understand that physical clutter can lead to mental clutter, and strive to create a clean and organized environment.

Mindfulness: Minimalists practice mindfulness and live in the present moment. They appreciate the simple pleasures of life, often finding joy in experiences rather than material possessions.

Frugality: Minimalists tend to be frugal and avoid unnecessary consumerism. They question the need for excessive spending and prioritize saving money for things that truly matter to them.

Environmental consciousness: Many minimalists are environmentally conscious and make choices that reduce their impact on the planet. They might prioritize sustainable and eco-friendly products, embrace minimal packaging, or reduce waste in their daily lives.

Detachment from material possessions: Minimalists do not attach their self-worth or happiness to material possessions. They understand that true happiness comes from within and focus on cultivating meaningful relationships, personal growth, and experiences.

Time and energy prioritization: Minimalists value their time and energy. They avoid activities, commitments, and relationships that drain them or don't align with their values. They prioritize activities that bring them joy, personal growth, and fulfillment.

Quality over quantity: Minimalists value quality over quantity. They prefer owning a few high-quality items that they truly cherish rather than accumulating a large number of mediocre possessions.

Focus on personal growth: Minimalists often prioritize personal growth and self-improvement. They strive to simplify their lives to create space and time for learning, pursuing hobbies, and developing meaningful connections.

It's important to note that minimalism is a personal journey, and individuals may embrace these qualities to varying degrees. Minimalism can be tailored to suit an individual's needs, values, and circumstances.

[budgeting-and-investing]

How Frugal Minimalism Embraces a Simpler, More Fulfilling Life

[daisukitoo]

Significant pieces of the 1990s frugality and anti-consumerist movement have transitioned into the current FIRE (financial independence / early retirement) movement. Your Money or Your Life by Joe Dominguez and Vicki Robin was a foundational text in both, and it is the source of the most common current sense of "financial independence."

This is the "if you spend less on stuff you don't really need, you can 'get yours' and get out" pragmatic strain of anti-consumerism, not the "The world is too much with us; late and soon / Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers" ethical or aesthetic strain.

It's crazy that Kafka was writing that stuff abt bureaucracy in like the 20s. When it was still a baby. I guess back then it was a dragon you could fight. But the dragon ate us, we live inside it now

[chinesehanfu]

[Hanfu · 漢服]Time Clothes·Wu Zetian【时裳•武则天】·Early Tang Dynasty

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【Summary】

In this 180-second video, shows the fashion trend of Wu Zetian's life, the first fashion change led by women in China, from simplicity to luxury, from conservative to open, from restraint to freedom, this video is not only to show the beauty of Hanfu, but also to show A changing era in Tang Dynasty.

Wu Zetian(武则天), the only female emperor in China, experienced one of the fastest changing periods in the history of Chinese fashion in her life. As the woman who finally reached the top, she also had a huge leading influence on the trend of the Tang Dynasty at that time.

"Time Clothes·Wu Zetian", through the cultural relics and image reproductions of the same period in the collections of Luoyang Museum, Luoyang Archaeological Research Institute, and Yanshi Shangcheng Museum, sorts out the fashion development of Wu Zetian(武则天) throughout her life.

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【637-649 A.D.】武家有女 初入宫掖 In 637, when Wu Zetian was fourteen years old (November of the eleventh year of Zhenguan, because of her beauty, she was selected as the emperor's consort, and was named a fifth-rank "才人/Talented Lady". Emperor Taizong bestowed on her the title call"Wu Mei/武媚".

At that time, the clothing followed the Sui Dynasty system, which was conservative and frugal.Women in the early Tang Dynasty dressed conservatively, with higher necklines and skirts. Women need to wear "mili/幂离" (a kind of hat, surrounded by a circle of gauze that reaches the feet) to cover the whole body, so that passers-by cannot see the woman's face. During the Emperor Taizong period, frugality was advocated, and court women's clothing used less brocade, and only a small amount of brocade was used on the edge of the sleeves.Women wear a hairstyle called "panhuanji/盘桓髻", wear skirts up to the armpits, narrow sleeves and short shirts, and wear "bapojian skirts/八破间裙 (a skirt sewn with different colored fabrics)"

【651-664 A.D.】高宗即位 再入宫廷 When Emperor Taizong died in 649, his youngest son, Li Zhi, whose mother was the main wife Wende, succeeded him as Emperor Gaozong. Li Zhi had had an affair with Wu Zetian when Taizong was still alive.Taizong had 14 sons, including three by his beloved Empress Zhangsun (601–636), but none with Consort Wu.Thus, according to the custom by which consorts of deceased emperors who had not produced children were permanently confined to a monastic institution after the emperor's death, Wu was consigned to Ganye Temple (感業寺) with the expectation that she would serve as a Buddhist nun there for the remainder of her life. But Wu defied expectations and left the convent for an alternative life. After Taizong's death, Li Zhi came to visit her and, finding her more beautiful, intelligent, and intriguing than before, decided to bring her back as his own concubine.

During this period, the aesthetics of the Tang Dynasty began to change, from thin to tall and straight.The social atmosphere is gradually opening up, and women's skirts are moved down to the bust line.Wider cuffs and collars, tall half-up hair buns and various ring shape hairstyles are the most popular hairstyles.

【664-689 A.D.】天后掌权 二圣临朝

By early 650, Consort Wu was a concubine of Emperor Gaozong, and had the title Zhaoyi (昭儀) (the highest-ranking of the nine concubines in the second rank). She progressed rapidly, earning the title of huanghou (皇后) (empress consort, the highest rank and position a woman held in the empire), and gradually gained immeasurable influence and unprecedented authority over the empire's governance throughout Gaozong's reign. Over time, she came to control most major and key decisions made during Gaozong's reign, and presided over imperial gatherings.

Women's political status gradually improved with the power gained by Wu Zetian, and women's dress styles developed in a gorgeous, confident, and open direction.During this period, China's weaving technology developed rapidly, and various brocade patterns of "Da Ke Baohua Brocade/大窠宝华织锦" with larger sizes appeared and were more widely used in the palace.

【690-700A.D.】武皇登基 女性天下

In 690, Wu Zetian had Emperor Ruizong yield the throne to her and established the Zhou dynasty, with herself as the imperial ruler (皇帝).She allowing women to participate in politics, the image of women is moving towards the most confident, plump and calm era in ancient Chinese history.

The clothing materials of women in the upper class are becoming more and more extravagant, with half-sleeves/半袖 and magnificent brocade patterns on the Beizi/背子. A double spiral hairstyle, and the skirt is further moved down.

【700-705A.D.】称制十年 女性觉醒

In the late period of Wu Zetian's reign and even after she was forced to abdicate, many female politicians continued to lead the fashion of dressing, and more open and exaggerated dressing styles became popular.

The collar of the jacket is mainly turned into a cross-collar, and the short sleeves of the jacket are no longer tucked into the skirt, which greatly increases the exposure of the skin.Comb the hairstyle in the shape of "big knife" on the head call “大单刀髻”，ornately embroidered shawl,cross collar and half sleeve,top that covers the skirt

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📸Video： @扬眉剑舞

Model ：@荷里寒 

Plan：  @洛阳博物馆1958 & @扬眉剑舞 &@���程旅行官方微博​​

🔗Weibo：https://weibo.com/1879589532/NfEFEkRHY

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[thethirdromana]

a sweet, simple, noble, strong nature such as his

Mina describes Jonathan's nature as this, but I'm not sure what "simple" means in this context. Frugal? Not cunning?

I thought I knew the answer to this question, then I did some research and it turns out that the word 'simple' here carries a surprising amount of weight. So thank you for the question, because I just learned a lot!

This article talks about changing values in Victorian society, from the Georgian politeness of gentlemen, which was later disdained as artificial, to Victorian manliness, which was characterised, among other things, by simplicity:

The touchstone of polite conversation was the anticipated impression made on the listener. The manly man was someone who paid more attention to the promptings of his inner self than to the dictates of social expectation. Manly speech was therefore direct, honest and succinct. Its purpose was not to please, or to shield listeners from the disagreeable, but to convey meaning without equivocation.

And I think we really see this demonstrated in Dracula with the directness and straightforwardness of the very manly Quincey.

Jonathan is less manly than Quincey (everyone is less manly than Quincey) but nonetheless this is an assertion of Jonathan's manly virtues by Mina. He isn't struggling and doubting himself because he's effeminate or in some other way lacking; from Mina's perspective, his struggles are actually a demonstration of how good a man he is. The article also notes that simplicity was particularly seen as a virtue for middle-class men to aspire to, and Jonathan is the one unambiguously middle-class male main character in Dracula.

I do recommend reading the whole article. It's a fascinating read, not only for readers of Dracula but also for North and South, which it discusses.

[presentation-station]

Two even 9-stripe flags, the latter with a symbol of a carnation in the canton. Black, white, green. Dark blue, darker blue, dark blue. Bright pink, red, black. The carnation is outlined in green and filled in darker blue.

Dandizine (Presentation)

Dandizine is a presentation centered around formal and aristocratic dress, tending toward either neutral or striking colors. Someone who presents this way may be called a dandy or dandizette, depending on preference.

As a presentation, dandizine is based on the dandy subculture and fashion. The carnation was chosen as it's a common flower to be found worn as a lapel pin, an accessory common to the style.

Dandies as a subculture are bohemian and romantic. Bohemian culture was centered around free love, frugality, simplicity, and egalitarianism. Romantic culture centered around artistic expression, imagination, and subjective experiences.

Like many subcultures, black participants had a major influence on its development and are the main practitioners today. The idea of the dandy also has origins in reactions to Romani people, as free-spirited people without care for social norms.

Above: Various images of people presenting as dandizine.

[venusiastro]

This years numerological number is 8 ruled by Saturn. Here are some insights I’ve uncovered recently in studying this years number.

There is an inherent need to both break and be bound by some structure. Foundations are being rebuilt after last years rift in reality. Jarring us awake to the illusions we’ve been bound by. There is a seemingly grounded quality to world views this year. People are tired of the fake and unrealistic attainments. The striving for simplicity and contentment is amplified and all those considered “subordinate” in social structures are leveled and demoted to just apart of the collective. However because Saturn is challenge and the numerological 8 is about karma we can expect to see quicker karmic cycles and retaliation to wrongs. There is less grace and more accountability being pushed. Creating the new groundwork is essential. Solid routine and commitment is honored this year. It won’t be easy and will come with expected obstacles and challenges that must be faced head on.

We can expect to see a lot of “long time coming” events to unfold either slowly or suddenly. This is the year of retribution, contrite and facing adversity. Heavy handed dealings we must encounter will occur. The longer you put it off the harder the sting. Those who honestly face their challenges head on with humility will be rewarded. The birthing pains of the cyclical coming to a close is nearing until next year (2025, numerological 9) will demolish the weak foundations that are stood upon. Long term planning is essential, creating healthy and solid habits that can stand the sundering to come is crucial. Steadfastness, frugality and humility are to be rewarded this year and holding on til the new and bursting energy of numerological year 1 (2026) is pivotal.

Begin to think two years ahead this year. Plan and structure and organize your life for success to face whatever may be thrown your way. As bleak and dramatic as this may sound, it’s better to be safe and prepared than sorry.

Predictions: the rise of political issues will ensue, world issues will forefront and continue to unveil. World powers and leaders will face retribution publicly, no one is safe. Unseeming public figures will face a possible exposure that is shocking and vile. Social media usage may decrease over the course of the year. There will a rise in more sustainable brands quality over quantity. Communal living will rise. Something about watches or time keeping… (Apple Watch?) housing market will see a big shift due to communal living, marriage will spike for a short while, traditional values may rise as well.. revisiting old concepts of creating quality and craving long lasting connections.

[gingertumericlemon]

When Last We Met

@pearlypairings sent along a sweet little prompt for "crashing the party" and here we are. A stupid little bonbon for the Hellcheer crowd❤️

The captain’s quarters looked empty but by now she knew that meant nothing. Instead of rushing inside, she took her time to peer intently around the room.

The walls were lined with hide-bound books and maps to skies she did not recognize. The few spaces on the shelves not packed with texts showcased arcane curios and dazzling artifacts–few she recognized; but their intricacy and value was apparent to even those who had not traversed the Holy Seas and the Nine and Twenty sky channels besides. In stark contrast to these trophies of taste and sophistication were the instruments of murder mounted on the wall–blades and rifles frugal in design, the easier for claiming lives. Their simplicity spoke of their danger. Her starry, lavender gaze landed on the bay window framed by cobalt velvet curtains behind the wide desk (strewn about with telescopes and astrolabes and a cinnabar opium pipe) through which nothing but clouds could be seen. If she looked through, she’d see nothing but clouds until the faintest smudge of earth some 15,000 feet below. A beautiful emerald-green bird with elegant curling tailfeathers sat contentedly on a perch beside the desk, looking at her with a curious expression. Beneath her feet was a persistent but not unpleasant hum–the tell-tale sign of the pumping pistons and firing steam engines which kept this magnificent, mysterious vessel afloat above the unwitting citizens of Faerun. 

Cosette raised her wrist to her flushed lips and whispered into the little topaz token embossed with her party’s totem. “The coast is clear.” Then she tugged her blouse up. It somehow kept riding down beneath her corset. 

Luthandriel entered first, his radiant broadsword at attention as he scanned his flank for more pirates beyond those they’d already left gutted in the galley. Dumas followed, his halfling form obscured at first to Cosette by a massive globe depicting a far-off celestial landscape. He whistled in admiration as he absently strummed his zither, trailing silver sparks of enchanted music behind him. “Good taste for a barbarian,” he muttered as he pocketed an hourglass of fine dwarvish make. My’thias came last, his massive golden wings barely squeezing through the door such that he had to kind of half turn-out and scooch sideways to fit.  He wiped pirate blood from his snout with a scaly claw. “Is it here? The codex?”

The Beggar’s Mercy spread out and began to search. All except Cosette who was made to stand by the door and keep watch because she. Well. Because they all told her she was the best at it, she guessed!

She shrugged her shoulders (pale, shimmering like quartz in the light) and sighed. Somehow the top of her bodice had gotten all pulled down again amongst the hooks and stays of her corset which was brocade and the color of a new dawn. You could almost see her nipples for um Tyr’s sake! She turned her gaze downward for just a moment to adjust herself and froze. There was something cool and violent positioned at the nape of her neck. 

“You would do well,” a voice like charred and honeyed meat dripping with fat murmured into her ear, “To leave your garments as I fancy them.” 

She did not move. There was the subtle but unmistakable click of a flintlock pistol. “Should have been more thorough in your search, pet,” the voice continued. A hand–huge and calloused and covered in rings–seized her by the waist….

Weakly, Cosette bleated, “Um, guys….” Luthandriel, Dumas, and My’thias turned and groaned. 

“Did you investigate the room?” Dumas didn’t sound angry. Just deflated. Cosette blushed. “I did, I mean–I thought I did–”

My’thias flapped his wings in draconian agitation. “Passive perception isn’t the same thing, we TOLD YOU–” but Luthandriel cut him off. “The lady is new to our land and new to our laws,” he said in a lofty voice. “You would do well to extend her grace and courtesy.”

Against her neck, Cosette could feel the captain smirk. She squirmed in his incredible mighty  powerful grip but no matter how hard she fought she couldn’t break free! “Your paladin speaks sense. I’d pay him mind. Now. Let us be reasonable. We’re all men of business here.”

“You’re no businessman! You’re a murderous sky-pirate!!!!” Cosette thought that sounded pretty good!!! 

Into his fist My’thias could be heard to mutter, “Sky-pirates aren’t even high fantasy, they’re steampunk,” and dodged a caltrop aimed at his eye by the captain in return for his insolence. 

“All men have their price. What’s a pretty rogue like this trade for on terra firma these days?” The captain punctuated his query with a hot swipe of his tongue along the side of Cosette’s face. She liquidated and swooned in his grasp. The party stared in flat-eyed disbelief.

Luthandriel whispered, “Nasty.” 

Then the halfling, the paladin, and the dragonguy thing went into a huddle. 

As they conferred, the captain rumbled in her ear, “Love the corset.” Cosette frowned. “I messed up the–the spying.” He laughed and rubbed his–no she wasn’t gonna say that part!!!!!!!–himself against her. “Little one, that’s half the fun.” 

The huddle ended and Dumas stepped forward. He had an unconcerned expression on his face, like, he was actually pretending to clean his fingernails!!! 

“What use have we for such a silly rogue? She brings us nothing but misery and ill-fortune. Take her. Have your way with her. All we ask is safe passage from your quarters and use of a lifeboat.”

Cosette gasped. “You…you little WORMS!!!” She stamped her foot! What the FUCK! She’d barely even gotten to DO ANYTHING! 

The captain threw his head back and laughed, drawing Cosette ever closer against him. Her nipples were basically entirely exposed at this point, like there was some force outside her control drawing them out as if with a magnet. “I have her already within my power, halfling! You presume you have leverage? You’re lucky I don’t slit her throat where she stands.” Which, like–no. But also, like—hmmm! 

Dumas sighed. “I thought you might say that. To sweeten the deal, we’ll throw in this.” He reached into the pocket where he’d stashed the stolen hourglass except now it looked like a freaking enormous diamond which twinkled and shone just like that one in The Rescuers! Cosette gasped. There was a pause. She could feel the captain settle and consider as he stared at the diamond. She wriggled a little against him, just once, just in case he like. Forgot his hostage!! Or something! 

The captain tilted his head which she knew because the plume from  his hat tickled her face. “That’s a fine stone, halfling. What’s to stop me from taking it from your cold fingers right now?”

Dumas tried to stand a little taller. “It’s four against one, Dreadnought.” Cosette felt a pink sweet thing uncurl in her chest at being included as one of the four. She should have known! Good old Dumas! The captain made a faux-thoughtful noise. “You’re right. Seems hardly fair.” And he snapped his fingers and three sky-pirates rushed into the room!

Foul and heartless they were, these pirates, with not one wink of compassion gleaming in their dull and greedy eyes. These were no mercenaries, who might be bargained with for a higher salary. These were bloodthirsty men, hardly men at all, expelled from the earth’s warm soil to the cold and bitter reaches of the heavens to better indulge their lawless appetites for treasure, ale, flesh, and murder! Their leader of sorts headed up the pack with a cutlass in his hand–in his horrible grin, the party could glimpse he had razors for teeth (ew!) which flashed with malice in the candlelight of the quarters. His companions each boasted pistols which they aimed at the party. 

The Beggar’s Mercy sort of jockeyed for position amongst themselves, and Cosette took advantage of the distraction to wrest herself free from the pirate captain’s grip! Yeah!!! She heard him grunt once in surprise and maybe something else, oh my GOSH ANYWAY she was free. Then she reached to her belt (oooh it was pale deerskin from a market in Neverwinter and studded with silver coins from her finest heists!) and withdrew Shiver by her ebony handle. She steadied her hand and remembered her extremely tragical backstory in the dew-drenched woods of Collum’s Close. Then she took aim and threw Shiver directly into the heart of the farthest pirate! It was a deadeye hit! Her best shot ever!!!! Luthandriel and Dumas cheered. The pirate made a noise like “AURGH!” (everybody always kind of sounded the same when they died…..) and slumped to the floor. Viscous black blood began to drain from his lifeless body. 

Dumas’s eyes went wide with glee. “Does that mean he’s–”

“He’s not undead,” the captain interrupted. Cosette could see his face now and it was VERY handsome :)  “For the last time. These are not fucking undead pirates. Black blood is just cool.” 

Dumas played a pissy little riff on his zither and pouted. “I think undead pirates are pretty cool too but what do I know….”

“She doesn’t have a bonus action,” My’thias said.

Everybody was like, um. 

“She used her whole–”

Dreadnought popped one fearsome eyebrow. My’thias went sort of pale around the edges of his scales and corrected herself.

“She used all her strength to escape from you. She can’t–it doesn’t seem NARRATIVELY PLAUSIBLE–” and here Captain Dreadnaught nodded like you may proceed, “That she could do both things at once.”

The dead pirate’s head lifted off the ground by a half-inch, with one eye cautiously open. The other two lackeys exchanged a look. 

Cosette knew who she was attacking the next chance she got. 

Sheepishly, Shiver withdrew herself from the chest of the pirate with a noise like schlorp, shook off the black blood like a wet dog, and floated back to Cosette’s hand. The rent flesh and shattered bone at the center of the no-longer-dead pirate’s chest knit themselves neatly back together and he scrambled to his feet. Cosette caught Dreadnought’s black and wild eyes and mouthed sorry. 

“Nothing to apologize for,” the emerald-colored bird squawked from the perch. 

“Happens all the time,” flapped an ancient open caster’s tome with dry pages.

“It’s called a learning curve!!!” Three pewter goblets with lids of horn chorused from the captain’s shelves. 

“ENOUGH OF THIS NONSENSE!” My’thias snarled. Smoke poured from his nostrils and tongues of flame flickered along the edge of his snout. “GIVE US THE CODEX OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES!”

Dreadnought laughed. “You know, our galley’s amateur theatrical society is looking for someone to play Faithful Madeline in MY WANDR’ING TIEFLING’S HEART. If you’re auditioning.” 

“Oi’m playin’ Sweet William,” offered the pirate with razors for teeth. 

More smoke–dark and sulfurous–leaked into the room. “I GROW WEARY OF YOUR GAMES!” My’thias’s snarl grew to a full-throated roar. His scales began to glow white-gold. “I CAST–”

“Do not even THINK ABOUT IT–” Luthandriel shouted at the same time that Dumas groaned, “Are you fucking kidding me dude–!!” but all this was drowned out by My’thias’s screech of, “FIREBALL!!!!!”

In the split-second before the explosion, Cosette saw the faintest glimmer of a smirk pass over Dreadnought’s face. He made a complicated little sigil with his fingers. She braced for her own incineration, but instead there was an enormous shattering of glass and a feeling like whiplash as suddenly she was jerked towards the bay window at the end of the quarters, which was no longer a bay window at all but a massive, gaping hole in the ship’s side. There was a horrible roaring, whooshing noise, loud enough to deafen all other sounds. Then a terrible pounding in her ears as she desperately clung to a chair which luckily seemed to be bolted to the floor. The air was freezing and wild, yanking her without mercy towards the yawning chasm of clouds. She tried to breathe but could not–the air was sucked from her lungs by the change in pressure. Her yards of lilac hair were ripped from their extremely adorable braided buns festooned with ribbons and charms, and now whipped painfully behind her as she clung with a weakening grip to the armrest. She turned towards Dreadnought, silently pleading, her lips were turning blue–!! 

And suddenly she fell to the floor. It was still. It was warm. Strong hands, calloused hands, drew her up gently from the ground. “Steady there, little one,” Dreadnought murmured. “Take your time. Find your breath.” She looked up into his eyes and felt her heart shimmer. He had a scar running from his right eyelid to his Cupid’s bow. Oh wow. Like. Haha! WOW! He held her aloft as she breathed for a moment. 

Then she looked down. Her tits were completely out. 

The captain shrugged. “Call it my savior’s fee.” The beautiful bird had somehow found sanctuary too. It was perched on his shoulder. “SAVIOR’S FEE, SQUAWK!” it echoed. It did not sound very much like a bird at all, actually. 

WHATEVER. She looked over her shoulder and saw there was a thick veil of golden mist sealing her, the captain, and the rest of the ship from the charred ruin which was once his quarters. There was no sign of Dumas–he must have been instantly sucked into the sky. Poor dear Dumas! He never was very strong. Luthandriel was holding on with what little constitution he had left to another bolted-down chair, as My’thias twisted his claws into the splintering wood for grip. “THIS IS PUNITIVE!” he screamed, but it was muffled as if shouted through a thick sweater. “YOU ARE RAILROADING–”

A ballast beam ripped from the side of the ship and hit him in the face. 

“But Captain Dreadnought, what of all your fine treasures?” Cosette trembled as the beast advanced hungrily upon her.

“IF YOU SAY SHE’S ALL THE TREASURE YOU NEED I’LL–”

BONK. Another beam.  

“You heard the dragonguy thing,” Dreadnought pushed a lavender curl behind one of her lovely, slender, pointed ears which had two diamond earrings and a couple really sweet silver hoops pierced through it too! “The time has come for me to claim my bounty.” When he kissed her he tasted like caramel rum. (This part was private too but when he pressed her body to his her nipples rubbed against the rough flax of his unlaced shirt and it was like ooooooh it was so NICE!!!!!) 

Just before My’thias lost his hold entirely and vanished into the void, Captain Dreadnought broke away from Cosette’s warm and tender (aw!) embrace. “By the way, lads,” he mentioned. “The bird was the codex.”

“AWK! I contain the key to all mythologies!” the bird said. “Ok, that’s pretty cool–” Luthandriel tried to add but was lost to the sky. “I HATE STEAMPUNK, I HATE IT SO MUCH!!!” My’thias screamed, but then he was lost to the sky too.

“Now, little one,” the captain whispered in Cosette’s ear. “Have you ever heard of an acrobatics check?”

“Oh my GOD–I mean TYR–” Cosette tried to roll her eyes but then he was kissing her once again so she had to check if she got a bonus on splits or anything like that. 

It turns out she did and everybody except them got mad about it!!!

[lucieistrying]

How I see certain Tardwifes values fitting into a left-wing lifestyle.

First of all:

I clearly do not endorse the Tradwives movement. I believe it's an unsuitable way of life for me and could be dangerous, particularly in terms of relying solely on a husband for financial stability, which leaves one vulnerable.

In this post, I want to explain how I see the positive aspects of this lifestyle fitting into leftist ideas, not conservative ones.

Firstly, the emphasis on homemaking in traditional wife values can be reframed within a leftist framework as a commitment to self-sufficiency and sustainability. Tradwives often prioritize skills such as cooking from scratch, gardening, and sewing, which align with leftist principles of reducing reliance on consumerism and promoting local, sustainable practices. By reclaiming these domestic skills, individuals can lessen their environmental impact and contribute to building resilient communities.

Secondly, the focus on family in their values can be reinterpreted as a dedication to caregiving and support networks within leftist communities. Instead of reinforcing traditional gender roles, this emphasis on family can be expanded to include chosen families, support systems for marginalized individuals, and collective caregiving arrangements. By valuing relationships and mutual aid, leftists can foster inclusive communities that prioritize care and well-being for all members.

Additionally, the commitment to community can be embraced within a leftist framework as a dedication to grassroots organizing and collective action. Tradwives often participate in community-building activities such as volunteering, organizing events, and providing support to neighbors. By harnessing these community-oriented values, leftists can work towards social justice goals such as fighting poverty, advocating for affordable housing, and challenging systems of oppression.

Moreover, the principles of simplicity and frugality inherent in tradwifes values can align with leftist ideals of anti-consumerism and economic equality. By rejecting materialism and embracing minimalism, leftists can challenge capitalist notions of success and prioritize the redistribution of resources towards those in need. This can involve practicing ethical consumption, supporting local cooperatives, and advocating for policies that promote economic justice.

In conclusion, while traditional wife values may initially appear conservative, they can be reinterpreted and integrated into a leftist lifestyle to promote equality, sustainability, and social justice. By reclaiming domestic skills, fostering caregiving networks, engaging in community organizing, and embracing simplicity, leftist Tradwives can contribute to building a more equitable and compassionate society for all.

[elizevanniekerk]

The Subtle Art of Finding Joy in the Mundane

In the dizzying whirlwind of our modern lives, with its notifications, deadlines, and endless to-do lists, it's easy to overlook the little things. Our quest for big achievements, exotic vacations, and grand celebrations often overshadows the understated moments that make up our daily lives. Yet, there's a profound beauty and solace in the mundane, waiting to be discovered.

The Magic of Morning Rituals

Consider the simple act of brewing your morning coffee or tea. The aromatic scent that wafts through your kitchen, the warmth of the mug against your palms, and that first invigorating sip – it's a ritual that beckons a new day, filled with possibilities. It's not just about the caffeine kick, but the quiet moments we grant ourselves before the day's chaos ensues.

Nature's Everyday Theater

Look out of your window. Even if you're in the heart of a bustling city, nature is putting on a daily show. The radiant hues of a sunrise, the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze, or even the rhythmic patter of rain against the windowpane. These are nature's gentle reminders of its cyclic rhythm, urging us to pause and sync our own rhythms with the world around us.

The Joy of Daily Tasks

Believe it or not, there's a meditative quality in mundane chores. The rhythmic act of washing dishes, the soft hum of a vacuum cleaner, or the therapeutic act of decluttering can be grounding experiences. They tether us to the present moment, offering a break from the incessant noise in our heads.

Conversations and Connections

Everyday joy is also about connections. A brief chat with a neighbor, a spontaneous phone call to a friend, or even the simple act of greeting your local grocery store cashier can forge bonds. It's in these fleeting interactions that we find a shared human experience.

Rediscovering Your Space

Sometimes, joy is about rediscovery. Re-read a favorite book, revisit old photographs, or rearrange your furniture. Familiar spaces and objects can offer new perspectives and insights when looked at with fresh eyes.

Wrapping Up

The art of finding joy in the mundane is essentially about shifting our perspective. It's about appreciating life's quiet moments and finding depth in simplicity. It's recognizing that while milestones and grand celebrations are significant, there's immeasurable joy to be found in the spaces in between.

In the words of novelist Alice Walker, "Expect nothing. Live frugally on surprise." Life's everyday surprises, no matter how small, are the threads that weave the beautiful tapestry of our existence. So, let's cherish them.

[theoctopirate]

Deathany Arbinger (or just Death)

had my friend Dan’s Halloween High naming convention in mind when thinking to call her “Deathany” 🖤

I recently picked up the pop star hair in dark blue to meet a minimum bl buy. didn’t have a specific use in mind, it’s just a piece I’ve wanted to get. frugality has characterized my lego spending this year (I won’t buy pieces unless I need them), so the minimum buy afforded me the perfect excuse to finally pick one up.

I placed the order while on a trip, excited that it would arrive home when I did. in anticipation of its arrival, I excitedly thought up ways to use the hair piece. gorgon, mermaid, or vampire were my top candidates. but when I actually got to building, what emerged was a gothy, grungy death girl — which, in my heart of hearts, I probably wanted to build all along

I really love her simplicity, and it’s always a plus when I can sneak in some platforms

[pinkeyfreak]

The Keyboard That Started My Collection

Geezer 84-Key (75%) Wireless Cat Keyboard + Mouse | Wireless 2.4Ghz connection | Cost: $27-40

Full Review Below ⬇

Overall Rating: 7.5/10

I truly did not intend to start a keyboard collection. I just knew I wanted to take writing seriously this year and needed a new keyboard I could use with my iPad. Around this same time I got to experience using a mechanical keyboard for the first time in years and I knew I wanted more than another simple iPad + flat keyboard combo case. Little did I know this keyboard would end up being what sparked my desire to collect them.

I was hesitant to jump straight to a full blown custom built mechanical keyboard and was unsure if I'd even truly commit to writing so I decided to get a simple budget keyboard to start. I also decided to buy a keyboard that was cute and bright under the assumption that it would make me want to use it more (spoiler: it worked).

Things I Love I About This Keyboard Set:

The aesthetic: cat themed, various shades of pink, purposely cute; what's not to love? It's a delight to look at. I quite literally smile every time I see it.

Portability: this keyboard is sturdy for its price yet is portable enough to take on the go, meaning I can leave my PC at home and take my iPad with me instead.

Simplicity: As excited as I am to build my own custom keyboard and experiment with different components like switches, etc. I am also grateful for the simplicity of this keyboard.

Key shape: When I began to type more than essays worth of content I began to realize how awkward it was to type on rigidly square keys (both flat and raised/dynamic); so these slightly rounded keys were a welcome change.

Inclusion of mouse: other budget keyboards of the same quality as this one sell without the addition of a matching mouse at the same price and higher. The fact that I get the option of using a mouse as well (the keyboard and mouse can both also be used separately) is a wonderful perk.

Things I'd Improve/Change:

Overall I have very few complaints about this set especially given the price. The spacing of the keys was a small learning curve for me but once I got used to typing on it I completely forgot I had initially found it awkward. Of course, it isn't without its flaw or features that I'd change if possible.

Connectivity: This keyboard doesn't have bluetooth functionality which meant I had to drop a surprise $30 on an adapter dongle so that I could use it with my iPad (definitely could've gotten one for cheaper but I didn't want to wait for shipping) and I even have to use an adapter to use it with my MacBook Air.

Battery: requires 2 AAA batteries for the keyboard & 1 AA battery for the mouse. I had to change the battery fairly quickly after purchase but I did use it for hours daily for over 2 weeks. Either way I prefer rechargeable electronics for frugality reasons.

Functionality of keys (or lack thereof): This keyboard may by 84-key but even when using it with my MacBook only about 74 total keys have a function. The others simply don't work (and it's even less on my iPad); despite this it doesn't effect basic use.

Type -> Non-Mechanical: This is honestly a nitpick because again: I know what I paid for. But I secretly wish I could add switches to this board for a slightly better sound than the somewhat heavy and creaky plastic one that comes from the very basic design. (I am a bit more sensitive to stimuli like sounds and other things than the average person)

Summary:

An aesthetically pleasing simple and decently portable keyboard for the moderately active cat loving user. While not mechanical, rechargeable or highly customizable; it will get the job done for near daily use. I wouldn't necessarily recommend this keyboard for a heavy user (like an author) but think the average person (like a college student or office worker) looking for a budget keyboard and mouse set would be pleased.

[dang-itshauntedinhere]

I Don't Love You, But I Always Will - Chapter 1

Summary:            

I watched The Exorcist with a friend and spent the entire time staring at Father Karras, so of course we crafted an elaborate story surrounding his and reader's life together. Falling in love with a Jesuit priest and watching his faith fall apart in front of you is not problematic at all actually, and your life in this story will proceed in abject simplicity. (Lies, slander) Enjoy!

Chapter 1 (You are here) - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6

Find also on my Ao3

Divider by @racingairplanes

Word Count: 4.5k

After marrying a man you believed would give you the life you wanted, you think love will be enough. You leave everything you know and love behind, believing this.

A/N: This story takes place throughout the late 1960s and early 1970s.

  Chapter 1: Leaving for Georgia

Summer in DC was always beautiful, you thought. Something about the blue skies and the shaking of the leaves always brought out something warm and exciting in you - the wind is what you really loved. How it seemed to finger through your hair and make you blush, how it reminded you of the tingling, scrappy feeling of returning home after a long day of roaming the streets as a kid.

It reminded you why you loved the city.

Chris was always up-front about wanting to move back to Georgia after the wedding, and you had agreed easily; his aging grandparents were there after all, and a tenure-track position as a professor of philosophy at the University of Georgia was nothing to sneeze at, either.

You’d spent your mornings on the phone with realtors in Athens for the last three months, leafing through the mail every day to find new flyers and catalogs. Evenings were for wedding planning and house hunting.

It had been so much organizing, though your contentment with a small wedding was an anchor, his southern family was too large to be modest. The money, through it all, had been distressing. Your new husband may have been wealthy enough to cover the cost easily, but you still weren’t used to the feeling. You were raised on frugality after all - this kind of spending was terrifying. You winced just thinking about the blank check Chris had handed you one morning. Like it was no big deal. You called him for every little step of the process, confirming every piece of the reception with sweat rolling off your brow.

You readjusted your purse on your shoulder. The noise of the busy street was comforting, but it didn’t slow the race of your heart. It felt like everything was moving so fast.

You took the long way for a reason. Your steps became a little slower, and you stopped to set yourself haltingly on a bench in front of your favorite corner store and tried not to think about never seeing its bleached yellow awning again. Smiling sadly, you took out the folded flier again.

—

You’d had your little list of hopes for a home. Space for a garden, large window sills for sitting and reading, steps to sit on and shuck corn or peel apples. You knew you wanted it to be small - cleaning a mansion every day was not on your bucket list. You knew you wanted stained glass in your door - something to stream colors into the hall and remind you of the tall churches of home, and most of all you knew you wanted a room for your painting. Anything would do, just something for you to cover with scrapbooks and canvases.

With these in mind, you hungrily poured over the pictures his family and your realtor sent along every night and made notes, checking for price and commute time to his office and your school. You circled and cut and pasted, until you had a fitting list to show him in the morning. You’d trudge to bed, hands sticky with paste and head light with images of your future home together.

Of course, he had his own list. The house needed to be no less than 15 minutes from his parent’s home, with a spacious yard for him to keep pristine, and a large office with space for his books and papers. There had to be a large dining room, (for university guests of course) a broad back porch for beers and chess in the evenings, and two bathrooms (he was absolutely anal about sharing).

Every morning, you’d sit next to him during coffee and talk quietly about your findings. You’d slide him the carefully crafted scrapbook with all of your notes and clippings tastefully collected on a page, with each option’s best qualities highlighted. He’d give a tired smile:

“What have you got for me today, honey?”

You’d begin your pitch with a deep breath. “Meet 887 Cherry Drive: 2 bedroom, 2 bath, - she’s got a HUGE back yard, big windows, glorious mahogany floors, only 20 minutes out from your office, 30 from your folks, and has delightful red shutters. And on your left, 2003 Elliot: 3 bedroom, 2 bath, with a connected garage and white porch. This one’s on a corner, so the yard is more like a side yard, but it’s got a peach tree and-”

“Oh not that neighborhood, and couldn’t you get my drive down a little more? You’re a magician with it all, babe, I know you can figure it out,” he interjected, checking his watch. “Ready?”

You closed the book. “I’ll do my best,” you sighed. “Remember we have to buy this house by August,” You said.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just the book is taking all my time, and I only have so much time - and I’m marrying an artist for a reason! Gotta get some bang for my buck,” he smiled.

You sighed a smile. Your drive to his office helped, though, as he explained the wondrous world of footnotes. He always got this charming determined furrow to his brows when he got frustrated.

—

He picked a 4 bedroom, 3 bathroom southern colonial a block away from his parents, deep in the Athens suburbs. It was stark white, with a rolling front yard and a stand alone garage - for your painting.

It wasn’t exactly what you pictured, but it had plenty of space, and two big hickory trees in front, with one in the back - the thought of the cool shade and quiet nights had you looking forward to it.

You tucked the folded flier back into your purse, and stood up with determination. Your skirt buffeted in the wind, like it was pushing you back. You walked on. He’ll be happy for me, we’ll have a friendly goodbye and we’ll go our separate ways.

You smiled into the wind as you turned onto the familiar brick path of St. Mike’s. Don’t cry.

—

He set the glass tumbler down with a dull clink and sat down in a huff. Class on Monday - I should really get them thinking about evidence-based decision making by the end of the month.

Damien enjoyed teaching, it added something to his life that he missed when he only spoke to the others at the seminary. All of their conversations came back to faith. Medicine he could give answers for, but faith was something different. He leaned on his fist as he watched the ice in his glass melt into muddy amber.

Faith was difficult. In the last few months, he could feel his assurance slip. He still believed wholeheartedly in his beliefs of course, but the world seemed to gray around him without… something. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but his thoughts had been clouded, days monotonous, and prayers rambling. It was like he was losing his touch.

It worried him. At least the students ask interesting questions.

He watched the leaves roll soundlessly outside the window and took a sip of his warming drink. It didn’t taste like anything.

He wondered if this was God’s latest test to his faith. A cruel one, at that. He usually trusted the path of his life - it was strange to question it. Maybe devotion is lonely. He’d lost some cosmic meaning; and when a priest loses his meaning, it often means he’s close to reaching that quiet, perfect devotion that carries him through the rest of his life. Maybe this is the feeling that makes so many men of the church so, so dull.

Then he thought of her.

Her easy conversation, the sun in her eyes, the warmth of her arm through his, her ever-changing laugh - yes, he thought. It has been a while, hasn’t it? He felt suddenly embarrassed, alone with his thoughts. He missed his friend - of course.

His thoughts suddenly fell to her wedding. He hadn’t realized he’d been blocking it out - he chalked it up to a busy schedule, the small voice in his head that went to medical school scolding him.

Only a few weeks ago, he had watched her walk down the aisle, glowing in a white dress.

—

He’d sat in the back corner, as far from the ceremony as he possibly could, strangely content to have as fuzzy a view of Chris, amicably chatting with Father Dyer, as possible. The ceremony was huge. It seemed like nearly 500 people crowded into the sanctuary, sweating politely through their Sunday best.  Days like these, he despised his high white collar.

He felt a little bad for his mother, seating them so far from the stage as possible, but she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seemed to be avoiding looking at the groom as well.

He’d been to so, so many weddings over the years, always officiating, never attending simply as a guest. It was certainly a different occasion - somehow being in front of everyone with such a central role felt less visible than this did. He couldn’t complain, however, it was her wedding. He knew he had to be there - and his mother had absolutely insisted when she heard.

Her small family sat front row, the rest he could recognize as her guests were city natives. Her doctor, a few store owners, Carol (the only woman in the whole of the city she’d let cut her hair), some graying professors from your university days, and what looked like 20 kids and their parents - her Sunday school art students. The rest of the church he didn’t recognize, and the overture of southern accents in the chatter seemed unfamiliar.

The din quieted suddenly as the overbearing weight of the wedding march rang out through the sanctuary - you always liked how the organ shook the room.

People craned their necks to watch the groomsmen and bridesmaids walk slowly to the front. He involuntarily pressed a hand to his chest as his heart beat accelerated unexpectedly. His face grew hot and he tried to breathe deeply and quietly - was it audible above the organ?

He watched as Sharon stepped slowly through the doorway in front of him, she seemed relaxed. Seeing her suddenly brought him back to the moment, and he remembered there was no reason for him to be panicking. He set his arm along the back of the pew and parted a small smile as a young girl nervously sprinkled clumps of white petals across the red carpet. With a deep breath, he forced himself to relax, and silently thanked God he’d found a seat far from where she’d be able to see him.

Until she was suddenly before him, her eyes clear through the white mesh of your veil. She’d spotted him immediately - he was painfully aware of how wide his eyes were. She smiled.

Despite his hammering heartbeat and the blood rushing in his ears, he smiled back, and something relaxed. Everything felt right then, and it was as if you’d shared a long, satisfying conversation or told a quiet inside joke - and then she turned towards the front with a step.

He wasn’t sure if it had been milliseconds or minutes, but the moment passed. He turned to his mother, who watched her with a sad smile, tears in her eyes. She held his hand in hers, cool and frail, and said quietly in Greek, “Εκεί πηγαίνει, φαίνεται τόσο όμορφη (There she goes, she looks so beautiful.)”

He forced a fast smile and looked forward. “Ναι, το κάνει (Yes, she does.)”

The rest of the ceremony passed quickly and foggily, as if it was a dream.

He didn’t see her again until the reception, when people had thronged around her so tightly he wondered if she could breathe. Flashes of white would appear in the crowd, and he subsisted on the occasional glance of her face among it all, beaming. She looks tired, he thought. Thrilled, but… tired.

Her hair had rebelled from its perfect styling, and single soft hairs stuck out at various angles, framing her face in messy curls. Wouldn’t be so bad if you’d stop running your hand through it, he smiled. You always do that when you’re high-strung.

He allowed himself to appreciate her dress in glances - the layers of off-white organza complimented her frazzled elation well, artsy, as always, and the cut complimented the curve of her waist-

He shook his head with a start. Well, it does.

He buried himself in conversation with Father Dyer, grateful for the familiar face in the crowd. He needed the distraction - from whatever that deep, vague sense of dread he was feeling was, and from her and her tired eyes and bright smile – champagne and Father Dyer’s easy going company would suffice. He leaned against a wall near the back of the room by the door, standing next to his mother, who watched the sea of people through sleepy eyes.

“Oh, looks like she’s about to toss the bouquet,” Father Dyer said, turning to a particularly loud group surrounding you. He put a hand on his mother’s shoulder, crouching down to alert her of the spectacle. They watched as the bundle of flowers sailed over the sea of heads, hands snatching at petals as it fell. It landed in Sharon’s outstretched arms, and an excited chorus rose from the crowd as it dissipated quickly.

Seems fitting, he thought. The white of her dress was suddenly navigating through the crowd, passing hands on shoulders and smiling “excuse me, sorry, pardon me” fell from her lips. She looked up and pushed a wave of hair from her face as those familiar e/c eyes found his. She smiled, carefully picking her way through the maze of shoes.

He collected his thoughts quickly and straightened. She sighed a laugh and looked into his eyes as you came upon their small circle.

“Hey, I’m sorry I made you wait so long,” she said with an apologetic look.

“You look tired,” he said. She smiled, shrugging slightly, then turned away from him and leaned down to his mother’s outstretched arms, her dress collapsing around her in pillowy swells.

“Mama Karras!” She held her face in her hands, beaming up at her.

“Αγαπητέ μου, είστε όλοι ντυμένοι! Πάντα ήξερα ότι θα έκανες έναν όμορφο γάμο,” she said.

She glanced down to her hands, where she held three white roses, preserved from the bouquet. His mother’s face lit up.

“Δεν πρέπει να έχετε!” She gasped and gingerly clutched the roses to her heart, bringing her in with her other hand as she kissed her face. He smiled at them together - they were always so happy together. When his mother wasn’t asking you to eat more, or talking about him in broken English.  

“Couldn’t let you go home empty handed, Mama Karras,” she kissed her cheek and stood, holding her thin hand in her own. She leaned against the wall next to him, letting her head fall on his shoulder and hanging an arm from his coat sleeve.

“Can I tell you a secret,” She asked. He looked over at her with a raised eyebrow and a nod. He was grateful to finally have a moment to hear her, feel her touch again. Her face finally relaxed.

“I’m exhausted,” she said with a small smile, meeting his eyes and glancing over to Father Dyer.

“Lighten up, the wedding is meant to be for the bride after all.” He handed her a drink.

“Thanks.” She took a sip and sighed against him. He wished the whole party would evaporate then - just decide it was time to go home, leave you alone, let you sit down. He wondered if you’d sat down since before the ceremony.

The shadows across the room had long since grown long, and the light had changed from a bright yellow to a deep orange. The music simmered above the din, the low, sonorous tones of Doris Day relaxing the mood.

She tugged on his sleeve and glanced up at him.

“A dance, ‘father?’” She nodded towards the opening in the crowd, where guests had paired up, drifting in lazy circles. He looked to his mother, separating from you to lay a hand on her shoulder.

“How are you feeling, mama? Could we leave you for a moment?” She looked suddenly awake, lighting up as she stood quickly, straining against her cane.

“Μη χάνεις στιγμή να μου μιλάς, συνέχισε!” (Don't waste a minute talking to me, go on!) She pushed his hand away, walking haltingly to father Dyer and taking his arm. He went along easily, shooting him a knowing smile and turning to his mother happily.

He held out his arm.

“Thought you’d never ask,” he said. She smirked, taking his arm as they stepped slowly to the dance floor.

His face felt warm again, and his heart sped as they drew closer. She deflected relatives’ prying glances politely, leading them slowly. He wondered then if this was too much, if it wouldn’t bring Chris out swinging. Somehow he knew he wasn’t one to do that, but was slightly alarmed at how easily the thought of defending her from her new husband had slipped into his mind.

All at once, they had arrived. He left his thoughts as her arm suddenly left his, hand resting in his as she brought her other hand up to his shoulder, her arm resting bent against his. He brought an unsteady hand to her waist, squeezing her hand in his other. She looked up to his eyes as they began to step and spin slowly, talking quietly.

“So how do I look?”

“Beautiful, of course.” He gave a frank smile.

“Better than tired, I count it as a win,” she replied. She laid her head against his shoulder and yawned with a laugh. “Damn.”

“Cursing at a priest at your own wedding! Wait and see where that gets you,” He yawned. “Stop that.” He resisted the urge to rest his chin on her hair.

She closed her eyes.

“I like where it’s gotten me so far.” They stayed like that for a while, mumbling under the music and barely moving at all. She scrunched up her face and shook her head slightly, lifting her head away from him.

“Sorry dames, I’ve got to wake up,” She blinked repeatedly and rubbed her eyes. “Still have the rest of my wedding to be at, probably should be awake for it.” He fixed a strand of h/c hair behind her ear and took her hand. He led her arm over her head, turning her in a lazy spin.

“Wake up then,” He said. The song ended then, and the room faded back into view. They let go of each other’s hands, suddenly aware again, and clapped with the rest of the guests. She smiled at him among it all, and something struck him in her look. You’re happy.

He went to take your hand again when Chris rushed up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your hair as you laughed. All attention was on her again, and her eyes were on Chris. Not him.

He stepped into the crowd quietly, navigating back to his mother and Father Dyer.

They left before he could see you searching the crowd for him.

—

Your knock rang out loudly in the quiet hallway of the conservatory. Your heart rushed and your skin prickled at the silence. You always appreciated that about the church, that utter quiet, and better yet, breaking it with some angelic choir or powerful organ. Breaking this silence felt different though: nervous. You could hear shuffling from within.

The door unlatched and swung open in a rush, and Damien was all at once in front of you. He looked disheveled, but fully dressed - like he’d fallen asleep standing up.

“Hey Dames,” you said with a small smile. “Did I wake you up?” You stepped towards him, straightening his rumpled collar.

“No, no, just… lost in thought -thanks for that,” He looked distant for a moment as he pushed his hair back. “Come in,” he said with a tired smile.

You stepped into the familiar room, sparse as ever. The low bed was neatly made, a solitary cross hanging above the headboard. Sunlight streamed in through the open window, the noise of the street drifting in over the silence. The only clutter of the room was an abundance of books; a half of the small room had books piled on every surface, wedged in every crook and cranny. The table was similarly populated, displaying a few open books and strewn papers. He gathered them self-consciously, adding the stack to an already-precarious pile on the floor.

You smiled at his collection and turned to his closet. You scanned the top shelf.

“Where’d you move your vase?” You asked. You offered your small bundle of black-eyed susans with a crinkle.

He dropped a stack of papers on his bed and looked over with a raised eyebrow and thought for a moment.

“Ah.” He swiveled and produced the blue pitcher, pitching the musty water into the gutter outside the window before stepping through the bathroom door at the back of the room.

You unwrap the flowers, setting the paper on the table and dropping the bunched stems into the awaiting pitcher easily. He set the pitcher on the table with a light thud.

“Thanks, they really bring it all together,” he said with a light smile.

You always enjoyed his room- some may have thought it claustrophobic, but you preferred cozy. Countless afternoons reading and talking over coffee and tea - he always kept a box for you - sitting with your back to his dresser and his back to the wall, you’d drape your legs over his and watch the light grow orange with the evening. Conversation came in patches, quips about a passage, some thought question or story about your day, and you’d slip between talking and reading, lazily flipping through hours on end. You hadn’t been over in some time - you missed those afternoons.

You were struck, suddenly, by the knowledge that this might be the last time you spoke here. You fiddled with your hands, spinning your wedding band around your ring finger. His brow furrowed with concern.

“What’s on your mind?” He sat, you followed.

“I’m uh, I’m here to tell you I’m leaving, Dames, for Georgia in a week,” You said, flashing him a smile you hoped wasn’t too forced before looking down again. “Chris’ parents are there, and we’ve bought a house in Athens. It’s close to the University, and to the school. We’re really excited- I’m really excited for the fresh start, you know? And-and I’ll get to teach part-time, art, and I’m so excited to meet the kids, and,” you looked up to find him stony-faced, brown eyes swimming with hurt. “And, so I’m leaving the city soon. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner…”

You took his hand across the table and squeezed. He looked away. You sat in silence for what seemed like minutes, watching his eyes stare at the white wall. You didn’t pray often, but suddenly your mind rang with pleas. No, no, no, I’m sorry, I wish I’d told you sooner. You’re mad. You’ll never forgive me. I wish you’d look at me.

“Talk to me, Dames, please,” You said, swallowing hard. He inhaled and straightened. He turned to you and brought his other hand to yours.

“Is that what you want?” He said, face lined with pity. “Do you- want to leave the city?”

You were taken aback by his change in tone, now tone soft and coaxing. His therapy voice. His advice voice. His “savior” voice. Your stomach twisted with indignation.

“Yes,” you said in earnest, looking away. You couldn’t look at him when he gets like this, not now. “He’s my husband, Dames, what are you saying?” You drew your hand away.

“I’m not- You’re not hearing me - are you sure?” You stood.

“Yes, I’m sure! You’re acting like I’m some wayward woman you have to counsel - you’re my best friend, Dames, I thought you’d be happy for me-” He stood and looked you in the eye, his face serious.

“I’m not blind, y/n,” He raised his voice slightly, taut with frustration. “I have watched you give yourself up to him, piece by piece - first it was your apartment, then it was your job, and now it’s this- you’re leaving me, everything?”

“That’s what marriage is! That’s what love is!” You whipped around to look at him now as you raised your voice. “It’s devotion! Sacrifice! I chose this!” Why were you getting defensive? You weren’t thinking straight - you took a shaky breath and ran a hand through your hair. You hated this feeling.

“And don’t you dare act like you don’t know what that means. Like I haven’t watched you give yourself to the church - watched you sweat and cry and bleed for this? You think that hasn’t been hard for me? Watching you give everything away and leave nothing for yourself?” Nothing for me?

“Don’t make me say it, y/n.” He said, scarily still, brown eyes burning. “It isn’t the same - I’d never choose-”

“And I’d never make you! I’d never ask that!” You said. He stopped at that, looking like he had more to say but turning away. You were surprised as a hot tear dripped down your cheek. You held a hand to your mouth, swiping the tear away and turning. No, not in front of him. Not now.

Your head ached sharply as you held back tears. The pressure was overwhelming. You tried to take a breath, but it came shaky and louder than you wanted. Your face burned with embarrassment. He started to say your name behind you but you gathered yourself as much as you could and clutched your jacket together.

“Tell your mother I’ll miss her,” you managed. He was quiet. “Goodbye, Damien.”

You didn’t look back, opening the door to the quiet hall and walking as quickly as you could away. Away from him, away from his warm voice, his knowing looks, his broad hands, his rare smile, and everything else you loved about him. The sound of his door shutting at the end of the hall was all it took. Hot tears streamed silently down your face, your vision blurry and head pounding. The only sound was your shaking breaths and small, choking sobs.

You stepped onto the street with a wash of relief and set out the way you came, hurriedly smearing tears away as you walked.

You wondered for a moment if this would make leaving easier. Somehow you knew it wouldn’t.

[wikiweird]

Toast Sandwich -

A toast sandwich is a simple, budget-friendly sandwich that consists of two slices of toast with a slice of bread in the middle. It is often considered a frugal meal option as it requires minimal ingredients and can be quickly prepared.

The origin of the toast sandwich dates back to the 19th century in the United Kingdom. It gained popularity during a time when the working class sought economical and filling meals. The recipe was first mentioned in an 1861 cookbook titled "The Modern Housewife" by Alexis Soyer. It was advertised as "Soyer's toast sandwich" and promoted as a nutritious and cost-effective dish.

The preparation of a toast sandwich involves toasting two slices of bread and buttering them generously. A plain slice of bread is then placed between the two toasted slices. The resulting sandwich consists of a soft, plain bread filling surrounded by crispy, buttered toast. It is typically seasoned with salt and pepper, although variations may include additional ingredients such as cheese, tomatoes, or lettuce.

While the toast sandwich is known for its simplicity, it has also been a subject of humor and curiosity due to its minimalistic nature. Some consider it an example of culinary austerity, while others appreciate its humble charm. Despite its humble origins, the toast sandwich continues to intrigue food enthusiasts and serves as a reminder of inventive ways to make satisfying meals with limited resources.

It's worth noting that the toast sandwich is not as widely consumed today and is more of a culinary novelty than a popular dish. However, it remains a part of culinary history and can be an interesting experiment for those curious about historical recipes or looking for a quick, no-frills snack.

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[chefilona]

CHEF ILONA: BLUEBERRY CLAFOUTIS

Instead of the usual French Toast or pancake, try something different while classic for brunch or breakfast; clafoutis. This French dish might sound unreachably fancy, but a clafoutis doesn't require any special ingredients—you probably have all of them in your kitchen.

Clafoutis (pronounced klah-foo-tee) is a classic French dessert that originates from the Limousin region of France and dates back many centuries.

Its name comes from the Occitan dialect word "claufoti," which means "to fill." The dish was originally created as a simple, rustic, and frugal dessert. Its simplicity makes it perfect for a hurried brunch by baking fresh fruit, typically cherries, in it’s iconic sweet, pancake-like batter. The result is a custardy, flan-like texture with a slight crispy edge.

From a technical and culinary perspective, there are several important aspects to consider when making a clafoutis:

Fruit Selection: Choose fresh, ripe fruit for your clafoutis. Traditionally, cherries are used, but you can opt for other fruits like cherries, mango, roasted apples or pears, or even peaches.

Batter Consistency: The batter should be smooth and slightly thick but still pourable. Whisking the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients gradually helps to achieve this. The right batter consistency is crucial for the custardy texture of the clafoutis.

Baking Dish: Use a buttered baking dish or tart pan to prevent sticking and for easy removal of the clafoutis.

A blueberry clafoutis is a delightful variation of the classic French dessert and makes use of berries natural to the Maritime area.

The blueberries will release their juices as they bake, creating a delicious contrast between the sweet and slightly tart berries and the custardy clafoutis. Blueberry clafoutis is a perfect dessert for showcasing the vibrant flavor of fresh blueberries.

Julia Child, who famously brought French Cuisine into the homes of North America was deeply fond of clafouti. To elevate the clafouti experience with your guests, you would be remiss if you didn’t share her famous quote related to the dish: "A party without cake is just a meeting. A meeting without clafoutis is just a meeting."

Blueberry Clafouti

Chef Ilona Daniel

Serves 4

2 cups fresh blueberries (or fruit of your preference)

½ cup all-purpose flour

½ cup sugar

¼ tsp salt

1 cup whipping cream

3 large eggs

2 Tbsp butter, melted, plus more for greasing dish

1 Tbsp vanilla extract

Pinch of nutmeg

1 Tbsp icing sugar

Preheat oven to 375°F. Butter a 9-inch square baking dish or cast-iron skillet (which is my preference). Sprinkle blueberries evenly over bottom.

Whisk together flour, nutmeg, sugar, and salt in a bowl. Whisk in cream, eggs, melted butter, and vanilla until completely smooth; for best results, use a stick/immersion blender. Let batter stand 5 minutes. Slowly pour batter evenly over blueberries.

Bake in preheated oven until clafoutis is golden brown and set in center, 25 to 30 minutes. Let stand 10 minutes. Sprinkle with icing sugar just before serving.