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thewritetofreespeech · 4 years ago

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hello!! i've made a request before but this idea came in my brain and i heard your requests were open. So ive seen a lot of fics of the brothers saving mc, but what about mc kinda of saving the brothers, i mean like badass sword fighting style. Just like a stereotypical disney prince saves a princess mc kinda saves the brothers from getting killed by a lesser demon with a sword and just being badass (and sword) and the bros find it hot (weak humans? never heard of them)

*spongebob narrator voice* 400 years lat’er..... So sorry this took so long! I genuinely don’t know why I couldn’t get it done. When I actually tried, I got it done in like 2 days. My only excuse is that I’m a horrible trash munny >.<

Obey me Boys + Power Princess MC

Lucifer

It offends him that this creature, this being not fit to lick the soles of his boots, would raise their hand to him. The attack was not even what upset him, but just the gall. The utter stupidity of this decision to throw one’s life away. The fact that they had attacked with you around only made him wish to end that pathetic life that much sooner.

“Step back [Y/N]. I’ll deal with this quic—” Lucifer cut himself off when you rushed forward. A bright shining sword in your hand as you lunged. Slashing through the demon, who wailed and instantly turned to dust & ash. “What on Earth was that?”

“Oh. It’s my sword.” You reply nonchalantly. Turning around to show it to him. “It’s a holy arc sword, or something. I can summon it from my bracelet whenever I need it. Cool to know it actually works in a pinch.”

“And where did you get such a magical artifact?” Lucifer asked. Perplexed beyond reason, but trying not to show it.

“Lord Diavolo gave it to me when I first got here.” The demon arched a brow. Lord Diavolo? “It would be really irresponsible of him to just let a human wander around hell without some kind of weapon.”

He paused for a moment. Trying to piece all of what you had just said together. Then he just chuckled. “Yes, I suppose it would be.” And here he thought that he had been the only one protecting you. When all along you could do it yourself.

His hand reached out to pat your head fondly. His breast swelling with pride. “I’ll have to thank him for giving you such a thoughtful, practical gift. We’ll also have to add sword play to your lesson plans. I’d be more than happy to be your tutor.

Mammon

‘Shit!’ Mammon mentally cursed as he was hit again.

This wasn’t the first time he’d been rough up outside a club. Given his lifestyle, and his gambling track record, he’d been pummeled by a few bouncers in his life. With his immense power, he could easily take them; if he tried. But then he would be banned from the club, and ever other, and that was something he couldn’t handle over the humiliation of being beat up by these clowns. He needed this. It was all he had.

So, he took his beatings from lesser demons when they came around. He’d only wished they’d picked a different night to get their ‘payment’ back since you were supposed to be here soon.

“Come on guys. Don’t ya think you’ve had enough?”

“We’ll tell you when we’ve had enough!” One demon sneered at him, before kicking a man while he was down. Classy. “You owe us. And we’re gonna get back every cent you owe out of your hide!”

The demon reared his foot back to kick him again, and Mammon mentally sighed. Preparing himself for the kick and really being over this since it began. But….no kick came.

The demon let out a loud grunt over the sound of a metal ‘wack’ before the two, even lesser goons beside him suffer the same fate and they all slump to the ground. “Mammon! Are you ok?!”

The silver haired demon looked up at you in shock. The light from the street lamp causing a halo to form around you, highlighting your worried face as you brandished a rusty pipe like some great sword. “Yeah…I’m fine….”

“You don’t look fine! You’re all beat up!” He just sat there as you dropped the pipe and dropped down to him. Fretting over him as you looked him over. He couldn’t hear what you were saying over the beating sound of his heart in his ears.

No one had ever tried to help him before.

Mammon lifted his arms and wrapped them around you. “Mammon? What—“Let’s get out of here.” He interrupted as he hugged you. Standing up, and helping you to your feet, after a moment to walk out of the alley. “I don’t want to be here anymore. I wanna go somewhere with you.”

“But….I thought you wanted to go out tonight. Play cards. You said you were feeling lucky?”

He couldn’t tell if that was a jab or not, but replied, “well clearly I was wrong.” Though despite his bumps and bruises, he did still feel pretty lucky right not. “I just want to get out of here. I don’t need this anymore.” You both decide to head home to help Mammon nurse his wounds. He never went back to that club, or really any club, after that night.

Levi

“Levi….I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

“Nonsense!” Levi quipped in response to your perfectly reasonable, concerned feelings. “It’s just a little further. Besides, I want to see Henry 1! I’ve missed him a ton recently, and want to make sure he remembers me.” It had broken his heart to discover his poor, lost serpent had been down here, all alone, this whole time. So he made an effort to see him every now and then.

“Yeah but…isn’t this still like super-secret for Lord Diavolo’s family and stuff? What if there’s like booby traps and stuff?”

“Come on! There weren’t any booby traps or anything before. Why would he when he has Henry to keep it…..” Levi trailed off as both of you were ingulfed by a long, dark shadow. A low hissing sound growing louder as a gold, stripped serpent towered over you with a menacing glare. “That’s not Henry.”

The snake hissed loudly with bared fangs and an open mouth, and you both scream and run to get away from it.

The serpent of course chased you. Easily able to keep up, and only loosing you when the two of you duck into a narrow corridor. Levi turned around to say something to you, but you were gone. His immediate thought was that the stranger snake had gotten you, and it was all his fault, and he would never see you again!

When he came to the end of the corridor, walking out like a man on death row instead of running, he looked up to see the snake in front of him. Clearly angered by having to chase him. Levi didn’t care. He wanted to die if anything happened to you. He’d rather die than live one moment without you.

Prepared to accept his fate, the demon didn’t move when the snake unhinged his jaw to eat him in one gulp. Only for a sharp spike to thrust out from his mouth a moment later. A strange, hissing gasp escaping it before it slumped down in a lifeless heap on the floor. “[Y/N]!”

“Jesus! Not to put too fine a pin on it, but this place is literally a maze. One minute I’m next to you, and the next I’m in some armory on the other side of the hall 50 feet away. Are you alright Levi?”

The demon scrambled up the snake corpse to stand next to you and wrapped his arms tight around your being. “[Y/N]! I was so scared! I thought this Henry imposter got you, and you were dead, and I couldn’t think of anything!”

“I’m really ok Levi.” You assure him, as he wept into your shoulder. “Do you still want to see the real Henry? I think I spotted where he actually is when I was running back with the spear?” Levi nodded into your shoulder. Still not prepared to let you go.

Satan

Satan always tried to be a reasonable man.

He hated being referred to as ‘The Demon of Wrath’. It wasn’t his wrath that had caused him to be born. And he wasn’t any angrier than his brothers, so why did he have to be labeled the ‘bad seed’? So he always tried to be level headed. Calm. Patient. But there were somethings he just could not abide. Like the boorish behavior of someone talking loudly in the library.

“Excuse me,” the blonde said, attempting to remain calm, as he came over to the rude demon two tables over, “could you please keep it down? This is a library.”

“Yeah. I know what it is.” He quipped back rather snippily. “What are you? The librarian?”

“No. Just a fellow book lover.” Satan replied. Grinding his teeth now. “And one who can follow the rules and basic social decorum of keeping my conversations to myself in a place like this.”

“Are you calling me stupid?!”

“No. I’m calling you uncouth. A word meaning undignified, and without manners.”

“Why you!”

The demon rose to his feet, towering over Satan now that he was standing. Not that it mattered. Height was not an immediate representation of strength. Look at Belphie. His younger, shorter brother could level a whole city with a flick of his wrist. Satan could easily dispatch of his imbecile without even breaking a sweat.

He never got the chance though, as just after he stood the demon let out a grunt and slumped to the floor; with you standing behind him on his depleted chair with a book in your hand like you had just pulled it from The Stone. “Bet you’re glad I think Kindles are dumb now.”

Satan had to right himself on what he was seeing, and then frowned at you. “I never said that, and get down.” He insisted. Offering you his hand to get down. You hop down with ease and set your weapon book on the table. “Honestly, I could have handled him without resorting to violence or cheap theatrics.”

“Cheap?? This book was very expensive.” You insist, and Satan had to scoff.

“Be that as it may, please do not use books for more than their intended purpose. I appreciate the assist, but I can’t have you hurting yourself or fine literature in the future.”

“You’re such a buzz kill sometimes Satan…..”

Asmo

Asmo always loved going to the club. The dancing. The energy. The pulsing music. The people.

Well…usually the people. Some people, usually bro-dude demons, just couldn’t take a hint that ‘no’ meant ‘no’.

“Come on Asmo! Why are you being so stingy?!”

“I’m not being ‘stingy’,” Asmo replied with a frown marring his beautiful face. “I’m just not interested.”

“You were interested last time.” His pursuer replied. Like that somehow gave automatic permission that things would happen again.

“That was a long time ago.” The dusk haired blonde replied. Sipping his cocktail and looking thoughtful across the spacious VIP lounge over to you.

Yes, things had certainly changed. Once where it would take a whole room of people and attention to make him content, these days all he wanted was you. Just you sparing a moment to look at him made his heart feel incredibly full. He had come here to have a fun night out with you, but it seemed no matter where he went his beauty was always causing problems.

The lesser demon frowned, then looked towards the direction Asmo was looking to land on you. “Shoot, just bring them along with us.”

“Excuse me?” Asmo asked. Beautiful expression turning Ignatius as he sat down his drink.

“Bring them along. I’ve never had sex with a human. But there must be something to it if you’re willing to do them. Not that I suppose that takes much….”

At that, Asmo leapt from his chair and grabbing the brute by the collar. He wasn’t normally one for violence. He wasn’t like his dull brothers. But he couldn’t let a slight like that against you slide. “Take it back!”

The two demon’s scuffle. Clearing out the VIP lounge as everyone ran. Scared that they might transform at any moment and literally tear each other apart. Asmo somehow ended up on his back, a position that usually didn’t bother him, as the other reared back to punch him in the face.

Or, at least he would have if he didn’t start convulsing and fall on the ground a moment later.

“Asmo! Are you ok?!”

The Lust Demon looked at you for a moment. Then delicately covered his mouth with both hands. Returning to normal. “[Y/N]! You saved me!!”

“Yeah. This little thing packs a punch.” You replied. Holding out your little pink taser from She-Sword from your clutch. “I couldn’t let this jerk hurt your beautiful face.”

“No one is more beautiful than you my fierce warrior queen!” He praised. Basking in the moment for only a second before you both scamper off before security came.

You both might be beautiful, but you didn’t want to end up on the evening news.

Beel

“I want to take up kendo.” Beel announced to you one day. Out of the blue. “I’ve been looking for ways to add variety to my workout. I came across this video on kendo and thought it would be fun.”

Of course, Beel knew you had practiced kendo in the past at school. So he might have also been looking for fitness activities for you to do together. In any case, he really liked seeing you in your little workout outfit. It was super cute.

He also liked you showing him the basics of kendo; stance, footing, basic strike movement. When he felt he had gotten the hang of it, Beel jovially asked for a sparring match with you.

“I don’t know….”

“Come on [Y/N], sparring with someone is the best way to learn fighting.” He reasoned. “Besides, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“I’m not worried about that….” He heard you mutter under your breath, but thought that he must have imagined it as you squared off.

Standing across from you in the arena, something changed. The hair on the back of Beel’s neck stood up. Not in the excited way that it normally did when he saw you. But something more….primal. His grip tightened a little more as he realized he might have to get a little serious with you.

It was all for nothing though as the match was over just as soon as it started.

The shinai went flying out of his hands, landing across the room just as Beel landed on his butt. His backside throbbing as his bell was rung clear as day. He rubbed his head as he looked up at you. “I may have forgotten to mention that I was three-time national kendo champ all through school.”

The demon looked up at you with a shiny, sparkly gaze only until now reserved for delicious food. “Teach me sensei!”

Belphie

He hated being out. He wanted to go home.

Being outside in the sun, with all these…..people was hell to him. Belphie would rather be home, in actual hell, with his blanket and pillow and quiet, rather than ‘top side’ with you for the whole afternoon. Not that it was you or anything. You were the only bright star on this miserable day. He’d be damned if he’d let one of his brothers spend the day with you when he could.

“Belphie, do you want an ice cream? Maybe that will help with the heat?”

He wanted to say that the only thing that would help him was getting the hell out of here. But, he bit his tongue. The demon knew how important this was to you to come ‘home’ now & then and he didn’t want to ruin it for you. So he just nodded and asked, “strawberry please.”

He sat in the shade as he watched you go over to the ice cream truck alone. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he was just a hopeless shut in. Like Levi, only worse. He just wanted humans so much that being around them was making him crankier than normal today.

“Geez, get a look at that side show over there.”

Belphie looked up from his daze at the human who was a few yards away from him. Snickering and staring with his friends in a voice that a regular human wouldn’t be able to hear. “If you have something to say, then say it, you chicken shit fuck.” Again, he was very cranky.

The human was obviously taken aback at being heard and then called out like that. “What did you say to me?!” He yelled, once he got his bearings on the situation, and took a ‘threatening’ step forward to see if he would repeat it.

“I said ‘If you have something to say, then say it, you chicken shit fuck’.” Of course he repeated it. “Don’t mutter something under your breath like a coward. Say it like a man, or keep your gross mouth shut.” This was why he hated humans. No spine.

Well, metaphorical spine. If he kept this up, Belphie was gonna prove that he had a spine when he ripped it out and made him wear it as a neck tie.

“You little fuck--!” Belphie, of course, didn’t move when he stomped closer. Not that he needed to, because he was stopped in his tracks rather abruptly when you stepped between then. Holding a knife from your pocket.

“I suggest you get out of here, before the only ‘side show’ around here is your knife swallowing act pal.” The man seemed to frozen for a moment as he tried to process if you were serious. Then his flight instincts kicked in and he took off running with his friends across the park. “Gosh, I think I’ve been spending to much time with you guys. I never would have done anything like this before.” You said after a sigh, then turned back to Belphie.

“My hero.” He cheered softly, in his typical tired voice but still with a soft smile. Seeming extremely proud of the bad influence he was on you.

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everlarkficquestions · 5 years ago

Text

Sunday Stumped Day 29

It’s another Sunday Stumped Day!

Sometimes we straight out get stumped. So every few months we will pick a Sunday when we’ll post of a list of asks that we need your help on.

This time around we have focused on Asks that are looking for specific fics.

If you know the answer to any of these asks please shoot us a message/ ask/ with the Post number and the fic details and we’ll add it and give you a shout out with our thanks. Any links you can provide will also be super helpful.

Thanks!

Post 1 , Post 2 , Post 3, Post 4, Post 5, Post 6, Post 7, Post 8, Post 9, Post 10, Post 11, Post 12, Post 13, Post 14, Post 15, Post 16, Post 17, Post 18, Post 19, Post 20, Post 21, Post 22 , Post 23, Post 24, Post 25, Post 26, Post 27 and Post 28 can be found here - and there are still fics we need your help with.

495. theman189-blog said:

Also looking for a growing together fic where peeta and katniss are painting a room ar one point and they get in a paint fight, at the end when peeta has katniss over his shoulder she draws a heart in paint on his lower back

494. theman189-blog said:

Hi there, just read a fic where katniss and peeta were peacekeepers and fall in love called protect and serve, and I could have sworn there was another one where they're peacekeepers and fell in love but had a more concrete ending and I cant remember it... any thoughts?

493. breakmeaswitchson said:

Hi! So I posted asking about this on a sub in Reddit and got directed here, it's not specifically an Everlark one (I don't think) but if you could help I'd be so thankful! Basically, it took the characters from the 74th Hunger Games, but the twist was that they all had to work together in designated groups? And (I think) weren't allowed to turn on each other until nobody else was left. I'm pretty sure Rue and Clove were on a team together, and I think the setting involved abandoned buildings.

492. jayana90 said:

Hi! I'm looking for a specific fic from Peeta's POV. I read it about a year ago & now I can't find it. It begins at his house in 12 with his family, then traces nearly all of the Hunger Games trilogy. It ends with a chapter with Peeta & Katniss living in 12 years later with their kids and a bakery. I think they loved cheese bread? It was really long and so good, I hope to find it again. V smutty.

FOUND! The Sexual Frustrations of Peeta Mellark by PeetasAndHerondales, which has sadly been deleted. - thank you, mistressnightshade!

491. allflowerscatchthesunlight said:

Fic name needed: I recall Peeta was taken by the capitol and then there was trackers embedded into his skin or something and he was found by the squad while in the capitol to kill snow. They cut it out of him. Also katniss was pregnant, but miscarried.

Found! Secret Wishes, Secret Kisses by @katnissdoesnotfollowback -- thank you KDNFB!

490. jsth2obooks said:

Hi I read this fix a while ago and now I'm trying to find it. It's Modern day Katnisss and Peeta have to go to a high school reunion an they pretend to be either together/engaged. At the end they end up with a child. Thanks in advance

FOUND! Somewhere That’s Green by Jlala. Thank you, @fangirlingoverquotes

489. uglydora15 said:

I read this fancition about Katniss and Peeta post mockingjay and Katniss was pregnant I think for the second time and Peeta has a flashback and Katniss caught him kissing someone else in the bakery and he had to beg for her forgiveness

Possibly There Are Still Worse Games to Play- The Second Part of Our Journey by panskiss123. Thank you, @sunsetsrmydreams

488. bad-fad said:

Hi so I think there’s a fix where mr. Mellark like takes in katniss when she’s young (I don’t think prim existed in the story but I could be wrong) and she grows up with the Mellarks but I can’t remember?? If not maybe some recs along those lines

Possibly - “Kinship” by Misshoneywell - thank you @endlessnightlock

possibly Star by HGRomance - thank you @nightlock-89

Possibly the deleted Lion’s Tooth by Alexabee

487. craftydiva0828 said:

Looking for a story where after the war, Katniss rides the trains searching the districts for Peeta; people search for loved ones by posting their pictures at the train depot bulletin board.

FOUND! when the far-gone dead return - writingforhugs (Thanks, @ladymurphyevermore!)

486. bookworm06 said:

I was wondering if you guys know about a fic where Peeta woos katniss slowly, they dare secretly for a long time i think. And then Katniss comes out in this beautiful orange dress(peeta’s favorite color) to announce their engagement. She’s dressed up for a feast or party in the district or something! I loved this story but can’t even remember the name 🤦🏻‍♀️

FOUND! - I Knew This Would Have Happened Anyway by @abk1973 - thank you, @litharalen

485. cowrintimrousbeastie said:

Hello! This is actually the first time I'm posting a question, I usually enjoy doing the detective work. This time though, I've looked high and low and can't find it... it's a drabble posted on tumblr in several parts. Peeta is living with his girlfriend Delly but during one of his baking workshops discovers that this longtime best friend Katniss is in love with him (she has him as her phone screen saver). She works at the library? He confronts her and she says forget it as he is happy w/Delly..

FOUND! By @cowrintimrousbeastie herself! It is How Long by @ra3lynn3. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 , Part 4 and Part 5.

484. beautiful-harmony1 said:

Hello! Thank for your great work. I am looking for a fic I read a while ago. Post-mockingjay. Katniss is really sick and Peeta comes homes a realises. He takes care of her. On her “death bed” she talks about this that would have happened between the two. I’m pretty sure some bursts in and say “we found a cure”. Thank you so much

483. thehopefuldandelion said:

So I’ve been craving to read this fic that hopefully I didn’t make up and I’ve been trying to remember it’s name. All I remember is that Katinss and Gale(I think) are dating but when Gale would go to sleep Katinss would text Peeta. I’m pretty sure they were coworkers and couldn’t date bc of this. I know that she broke up with Gale but that’s all that my brain can remember. I’m sorry if this is vague or you can’t find it. I just wanted to read this again. Thanks for all you do for the community❤️

FOUND! This is After Hours by SoThere -thank you, @mendontprotectyou!

482. redhoodhungergames said:

I’m looking for a fic where peeta goes to this hotel (or something) and finds Katniss who works there as a singer. I remember when talking we hear that Katniss is from Virginia

481. just-absolutely-super said:

There’s a pre-epilogue fic I read about Katniss and Peeta growing back together. I can’t remember all the details but I think in the fic Katniss finds out Peeta painted Prim and it upset her? Toward the end she’s outside his bedroom door and confesses to him that she loves him. Thank you!

Possibly - The List of Words by MyKonstantine - thank you, @jennagill

480. peetniss27 said:

OK i must be going crazy, but this fanfic is about panem being a bunch of islands and they all do a computer session and are matched with their spouses after being “reaped” and Katniss was dating peeta and ended up with gale. It was called the islands but idk the new name please help!!!!!

FOUND!

Are You Leaving Me? - iloverueforever (*Thank you, @superchocovian!)

479. uniquepizzacollectionblog said:

Hi, i"m looking for a fic where katniss and peeta and best friends and have slept with each other in the past and now the sexual tension is coming back, maybe you guys know of this story?

478. xgetawaycar13 said:

Hiiii so I’m looking for a fic in which Katniss and Peeta get married in catching fire by order of snow and they are also forced to have children but I remember that at some point someone told Katniss about how all the girls at school liked Peeta so she got jealous and have him a blowjob Thank youuu I already look through your master list about marriage in catching fire but I couldn’t find it:(

FOUND. This is Have Heart, My Dear by monroeslittle. Thanks @finestunicorn.

477. ochri said:

Hi i'm looking for this fic from fanfiction It's a post-MJ fic and there's this one chapter where katniss peels? her skin off her fingers and then Peeta takes her to hospital. That's all I really remember :/

476. nikki-pondtheauthor said:

hey im curious if there are fanfics in which peeta learns how to use a bow and shoot arrows (taught by katniss). bonus if he does this in hunger games. im sure ive a read a fanfic before, that was awesome in my opinion because it is a bit out of character for him but highlighting the fact that he is a survivor too and can handle weapons even if he is more a friendly persona

475. white-dandelion-seeds said:

Hey, can you find me this story- Peeta helped Katniss to escape when her family was being killed. But he got captured and was made a slave. Later he helps Katniss to take revenge of the death of her family

474. chippedcupsandbrokenhearts said:

Ok do you know the name of Fic where Katniss finally gets away from her abusive marriage with gale and goes back to her family. They didn’t know she was being abused. She falls in love with Peeta and I remember at one point gale found her and her family drives him out of town. I read this YEARS ago and now I just randomly had the urge to reread it but can’t remember the name. Thank you!!!

Possibly - A Safe Place by HavishamWard,but this fic has been deleted. Thank you, @endlessnightlock

473. jillpill55 said:

Hi, I love your page and have read probably a hundred fics because of it. I hoping you can help me find this fic I read a couple of months ago. Peeta was captured and when he came back he couldn't kiss Katniss because of a implant snow had put in peeta's leg. I would be a mutli-chapter and may or not be finished. Thanks

Possibly - Rekindling by ShiningCity. Thank you, @sunsetsrmydreams

472. svmn14 said:

There was a story about Peeta suffering from an undetected hijacking attack timed 10 years after the last Games where he was designed to hurt Katniss

FOUND! This is Broken: Scenes from the Sequel by MockingJayFlyingFree. Thanks @sunsetsrmydreams

471. hiyosakura said:

Hello! I was wondering if you could help find this everlark fic. I’m not sure if it’s completed or not but it also has hayffie in it a bit I think. So the story is that k and p fall in love before their games and they meet at their tree in school or something but then they get reaped and I can’t remember what happens after that but during the quarter quell Katniss is actually pregnant and Peeta and Katniss are able to communicate with their lips touching.

FOUND! That’s 74th Hunger games Challenge: We Always Were - Jamie Sommers(*Thank you, @superchocovian!)

470. ptx-holic said:

Hi, i’m looking for a fic where katniss is in a relationship with gale and then she met peeta and they are in a relationship but they caught katniss having two relationship and katniss move to somewhere and then she came back few years later and met peeta again. I’m sorry if this is confusing for you but i can’t find it. Thank you :)

Do any of these fics ring a bell? Please let us know!

#SSD #sunday stumped day #compilation #mod post

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blooddrinkingbartender · 5 years ago

Text

Of Mer and Men | Elder Scrolls Verse

I finally caved and made an Elder Scrolls verse for my lads on here. You’ll find all their profiles beneath the cut (if there is one.) I took a bit of creative liberty with the vampires in this as well, I hope that’s all right.

Bilmae ‘Bill’ Golden-Smith

Name: Bilmae ‘Bill’ Golden-Smith

Age: Appears 31, but is over 800 in reality

Birthday: 7th of Evening Star

Gender: Cis Male (he/him/his pronouns)

Powers and Abilities: Resistance to disease, resistance to poison, harder to detect while sneaking, and illusion spells are more powerful than average, resistance to frost. Shadow abilities; creating tentacles made out of shadows, usually to grab/restrain an opponent, or do things like snap limbs. He can also leap an abnormally long distance and summon an orb of shadow that explodes into spikes. Battle Cry (Nord Ability) and a higher resistance to frost because of his Nord Heritage as well as his vampirism.

Weaknesses: Fire, sunlight.

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual.

Race: Nord/Vampire

Faction: None (at the moment)

Current Residence: No fixed place of residence, wanders Tamriel.

Mother: Gweene Golden-Smith (Deceased)

Father: Bilmae Golden-Smith. (Deceased)

Height: 6’3"

Weight: 200lbs

Body Type: Mesomorph/Muscular

Hair: Red, as is his beard.

Eyes: Grey.

Skin: White

Languages: Tamrielic, some of the Dragon Language, and Ayleidoon.

Distinguishing features: He has major burn scars on the right side of his abdomen, chest, part of his right arm, and just above his butt. A hunter managed to set him on fire. Luckily, before it could kill him, he managed to put himself out. That Hunter paid with her life.

If he doesn’t drink blood for a long time, he starts to age and look more monstrous/corpse-like. Drinking blood reverses this effect.

He has three scars on his chest that are either from arrows or crossbow bolts. They’re all under his left pec muscle.

He has a birthmark on the back of his left hand that’s shaped like a crescent. He often jokes that it’s because one of his ancestors was a werewolf.

Hobbies and Interests: Dancing, astronomy (might as well enjoy the stars if you’re nocturnal), origami, drawing, mythology (he has met some figures of myth, or so he claims), and smithing. He’s also pretty good at playing the lyre, the ocarina, and the accordion.

Occupation: No set occupation.

Skills: Smithing, Sneak, One-Handed Weapons, Illusion Magic, Light Armour, and Alteration

Personality: He’s friendly, he’s confident, and he can be rather eccentric at times. He’s far from shy and he enjoys the company of others. He lives to entertain, laugh, spread laughter and merriment, and give and get validation.

However, he can come across as conceited, arrogant, a show-off, a bit of a large ham at times, and/or a little bit too full-on for some people. That said, he honestly doesn’t mean harm (not anymore at least) and if you’re his friend, he will kill for you and do what he can to keep you happy.

He’s usually quite hard to anger. He can laugh off most insults or even attempts to hurt him physically. However, if you do make him mad, it’s your funeral, or at least your mind’s. He does try to keep himself in check however. He has no plans to go back to the sadistic bastard that he used to be.

Basic Backstory: Starting out his life in Skyrim, Lord Bilmae Golden-Smith IV was the only survivor of the eleven children his parents gave birth to. His father was a lord and his mother was a blacksmith’s daughter who was married into the family.

Bilmae lived a fairly easy and unremarkable life with his loving mother, not-so-loving father, and a few servants. His father made sure he worked hard however, not wanting to hand him everything on a silver plate. That said, he was fairly well off, and spent his childhood and adult years getting ready to take on his father’s estate. On finding out his bloodline’s wealth and notoriety was founded on thievery, murder, extortion, and other crimes, he was not so willing to do so, but he was unsure of how to find a way out of it.

However, at the age of 31 years old, he contracted Sanguinare Vampiris. He was infected on purpose, by a vampire who had lost his family to Bilmae’s legacy. Bilmae managed to hide the condition from his family, and when his parents died, dismissed his servants, left the estate to his distant cousins, and faked his death before going to wander.

He continues to travel around now, learning new things and trying new stuff to keep himself busy. He still drinks blood to sustain himself but he doesn’t kill unless it was someone he felt ‘deserved it’. He also kept up with all the changes in the world. He even adapted his speech as needed, keeping up with slang and staying savvy with the times.

Antonio Lombardi

Name: Antonio Lombardi (formerly Enriquo Giordano, as far as you’re concerned)

Age: 38

Birthday: 8th of Last Seed

Gender: Trans Male (he/him/his pronouns)

Powers and Abilities: .Dragonskin ability to absorb magic. Natural higher resistance to magic.

Sexual Orientation: Homosexual

Race: Breton

Faction: College of Winterhold (sort of)

Current Residence: Has a home in High Rock, but travels.

Mother: Gertrude Giordano

Father: Benito Giordano

Siblings: Emily Giordano(Older sister) and Sophia Giordano (Younger sister)

Height: 6’2"

Weight: 170lbs

Body Type: Ectomorph

Hair: Black, shoulder-length, and slightly curly

Eyes: Green.

Skin: Light brown

Languages: Tamrielic, and some of the dragon language.

Distinguishing features: A benign mole underneath his left eye, and a slash scar across his cheek.

Due to scoliosis, his chest and back are slightly tilted to the side. This isn’t easy to see unless his shirt is off. It does cause him pain and also makes it harder for him to walk longer distances.

He uses a cane to get around. He actually owns three canes; one has a sword hidden inside of it, another is extendable, and the last is a normal cane. He weaponised them after a bandit attacked him, causing the scar on his face.

He has habits of nodding his head, rhythmically tapping his foot or hand against the floor or the table, blinking at the same time as whoever he is speaking to, and gesturing with his hands while he talks.

He also has synaesthesia, seeing certain colours and shapes whenever he hears certain noises ‘connected’ to them. He also experiences smells on rarer occasions.

Hobbies and Interests: His magic skills. He has dabbled in sleight of hand, misdirection, and mentalism (including hypnosis, which he uses his magic for), and he is very good at those too.

He has also dabbled in Escapology, and is able to get out of most rope bindings, straightjackets, and pick locks. He also likes to read, cook, practise his tricks, and tend to plants.

Occupation: An administrator in a library and a stage magician. Currently working in Winterhold.

Skills: Illusion magic, Speech, One-handed, Lock-picking, Sneak, Destruction Magic, and Conjuration.

Personality: While he’s on stage, Antonio speaks with confidence, authority, and even some glee.

Off-stage, he’s quiet, jaded, and very cynical. He prefers to just be left alone for the most part. He doesn’t have much faith in humanity. He also pretends to be a massive sceptic.

That said, he isn’t a complete asshole. He secretly has a lot of compassion and empathy for other people. He performs at orphanages and hospitals for free and donates a portion of his earnings to charity.

If you can break past the guarded shell, you have someone a bit on the nicer side.

Basic Backstory: Antonio was born in Summerset to Benito and Gertrude.

He often found himself entertaining or at least occupying his own mind with various tasks. He also grew up in a strictly religious household, which he found himself hating as he grew older and it eventually put him off any kind of faith or servitude to the gods. He found himself interested in magic tricks and illusions after one of his neighbours showed him a few.

He started to teach himself when he was in teens and became very good at it, especially as he grew older. He also dabbled more in his Breton magicka, figuring out what else he could do with it. He also realised he was gay, much to his dismay. Even now, he keeps that firmly under wraps.

Eventually, at the age of 17, he had a falling out with his parents over his lack of religious belief. He went on a tirade on how their beliefs (or the fact that they hid behind them) were, in his words ‘a big steaming pile of shit’.

After being told his synaesthesia was a sign that he was being influenced by the daedra and he punched his father for it, he was essentially kicked out. Uncaring about that, he changed his name and went to High Rock to make a name for himself, remembering his mother’s stories of when she lived there.

He started very small at first. He was able to find a place to stay. He worked as much as he could and performed his magic on the side. He was eventually invited to taverns and inns to perform and that got him attention and more money. He also witnessed a vampire feeding on a person, and this terrified him, but he remained determined to continue going and not let it get to him too much.

When he turned twenty, symptoms of his scoliosis started to become prominent, coming with pain and finding it harder to walk or run for longer distances. Luckily, this didn’t affect his magic shows too badly.

At the age of thirty, he started to wander to other places and live long term and do work. Where he officially became known as Lord Enigma when performing. He’s currently in Winterhold, helping in the Arcanium.

Leofric Lawford

Name: Leofric Lawford

Age: 35

Birthday: 10th of Rain’s Fall

Gender: Cis Male (he/him/his pronouns)

Powers and Abilities: Immune to Vampirism and most other diseases, Beast Form. Voice of the Emperor, and Imperial Luck.

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual.

Race: Imperial/Werewolf

Faction: Companions, also does bounty work and has affiliations with Dawnguard.

Current Residence: Whiterun.

Mother: Unknown.

Father: Unknown.

Height: 6’5"

Weight: 240lbs

Body Type: Mesomorph/Muscular

Hair: Light brown and slightly wavy

Eyes: Dark brown .

Skin: White

Languages: Tamrielic, and Ayleidoon.

Distinguishing features: He has many many scars from his days of battling. He has a slight beard. It’s not as full as Bill’s, but it’s definitely fuller than basic stubble.

He doesn’t smile very often. If you see him do it, take a picture; you’ll never see it again in your life otherwise.

He has dyslexia. It hasn’t been identified yet, so he’s been suffering in silence about it. He also has some slight shortsightedness, but makes up for that with his other skills.

Hobbies and Interests: Reading, raising butterflies, plants and botany (he also researches how to better weaponise them (such as by using sachets of herbs to cloak himself, or make oils and decoctions for better damage output) or heal with them, history, boxing, and surprisingly, painting.

Occupation: Companion

Skills: Alchemy, creating potions and poisons alike, heavy armour, two-handed and one-handed weaponry, which he’s trained himself in since a very young age,blocking, and hand-to-hand combat.

Personality: He is rather stoic, and guarded, but still kind, brave and benevolent.

Although a werewolf and harsh on criminals and other monsters, he has a soft spot for humans, pacifistic supernatural creatures of other species, and animals, rescuing them and treating them with a distant sort of kindness. He is also incredibly loyal to those he makes friends with.

He also prefers to be fair in a fight, giving his opponents a fair chance to defend themselves and fight back. That said, he believes underhanded tactics can be a tool to use only when necessary.

Basic Backstory: Leofric was born in Cyrodiil, and left at an orphanage soon after as a baby. He was looked after by his guardians and taught the skills he needed. It was believed he would simply become a member of the imperial watch when he was older.

However, he became fascinated by stories of the companions and what they did. He left the orphanage at the age of sixteen years old and honed his skills, eventually making his way to Skyrim.

He had already shown a lot of the qualities of the companions during his travels, and he had actually been noticed by some of the travelling ones. He was accepted after some trials and has been with them since.

He eventually became a werewolf when with them as well, and has not regretted this choice. He sees this as a blessing and a privilege.

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killerqueenjoy · 6 years ago

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99 Question Tag

okay okay I know i got tagged to do this like a month ago on my main blog by @santonicababy iM SORRY LIN ILY BUT THIS WAS SO DAMN LONG

1) DO YOU SLEEP WITH YOUR CLOSET DOORS OPEN OR CLOSED

I sleep in the room where everybodies closets are and they all gotta be closed goddamn do you know how spooky it is to even have one open during the night

2) DO YOU TAKE THE SHAMPOOS AND CONDITIONER BOTTLES FROM HOTELS

my parents do, but alas I don't use them in case they have silicones or sulphates in them because I got a whole lotta curls to protect

3)DO YOU SLEEP WITH YOUR SHEETS TUCKED IN OR OUT?

if this refers to the sheet protecting the mattress, then my answer is in because how the fuck would you be able to sleep with that moving around???

4) HAVE YOU STOLEN A STREET SIGN BEFORE

NO SORRY IM BORING

5)DO YOU LIKE TO USE POST IT NOTES

heck yeah, but for random shit

6) DO YOU EVER CUT OUT COUPONS BUT THEN NEVER USE THEM

nee my parents are fancy fuckers who use the coupons on their phone (our local supermarket has a damn app skskksksk)

7) WOULD YOU RATHER BE ATTACKED BY A BIG BEAR OR A SWARM OF BEES

a bear because its one giant son of a bitch and not millions of tiny motherfuckers and also I've never been stung by a bee and intend to keep it that way because majority of my family seem to be allergic

8) DO YOU HAVE FRECKLES

nope! I have a couple beauty spots on my hands and face but thats kinda it

9) DO YOU ALWAYS SMILE FOR PICTURES

not really but if I've been told to smile then its 200% dead inside

10) WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST PET PEEVE

i find many things annoying

11)DO YOU EVER COUNT YOUR STEPS WHEN YOU WALK

only when i go up and down stairs, but i also try to make sure i step with each foot equally (if that makes sense) and i step on only certain colour tiles when im bored

12) HAVE YOU EVER PEED IN THE WOODS

the real question is have i ever been in the woods? both answers are no

13) HAVE YOU EVER POOPED IN THE WOODS

refer to question 12

14)ummmm idk what this question is meant to be curse you Lin

15)DO YOU CHEW YOUR PENS AND PENCILS

nope, the idea weirds me out

16) HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE YOU SLEPT WITH THIS WEEK

none, this week and in general

17) WHAT SIZE IS YOUR BED

one person and a long yet smol doggo size

18) WHAT IS YOUR SONG OF THE WEEK

Eddie from the Rocky Horror Picture Show has been stuck in my head for the whole week so yeah i guess that

19)IS IT OKAY FOR GUYS TO WEAR PINK

HeLL YEAH DUDE HAVE YOU SEEN RAMI MALEK IN PINK

SKSKSKSKS END MY LIFE

but yeah, anyone can wear anything they want to wear (although a suit made out of meat might not be wise)

20) DO YOU STILL WATCH CARTOONS

dudeeeee scooby doo and tom and jerry are my jam I watch them on the regular (among other things)

21)WHAT IS YOUR LEAST FAVOURITE MOVIE

uhhm idkkkkk I tend to repress bad movies sksksk

22)WHERE WOULD YOU BURY HIDDEN TREASURE IF YOU HAD SOME

idk shove it in the closet ig at least it will be hidden behind my sexuality

23)WHAT DO YOU DRINK WITH DINNER

I usually only drink before or after but ig water??? cooldrink if I'm in a restaurant

24)WHAT DO YOU DIP A CHICKEN NUGGET IN

depends on the nug

25)WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE FOOD

How dare you assume i only have one favourite

tbh it depends cos i love pizza and pasta and stuff but then i cannot live with my granny's curries ksksmks

26) WHAT MOVIES COULD YOU WATCH OVER AND OVER AGAIN AND STILL LOVE

borhap, sing street, rhps, the natm movies, the harry potter movies, any mcu movies

27)LAST PERSON YOU KISSED/KISSED YOU

ahhahahahahahha bold of you to assume anyone wants to do that

28) WERE YOU EVER A BOY/GIRL SCOUT

nope but I was a catrobat which is basically my preschools acrobatics team that was actually really terrible

29)WOULD YOU EVER STRIP OR POSE NUDE IN A MAGAZINE

nahh m8

30) WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WROTE A LETTER TO SOMEONE ON PAPER

this week for a transactional task at school (It was in Afrikaans and I got a C skskskks)

31)CAN YOU CHANGE THE OIL IN A CAR

omg no

32)EVER GOTTEN A SPEEDING TICKET

not old enough to drive!

33)EVER RAN OUT OF GAS

my parents never have for as long as i can remember

34)WHATS YOUR FAVOURITE KINDA SANDWHICH

cheese because I am actually John Deacon

35)BEST THING TO EAT FOR BREAKFAST

MUFFINS!!!!

36)WHAT IS YOUR USUAL BEDTIME

school nights its 11pm otherwise i dont have one lol

37)ARE YOU LAZY

YES BUT MY LAZINESS MAKES ME ANXIOUS OOF

38)WHEN YOU WERE A KID WHAT DID YOU DRESS UP AS FOR HALLOWEEN

we dont celebrate that here but i rly want to it seems fun!

39)WHAT IS YOUR CHINESE ASTROLOGICAL SIGN

Ram, which is really cool because im an Aries, so I'm sheep squared

40)HOW MANY LANGUAGES CAN YOU SPEAK

English, Afrikaans (at a basic highschool level), I could speak very vERY basic isiZulu when I was younger but I'm not sure about now, I know a bit of French and Telugu, and I'm gonna start learning Hindi soon!!

41) DO YOU HAVE ANY MAGAZINE SUBSCRIPTIONS

nee

42) WHICH ARE BETTER, LEGOS OR LINCOLN LOGS

i didn't play much with legos and i have no idea what the second one is rip

43)ARE YOU STUBBORN

to an extent

44)WHO IS BETTER, LENO OR LETTERMAN

I kept reading Leno as Lenin ffs

45)EVER WATCH SOAP OPERAS

I watch them occasionally with my granny, but I don't keep up with them very well (Kasamh Se is my shit tho)

46)ARE YOU AFRAID OF HEIGHTS

no, im afraid of falling in general tho

47) DO YOU SING IN THE CAR

My dad and I bop frequently to Never Gonna Give You Up in the car, and also classic bollywood songs (we have even learnt the choreography for some)

48)DO YOU SING IN THE SHOWER

i perform

49) DO YOU DANCE IN THE CAR

well theres not exactly much space

50)EVER USED A GUN

nope

51)LAST TIME YOU GOT A PORTRAIT TAKEN BY A PHOTOGRAPHER

not sure

52)DO YOU THINK MUSICALS ARE CHEESY

most are but thats why i like them

53) IS CHRISTMAS STRESSFUL

we don't celebrate because we're not Christian (we still eat a lot and exchange presents tho), but it can get stressful if we have to visit extended family, mostly because my extended family loves to insult everything about me so thats great!

54)EVER EAT A PIEROGI

not i good sir

55) FAVOURITE TYPE OF FRUIT PIE

never had one, it doesnt appeal to me

56) OCCUPATIONS YOU WANTED TO BE WHEN YOU WERE A KID

a vet

57)DO YOU BELIEVE IN GHOSTS

i am a ghost

58)EVER HAD A DEJA-VU FEELING

not that i remember

59)DO YOU TAKE A VITAMIN DAILY

yes, I take a multi vitamin, a vitamin D pill because I'm vitamin D deficient, and im not sure if this is a vitamin or not but i take evening primrose oil so that im not outwardly a bitch due to pms

60)DO YOU WEAR SLIPPERS

i wear slipper socks, because my doggo got jealous of my doggie slippers and murdered them in cold blood

61)DO YOU WEAR A BATH ROBE

i have one and rarely use it because i forget it exists

62)WHAT DO YOU WEAR TO BED

a random shirt and pants, though ive been known to kick pants off (ive been doing that since birth), occasionally i manage to get the matching pj set

63)WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CONCERT

ive unfortunately never been to a concert before

64)WALMART TARGET OR KMART

ive never seen any of these stores in my country

65)NIKE OR ADIDAS

i own neither

66) CHEETOS OR FRITOS

neither

67)PEANUTS OR SUNFLOWER SEEDS

Peanuts because thats my doggos name!

68) EVER HEARD OF THE GROUP TRES BIEN

no sorry

69)EVER TAKE DANCE LESSONS

i went to a bhangra class for about a year, and we performed for our parents at the end of that year (i was in one of the few groups that didnt have to dance in lehengas thank goodness)

70)IS THERE A PROFESSION YOU PICTURE

YOUR FUTURE SPOUSE DOING

probably something creative, but I don't mind as long as they're happy with what they're doing and its not harming others!

71)CAN YOU CURL YOUR TONGUE

yep

72)EVER WON A SPELLING BEE

never entered one, having to spell out loud makes me anxious

73)HAVE YOU EVER CRIED BECAUSE YOU WERE SO HAPPY

i think so

74)OWN ANY RECORD ALBUMS

nope

75)OWN A RECORD PLAYER

i wish

76)DO YOU REGULARLY BURN INCENSE

my granny burns incense while I'm at school because my mom and i both get really sick when its just been lit and the smell is strong. Going to the temple is a damn nightmare because of it

77)EVER BEEN IN LOVE

no, too busy fangirling

78)WHO WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE IN CONCERT

oof a long list

Queen, Twenty One Pilots, Waterparks, Frank Iero and the Future Violents (ffs fronk stop changin the name), Panic! at the Disco...to name a few

79)WHAT WAS THE LAST CONCERT YOU SAW

refer to question 63

80)HOT TEA OR COLD TEA

both

81)TEA OR COFFEE

coffee

82)SUGAR COOKIES OR SNICKERDOODLES

sugar cookies

83)CAN YOU SWIM WELL

i wouldn't drown, but im no professional either

84)CAN YOU HOLD YOUR BREATH WITHOUT HOLDING YOUR NOSE

im doing it right now

85)ARE YOU PATIENT

86)DJ OR BAND AT A WEDDING

I've only ever been to Hindi,Tamil and Telugu weddings and lemme tell you 90% of the time bands flop at those weddings because they can't sing the classics without failing miserably, so DJs are generally better. However, in that case, if a band can perform those songs, then I'd prefer a band ig

87)EVER WON A CONTEST

yep, a couple of reading contests

88)HAVE YOU EVER HAD PLASTIC SURGERY

nope, not planning on it

89)WHICH ARE BETTER, BLACK OR GREEN OLIVES

dont like olives rip

90)CAN YOU KNIT OR CROCHET

i can knit!

in fact, my friends and i are so cool that we're in our schools knitting club (which besides myself, @grandfunnyemopainter and @imjustabruh , only has 2 other members)

91)BEST ROOM FOR A FIREPLACE

lounge or study/library

92)DO YOU WANT TO GET MARRIED

i guess, its not on my goal list tho

93)IF MARRIED, HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN MARRIED

94)WHO WAS YOUR HIGHSCHOOL CRUSH

currently in highschool, and in love with the borhap cast, sebastian stan, stephanie beatriz and band members (theres more but yeah)

95)DO YOU CRY AND THROW A FIT UNTIL YOU GET YOUR OWN WAY

nope, i have only two ways to deal, be a total pushover or a total bitch

96)DO YOU HAVE KIDS

nope

97)DO YOU WANT KIDS

kind of undecided, but i do want more pets

98)WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE COLOUR

Dark Blue

99)DO YOU MISS ANYONE RIGHT NOW

my dog, shes been ignoring me for about four hours now because I stayed at school for an extra hour (for knitting club!)

@softspaceboibrian @roger-taylor-owns-my-wigg @im-inlovewithmycar do it cowards

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lumiereswig · 7 years ago

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Forgotten

What if the Enchantress came one day late? What if the staff weren’t nearby when the curse was cast? What if Adam found himself alone when turned into a Beast? “The prince [was] forgotten by the world, for the enchantress had erased all memory of them from the minds of the people they loved….” Inspired by this savagely sad post of @batbobsession‘s. (Repost, and slightly rewritten from last time.)

Part I: Not A Care in the World

The ball was flawless. In the garden, the roses continued to reach to the sky, and the storm brushed away; the lights shut off in the palace, one by one, and the music faded to silence. The prince went to bed with one or two or three pretty women he wouldn’t care for by the next day. Up in his room, Lumiere popped open a bottle of champagne.

Plumette, lighting the candles by the bed, grinned at him over the flames. He laughed and raised his glass.

“Another sublime night, ça va, mon amour?” The door creaks and in come Mrs. Potts, Cogsworth, Chapeau, the visiting musicians. The word has quickly spread that Lumiere and Plumette are serving leftover croquembouche in their room; the staff find places to sit, glasses to drink from, hands to join and caress. Mrs. Potts, in a rocking chair, smiles and holds a sleeping Chip.

“How many parties has it been now?”

Cogsworth is counting on his fingers. “Thirty years’ worth at least…..no, forty. Lord, I can’t keep track of the time.”

“He’s turning just like his father—the prince’s father was like this, too,” Mrs. Potts explains to the musicians, who know nothing about the palace or its politics. They nod and move closer to each other on the bed. “We don’t know what he’d do without us. He’ll be fine, though; we try not to intervene. D’you only have wine up here, Lumiere? I could use a cup of tea.”

“If you cannot take a little sparkling wine, get yourself to bed, grandmother,” laughs Lumiere, and she swipes at his arms and makes him laugh. He eases into a seat between Cogsworth and Plumette and throws his arms around them.

“Think how long it has been!” he says. “Forty years for you, Cogsworth, but most of my life for mine. Why, I came here as a teenager—imagine me, only a little older than Chip! Fresh out of Paris and still reeking of the apothecary shop.” He grimaces, thinking of his father’s dusty store in a side-street of the city. He had fled, then, looking for the glamor his missed; in his room in Paris he had practiced dance steps, reveled in fashion, adopted the graceful movements of the court as rebellion against the bourgeois facts of an ordinary existence. He had come to this palace, and he had lit into life; dancing and feasting and glowing like gold made Lumiere’s heart sing.

“We met in this palace, do you remember, mon trésor?” Plumette is close in his arms; her scent—fresh and light, like candy and macarons—right beside him. “I was only fourteen, and I loved you right away.”

“I loved you before I met you,” murmurs Lumiere. “I could never forget.”

“Well, that’s quite enough of that,” says Cogsworth, perhaps a bit too loudly. The two lovers had forgotten how close he was to their embrace. “To bed, to bed! Tomorrow we have another morning—and so many mornings after that, to care for the prince and these grounds. We can save affection for another day.”

Lumiere sighs loudly, but the staff agree to part for the night. They hug and kiss and wave goodnight—Cogsworth studiously looking the other way as Plumette makes no indication of moving back to her own room—and the lights go out. The humans of the castle sleep.

Part II: Selfish and Unkind

The next day is their day off. It is their one day off in the year. Adam would frequently wish to deny them of it; it is too much for him to imagine coping alone for one day, though he never puts it in such vulnerable terms. Instead, he just has a foul temper about it.

“And you’ll be back tonight, seven sharp.”

“Oui, maître.”

“And the kitchens have been stocked? Or have you forgotten that, too, in your delight to run away?”

“Non, maître.”

“You know, this is an incredible liberty. Most princes wouldn’t let their staff go prancing off to—I don’t know, what do you do in the village, drink beer and talk about swine? Pfft. I would just stay, if I were you.”

“….non, maître.”

“Fine. Get out.”

They are gone all too quickly. Adam stands in the lonely, empty halls. If he stands in the tower, he can see them weaving their way through the forest and down to the village, to spend their day in the company of each other, in Lumiere and Plumette’s case, or with loved ones, in the case of Mrs. Potts. No matter what, all the servants have each other. And Adam has nobody.

He adjusts his wig, tosses a curl. He doesn’t care. They’re all uncaring fools. He debates his options for the day: spending it in the library sounds the best, but he could also search around the palace, try to find some mistake in its keeping to yell at them about when they got back….after all, at least when he yelled they looked at him.

Searching for the mistake it was, then. Adam trotted off, his heels slick against the polished floors, the sun shining bright.

Part III: All Those Precious Days

In the village, Lumiere kisses Plumette, his lips as warm on hers as the sun is right behind their heads. She is feather-light beside him; watching her dance to a tune of her own making, Lumiere is hot with twenty years of memories. Remember her smile when he set the table for the first time, and made the knives and forks flip like acrobats? Remember when he helped her with her hair, after it rained, and she was his best friend and so fair beside him, while he untied the knots and tried to coax out a curl? His life is beautiful with Plumette—and Plumette, smiling back at him, is more beautiful than his life.

Chip runs ahead of Mrs. Potts, calling for his papa. Jean Potts, emerging from his home, waves joyously at the staff now flooding the village. Really, Villeneuve is not big enough to support so huge a gathering—but it is only one day, after all, as the staff step out of the palace and spend a day in the sun. They stretch their limbs and visit the shops, and sit on the stoops and talk. Lumiere is dazzling in his yellow palace coat against the dingy brown of the steps. Plumette is the loveliest girl in the village. Cogsworth checks the clocktower’s time against his own. And at 6:45, by his watch, they prepare to go back to the palace.

In Adam’s tower, he hears the knock. Angry at having been left alone—angry at being abandoned—angry at everything, Adam slams open the door and sees an old crone.

6:55. Lumiere is running late, as usual. He was regaling Tom and Dick with a lavish description of the ball he is planning. Cogsworth groans at the delay.

The crone offers a rose. Payment for a night’s rest; there is an oncoming storm. Rain coming in.

“Fireworks! And flowers on every table! And dancers from Vienna—the glories of a courtly life, gentlemen, you must come join us—”

“Lumiere! The night grows old.”

The crone grows young.

6:59. “We were meant to be there minutes ago! The Prince is all alone in the palace, now, and it’s our fault. We must get back, or there will be hell to pay—”

The Enchantress sets her curse. The piper must be paid. There must be punishment—

7:00. The curse strikes; a fleeting darkness on the village, a lasting one on the palace. The palace, the palace…the palace…..

………..the palace?

What palace? The villagers do not remember. And the staff, caught among them, do not either. There is silence, and darkness, and sleep.

Part IV: Little Town

Belle wakes up to a jolt in the road, and the rough wool blanket on her face, and the smell of cheese and paint and horse and wind clinging to her skin. She rubs her eyes and tries to wipe away the sleep. They’re in the wagon, again, and Maurice is hunched up in the bench, encouraging Philippe to trot faster. The contents of Belle’s entire life are jammed in around her, a moving nest of drawings and gear-boxes and packets of cabbage-seed.

“That town didn’t work out, either?”

“Plague,” says Maurice, and his eyes shadow, and he watches the road more closely. Of course. How many times has Belle woken up this way, the town she thought they’d live in forever far behind, her father just in front, the wagon rattling beneath her as Maurice fled the city sickness from one town to another. Lilles, Reims, Amiens: each one tainted by plague, each one not safe enough for Maurice and his daughter. No home lasted long enough.

“And where does this road go?” Belle’s eyes adjust to the dawn—they are passing a forest, and coming through a field, now, and fields lead to country villages, and villages mean homes, at least for a while. Perhaps this one would be small enough and safe enough to hide them for a while.

“Villeneuve,” says Maurice. “I chose it by chance. I hope they have room for an inventor.”

“Two inventors,” says Belle, and Maurice smiles.

“Yes, two, always two.”

They get to the town just after market-time, and Maurice busies himself finding the local priest to inquire after empty houses. Belle, tucked in the wagon, looks out on a quiet village going through the endless routine of a Saturday market: the milliner batting a sheet out the window, the potter’s wife brushing off her stoop, the sound of an untuned violin drifting from the open tavern doors. People haggle and argue and, somewhere, something breaks.

And Belle’s eyes flicker through the crowd, a puzzle cutting across her heart.

“Why are there so many people?” Belle asks, when Maurice comes back with happy news of an empty house, recently abandoned, just at the edge of the village.

“Mm?”

“People. Why are there so many of them? I know it was just market-time, but there are enough people in these streets to account for a city—let alone this little town!”

“I expect the city is just off on winter holiday,” says Maurice, absent-mindedly, trying to work out the details of keys and locks. “So they’re all just living in this one for now. Come give me a hand with these boxes—thank you.”

Belle’s heart won’t stop wondering, even as she unpacks music-boxes and arranges her father’s paints by the window. She saw all the people in that market. And she sees them now—watching her and her father, peeking on the edges of the streets and peeping through windows. But no one comes to help. With the market done, the town is quiet, and a little gloomy in the afternoon light.

By mid day, Belle and her father are halfway done unpacking. Maurice sits on a box and wipes his forehead.

“Do you know what I forgot to pack?” he says. “Beef. And bread. And….well, anything edible, really. You wouldn’t have remembered, would you?”

��Papa, I was asleep. I couldn’t remember anything.”

“True, true.” Her father’s hands brush in front of his sad, blue eyes. “Might you go out and find some, Belle? There must be someone selling bread. And butter. And possibly jam?”

Belle is already at the door with her basket. “You rest your eyes, papa. I’ll be right back.”

Part V: Every Day Like the One Before

Now that she is out, Belle takes the chance to look around. She takes her time going through the streets. On her left, the clock tower chimes. On her right, houses line the streets like soldiers. A cluster of girls giggle across the market square. Somewhere, a tea kettle screams. Belle stops to form her opinion of her new hometown.

Villeneuve is ordinary, in the extreme. Dusty to a fault. Dull, and cross, and tired—and absolutely not the start of any great adventure, like she’s always wished for. Just an overcrowded little place stuck in some meadow-grass that everyone has forgotten about.

Nothing of note will ever happen in Villeneuve. As far as anyone can remember, nothing ever has.

And as she thinks that, a puff of smoke blows into her face and sends her thoughts flying.

“Pardon my intrusion, mademoiselle,” says a voice to her right. Belle looks, and sees nothing, and then looks down and sees a peasant sitting on the stoop of the potter’s house. He is smoking a pipe, and puffing the smoke, and his eyes are closed, and his limbs lie around him as if lifeless.

“You are Parisian,” she says. She caught it in his voice.

“Oui, mademoiselle,” he says. A tiny, delicate gesture from his long fingers; it is a surprisingly sophisticated movement for a man in a yellow peasant’s vest, with candle wax creased in the dirt between his fingernails. “Or at least, once I was. Now I live in Villeneuve.”

It is an oddly empty statement, thinks Belle, and his colorless tone doesn’t help. She can’t see his face, here in the shadows, and can’t tell quite if he’s joking.

“I was an apothecary’s son,” adds the man.

“And are you still an apothecary?”

“I am nothing now,” says the man, in a flash of vehemence so sharp it is like seeing a flame in the middle of the forest. He looks up to her—his face broad, and white; and it is an empty face, and beyond the fire in his words there is nothing there at all. It is as if someone washed out all his color, and left him only with his yellow vest.

“I am Lumiere,” he says, and sadness rests inside his eyes.

Part VI: Full of Little People

He welcomes her to the stoop with the flick of a wrist and a tiny nod with the pipe, though he doesn’t seem to really care if she stays or goes. He is still curling smoke, and for one quick moment Belle wonders if it might be foolish to share a stoop with the village’s homeless philosopher. And yet…there’s a kind of warmth, there, buried beneath the village dirt and the lifeless limbs.

She sits. He offers her the pipe. She refuses. He smokes in silence.

They are silent for a long, long time.

“So what brings you to Villeneuve?” the man asks, at last, as he refills his pipe.

“My father,” she says. “We were fleeing plague. And I need to buy some bread, and maybe a little venison—we only had time to pack our books, so we don’t have anything to eat, yet.”

Beside her, Lumiere laughs. It sounds as if he hasn’t laughed for quite some time.

“I knew someone once who treasured books that way as well,” he says, and a smile drifts across his face, homeless. Something in him is sparking up at the story: dim, and faint, but laughing. “He once made me read the whole Odyssey—”

“You’ve read the Odyssey?!” Belle has never gotten the chance. It hasn’t been translated out of the Greek.

“Non, non, mademoiselle, it was read to me. Sorceresses turning people to pigs, and the lily-eaters forgetting their homes, and Penelope undoing the days until her husband returns—such nonsense.” The spark goes out abruptly, and he returns to his smoke and shadow. “I do not remember the rest of the story.”

How on earth did he get someone to read him the Odyssey, translating it fresh out of the Greek as he goes? In no apothecary’s street has Belle ever seen a sight such as that. The book is too rare to have come to Villeneuve. And yet….

“How did you come to Villeneuve?” she asks.

“I suppose I thought I’d find employment,” he says, and suddenly Belle is frightened.

Deeply, deeply frightened. Not of the man on the stoop—she has never seen anyone more harmless, to be quite honest; he is such an empty man, with such silent, lifeless limbs—but of the thing inside his eyes when he speaks of his past. It is Other—a thing not rooted in a Parisian background, or the empty face, or the subdued soul. It is a large streak of gray inside the man’s blue eyes, a gray empty and unnatural and as hollow as cold ice. Staring at his eyes, Belle finds herself clutching her arms with fear.

“Ah! Mon ami!” yells Lumiere, waving into the village, and the feeling passes. Yet his eyes remain so empty, even as he smiles at the man in the brown coat who just came out of the clock tower.

“Shh, shh, she doesn’t know I’m out,” says the man, and he reaches into his coat and pulls out a bottle of dandelion wine, already uncorked. He passes it to Lumiere in a swift gesture. It is obvious to Belle that this is a practiced ritual, the sharing of the secret wine. She makes room for the clocktower-keeper, and he sits on her other side.

“Mademoiselle, my venerable friend, Monsieur Cogsworth. You will find him delightful company, as well as an excellent source for half-bad wine.”

“Better than a source of all-bad whining, like some of us,” grumps the man. His nose is red, and his coat is plain and unadorned besides his golden pocketwatch. “You must pardon Lumiere, Miss—”

“Belle! I am Belle. You are English?”

“Mm, yes—suppose you still hear it—never gotten the grasp of the damned accent.”

“Oh là là, he acts as if the French accent is difficult,” says Lumiere, puffing smoke, and Belle laughs between the two of them. She is happy that at least there are two friendly souls in this village—grumpy ones, yes, ones with little to recommend them; a drunkard and a smoker, crouched on a village stoop—but friendly ones, at least, with something kind between them.

“And you keep the clocktower?”

“Tic toc,” says Cogsworth. He drinks the wine a bit too fast. “Used to have a career as a diplomat, don’t you know—but I suppose that...that I wanted to settle down, or some such thing.” He looks at Belle, vaguely, and a chill snakes down her spine. His eyes are gray-streaked too.

“Cogsworth,” screams someone, across the square, and he is up and moving faster than Belle would have believed. He mutters one word—“Clothilde,” as if that is explanation enough—and disappears back to his clocks.

Lumiere holds the wine bottle he left behind, weighing it carelessly with one hand, his movements listless. He has not taken one more sip before the shutters over the stoop bang open.

“Lumiere! What are you doing there?” calls a woman from the window. Beside Belle, Lumiere rolls his eyes and looks, shamefaced, up to the sound.

“Get off my stoop!” yells the woman. “D’you have wine down there, Lumiere?“

“If you cannot take a little cheap wine, get yourself to bed, grandmother,” calls Lumiere.

“Off with you, now—not on my stoop—begging your pardon, miss—town drunkards, the both of them. Welcome to Villeneueve,” and the woman slams the window.

“Who was that?” The woman’s face was sharp as a shard.

“Mrs. Potts, the crockery-man’s wife,” says Lumiere, and takes a large gulp of the wine. “I barely know her. Thank God.”

Part VII: In The Midst of All This Sorrow

While Lumiere drinks and smokes, Belle watches him and watches this village. There is something very strange, here—gaps in memory, gaps in the storyteller’s story. Lumiere spoke brilliantly, eloquently, about a Greek translation he could not remember—and yet his own life is unknown, an impossible one of an apothecary’s son, with no knowledge of the apothecary himself, coming to a distant village and then doing nothing for twenty years. And Cogsworth, too, a diplomat—

“Surely you do something here?” It’s rude, but she can’t help it.

“What could I do, mademoiselle? I have no skills for Villeneuve. I cannot herd sheep. I cannot shoot cows. I am useless.” His beautiful hands gesture again, pointlessly, to the swine and chickens and village dust surrounding them.

“You must have something that Villeneuve needs. Why, my father is an artist! And an inventor! If this village can have that, it can have…whatever you do.”

“I do nothing, mademoiselle,” he says, again, and his foot traces a dance step against the dirt, and then is quiet again. “Nothing on nothing, everyday, mademoiselle. Forevermore.”

“Then why do you stay here?”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes are following nothing across the square.

“Why do you stay, Lumiere?”

His hand on her arm is sudden and swift and shocks her. If she thought she saw a flicker before, it is nothing to the blaze that has shot up in his eyes now—almost dimming the gray, almost catching it out in a sudden sparkle.

“She is why, mademoiselle.”

He was not looking at nothing before. Turning, Belle sees what he was following: the entrance of a flock of ladies into the square, a giggling squadron of petticoats and primped hair. Three of the girls are dressed almost identically in pink, and they are pretty enough—but the fourth one, dressed all in white, covered in stray feathers from the gaggle of geese she tends, is beautiful. Even plucking feathers from her hair, and leaning against her goose-girl’s staff, she is the most beautiful woman Belle has ever seen.

“I have never dared to speak to her,” whispers Lumiere, and she is drawn back to his face. It was so empty, before, but now it is flickering fast—with hope, and love, and despair. “She would never love a hopeless idiot. But Plumette makes me so weak, I could never be strong….”

“You’ve never spoken?”

“Non! How could I dare? She is flawless.”

“Twenty years you’ve lived here, and you’ve never even spoken?!”

“C’est la vie,” says Lumiere, and the light goes out as he stares hopelessly after her. “She would never look at me. She probably loves the same one as the rest of them…”

There is a sound of hoof-beats approaching the square. “What one as the rest of them?”

Lumiere cannot sink into the steps any further. “If you want venison, mademoiselle, that is who to get it from.”

It feels like an explosion into the square. The minute the man in red rides in, there is a crow of praise from every window— “he returns!” “Ey, ey! Gaston! Bonjour!”—a sweep of giggling from the girls across the square. The iron-shod hooves slam against the cobblestones, and the quiet of Villeneuve falls apart. The conquering hero comes.

“Make a lane! Make a lane!” Somebody rides beside Gaston. There is no need to make a lane—there is nobody in the square—yet the fanfare goes on. The man in red throws a fresh-dead deer onto the cobblestones; the town applauds.

“He’s just a man. I don’t see what they’re on about,” says Belle.

Lumiere puffs his pipe. “Don’t tell the other girls you said that,” he says. “As a matter of fact, don’t tell me either. I don’t need his attention today—”

“Ah, the village idiot!” Gaston is already on them. His lackey is right behind him. “Drunk, again, old friend?”

“You are not my friend,” says Lumiere, but low. His eyes don’t meet Gaston’s. He has drawn further into the shadow.

“Oh, I am not your ‘mohnaaahmii’?” Gaston is mocking Lumiere’s Parisian accent; the whole square laughs beside him.

“It’s two words, not one,” Lumiere says, lower still. “If you cannot charm with rapier wit, do not hit me with your dull bullets.”

The blow is swift and immediate, and Belle draws back as Lumiere’s jaw hits against the wall. His hand is slow in reaching up to the wound. Even in pain, his eyes don’t quite focus. Like the wine, it is evident this is a practiced ritual.

“He was right about ‘mon ami,’” says the lackey, faintly. “We’ll work on the grammar.”

“Who needs it?! It certainly hasn’t gotten this prancing fool anywhere,” says Gaston. “Dancing and manners! In Villeneuve! Coward. Storyteller. Lily liver.”

“Leave him alone,” says Belle. Storyteller. Lily liver. Like the lily-eaters in the Odyssey. Lumiere knows the Odyssey, Lumiere welcomed her to the stoop; Lumiere is the village idiot, and an empty soul, and a useless one, and still: “Even if he is nothing—and he isn’t—he’s my friend. Leave him alone. Whoever you are, he’s better than you!”

The square is instantly silent. Beside her, Lumiere murmurs “foolish, foolish” into his hands.

“You’re…new,” says Gaston.

“Leave him alone.” Belle is fearless.

“Of course, mademoiselle,” and Gaston is so instantly full of smiles it is like a coin flipped. “I look forward to seeing more of you.”

Belle just looks at him. He is the first man in Villeneuve without a streak of gray inside his eyes.

“Mark my words, though—this man has no one in this town.” Lumiere, dark in the shadows, cringes beside her as Gaston speaks. “Only a lonely dreamer. Nothing more than a village punching-bag, is he, LeFou? He only lives to serve!” He is mocking the accent again.

“He doesn’t serve you,” says Belle. “And he’s not alone.”

No one in the village backs her up. Across the square, the girls in pink frown. The one in white has let her eyes drop: in shyness, or shame, or second-hand embarrassment, Belle can’t tell.

Gaston rides off, the village cheering. (though a little less proudly than before.) Lumiere’s jaw is fine—a black bruise against the cleft chin, one of many she did not see before—and he waves her away.

“Please tell me he does not do that every day,” she says.

“I don’t remember,” says Lumiere, “but if he did it every day, I think I might be dead. It has only been a decade or two, eh? Go home, mademoiselle. Don’t come back for dreamers.”

The Other thing inside his eyes has deepened. There is almost no blue at all. The apothecary’s son, with nothing in his days besides shame and smoke, leans back up on his stoop. A cold wind blows through the square, black and blue, and Belle’s hands clench from the cold.

There is something wrong in Villeneuve. And how she longs to find it out.

Part VIII: Not Whole Without A Soul

It’s a week later, and Belle is off to see Lumiere again. He does, in fact, live somewhere besides other people’s stoops—a rundown shed, apparently, tucked behind the meadow, though she’s not gotten to visit it. He says, with a small, quiet joke, that it’s not fit for company until he can hang a chandelier.

She’s almost reached his usual stoop when the rain hits. She puts her apron over her head, but it’s no good; there are sheets of tattered rain across the village, and her hair is soaked in moments.

“Come in, girl, come in! Out of the cold, and the wet—oh, aren’t you a vision—of damp—”

Outlined by the light of an open door, she sees the potter’s wife. Mrs. Potts’ rough hands take Belle and pull her into the kitchen before she can think.

“Th-thank you. That was kind of you.” She is dripping all over the floor. Mrs. Potts sees her and slides a tea-tray beneath her feet, to catch the wet.

“Come on, dear, let’s sit you by the fire—we’ll get you a cup of tea—there, dear. By the chair.”

Belle curls gratefully onto the bench by the fire, and Mrs. Potts turns to her table to prepare the drinks. And something moves in the soot of the dark fire place, almost like it’s alive—

“Sorry! I shouldn’t have moved…I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“There, now, Chip, move on,” says Mrs. Potts, and the soot-covered thing turns into a little boy, cheeky and smiling. He waves at Belle before running away. His clothes smell of tea: chamomile, lavender, earl gray.

“My boy,” the woman explains, and hands Belle a cup. “His father’s out, now, but he’ll be back soon. We’ve lived here together in this house for twenty years.” She laughs at some joke that isn’t there. “He made these cups, and he sells the porcelain—you’ve seen him in the market?”

Belle nods. She likes Jean Potts well enough. He does not belittle the village’s drunks and nobodies, though he does seem frightened of them. He has never mocked her for visiting Lumiere and Cogsworth on their stoop in the sun.

“I don’t know why you choose to speak with those tramps,” says Mrs. Potts, as if she reads her thoughts as easy as tea-leaves. “You seem a nice enough young lady to be with the other girls, not with those two…..though Mr. Cogsworth is fine, in his way—but I’d stay away from that one, young lady.”

“Why?” Belle watches her as she prepares the tea. Mrs. Potts keeps bumping into the table; for all her twenty years inside this kitchen, she has to think twice before she moves. Her hands flick between jars of raisins and flour, and she sidesteps around nothing. It as if she expects a different kitchen, thinks Belle, a kitchen quite different from this small country stove—but twenty years sit there, solid as truth, on the table that has never moved.

“What’s he been telling you out there?” Crunch: Mrs. Potts reached for almonds, not sugar. She puts the tin back hurriedly, cringing, and grabs for the other jar. Her eyes watch her hands, as if checking her own habit.s

“That he came to Villeneuve many years ago, and hasn’t worked much since,” says Belle. “Small jobs, the occasional village fete—but he doesn’t know how to do anything too useful to the village. So he sits in the sun.” She doesn’t mention the beautiful goose-girl he waits for. She doesn’t mention that she can’t find out what he waits for, nor Cogsworth either, in this lonely village beside the empty woods.

Mrs. Potts nods, judgement for Lumiere clear on her face. Belle finds the blood rushing to her face.

“But he’s so much more than just—just a stoop-dweller! He comes from Paris. He tells stories! He is warm,” says Belle, and she stares defiantly into Mrs. Potts’ eyes.

Gasps, and draws back. Mrs. Potts’ eyes are two different shades of gray.

Mrs. Potts blinks, and the gray ripples, and the older woman sighs and smooths Belle’s hands.

“I know, dear. I am sure he might be. I’ve never spoken to him much, myself. But you have to understand—he doesn’t belong in this village. He doesn’t belong.”

She moves around to sit by Belle, but she runs into the table first.

“There are stories about him—stories he doesn’t like to tell. Oh, I know, I seem like an outsider here too, with my English accent and—” She laughs and waves hands around her frazzled hair, and loses the path of the sentence. “But young one, you’ve got to look out—we don’t know who his father is, we don’t know—”

“How long have you lived here?” Belle tries not to phrase it as a challenge. Mrs. Potts means well—she lets soaked artists’ daughters out of the rain, after all—but the sharp shards in her voice have no place with her soft hands, and her boy, and the tea now boiling over on a stove she’s forgotten the place of.

“Twenty years, dear, just here in this house.” Mrs. Potts sits back and smiles at her. “Do you know, I used to look kindly on those Parisian types myself, before I came to Villeneuve; I’d never met one, but I thought I might work for—there, now, you don’t care about that. I’m not a working woman, ear. I’m all cooped up,” and she laughs, again, in a faded voice, like there’s a joke she’s just forgotten.

The swirl of gray steeps in the woman’s eyes.

Part IX: Here’s a Thought, Perhaps

“I don’t understand.” Belle slams her books down on the kitchen table. Maurice looks up from a new trinket—a music box molded off the design of a ballroom; it sounds charming, though he hasn’t put in any dancers yet—and catches how tan she’s gotten from sitting on sunny stoops. They’ve lived here in Villeneuve for several weeks, now; he’s happy she’s settling in.

“More books from Pere Robert, I see,” he says mildly. Belle fidgets with Sleeping Beauty like its pages are a problem to be solved, opening and closing the story of the sleeping palace that stood for a hundred years.

“Yes, they’re lovely, but....Papa, this town makes no sense.”

“Very few things do.” He smiles and puts aside his music box. “What’s enchanting you now, my darling?”

“Papa, this is a little village, isn’t it?”

“That’s why I chose it. Does that trouble you, my dear?”

“No. I like the people, I’m making friends with some of them, I never thought I would....” She trails off. Most people in most towns think she’s odd; that’s why she turned to books, because they had people in them that didn’t laugh at her—well, that and the books had worlds she was longing to explore, far out of the realm of her little towns and cities and gossiping market squares. But here in Villeneuve, in this town just like any other, she’d somehow managed to find a few souls who didn’t mind her oddness—who loved her for it, in fact; who seemed to find in her something they found familiar, something that reminded them of someone they had all loved once. Why, just today, Cogsworth had been talking of this young man he knew, whose golden hair always got loose from his ribbon and fell all over his shoulder, just like hers did....but then he’d forgotten about it, and when she asked him about where she could find him in the village, he’d blinked and asked her if she meant Gaston.

Of course she didn’t mean Gaston. She meant Cogsworth’s young man with the golden hair, and Lumiere’s old friend who quoted Shakespeare in the bath, and the boy Mrs. Potts had watched before she had Chip, the boy who had wanted to wear blue every day for a year. Everyone had a story that came and went and that they never told again: even the silent milliner’s son, playing his violin in the tavern for a few coins, would play a tune about someone no one could name. But Belle could never find all these missing people, no matter where she looked.

“For a little village, there are spots missing,” she says. “And I’ve been talking to people left and right, and there are some things that just seem so odd. Did you know that Madame de Garderobe and Maestro Cadenza came here, a few years ago? World-famous musicians! What were they doing here? They said they got lost on the way to Edinburgh, but they were coming from London. How could they get so lost?”

“That is strange.”

“They played a concert for the villagers, apparently, but no one really remembers it, or they won’t talk about it. It’s as if they’re all hiding something, or realy afraid of something.”

“They might be afraid of that big red galoot, whatever his name is,” suggests Maurice. “You know the one, stepped on our cabbages the other day.”

“Ugh.” Belle hisses out a breath. “He treats them so badly—though they treat each other badly, too. Mrs. Potts doesn’t trust Lumiere, but will never tell me why. They could be friends, if they tried to know each other.”

“You think so well of the world,” says Maurice, softening as he looks at his daughter. “You would believe a rose could lose its thorns if you tried hard enough.”

“It’s not that I believe in change. I believe in...in whatever this is.” Belle throws her hands in the air. “Helping people, fixing what’s broken. There’s something broken here, papa.”

“Mm.” Maurice looks back to his trinket—its melody tinkering out, slow and charming, across his wooden desk. “Do you know, dear, I find the gears of this little castle don’t work right when you have them all apart.”

Belle raises an eyebrow. “Papa?”

“This bit here, it will just sit useless unless I fasten it to another—and I need wire, here, and you know how I’m always losing my screws. Now, if I just rest all the pieces here on the table, like so many soundless, useless objects, we’d never hear that music-box chime, would we?”

“Is this...is this a lesson?” A smile cracks over Belle’s face, slow and steady. “You haven’t instructed me on making music boxes in years, papa.”

“Well, no, not since you got the hang of it...but it still makes me happy to see those gears turn in your head, my girl.”

She’s out the door before he’s finished speaking, eyes alight with a new idea, and she lets it slam behind her, a cold wind blowing through the house as she goes. Maurice’s sketches and drawings and parts tumble over the tabletop, and he turns back to his music-box, paintbrush in hand, ready to work.

Now, if he can just think what sorts of people belong in a ballroom.

Part X: And Almost Kind

“Lumiere! Lumiere.” Belle scatters to a stop, her hair already all undone from its braid. Her friend is leaning up against the clocktower, half in its shadow, his brown and yellow peasants’ garb too big for his lanky frame. He barely looks up to see her; his eyes are caught in the white feathers drifting across the square, and the girl trying to pull them from her curly hair.

“Lumiere, please focus. Look, I have an idea.”

“Mm?” One hand is trailing out a dance melody across the clocktower’s stone. Only the sound of the hunting horn—far away, now, but promising a violent return in short order from the local hero—rallies him out of his trance. “Mademoiselle. You were saying?”

“Can I come visit your shed?”

“Pardonez-moi?” Alarm knocks out the last vestiges of dreaming in his blue eyes. The grey streaks pulse to a rhythm of their own, frightened and jumpy in contrast to the waltz his fingers still trace. “Mademoiselle! You—you cannot, it is no home for....”

“I’ll bring food. And we’ll sing, all right? We’ll have a party. A dinner party!”

“A...dinner party?” He’s still hesitant, but Belle catches that spark of excitement before he can snuff it out.

“What is dinner without a little music?” She grins at him. “Come on, Lumiere, you must have thrown a party at least once in your life.”

“I.........” He’s somehow gone even whiter from the premise.

“And I know just who to invite. Hop along, tout-de-suite—” she slaughters the accent, but it gets him smiling, a little, under those sad blue eyes. “We’re going to be needing extra chairs.”

He bows to her, his yellow vest flapping around him, and just for a second Belle imagines that auburn hair and those elegant white hands somewhere far, far away from Villeneuve. And then he’s up, and off, and before he trips over a sheep he looks almost debonair.

“Right.” Belle straightens her apron, touches the copy of The Knights of The Round Table she’s slipped into her pocket for luck. She has quite a few people to talk to before sundown, and she wants to be brave.

Part XI: Prepare and Serve With Flair

“Is this it?” The shed in front of them is tiny, and mouldering, and right on the edge of the meadow. The only signs it’s lived in are the cracks of candelight seeping out the boarded-up windows and the rusty door.

“It’s shabby enough.” Cogsworth hoists the picnic basket higher. “I still say this is a bad idea.”

“Twenty years you’ve lived here, and you’ve never had dinner with your best friend?”

“And rightly, too,” says Mrs. Potts. “Belle, if I stay here an hour we’ll all be shocked. I don’t like the man, I’ve told you so.”

“Just try it, please? I spent all day cooking this. Or trying to, anyway,” Belle adds, staring down at the burnt contents of her basket with a grimace. Before the others can say anything else, she runs up to the door and knocks.

It falls over, rust winning over old metal.

“Mr. Chapeau, come along, this is dreadful,” says Mrs. Potts, nearly turning back to the village.

“No, no, wait! Lumiere? Lumiere, we’re here.” Belle steps through. Cautiously, the others follow.

Every surface of the tiny shed glows with candelight. In his eagerness to pull off an effect, Lumiere has decked every corner with wax and wicks and glowing golden light; candles drip down chair backs, off iron sconces, across the bare wood of the little table he’s laid. It’s ghastly, but warm, and Belle notices that every table setting—chipped and mismatched though the cups and plates are—is laid out exactly as a courtly table, multiple forks and all.

“We’ve brought food! If it’s edible, which is as yet in doubt. And you know Cogsworth, of course, and Mrs. Potts.”

“Welcome,” says Lumiere flatly. Mrs. Potts rolls her eyes and conspicuously wipes the spots off the silverware with her skirt.

“And this is Chapeau.” Belle shows in the silent violin player. “He’s friends with Pere Robert. Oh, and—”

Lumiere almost drops the wine Cogsworth brought. He’s staring just past Belle, where the dark, starry sky outlines the girl still standing in his doorway.

Lumiere chokes out a string of wordless syllables. His hands don’t quite know what to do. Plumette, for her part, looks like shyness brought to life. She tries a clumsy curtsy and nearly falls; Lumiere catches her, just in time, and they stare for far too long at their own hands on each other’s shoulders.

Belle pretends not to notice them as she lays out all she’s brought: a simple barley soup, a badly sunken cheese souffle, a cream tart that now just looks like gray stuff. Chapeau helps her serve, holding the plates like he’s done this a thousand times before—though he assures her he hasn’t; that his whole life is Villeneuve and his mother’s loud and lonely hatshop.

Slowly, everyone sips their drinks (poor Lumiere—he’d set out two glasses for each place, as if they had white wine as well as red—poor village idiot, out of place as ever); slowly, they start to talk, breaking bread and sharing plates of butter. Their host is useless for most of the meal, staring blankly at Plumette as she stares back at him; they sit uncomfortably close, for strangers, and Belle sees how jumpy all the hands and feet at this table are: all longing to get out, to twitch away from this strange warmth and company. Lumiere’s hands are shaking near Plumete’s.

But food and wine and after-hours chatting has its charms, and slowly people unfurl like flowers after winter: Mrs. Potts going rosy-cheeked as she tells of Chip’s latest antics, Chapeau miming the schoolmaster’s upturned snout for a delighted Cogsworth, Belle sharing her latest book and finding people somehow interested. Conversation flows out, golden in the waning night, and midnight passes with no notice.

“What of you, Plumette? Where do you come from?” Belle leans over Cogsworth, and tries to act as though she doesn’t see Lumiere’s hands shaking as he timidly puts a roll on the goosegirl’s plate.

“Paris,” says Plumette, and Lumiere’s hands waver like a flame in a storm, “I traveled here, mademoiselle, when I was very young—years and years ago. And I stayed here, oh, I can’t imagine why....”

There’s a stroke of gray in the big brown eyes. Belle tries to hide her fear.

“And this is all I’m good at,” and Plumette sighs, and brushes another feather from her hair. “I once dreamed of great romance, of fairytales—but how could it be otherwise? I am a goosegirl in a village. No great love will ever come to me.” And she stares bitterly downward, not seeing the place setting arranged with so much love.

But then Cogsworth drops his watch in the wine, and Mrs. Potts is laughing so hard she almost cries, and Chapeau fiddles and Lumiere and Plumette clap along (although they refuse to dance).

They part cheerfully, just as the first rays of the sun start stepping gently over the valley. Lumiere, white as a sheet, plucks up his guttering courage and kisses Plumette’s hand; she blushes as vivid as a robin’s chest, and runs so fast back to her cottage she practically flies. (Lumiere, blushing too, nearly sets himself on fire as he reels into his bed.) Cogsworth stretches and yawns, remarking on the time; Mrs. Potts helps to pack the baskets, and follows Belle out the door.

“You see?” says Belle, leading the way back to the sleeping village. “That wasn’t so bad, Mrs. Potts.”

“No, well....” Her face, so softened and happy just a moment ago, seizes up into harsh lines as if she’s been caught doing wrong. “And I wouldn’t turn down the sight of doing it again, and perhaps bringing Chip along too. You have a good heart, poppet.”

“But...?” They still stand in darkness, here where their paths part. Belle holds her basket close, her books still resting on top.

“We’ve been set in our ways for twenty years, luv. It would take a miracle, or twenty years back that we will never have, to make us into what you dream of. I’ll try for your sake, dear, really I will, but I would never hold that lot of them dear to my heart.”

She trudges back to the village, and Belle watches her go. She hugs her books and basket to her chest, planning and puzzling away at the village with no hope.

“Keep putting the pieces together,” she whispers to herself. “Keep putting the pieces together.”

#CAN I GET ANY MORE ON THE FUCKING NOSE WITH THESE METAPHORS #also to be continued [[obviously]]#batb fanfic #hey we got some plumiere action in this one!! fuckin FINALLY #lumiere #plumette #mrs. potts #cogsworth #batb #beauty and the beast #batb 2017 #beauty and the beast 2017 #belle #maurice

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meowingatthesea · 7 years ago

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All the questions!!!

all of them? Oh geeze okay! 1. Would you have sex with the last person you text messaged?nope sorry Charlie2. You talked to an ex today, correct?how do you define ex? cause ive talked to someone I broke up with and then got back together with 3. Have you taken someones virginity?nope4. Is trust a big issue for you?yeah trust is very important and hard to earn for me 5. Did you hang out with the person you like recently?Saw them last Sunday!6. What are you excited for?uh Deutschlager should be fun hopefully maybe I’m also hella stressed about it though 7. What happened tonight?answered already 8. Do you think it’s disgusting when girls get really wasted?No? I mean I get concerned for their health but its not disgusting and its their choice 9. Is confidence cute?yes10. What is the last beverage you had?a warm juice box 11. How many people of the opposite sex do you fully trust?nah I don’t feel like defining my friends by sexual organs rn 12. Do you own a pair of skinny jeans?no way13. What are you gonna do Saturday night?zone out as I scroll on Tumblr as I try and forget the SAT I just took and the evening I spent with extended family 14. What are you going to spend money on next?already answered 15. Are you going out with the last person you kissed?yup! 16. Do you think you’ll change in the next 3 months?clothing? Yes. Dramatic personality shift? No. Minor changes? Oh for sure 17. Who do you feel most comfortable talking to about anything?A few of my friends 18. The last time you felt broken?last tuesday night 19. Have you had sex today?nah dude 20. Are you starting to realize anything?that even the most well intentioned teachers suck and I shouldn’t have done the IB program. Also that talking about the holocaust in German class is AWKWARD 21. Are you in a good mood?already answered 22. Would you ever want to swim with sharks?yeah I don’t know the meaning of fear or stupidity23. Are your eyes the same color as your dad’s?I think?24. What do you want right this second?im in a library and perfectly content to say nothing 25. What would you say if the person you like kissed another girl/boy?a) I’d be surprised theyre not that type of person b) I’d shrug and say “yeah that’s fair I’ve done it enough”26. Is your current hair color your natural hair color?yup 27. Would you be able to date someone who doesn’t make you laugh?not at all 28. What was the last thing that made you laugh?already answered 29. Do you really, truly miss someone right now?see that’s the issue with having friends all across the country you’re always missing someone 30. Does everyone deserve a second chance?no 31. Honestly, do you hate the last boy you were talking to?no. He’s not my favorite and he needs to learn that poking me is not an appropriate greeting but nah he’s chill. 32. Does the person you have feelings for right now, know you do?we’re dating I sure hope so 33. Are you one of those people who never drinks soda?I don’t drink regular but that’s cause diabetes. I drink diet though 34. Listening to?@allhailthejellybeanmonarch’s spotify playlist 35. Do you ever write in pencil anymore?already answered 36. Do you know where the last person you kissed is?probably chilling with their dog at their house? 37. Do you believe in love at first sight?no 38. Who did you last call?my grandparents to see if I could get a ride home from school 39. Who was the last person you danced with?My mom, at my cousin’s bar mitzvah 40. Why did you kiss the last person you kissed?I’m dating them and they’re cute?41. When was the last time you ate a cupcake?Valentine’s day my school gives out free cupcakes then42. Did you hug/kiss one of your parents today?already answered 43. Ever embarrass yourself in front of a crush?okay buddy so my datemate and I met in kindergarten, and I promptly made them hate me from 2nd-8th grade, so yeah you could say that. 44. Do you tan in the nude?No 45. If you could, would you take back your last kiss?nope 46. Did you talk to someone until you fell asleep last night?not last night 47. Who was the last person to call you?some random ass number that I don’t know and ignored 48. Do you sing in the shower?YES49. Do you dance in the car?already answered 50. Ever used a bow and arrow?a life goal for a solid 6 years was to be Artemis so yes 51. Last time you got a portrait taken by a photographer?2 weeks ago at my cousin’s bar mitzvah 52. Do you think musicals are cheesy?BUDDY HAVE YOU LOOKED AT MY BLOG 53. Is Christmas stressful?any season dedicated to goysiche nonsense is 54. Ever eat a pierogi?yeah they’re okay55. Favorite type of fruit pie?pecan isn’t a fruit but pecan 56. Occupations you wanted to be when you were a kid?already answered 57. Do you believe in ghosts?depends on the day 58. Ever have a Deja-vu feeling?yup. 59. Take a vitamin daily?yup. 60. Wear slippers?nope. 61. Wear a bath robe?some times. 62. What do you wear to bed?NFTY NW sweats and a leopard print button down 63. First concert?already answered64. Wal-Mart, Target or Kmart?Target 65. Nike or Adidas?Neither 66. Cheetos Or Fritos?Cheetos are the only chips I eat 67. Peanuts or Sunflower seeds?Neither 68. Favorite Taylor Swift song?no clue 69. Ever take dance lessons?do forced square dance lessons through the public school system count?70. Is there a profession you picture your future spouse doing?already answered71. Can you curl your tongue?yes72. Ever won a spelling bee?no 73. Have you ever cried because you were so happy?I don’t think so74. What is your favorite book?you can’t make me choose75. Do you study better with or without music?with 76. Regularly burn incense?no 77. Ever been in love?already answered78. Who would you like to see in concert?so many people!!! Mostly Broadway people 79. What was the last concert you saw?N/A 80. Hot tea or cold tea?hot always 81. Tea or coffee?tea always I hate coffee 82. Favorite type of cookie?any cookie I don’t care83. Can you swim well?Well enough to not drown 84. Can you hold your breath without holding your nose?already answered85. Are you patient?not at all 86. DJ or band, at a wedding?band 87. Ever won a contest?not that I recall 88. Ever have plastic surgery?No 89. Which are better black or green olives?BLACK 90. Opinions on sex before marriage?its fine dude 91. Best room for a fireplace?already answered92. Do you want to get marriedAt somepoint in the unseen undefined future

Thanks for the ask anon!!!! @ everyone else in sorry for such a long post

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obstacleisthepath-blog · 4 years ago

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Now or never at all

February 3 + 4, 2021

I stood at the outer edge of a crowd, everyone pressing forward, heads craning left and right, people standing on tip-toes, waiting for the parade of passengers, that outpouring of dislocated weary people, to begin. The fast-walking ones wearing headphones, the young couples struggling with strollers and too many bags, old ladies clutching purses. My mother, with a vacant glazed expression that immediately made me begin to cry.

Her face barely changed when she saw me, and even as I wrapped my arms around her, felt her soft cheek against my neck, slid my fingers into her hair and held the back of her head, she felt very far away. Once, I found a rabbit caught in the net of an electric sheep fence, and even after I had untangled her she laid there on the ground, frozen, her one eye empty and unblinking, shallow breaths barely detectable. That is how my mother felt, there in the middle of the crowded airport. Stunned.

We’d been planning this trip for months, but she had called me two weeks ago to tell me about the tumor that had appeared on her most recent scan. For two weeks I had been moving through my life in a kind of numb daze, a dumb haze, holding my mother’s cancer like a bomb inside me, very delicately, not wanting to touch it but also unable to put it down. I couldn’t think about it, couldn’t get my mind around it, I just wanted to see her. I worked, I ate, I slept, and all the while my heart beat out this steady aching call across the miles between us: mom, mom, mom mom. Ten more days, one more week, two more days, mom, mom, mom.

And now here she was in my arms, and there was nothing big enough or soft enough to comfort us both.

That night we slept together in the same bed, crisp white sheets, inside the bottomless silence of the San Francisco Zen Center. It felt like a cave, or a womb, or a great cathedral, hushed and holy, outside of time. I think she could have slept there for days. I woke up early and pressed my ear against her back, listening to her heartbeat, thinking about the cancer that was spreading in her body. I wanted to reach my hands inside her and make it stop.

She was like that all week, slow, absent, exhausted. It was raining, the farm cocooned in clouds like endless dusk, cold and damp. She spent most of the week curled up and shivering in my bed, under a pile of borrowed blankets, sometimes sitting up to eat a meal I brought, then burrowing down again. I was working, cold hands harvesting leeks, draining irrigation, herding cows down muddy lanes, packing winter squash into boxes. My mother emerged one afternoon, bundled in my insulated overalls and winter coat, and sat with me under the dripping shed roof sorting potatoes. She was strangely fixated on the dirt under her fingernails, concerned that her hands would be unkempt when she returned to massage school the next week. She stayed for about an hour and then went back to my bed.

On the weekend, we drove to Harbin, where Marty had arranged for guest passes and set up a tent for us. I could see how hard she was trying to stay present, engaged with him, how much effort it took to smile, to make eye contact, to be in conversation. At the pools she got dizzy, light-headed, she slipped on the stairs and I caught her naked body in my arms, her skin hot and wet. She was so heavy.

We drove to Santa Rosa to stay with Lorena, an old friend of my mother’s from New Hampshire, who she hadn’t seen in years. When we got out of the car in her driveway, her house an island in a sea of vineyards, Lorena came out and embraced me, exclaiming “My God, you look amazing! You haven’t changed a bit!” And then over my shoulder, she saw my mother, and, pulling back, I could see in her face how much my mother had, indeed, changed. The years of medication had made her puffy, and the skin under her arms hung loose, and there was a long jagged scar across her nose and forehead where she’d had some cancer removed last year, an ordeal that had ultimately landed her in a psychiatric hospital.

That night, my mother spiked a fever, sweating through two nightgowns and Lorena’s purple sheets. We drove to the urgent care the next day, and a young doctor diagnosed her with a urinary tract infection. She was dehydrated, too, and while my mother slept in a dim room in the clinic, an IV slowly dripping fluids into her bloodstream, Lorena and I walked across the strip mall plaza to get some food.

“She’s really not well,” she said, “she’s going to need some help.”

In that moment, I relented and allowed myself to know the truth I had been holding at bay since the phone call, all through the two long weeks I’d been waiting for my mother to arrive, and all through this past week, from the moment I’d first seen her at the airport. My mother might not live through this. She might only have another year or two. And what followed from this knowing was another: I needed to be with her.

In the past six years since she had upended her stable life, blown up her marriage, gone off her medication, I had reluctantly, cautiously, offered my support. From a safe distance, on the phone from Connecticut to New Hampshire, I had listened to her struggles- the various men she had met online and fallen in love with, how the power was out because she hadn’t paid her bill, her roommate’s obnoxious children, the endless yard sale she had set up in the garage to raise a little cash.

Then there was the spot on her leg that her doctor had noticed. The biopsy results. I went to be with her for the surgery. I helped her pack up the house, took money from my IRA to pay for the movers, drove with her and the dog to Florida. I helped her find an apartment, find doctors, get a library card, figure out how to buy a beach parking pass. I stayed for nearly a month, helping her establish a rhythm, soothing her sudden bouts of fear, watching sunsets at the beach, until I had to go back and start sowing seeds.

I did all of those things, but the thought of truly entwining my life with hers, becoming responsible for her, made my heart surge with panic. I kept the door to my heart partly closed, and I kept my hand on the knob. Eventually I had even moved three thousand miles away from her, packing all of my love and worry for her into its own small room, which I mostly tried to keep closed.

And now I knew that I had come to the end of that road. Now I had to let her in, marry my life to hers, whatever was left of it. I had to give myself to her, because it was now or never at all. Our time together, in bodies on this earth, was short.

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arplis · 5 years ago

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Arplis - News: My 22 Goals for 2019 Week 49 of 52

My 22 Goals for 2019

Goal #1 Spend More Time Doing What I Love

Red alert people, RED ALERT. It was 6 degrees this morning when I woke up. SIX!!! That.Is.Chilly. The Girl and I were going to walk Lucy on the beach this morning but those plans have been scraped. Gaaaa. I think if its 6 degrees outside, all bets are off and you can most certainly declare it a pajama day. Whos with me on this?

Goal #2 Garden, Garden, Garden

Garden are done for the year. Yipee!

Goal #3 Plant an Orchard {Calling it Quits on this one.}

Lemon baby #3 is on the way and we are patiently awaiting her arrival.

Goal #4 Gussy Up the Potting Shed Done!

I gussied up the potting shed at our old house, but I would like to add some sort of potting station to the backyard here somewhere, but Im not sure where I would put it yet.

I did come across this photo on Author Susan Branchs Instagram page though of a picture she tooth at Colonial Williamsburg. Isnt it cute? I think I need one of those.

Goal #5 Grow Enough Extra Vegetables, Eggs and Flowers to Earn $1500 at my little roadside vegetable stand.

It was totally my intention to grow a ton of fruits and vegetables to sell at the farm-stand when I made my list of goals for 2019 last winter, but then we moved. So, that whole goal was sort of a bust. I do miss it though.

Goal #6 Finish Every Single Unfinished Rug Hooking Project in My Pattern Bin + 10 Things from back Issues of Magazines/Books Ive Been Meaning to Make.

While I didnt add any new finished hooked rug pieces in my Etsy shop this past week, I did hook 4 totally new rugs {1 of which will become a kit and 2 will be offered as patterns} as well as hand dyed a bunch of wool {that I was able to get listed in my Etsy shop}.

I have decided to go back to my old schedule of only listing new hooked rugs items on the first Friday of every month for next year as it seems less stressful to me. It allows me more time to hook, rather than stopping every few days to take photo, write up description and then post a single piece online. Doing it all in one big swoop seems less chaotic to me.

73 rugs in my pattern bin {now down to 16} < SO CLOSE!

183 hooked flowers {finished 150, now down to 33}

10 things from back issues of magazines {finished 0}

Goal #7 Create 12 New Rug Hooking Patterns {with at least half of them being large ones} DONE!

So far this year Ive added 12 new rug hooking patterns and 14 beginner rug hooking kits to my Etsy shop. I just added Santa and Rudy 1892 yesterday and am hoping to squeeze one more kit in before the end of the year.

New rug hooking patterns Ive created and added to My Etsy Shop this year:

Santa and Rudy 1892

Tullia and Thomas Turkey

Double Nantucket Whale Runner

Miss Henny and Penny

Miss Penny

Simple Kitty

Primitive Flowers

2 Fat Cats

Annabells Big Day

Old Fashioned Double Tulip

Fat Brown Hen

Busy Little Bee

Queen Bee

Rug Hooking Kits

Busy Little Bee {in 2 different colors}

Folk Art Heart

Small Nantucket Whale

Primitive Crow

Miss Robin {in 2 different colors}

Simple Kitty

Primitive Flowers

Sunflowers

A Basket of Spring Posies

Fat Brown Hen

Chickys Garden

Goal #8 Split and Stack 2 Cords of Wood for Next Winter

All that firewood! We sold it.

Goal #9 Do Something with the 5,002 Photos on My Phone

Currently at 2415 Back up to 2565.

Goal #10 -Lose the Muffin Top Done!

Sweet digity!

Goal #11 Run, Walk or Crawl a 5k, 10k, Half Marathon and Marathon

As long as its not pouring rain tomorrow. The Girl and I are on for the Half Marathon. Wish us luck!

Goal #12 Read or Listen to 26 New Books {21 down, 5 to go}

No new books this week but we are planning a trip to the library later this week.

Books Ive Read or Listened to So Far This Year:

Marilla of Green Gables #1 Still my favorite

The Great Alone #2

The Aviators Wife #3

Before We Were Yours #4

Secrets of a Charmed Life #5

Whered You Go, Bernadette #6

Carnegies Maid #7

The Gown #8

Unbroken #9

Drama#10

The Alice Network #11

The Shape of Mercy #12

Wills Red Coat #13

Big Little Lies #14

Mr. Churchills Secretary

Born to Run

I Feel Bad About My Neck

Bunny Mellon {Doesnt count because it was my second time}

On Writing {Doesnt count because it was my third time}

Walden

Finders Keepers

Delicious!

50 Things to Do in Maine Before You Die

Following Atticus

Goal #13 Try 52 New Recipes.

39 down, 13 recipes to go. We tried 2 new recipes this week. 1 was a dud and the other I will share on Tuesday. And its a good one!

Goal #14 Clean Up 52 Old Recipes on the Blog

9 down, 44 to go. Why did I make this goal? Note to self: Make fewer goals for next year.

Goal #15 Fill 100 Canning Jars 72 down, 28 to go.

I made a batch of Christmas Jam for gift giving PLUS I tried a new recipe {that was inspired by Mrs. HB} this past week and the HH and I loved it so much, that Ill be making another batch {or maybe 2} of it today {Ill share the recipe on Tuesday}.

So far this year Ive I canned:

9 Jars of..

6 jars Christmas Jam

7 jars Spiced Pomegranate Jelly

7 jars Peach Jam

7 jars of Strawberry Jam

15 jars of Carrot Cake Jam

15 jars of Spiced Pear Jam

4 jars of Almond Pears.

Goal #16 Finish Furnishing Our House

We finished the roman shades for the kitchen nook and kitchen window. I plan on taking a break from making roman shades for the next month so I can finish making kits for my Etsy shop and paint out the entire kitchen area as well as finish a couple of art projects for the walls.

Goal #17 52 Dates with the HH {44 down, 8 to go}

The HH and I went on 2 date days this past week and one of them was to the Sabbathday Lake Shaker Village for their Shaker Christmas Fair and it was so overwhelming, we left after 5 minutes.

Overwhelming in the sense that although we could tell there was going to be a lot of people at the event by the distance we had to walk to the village, what we werent expecting was that once we walked in the doors of the trustees office {where the craft fair was being held}, it was SHOULDER to SHOULDER.

Like, being at a rock concert crowded. The HH didnt even make it 2 feet in before walking out and it took me nearly 5 minutes to get from the entrance and through 3 rooms and back out the door again without even being able to look or pick up anything it was so crowded. It was nuts. And totally not in the calm, welcoming Shaker spirit and all we wanted to do was leave. And so we did.

I do want to go back though at some point to visit the museum, but it will have to be an ordinary weekday with nothing on the event calendar, thats for sure.

Goal #18 Take One Adult Education Class Done {Ive taken 3!}

Block Printing Class with my neighbor.

Spoon Carving Classwith Heather.

Mini pottery lesson {I loved it! and now I want to sign up for a full class}

Goal #19 Secret Holiday Project{s}

Block print towels

Seed packet wreaths

Tea Bag Trees

Goal #20 Create 12 Wowie Zowie Party Platters

8 down, 4 to go. We are planning on making #9 tonight!

Goal #21 Visit 12 General Stores

10 down 2 to go. We visited a new country store yesterday!! The kind that offers human made {and local} baskets to customers to do their shopping with. Ill tell you all about it next week.

H.B. Provisions in Kennebunk, Maine

Chases Daily {I think it should count}

Squam Lake Marketplace

Harrisville General Store

Dodges Store in New Boston, New Hampshire

Zebs General Store in North Conway, New Hampshire

Dan and Whits in Norwich, Vermont

Husseys General Store in Windsor, Maine

Goal #22 Compete with Carole.. Get on My Front Door Game On

Would you believe not a single person walking by {or even a neighbor} has made a comment about the leg lamp in the window? I think theyre showing restraint, while my husband keeps telling me that they are in such awe of it, they just dont know what to say.

Ummmm Okay.

Front Door Bling Ive Made So Far This Year to Compete with Carole:

Late January : Valentine Heart

Late February : Shamrock

Late March : Giant Carrot

May: White wave petunia hanging basket

June/July: Tin Star and Flag Bunting

August : Sunflower

September: Indian corn and pumpkins

October: Pumpkins and spinner do hickeys

November: Indian corn and big pumpkins

December: Leg lamp and nutcrackers in the window and giant Christmas balls on the porch

**************

How about YOU? What are your goals for 2019? If you told us about them HERE, check in! We want to know how you are doing. Because seriously, its so much easier to get those goals checked off your list when you have people rooting for you!

Have a great day everyone,

Mavis

P.S. If you are looking for a last minute gift for neighbor or a friend, I still have a few ornaments left in my Etsy shop and you can find them all HERE. UPDATE: The barred rock chicken is sold out but there are a few more chicken ornaments HERE.

You can read more about my 22 goals for 2019 HERE.

Have a Great Day!

The post My 22 Goals for 2019 Week 49 of 52 appeared first on One Hundred Dollars a Month.

This content was original published at One Hundred Dollars a Month and is copyrighted material. If you are reading this on another website it is being published without consent.

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My 22 Goals for 2019 Week 48 of 52

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Arplis - News source https://arplis.com/blogs/news/my-22-goals-for-2019-week-49-of-52

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thisisasupergoodidea · 7 years ago

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alright, this took forever because i kept getting sidetracked, but here it is. the universe ive slowly been building up. it took so long to write. its so ridiculously lengthy. i almost want to apologize to you if you read it oh my god  the main story in this universe is project four, in which four people meet Death and tag along on its quest to convince a space wyrm not to eat the world. the death figure, kymoyef, evades capture for nearly 1000 years following the event that takes place in the four cities, observing people and steadily learning about the world as it stores energy for the big confrontation. as an energy being in the form of an object, kymoyef struggles with applying the concept of personhood to itself, but the four people who insert themselves into its business help it understand who it wants to be kymoyef’s companions love to ask questions and tell stories, one of which is an old folk tale about morality that they know as the four cities. in it, a godlike character asks kymoyef to visit four corrupt cities and raze them to the ground should their corruption be confirmed, so that the seeds of new civilization can be sown in their place. kymoyef goes to the first three places and, finding vanity, enmity, and apathy, destroys them without question. but upon reaching the fourth city and encountering suffering and hopelessness, kymoyef begins to question whether any of these people truly deserved erasure. it refuses to complete its task and instead goes into hiding to plot against the godlike character. kymoyef reveals that this tale is (generally) true  then i began fussing over details and ended up developing a plot within Sorrowstone, the city of suffering and hopelessness, where i show up close just how depressing it is through the perspective of a newcomer named rin. he joins the camp (which has no name historically since no one remembers it really existed) to escape his past and soon realizes that his stay would be permanent. the endless labor, the bleak and isolated environment, the meager food and supplies, the rampant depression of every other person in the camp - all of this combined prevented anyone from being of sound mind enough to leave. rin sees one death and promptly decides he has a duty to write down everything he observed, whether anyone would ever see it or not. that is the sorrowstone account  ok. back to the top. one of the four protagonists, caforleh, absolutely loves hearing stories and using them as inspiration for his own grand tales. i really wanted to feel justified in brainstorming for a completely separate project that had nothing to do with project four, so i clapped my hands together and declared that caforleh occasionally works on a piece of fiction that is my project inheritance, in which generation after generation of a particular lineage of siblings are all cursed to the same fate. in their lives, only and always two children will be born, quite often twins, and one will die by the actions of the other at some point. the most recent siblings are separated at a very young age after the murder of their mother, but years later one dies all too suddenly and the adults involved are sent into a panic trying to hide it from the other sibling. magic shit happens and basically you have the dead ones consciousness in the body of their sibling, not realizing theyre dead yet technically alive again, and the living ones consciousness is bound to a piece of paper in a wizard’s pocket. and everyone’s trying to run away from a cult faction that wants their leader back, but surprise, the living sibling was their leader. its a convoluted mess  in the background of this mess i found a nice little home for the magic pendant, a story that is literally just my 11th grade spanish project. a guy has a cool magic pendant. some magic dude steals it. the guy and his friend get a magic knife from a magic squirrel and kick magic dudes ass. so magical. i took that and pumped in extra details that made me happy, and now its officially enough of a story to be included  once more to the top. within the world of project four, one of the regions is plagued by a deep rift that scarred the land when scientist daiah’s experiment went horribly wrong. it swallowed several cities and poisoned the people and land around it. the survivors call that area daiah’s shame and send excommunicated criminals there to die as punishment. what they have yet to discover is that the rift is truthfully a tear upon their plane of existence, acting as an opening into an adjacent plane where pure energy resides. the land and people lost in the experiment fell into this other plane perfectly intact, but being that the two planes were never meant to interact in this way, were shortly infected with unknowable ailments. people slowly lost their sanity, their agency, anything that made them who they were. they either became husks or sought violence to distract themselves from their own pain. and the only freedom was to be killed, for time affected nothing in this plane. no one could grow old. the sky never moved. plants absorbed strange air and gnarled into bloated bastardizations  this is the reality that the protagonists of project dark souls ripoff fell into. wayrain had been traveling with a known criminal through daiah’s shame in the hopes of reaching a region beyond it, and his friend cadmor was secretly a member of law enforcement tasked with making sure the criminal died there. when this was revealed, the three fought and all of them stumbled into the rift to be spat out in the desolate climate of the lost region. i was heavily inspired by dark souls in creating all of this, so honestly just imagine the opening scene of whichever dark souls game and you’ve got the idea of it. wayrain and cadmor have to navigate this sickly area that theyve hardly even heard stories of while also dealing with dangerous people, feeling betrayed by one another, and creeping afflictions. much like rin and caforleh, wayrain takes to learning as much as he possibly can about the surroundings and compiling it all into journals. he travels ceaselessly and does his best to uncover every last mystery, from lost libraries to unmarked graves. cadmor battles his imitation morality as he eases into another role of leadership. the two will clash several times but ultimately reconcile before kymoyef shows up to assess the condition of the rift  and project fire girl is kinda out of place because it feels entirely standalone, but its actually the origin of most of this stuff, so im hoping i can find a way to squeeze it in somehow. its about a person who wakes up in a fire with no knowledge of how she got there and wanders around aimlessly dealing with the destructive repercussions of her mysterious fire powers, which she can barely control. i know. its sort of like frozen but with fire. but hey spoiler alert: she’s actually a wizard scientist (you can tell i really like my wizards and scientists) that, alongside her cousin, did awful experiments on people in the name of magic science, imbuing them with different forms of magic just to see what happens. and she gave herself fire powers because why the hell not. but the internal flame was so painful that the trauma of it elicited amnesia. she regains these memories in time by meeting the people plagued by the consequences of her actions. not knowing shes the one that did this to them, they work together with her and carry out a plan to expose the other wizard scientist. in the final confrontation, she admits that she regrets what shes done even if the academic community learned a lot from it, and allows herself to be imprisoned  yeah. like i said, project fire girl was the first narrative in this universe, which came from a dream where she was taken in by an old couple and their adopted daughter and awoke in a bed of bright petals, only to realize that she accidentally set the house on fire in her sleep, killing the whole family. the imagery was so vivid that it stuck with me. project four originated from one of my old minecraft worlds that i unfortunately deleted by mistake and then tried to rebuild. but i couldnt remember what the old build was called so i called it arenos, and that became the first region. once i decided that fire girl was gonna be set in some mountains and that those mountains bordered arenos, i was officially on my way to creating what is now this world. and then more detail happened and kymoyef happened and the concept of the four cities being parallels to the four regions in the world sounded neat but i got carried away and wanted to try to recreate the four cities in minecraft, and only did sorrowstone, so i started to think of what depressing shit went on in that place and wrote a little bit about it  the dark souls ripoff is, of course, a blatant ripoff of dark souls, but its also a combination of A) another neat dream i had that was just two people traveling on horseback through cold morning fog and being ambushed - one was killed and the other crawled to a nearby basement and hid for an eternity, until the landscape had entirely changed hundreds of years later - and B) a totally separate dream where two people were traveling on horseback through cold evening fog, trying to reach some uncertain destination after having to leave their entire lives behind because they were magic. i was like “i’ve just added two more regions to my world. what if this region has a big rift in it - oh, what if this person hid through the rift incident that sent them to an alternate plane - no wait, what if these other characters were traveling through the rift area and fell in?”  project inheritance was first called dark souls ripoff 2 because it deals with souls being portable and consumable and the two siblings have to deal with increasing insatiability for souls to keep themselves alive after having their consciousnesses ripped from their bodies. but this story was originally gonna be a text adventure game with like seven hundred endings (im exaggerating a little) testing your ability to forgive and manage your bloodlust. i know. its like a bootleg undertale. i cant have an original thought even if that thought happened two years before the popular thing happened  thats about it i guess. thats the beginners guide to my utterly incomplete creative endeavors. i have some other ideas that would be neat to pursue but they dont belong in this particular universe as of right now. i might find a way to make them fit. i might not

#i talk about life n stuff #i could talk about any of this FOREVER. or maybe an hour or two. each. i dont have that many ideas cemented yet tbh #the process of making word lasagna

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windcalling · 8 years ago

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Letters from a Father

Ulcerated tooth keeps me awake, there is such pain, would have to go to the hospital to have it pulled or would bleed to death from the blood thinners, but can't leave Mother, she falls and forgets her salve and her tranquilizers, her ankles swell so and her bowels are so bad, she almost had a stoppage and sometimes what she passes is green as grass. There are big holes in my thigh where my leg brace buckles the size of dimes. My head pounds from the high pressure. It is awful not to be able to get out, and I fell in the bathroom and the girl could hardly get me up at all. Sure thought my back was broken, it will be next time. Prostate is bad and heart has given out, feel bloated after supper. Have made my peace because am just plain done for and have no doubt that the Lord will come any day with my release. You say you enjoy your feeder, I don't see why you want to spend good money on grain for birds and you say you have a hundred sparrows, I'd buy poison and get rid of their diseases and turds.

We enjoyed your visit, it was nice of you to bring the feeder but a terrible waste of your money for that big bag of feed since we won't be living more than a few weeks long. We can see them good from where we sit, big ones and little ones but you know when I farmed I used to like to hunt and we had many a good meal from pigeons and quail and pheasant but these birds won't be good for nothing and are dirty to have so near the house. Mother likes the redbirds though. My bad knee is so sore and I can't hardly hear and Mother says she is hoarse from yelling but I know it's too late for a hearing aid. I belch up all the time and have a sour mouth and of course with my heart it's no use to go to a doctor. Mother is the same. Has a scab she thinks is going to turn to a wart.

III

The birds are eating and fighting, Ha! Ha! All shapes and colors and sizes coming out of our woods but we don't know what they are. Your Mother hopes you can send us a kind of book that tells about birds. There is one the folks called snowbirds, they eat on the ground, we had the girl sprinkle extra there, but say, they eat something awful. I sent the girl to town to buy some more feed, she had to go anyway.

Almost called you on the telephone but it costs so much to call thought better write. Say, the funniest thing is happening, one day we had so many birds and they fight and get excited at their feed you know and it's really something to watch and two or three flew right at us and crashed into our window and bang, poor little things knocked themselves silly. They come to after while on the ground and flew away. And they been doing that. We felt awful and didn't know what to do but the other day a lady from our Church drove out to call and a little bird knocked itself out while she sat and she bought it in her hands right into the house, it looked like dead. It had a kind of hat of feathers sticking up on its head, kind of rose or pinky color, don't know what it was, and I petted it and it come to life right there in her hands and she took it out and it flew. She says they think the window is the sky on a fair day, she feeds birds too but hasn't got so many. She says to hang strips of aluminum foil in the window so we'll do that. She raved about our birds. P.S. The book just come in the mail.

Say, that book is sure good, I study in it every day and enjoy our birds. Some of them I can't identify for sure, I guess they're females, the Latin words I just skip over. Bet you'd never guess the sparrow I've got here, House Sparrow you wrote, but I have Fox Sparrows, Song Sparrows, Vesper Sparrows, Pine Woods and Tree and Chipping and White Throat and White Crowned Sparrows. I have six Cardinals, three pairs, they come at early morning and night, the males at the feeder and on the ground the females. Juncos, maybe 25, they fight for the ground, that's what they used to call snowbirds. I miss the Bluebirds since the weather warmed. Their breast is the color of a good ripe muskmelon. Tufted Titmouse is sort of blue with a little tiny crest. And I have Flicker and Red-Bellied and Red- Headed Woodpeckers, you would die laughing to see Red-Bellied, he hangs on with his head flat on the board, his tail braced up under, wing out. And Dickcissel and Ruby Crowned Kinglet and Nuthatch stands on his head and Veery on top the color of a bird dog and Hermit Thrush with spot on breast, Blue Jay so funny, he will hop right on the backs of the other birds to get the grain. We bought some sunflower seeds just for him. And Purple Finch I bet you never seen, color of a watermelon, sits on the rim of the feeder with his streaky wife, and the squirrels, you know, they are cute too, they sit tall and eat with their little hands, they eat bucketfuls. I pulled my own tooth, it didn't bleed at all.

It's sure a surprise how well Mother is doing, she forgets her laxative but bowels move fine. Now that windows are open she says our birds sing all day. The girl took a Book of Knowledge on loan from the library and I am reading up on the habits of birds, did you know some males have three wives, some migrate some don't. I am going to keep feeding all spring, maybe summer, you can see they expect it. Will need thistle seed for Goldfinch and Pine Siskin next winter. Some folks are going to come see us from Church, some bird watchers, pretty soon. They have birds in town but nothing to equal this.

So the world woos its children back for an evening kiss.

-- Mona Van Duyn

#letters from a father #mona van duyn #poetry

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906hacienda-blog · 8 years ago

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An American Afternoon

The road from my driveway to the local Supercenter is 3.1 miles and if you are to make the trek any weekday between the hours of 2:00pm and 5:00pm you will endure six separate school zones—such is the capital placed on children in this tiny exurb. Bikes, backpacks. The elderly in Day-Glo crosswalk vests, screaming at cars. It is not unusual to see a police cruiser parked up on the grass by the high school, a bored looking officer behind the wheel.

It was unusual, however, to have noticed, eight days ago, a dozen squad cars near the baseball fields. For one, our little town has a force totaling three officers, one of whom drives a golf cart. For another, all units had their lights strafing and their doors open, their hands idling near their holsters. A crowd had gathered.

“What’s happening?” my wife asked. “This isn’t normal.”

I hadn’t eaten yet. Now that I’m 82 years old, I tend to get grumpy when I haven’t had lunch. I mumbled a non-response. I figured some poor Assistant Principal had had a heart attack.

As we crossed one school zone into another, it became clear that something else was afoot. Marked SUVs, fire engines, and EMTs from neighboring jurisdictions raced past us. So, too, came those eerie little white generic cars with the red and blue lights inside the grille—those authorities whose job descriptions are not widely known but who lurk among us.

My wife suggested I check Twitter.

Before I could, the matter revealed itself in full. The news choppers and vans. The SWAT mobiles, like hyperplasiac armadillos. Of ambulances, Philip Larkin writes, “All streets in time are visited.” There is a sense in this country that the same is true for school violence.

In time in time in time.

We simply wait for the visit.

II.

When my wife and I moved into this modest house in this tiny exurb 3.1 miles from the Supercenter, we considered what to do with the sizeable patch of weeds next to the backyard patio. When considering what to do with a sizeable patch of weeds, you nearly always settle on doing nothing at all. And so we did nothing at all. We merely considered. A year or so passed until, finally, on a Valentine’s Day while my wife was at work, I purchased a gas-powered rototiller and tore up the patch of weeds and presented her with her own garden. We went to Lowe’s and she bought seeds—among them, zinnia seeds. These long-stalked, single flowered shrubs are meant to be annuals. And yet every spring now for four years they have come back. More than that: they have multiplied and spread like a weed themselves; they’ve spread from the garden into backyard lawn, into the neighbor’s yard, some even into the wild grass separating our house from the nearby church. They have become, themselves, a beautiful nuisance.

III.

A bomb threat at the local high school. A pipe bomb, somebody had overheard on a police scanner app and then posted to Twitter. All schools in the district had been put on lockdown. Hour by hour elementary and junior-high students were released until only the high school remained under surveillance. Students crouched beneath desks, the lights turned off. A girl had snapped a photo and texted it to her father, who in turn posted it on Twitter. Soon the media harangued him. They were so happy his daughter was safe. Also, would it be okay if they used the photo across all platforms of their news coverage? The father said that this was okay. I’m sure he had other things on his mind. I’m sure the same was true for every parent in this small town. Six school zones, and yet this. It was 3:15 pm on a Monday afternoon, and it had never been this sunny or this beautiful this early into the year.

IV.

My wife had decided that morning to make soap, but our trip to the Supercenter was disorganized and we’d forgotten a number of items. I drove to the smaller, local grocery with a list:

two different prescriptions for two separate anti-anxiety medications

Prilosec

Baby oil (for the homemade soap)

Tin foil

The list, of course, began with only one item. Which is to say, the list began without the need to be a list.

I go to this particular grocery store everyday, sometimes twice a day, and I have never seen the lines as long as I did eight days ago. I thought this odd. At this very moment helicopters floated above the school down the road with cameras trained on the library and the cafeteria, awaiting carnage. People shop in times of crises, I told myself.

The man running the Express Lane had feathered hair and a potbelly and six rings on two hands, none of them matrimonial, all of them vaguely satanic in aesthetic. He was maybe fifty. I tried to picture what this man’s nights away from work looked like, what he did to pass the time. I decided he must be in a band. A bassist, of course. Covers of Dokken. Also, he wore a badge, a police-looking badge, on his belt buckle. I think he had forearm tattoos. I think he had a goatee. I know he took his time checking out the guy in front of me. I know I had enough time to feel impatient and to register that a Muzak version of Jackson Browne’s “Doctor My Eyes” blared over the intercom. I had enough time to check Twitter. A lot of prayers were going out to the high school. Parents frantically Tweeting to the four local news outlets for updates. One student responded to the ISD:

so we got school tomorrow or what?

Another teenager suggested that if there were a bomb in the building, it might be best not to put the school on lockdown.

Sound, I thought.

And then it struck me. Why in the midst of all this chaos would a police officer pick up a quick shift in the Express Lane of a grocery while at this moment snipers were leveling rifles at classroom windows? Was there another connection? Was this bomb-maker somehow known to shop for produce at this hour? Were we in danger? Was the school a mere distraction for the true massacre to come—all of us in line, amongst the orders from self-checkout ladies to Please place your items in the basket and Jackson Browne? I wanted to tear open the prescription bag and chew up all of my pills.

Nadir: it turns out his badge read LOSS PREVENTION SPECIALIST. It was very official looking. I’d wager he had it custom ordered online.

“Yeah,” he said without my probing, “I’m real sorry about the wait. Our afternoon shift workers are all tangled up in that business at the school.”

I hadn’t thought of this. I must’ve said something.

“You know,” he said, placing his hands and all his kick-ass rings on his hips, “I’m in a biker club with some of the 5-0 down there right now. I’m listening in on their band when I can. You know, on my phone. They don’t sound too nervous about it. And, trust me. I know these guys pretty well.” He let out a cocky sniff.

“What a relief,” I said.

Maybe all of this is a nadir, now that I think of it. But the arrangement of images seemed, days later, a precise indication of our country at this moment, a collage perhaps Rauschenberg could have pulled off.

The school zone lights flashing. The kids beneath their desks, unable to make it to work—unable to tie on their aprons or smocks or whatever. The grocery lines backed up with parents chewing cuticles and checking phones. Me, with my Prilosec and anxiety meds.

The school remained on lockdown until 6:15 that evening. The bomb threat turned out to be a nostalgic, seventies-style prank call. Police are still looking for the culprit(s). Realizing there was no blood to be had, the news choppers left. The media shifted its attention.

I teach. There are days I drive to work contemplating the eventuality of not returning home.

VI.

Eight days ago, in the warmth of an evening, my wife made lavender soap while I pulled dead zinnias from the yard.

- AB, Feb. 7, 2017

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hermanwatts · 5 years ago

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Sensor Sweep: Witherwing, Lankhmar, Mid-List Collapse

Writers (Less Known Writes): David William Jarrett was the son of Mervyn Spencer Jarrett (1906-1986), a works engineer, and his wife Olive Elizabeth Jenkins (1907-1997), who were married in the summer of 1940. He had one older brother. Jarrett’s novel was Witherwing (London: Sphere, 1979: New York: Warner, 1979). It begins as a kind of heroic fantasy novel in which Witherwing, the youngest of six princes of Tum-Barlum (the name clearly modeled on Twm Barlwm, the name of a hill in south Wales, but that has no significance to the story).

RPG (Walker’s Retreat): With last weekend’s Big Brand marketing event masquerading as a fan convention came the announcement–with no release date–of the fourth installment of its iconic isometric dark fantasy action RPG franchise. You know which one I’m talking about, and it’s not the MMORPG. I thought I’d take the time to give you all some alternatives that you may have overlooked or forgotten about, beside Path of Exile and adaptation of other Big Brand properties. This is not an exhaustive list; most of these will be linked to their Steam entries, but I advise you to look at GOG also if you want DRM-free versions or see if you can buy used physical copies.

News (Niche Gamer): On October 22nd, the United States House of Representatives voted 410 votes to 6 (16 abstained) in favor of the CASE Act- dubbed the “Anti-Meme law” by its critics. The “Copyright Alternative in Small-Claims Enforcement Act of 2019” was introduced by Representative Hakeem Jeffries (Democrat, New York) on January 5th, 2019. The bill’s purpose was to help content creators utilize a small claims court for copyright infringement, as the current law means copyright disputes must go through the more expensive federal courts.

Publishing (Kairos): Where have we seen this blockbuster-chasing mentality before? Oh yeah, in the likewise floundering Hollywood film and AAA video game industries. As Western civilization rapidly burns through the cultural capital inherited from Christendom, expect to see more industries falling into hit-obsessed death spirals. It’s a seductive trap. A company stumbles upon a big hit, scrambles to replicate what is in fact a black swan event, and cannibalizes its own seed corn in the process. It’s an old story.

Comic Books (Paint Monk’s Library): Since Paint Monk’s Library began covering Marvel’s new Conan the Barbarian comic, I’ve received a slew of emails and private messages, mainly from people agreeing with our reviewers about the direction the House of Ideas has taken with such an iconic property. But for every five or six encouraging emails, I get one message from an angry reader telling me that I’m out of touch and if I don’t like Marvel’s new comics to quit reading and “go back to the nursing home to read Bugs Bunny” (Yes, I really did receive that email last month).

Writers (PulpFest): Not long after midnight on the morning of November 5, 2019, the pulp community lost one of its cornerstones. Tom Johnson passed away after a long battle with cancer. Tom and his wife of many years, Ginger Johnson, were the longtime editors and publishers of ECHOES, a fanzine about the pulp magazines. For nearly twenty years, Tom and Ginger could be counted on for a new issue of ECHOES every other month.

Star Wars (Digital Bibliophilia): Splinter of the Mind’s Eye is a story that takes place about a year after the events of Star Wars (or A New Hope if you prefer). It begins with Luke and R2-D2 aboard Luke’s X-Wing fighter, and Leia and C3PO aboard a Y-Wing travelling to the planet Circarpous IV to a meeting with an underground movement that had arisen against the Galactic Empire on that planet. They are to formally offer their promise of support from the Rebellion Alliance and encourage the movement rise against it’s oppressors.

Art (DMR Books): Howard Pyle has rightly been called “The Father of American Illustration.” Before Pyle there was a virtual nothingness when it came to American art. After, there was—perhaps—a flowering of painterly excellence unparalleled in the entire history of art. In the late 1890s, Pyle established various schools of art in Wilmington, Delaware and beyond. Pyle’s movement has been called the “Brandywine School” in reference to the river that ran along the banks next to Pyle’s various artistic seminaries.

Cinema (Jstor): Long before First National Pictures began production on Doyle’s dinosaur story, a young marble cutter named Willis O’Brien was sculpting tiny T-Rex figurines. According to The New York Times, O’Brien began experimenting with animation models during an apparently slow day at work. Inspired by his background in boxing, he molded a mini fighter out of clay. His coworker whipped up another clay champion, and pretty soon the two men were acting out a full boxing match with their primitive action figures. Lo and behold, O’Brien’s next production was a short test film featuring a cave man and a dinosaur (made of modeling clay and wooden joints) shot atop the Bank of Italy Building in San Francisco.

Author Interview (Pulp Hermit): It’s not easy thinking of Will Murray as a new Pulp Author. William Patrick Murray is an author everyone should be familiar with in the new pulp movement, and definitely known throughout pulp fandom since the 1970s. He should be familiar to everyone in the new pulp community. He is one of the most prolific and knowledgeable people in the field of pulp fiction. The author of well over one hundred books, he has penned 40 Destroyer novels, and two-dozen Doc Savage novels (many based on Lester Dent’s uncompleted stories), plus King Kong, Tarzan, and The Shadow. He has also contributed to the Executioner and Mars Attacks, as well as numerous anthologies.

Science Fiction (Quillette): But this is not the spirit of our moment. Instead, as speculative fiction becomes more diverse, the sense that it must be corrected grows, and author and art are evaluated together. There is a notable asymmetry in this evaluation. Most fiction readers are women, and many fiction genres are dominated by women. Men who write romance novels or cozy mysteries must write under female pseudonyms, because the audiences for these genres will largely avoid books by men.

Writing (Pulprev): When writing a tactical thriller with heavy action elements, you have to get around to talking about the hardware. Tools drive what the characters can and can’t do, and weapons are a big part of that. Also, guns are cool. When writing guns in fiction, a common approach is to simply drop generic terms like ‘rifle’ or ‘pistol’ and leave it at that. Some slightly more sophisticated writers drop brand and/or gun names: FN SCAR, Beretta M9, Barrett M82. It may well work for them. Most readers just want to get on with the action without being bogged down in too much detail. But I prefer a more sophisticated option.

Pulp Fiction (Rough Edges): As you know if you’ve read this blog much, H. Bedford-Jones is one of my favorite pulp authors and indeed one of my favorite authors, period. I think he was at his strongest with historical adventure novels, so it’s no surprise that YOUNG KIT CARSON is a top-notch yarn that’s been out of print since 1941, when it appeared in the fiction supplement of a Canadian newspaper. A copy of it was discovered recently, and it’s about to be reprinted by Bold Venture Press.

Fiction (Tentaculii): I’d never heard of Ivy Frost before, but I like the sound of him. These gun-blazing mystery-science stories all appeared in Clues Detective Stories magazine from 1934-37 (not on Archive.org), so one assumes that Lovecraft was aware of them. One wonders how may ‘little nods to Lovecraft’ Wandrei might have snuck into the stories.

Fritz Leiber (Goodman Games): You might have heard about our recent DCC Lankhmar release. It’s a wonderfully in-depth take on the classic novels by Fritz Lieber, and licensed by his estate. If you are a fan of those novels, you might have heard of something called Rat-Snake. In the back alleys of the city of Lankhmar, money is won and lost, and lives are sometimes wagered as the ultimate prize, all on the roll of the dice. All part of a game called Rat-Snake.

Art (DMR Books): Stephen Fabian was selling macabre artworks very early in his career, batting one out of the park with his classic cover for Whispers #2 in 1973. He would go on to do more work for Whispers over the course of that groovy decade, including the first-ever illo for Karl Edward Wagner’s “Sticks.” Stephen did several evocative paintings for Arkham House during that period, as well as covers for Centaur Press and Donald M. Grant. All in all, the 1970s were a great preview of the glorious horror art Mr. Fabian would produce in the 1980s.

Gary Gygax (Warp Scream): I had the opportunity to interview Gary a number of years back, when I worked at CGM. I very much enjoyed talking to him, and it was fascinating to hear the history of D&D and gaming in general from his perspective. Like many people here, I’ve been a D&D geek for ages; I thought others might be interested to read what he had to say about the history of it all.

Gaming (Walker’s Retreat): It is nice when the Fake Gamers out themselves so readily, but this performative virtual signalling is really meant to be part of the gatekeeping campaign to push their enemies–those not of the SJW Death Cult–out of the subculture and hobby, or at least its public-facing elements, so that they can control the narrative surrounding tabletop RPGs. Narrative control then becomes cultural control and feeds into political control.

Sensor Sweep: Witherwing, Lankhmar, Mid-List Collapse published first on https://sixchexus.weebly.com/

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policecarrot77-blog · 6 years ago

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Greek Stuffed Peppers with Feta Cheese Recipe

You just can’t beat a healthy meal of stuffed peppers, especially when they are filled with classic Greek flavors! 226 calories and 5 Weight Watchers Freestyle SP

Both my husband and I grew up eating stuffed peppers – his mum’s a classic green pepper version and my mum’s a version with sautéed mushrooms and mushroom gravy (magical words for this mushroom lover). And now these Greek Stuffed Peppers have become one of our boys’ favorite meals. They’re fantastic for weeknight dinners and reheat well for lunches the next day.

Having some sort of stuffed pepper in the recipe box should be a “must” for any home cook. They’re easy, healthy (assuming you don’t top them with an Everest-sized mound-o-cheese) and always a crowd pleaser. After taking a few bites of these Greek Stuffed Peppers when I first made them, my then-11-year old son said, “You HAVE to make these at least once a week.” Definitely high praise!

Whenever I’ve eaten stuffed peppers in the past, I’ve never been able to finish an entire pepper, particularly if served alongside a green salad. So, I took an idea straight from the The Skinnytaste Cookbook (if you don’t have it in your personal library yet, you need to change that! This is an affiliate link.) and cut the peppers in half lengthwise. Less pepper, less stuffing, less need for elasticized pants after eating.

While I typically use ground turkey for this sort of recipe, I was feeling the need for a dose of iron, so opted for extra-lean ground beef. However, if ground beef really isn’t your thing, then feel free to substitute an equal amount of ground turkey. My husband isn’t an olive fan, so I just left out the kalamatas from his serving. Just remember that they add a dose of salt, so be sure to season with a dash of extra salt if your taste buds notice the omission of the olives.

To make ahead, cook the ground beef mixture and prepare the peppers in the morning, then just stuff and cook before serving.

Other easy, healthy dinner recipes:

Cookin’ Canuck’s One-Pot Whole Wheat Pasta with Chicken & Spinach Cookin’ Canuck’s Roasted Curry Shrimp & Zucchini Sheet Pan Meal Aggie’s Kitchen’s Slow Cooker Salsa Verde Pork Tostadas Mountain Mama Cooks’ Thai Crunch Salad The Novice Chef’s Caprese Chicken

If you make this recipe, I’d love to see it on Instagram! Just use the hashtag #COOKINCANUCK and I’ll be sure to find it.

Greek Stuffed Peppers with Feta Cheese Recipe

Loading nutrition data...

Prep Time 10 mins

Cook Time 55 mins

Total Time 1 hr 5 mins

You just can't beat a healthy meal of stuffed peppers, especially when they're filled with classic Greek flavors! 226 calories and 5 Weight Watchers Freestyle SP

Yields 6

Ingredients

3/4 lb. extra-lean ground beef

1/2 tsp salt

1/2 tsp ground pepper

1 tsp olive oil

1/2 yellow onion, chopped

3 cloves garlic, minced

3/4 tsp ground oregano

1/2 tsp red pepper flakes

1 3/4 cup canned crushed tomatoes

1 1/2 cup cooked brown rice

1/4 cup sliced kalamata olives

3 tbsp minced flat-leaf parsley

3 red bell peppers, cut half lengthwise, seeds & membranes removed

1/4 cup crumbled feta cheese

Directions

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

Heat a large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Add the ground beef, salt and pepper, and cook until the ground beef is browned, crumbling with a wooden spoon.

Turn the heat to medium and add the olive oil. Stir in the onions and cook until soft, 4 to 5 minutes. Stir in the garlic, oregano and red pepper flakes, and cook for 1 minute.

Add the crushed tomatoes and brown rice, and simmer the mixture for 5 minutes.

Remove from the heat and stir in the kalamata olives and parsley.

Place the peppers, cut side up, in a large baking dish. Divide the ground beef mixture evenly between the peppers. Pour ½ cup water in the bottom of the baking dish.

Cover tightly with foil and cook until the peppers are tender, about 35 minutes.

Sprinkle 2 teaspoons of feta cheese over each pepper. Bake for an additional 5 minutes. Serve.

by From the kitchen of cookincanuck.com

Recipe Notes

Weight Watchers Points: 5 (Freestyle SmartPoints), 6 (Points+)

This post was originally published on October 14, 2015, and has been updated.

Disclosure: I am a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for me to earn fees by linking to Amazon.com and affiliated sites.

Source: https://www.cookincanuck.com/greek-stuffed-peppers-with-feta-cheese-recipe/

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lumiereswig · 8 years ago

Text

Forgotten

What if the Enchantress came one day late? What if the ball went as planned, and the Prince went to bed that night human and cruel, and the next day was alone when she arrived? What if the staff weren’t nearby when the curse was cast? What then, what then?

“The prince [was] forgotten by the world, for the enchantress had erased all memory of them from the minds of the people they loved….” Dark!Fic. Inspired by this savagely sad post of @batbobsession‘s.

Part I: Not A Care in the World

Plumette, lighting the candles by the bed, grinned at him over the flames. He laughed and raised his glass.

“How many parties has it been now?”

Cogsworth is counting on his fingers. “Thirty years’ worth at least.....no, forty. Lord, I can’t keep track of the time.”

“I loved you before I met you,” murmurs Lumiere. “I could never forget.”

Part II: Selfish and Unkind

“And you’ll be back tonight, 7 sharp.”

“Oui, maître.”

“And the kitchens have been stocked? Or have you forgotten that in your delight to run away?”

“Non, maître.”

“You know, this is an incredible liberty. Most princes wouldn’t let their staff go prancing off to—I don’t know, what do you do in the village, drink beer and talk about pigs? Pfft. I would just stay, if I were you.”

“....non, maître.”

“Fine. Get out.”

They are gone all too quickly. Adam stands in the lonely, empty halls. If he stands by the open door, he can see them weaving their way through the forest and down to the village, to spend their day in the company of each other, in Lumiere and Plumette’s case, or with loved ones, in the case of Mrs. Potts. No matter what, all the servants have each other. And Adam has nobody.

He adjusts his wig, tosses a curl. He doesn’t care. They’re all uncaring fools. He debates his options for the day: spending it in the library sounds the best. On the other hand, he could also search around the palace, try to find some mistake in its keeping to yell at them about when they got back....after all, at least when he yelled they looked at him.

Searching for the mistake it was, then. Adam trotted off, his heels slick against the polished floors, the sun shining bright.

Part III: All Those Precious Days

In Adam’s tower, he hears the knock. Angry at having been left alone—angry at being abandoned—angry at everything, Adam slams open the door and sees an old crone.

6:55. Lumiere is running late, as usual. He was regaling Tom and Dick with a lavish description of the ball he is planning. Cogsworth groans at the delay.

The crone offers a rose. Payment for a night’s rest; there is an oncoming storm. Rain coming in.

“Fireworks! And flowers on every table! And dancers from Vienna—the glories of a courtly life, gentlemen, you must come join us—”

“Lumiere! The night grows old.”

The crone grows young.

6:59. “We were meant to be there minutes ago! The Prince is all alone in the palace, now, and it’s our fault. We must get back, or there will be hell to pay—”

The Enchantress sets her curse. The piper must be paid. There must be punishment—

7:00. The curse strikes; a fleeting darkness on the village, a lasting one on the palace. The palace, the palace....the palace.....

...........the palace?

What palace? The villagers do not remember. And the staff, caught among them, do not either. There is silence, and darkness, and sleep.

Part IV: Little Town

“That town didn’t work out, either?”

“And where does this road go?” Belle’s eyes adjust to the dawn—they are passing a forest, and coming through a field, now, and fields lead to country villages, and villages mean homes, at least fora while. Perhaps this one would be small enough and safe enough to hide them for a while.

“Villeneuve,” says Maurice. “I chose it by chance. I hope they have room for an inventor.”

“Two inventors,” says Belle, and Maurice smiles.

“Yes, two, always two.”

They get to the town just after market-time, and Maurice busies himself finding the local priest to inquire after empty houses. Belle, tucked in the wagon, forms her opinion: Villeneuve is small, and cramped, and ordinary.

And full of far, far too many people.

“Why are there so many people?” Belle asks, when Maurice comes back with happy news of an empty house, recently abandoned, just at the edge of the village.

“Mm?”

“People. There are too many of them! Where are they all supposed to live? I know it was just market-time, but there are enough people in these streets to account for two villages.”

“I expect the other village just doesn’t exist yet,” says Maurice, absent-mindedly, trying to work out the details of keys and locks. “So they’re all just living in this one for now. Come give me a hand with these boxes—thank you.”

Belle’s mind doesn’t stop turning it over, even as she unpacks music-boxes and arranges her father’s paints by the window. She saw all the people in that market. And she sees them now—watching her and her father, peeking on the edges of the streets and peeping through windows. But no one comes to help. The town is quiet, and a little gloomy in the afternoon light.

By mid day, Belle and her father are halfway done. Maurice sits on a box and wipes his forehead.

“Do you know what I forgot to pack?” he says. “Beef. And bread. And....well, anything edible, really. You wouldn’t have remembered, would you?”

“Papa, I was asleep. I couldn’t remember anything.”

“True, true.” Her father’s hands brush in front of his sad, blue eyes. “Might you go out and find some, Belle? There must be someone selling bread. And butter. And possibly jam?”

Belle is already at the door with her basket. “You rest your eyes, papa. I’ll be right back.”

Part V: Every Day Like the One Before

Now that she is out, Belle takes the chance to look around. She takes her time going through the streets. On her left, the clock tower chimes. On the right, a man in a yellow peasant’s vest leans onto a stoop. A cluster of girls giggle across the market square. Somewhere, a tea kettle screams. Belle stops to make her choice.

Is Villeneuve ordinary? Yes. Dull? Absolutely. Cross, and overflowing, and wary of strangers? All correct. Nothing of note will ever happen in Villeneuve. As far as anyone can remember, nothing ever has.

A puff of smoke blows into her face.

“Pardonez-moi, mademoiselle,” says the voice to her right. Belle looks, and sees nothing, but then looks down and sees the man on the stoop. He is smoking a pipe, and puffing the smoke, and his eyes are closed and his limbs lie around him as if lifeless.

“You are Parisian,” she says. She caught it in his voice.

“Oui, mademoiselle,” he says. A tiny, delicate gesture from his fingers; it is a surprsingly sophisticated movement for a peasant. “Or at least, once I was. Now I live in Villeneuve.”

It is an oddly empty statement: I live where I am right now, miles from anywhere else, as if I were to ever live anywhere besides. Belle notes it down and hides it away for later.

“I was an apothecary’s son,” adds the man.

“And are you still an apothecary?”

“I am nothing now,” says the man, in a flash of vehemence, and Belle finally sees his face. It is empty, and quiet, and beyond the fire in his words there is nothing there to look at. It is as if someone washed out all his color, and left him only with his yellow vest. He is sad, and silent, and barely moves.

“I am Lumiere,” he says, and sadness rests inside his eyes.

[the fic continues here. friendly reminder that reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated]

#i will continue this past part v shortly~#i just had to stop while i was ahead #don't worry there's more!#batb fanfic #beauty and the beast #lumiere #cogsworth #adam #belle #mrs. potts #plumette #chapeau #chip #gaston #(will be here shortly)#batb #batb 2017

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