#pattern furniture for the hospitality

[patternfurniture]

4 Things to Consider Before Visiting Furniture Stores

One of the excellent activities that keep us informed about the latest and most fashionable styles is shopping. Your home or business becomes complete and more elegant with furniture. Although purchasing something may seem simple, it can be a very challenging undertaking. It's normal to feel overwhelmed whenever you visit a furniture store because it might be difficult to determine which pieces are best for you. Read more: https://livearticlez.com/things-to-consider-before-visiting-furniture-stores/

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 32

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 29, part 30, part 31

Eddie ended up needing more than just a week before he was cleared to come home. He needed at least two, and even then, it was all up to the hospital’s physical therapist to determine if he gained enough strength to go home. Where he wasn’t going to get more hurt by living at home.

But he was still coming home. And soon. Which means that Dustin has to get convincing. Steve was supposed to plant the initial seed. Let it ruminate, so by the time Dustin got there, he could hammer the final nail in. But when Dustin pulled out his list of reasons, ready for the spiel, he can barely get a word out before Wayne’s speaking.

“Oh, I already heard all about it,” is what he said. “I can admit that it’s a good plan. Thanks for thinking of it.”

That was easy. Too easy. Did Steve really convince him all by himself?

Either way, the plan was in motion. A few days later, Wayne moves in with Steve. Taking one of the bedrooms upstairs, a few doors down the hall from Steve. Right next to the guest bathroom that would be just his. He was almost never there, but it was better than the motel.

Dustin could tell that he was sleeping a little better. It could be knowing that Eddie was coming home soon, and that he could slow down the house hunting process a little bit. Give more time to find a place that they will both love and spread out the expenses of finding new furniture. Steve already offering storage space in another one of his spare bedrooms and anywhere they need.

It's not like anyone else uses the house.

Time continues to pass, and each day Eddie gets stronger. On the two-month anniversary of the day he woke up from the coma, he takes his first step without any assistance. Human assistance, at least. He is still using mobility aids. But he still did it.

Some days are better than others. The pain has subsided to some extent, but there are days where Dustin visits and Eddie barely moves. Something about pins and needles traveling up his arms and legs when he does. And there are days where he’s really shaky, and nothing can help it.

But he can still come home this week. So, they needed to actually get their asses in gear.

Steve helped Wayne sneak back into his house in the middle of the night to try and salvage some of Eddie’s clothes. Or really, anything that was in Eddie’s room. They were able to save some of Wayne’s stuff too, so he could walk around in something other than the same two outfits and his work uniforms.

The room on the first floor apparently had never even been used. So, Steve had to take the plastic off of the mattress and get some sheets for it. the room was otherwise bare, except for the patterned wallpaper and basic furniture. It wasn’t Eddie though, so it needed some work.

Dustin employed pretty much everyone he could.

“Dustin,” Gareth yelled down the hall. “I have those posters that you wanted, they’re in my garage. Swing by anytime to pick them up.”

It was more posters than Dustin was expecting. Black Sabbath, Dio, Metallica, mixed in with old posters they made for Corroded Coffin, and one old one from Hellfire. There’re a few movie posters mixed in as well from titles Dustin doesn’t even recognize. But it’s good.

Steve finds an old cassette player in his basement. Looks like it had never even been opened. It’s a really nice one too. They were able to find some of Eddie’s cassettes, but most of them where ruined.

It was still something.

“Don’t you think this is, like, a lot,” Mike questions. The posters and picture Dustin had printed out almost entirely covering the walls.

“No,” Dustin says. Going back to unpacking some of the things that they saved from the trailer.

“His room wasn’t even this covered in the trailer,” Lucas adds for some reason. “You don’t think this might be a little overkill.”

Dustin glares at them. “But he didn’t have this gross wallpaper in his trailer.”

“It is not that bad,” El comments from the bed. Her and Max just sitting there, not helping.

“Someone describe it to me, I want to know. Wait,” Max points at Dustin. Somehow knowing exactly where he is and that he was going to describe it poorly. “Someone other than him.”

“It’s literally just a bunch of small red diamonds,” Lucas explains. “Think Steve’s room but slanted and red. But not plaid.”

Max nods. “Yeah, that isn’t that bad. It could be worse. Have you seen the pink flower room.” She gags.

“It still is not that bad,” El defends.

Will and Mike share a look, continuing to unpack a box of books. Steve brings in what should be the last box of things. Considering they were only able to save so much. He looks around at the walls, taking in everything.

“Dustin, I know you want this place to feel like home, but could you leave a little bit of wall uncovered. We don’t want to overwhelm him.”

“He’s not a toddler, Steve,” Dustin groans. “I don’t think he’s going to get overwhelmed.”

Robin comes in to tell Steve something. But gets stopped in her tracks as she looks around the room. “Oh. My. God. That is a lot of posters.”

“Thank you,” Lucas says. Arms crossed while he stands in the corner. “I think we have more than enough on the walls.”

“There’s more?” she questions. “Where were you going to put them?”

“Fine,” Dustin whines. “I won’t put any more posters up.”

Robin leans into Steve. “By the way, your mom’s on the phone.”

Steve lets out a long sigh. “Thank you.”

He walks out of the room, Robin close behind him. The rest of them putting the finishing touches. Lucas and Mike convincing Dustin to take down some of the posters and make the walls look less cluttered. Like Eddie would care about cluttered. Have they seen what his old room looked like.

But he might be able to admit that floor to ceiling posters were a little overkill. He just wanted this place to feel even a little reminiscent of the trailer. Of what Eddie had back home. Is that really so bad?

The next day, they all patiently wait in the living room. Eddie was getting discharged this morning. Meaning that Wayne is bringing him here, right now. Eddie will be in real clothes, out of the hospital. Finally getting back to normal.

Or, as normal as he could possibly be. But still more normal than in a hospital.

Because now, he can eat real food. And get real sleep. That isn’t constantly disturbed by nurses checking on him in the middle of the night. In a bed that is really comfortable. In a house that is constantly quiet.

He might finally start to fully get back to the Eddie that Dustin knew before all of this.

A car pulls up into the drive. Doors slam, and voices can be heard by the door. Steve goes to get the door before the bell rings. They were supposed to wait in the living room, but Dustin can’t help it. He follows.

“Holy shit, Harrington, how tall is this ceiling?”

“I have no clue.”

Eddie’s crutches make soft thumps with every step. Steve shuts the door and lets them know where they can put their shoes. It’s a bustle of voices while Dustin waits for them to turn around and see that he’s there.

That he’s been waiting for this. For so long.

“You know you didn’t have to build that ramp for me,” Eddie says to Steve. Still not turning around.

“I didn’t. I built it for Max. You just get to use it for free.”

Eddie smiles a teasing smile. It’s been a while since Dustin’s seen that. “Aw, taking pity on me, are you, Steve.”

“Just shut up.”

Wayne clears his throat, stopping whatever the two of them were doing. He nods his head toward Dustin still waiting in the hall. Eddie turns his head, finally, and sees him.

Something in the shape of relief fills his face. “Hey, Henderson.”

“You’re here.” Dustin can’t help the wetness in his voice. Or his eyes. He wasn’t expecting to cry, it just happened.

Eddie makes his way over to Dustin. Slightly wincing in pain, but not complaining. He balances his crutches just right so he can pull Dustin into a hug. A proper hug. Dustin’s not sure how long it’s been since he’s hugged Eddie. Too afraid to do in in the hospital.

But he’s not in the hospital anymore.

“Yeah,” Eddie says with more waiver in his voice than he would probably admit. “I’m here.”

tag list (closed): @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar,

@tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda,

@fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77,

@here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium,

@resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly,

@gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight,

@devondespresso, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @cheertain, @anti-ozzie, @autumncrocusandladybug,

@greeniebean911, @cr0w-culture, @stillfullofshit, @connected-dots, @daisynotquake,

@morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs, @maskofmirrors, @me-and-my-sloth,

@papergrenade, @waelkyring, @sweetheartprincess28, @katouasobj, @astercomoasflores

[ominoose]

𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫-𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞

Summary: Random drabble's about Steven Grant meeting other Oscar Isaac characters. No Marc or Jake co-concious, only referenced. Characters: Basil Stitt, Leto Atreides, Poe Dameron A/N: This randomly hit me and I wanted to write it because it was funny. Used a spinny wheel for it. Also idk if BB-8 can do that but now he can.

London was it's usual muggy, busy self as Steven ran down the street, hoping to catch the bus to work. It had been hard enough to get a job after the Museum Incident, but maintaining a position was proving to be a much harder endeavor between his abnormal sleeping patterns and head mates.

"Oi! Wait, please!" Steven was within touching distance just as the bus sped off, and at the lack of anything to rest his weight on or break his fall, the man found himself tumbling face first into traffic.

☽ 𝐁𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐥 𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐭 (Lightningface)

+ When Steven first wakes up in the apartment, his first thought is that he's woken up in a bomb site. The apartment is a mess, furniture and clothes strewn everywhere haphazardly. He's momentarily glad Marc isn't replying in his head, knowing the American would have an aneurysm over the state of the place.

+ Basil is the one to find Steven, jumping up from his spot on the couch and staring at him like he's an alien. The first thought in his mind is that Ricky the Monkey did some crazy magic and brought a clone to replace him. Poor Steven barely has a chance to process the situation before he's trying to calm his scarred, other American look alike down and explain his situation. Nothing manages to convince Basil there isn't some magic going on here, but he stops viewing Steven as an evil replacement.

+ After the initial shock and awkward introductions, they manage to sit down and chat for a few minutes. Basil shares the story of the lightning strike, insisting that its imbued him with magical powers. Steven, bless his heart, immediately believes this and boasts about his own moon powers too.

"You know, I've always wanted to try jumping off the roof and flying, have you done that?"

"Oh no, my mate Marc usually handles that, but maybe we can practice together? Have you got a suit as well?"

"Yeah, it's this paper bag and bed sheet I fixed up myself! C'mon, I have a stool on the balcony-"

"Wait, hang about.... Actually, mate, on second thoughts, lets not."

+ Steven ends up convincing Basil to properly fix his apartment, not just brush away the broken shards and dust. So that's what they do for a while, busying themselves as they theorize on how to get Steven back home with only a handful of brain cells between them. Basil listens with surprising intensity when Steven ends up branching off into Egyptology tangents, and likewise Steven nods along when Basil brings up all the documentaries he'd watched recently. In the end, the apartment does end up in much better shape, and the pair become quite chummy.

"Damn. Thanks for the help... Maybe I did overreact a bit."

"Yeah, it's no problem bruvs, it happens. Surprised the doctors didn't give you anymore meds, though I suppose over here its not like the NHS."

"Oh, no I didn't go to the hospital."

"...You wot?!"

𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬 (Dune)

+ Coming to on hot, sandy slabs is enough of a trigger point to Steven Grant as they come. Coming to on hot, sandy slabs with weird astronauts in suits pointing space guns at him goes beyond frighting and circles back into 'Shit yourself' territory. Thankfully they seem to speak English. Unfortunately, his high pitched screams and babbling British noises don't make sense to them while they peer down their guns at him with confusion. It isn't until a booming voice draws everyone's attention that Steven gets a chance to breath.

+ Said breath is swiftly knocked back out of Stevens lungs when a wiser, nobler and older version of him walks into the room, commanding the attention of every single space soldier in the room. The man stares down at him as he lays huddled on the ground, curled into himself, and quirks a single well groomed eyebrow at him.

"I am Duke Leto of House Atreides. You have penetrated your way into my home. Who are you?"

"I-I-I'm S-Steven Grant. Of the... Giftshop."

The Duke continues his stony stare at Steven for a few seconds longer before holding out a calloused hand.

"Well Steven of the Giftshop, I think we both have many questions for one another, and hopefully some answers."

+ When Steven finally gets over being starstruck at the dignified, royal version of himself, and when Leto makes the accidental mistake of mentioning that they're billions of years in the future on another planet, Steven freaks out, having a 10 minute long panic attack. When that's over he geeks out instead, asking a million questions about technology, using apologies as commas and full stops.

"Do people still know about Khonshu in this era?!"

"I'm afraid I am not familiar with that name."

"Lucky sod."

+ Leto thinks the strange, weird sounding clone of himself is a schizophrenic long lost cousin, but at lease he isn't trying to kill him over a title. It's not as common in Arrakis, or the general noble courts, to find someone as earnest, honest and willing to learn as Steven seems to be, which earns him a surprising amount of respect from the Duke.

𝐏𝐨𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 (Star Wars)

+ Waking up in a space ship that's doing somersaults mid-battle while dodging and weaving around beams trying to explode it out of the sky was almost as stressful as waking up on a London bus at 8am. Commendably, Steven didn't scream or cry, but simply had a silent panic attack until a rolling white and orange ball started beeping at him, or rather the ridiculously handsome version of him currently flying the plane.

"Who the hell are you and how did you get on my cruiser?!"

"Bloody hell, not another handsome American me!"

"What?! BB-8, check for a concussion!"

+ After being given a water bottle by the polite little droid, Steven finally managed to calm himself down by the time the ship touch down and the pilot in matching droid colours sprang before him, launching question after question. When he clocked Stevens face, he was speechless, brows slowly knitting over his eyes as he tried to make sense of what was in front of him. Mid stare-down BB-8 nicked the Brits skin, running a quick diagnostic test and beeping the results out to the pilot who's eyebrows swiftly un-knitted at the noises.

+ Taking advantage of the silence, Steven tries to explain himself and his situation, insisting he comes in peace and simply wanted to get home before Donna got another excuse to give him the sack. The pilot finally introduced himself as Poe, the best pilot in the resistance at that, and with a sigh he promised to try and figure out how to get Steven back to whatever galaxy London was from.

+ Poe tries to explain the resistance and the empire to Steven, who in turn compares it to Ammits cult and jointly rants about those who take choice and freedom from the innocent. Poe is happy enough that his weird blood ancestor is with the resistance, even if he does constantly regard him with a quirked eyebrow, wondering how in the universe he managed to evolve from this walking concussion. For a second time Poe is rendered silent as Steven mentions being Moonknight.

"Oh yeah, I've done that too, at least those Jedi blokes doesn't send their jackals after you though!"

"You've... fought? In battle?"

"Course, yeah. Fought off giant gods back to the underworld, stopped the day of reckoning as the souls of the living were flooding the underworld. It was just the other day actually."

"...You killed god?!"

+ Steven absolutely adores BB-8 and Leia, a feeling the bot and all of the resistance seem to happily return, much to the dismay of Poe. Steven's quite flustered from all the attention and questions, leaving Poe to drag him away in a huff, claiming they need to get back to figuring out how to send him home. It feels like a babysitting gig more than anything, but deep down it strokes Poe's ego when Steven ooh's and ahh's at all his resistance tales.

[lover-of-mine]

The thing is, we are all cherry picking out points, yk? Sure, Buck did ask for the hangar tour and was all starstruck by it on his own, but if we wanna make that argument as Buck initiating contact, we need to consider the way Buck lingers by the helicopter to talk to Taylor because he's starstruck by her and he approaches Natalia to ask about being a death doula. He didn't have romantic intentions with any of those, he wanted to know more about them. At the end of 206 he goes after Taylor to talk to her about the news piece. Buck didn't know Tommy was an option romantically until Tommy kissed him because he was too focused on the Eddie of it all. Buck asks Taylor out during the whole thing with Albert and Veronica and doesn't realize Taylor might be an option until she tells him she was expecting sex because he was too focused on how he was feeling about the Veronica of it all. Buck reaches out to Tommy to apologize after he walks out on the date, points for him, but he only does it because Eddie told him to. And after Taylor walks out from Veronica's place, Buck keeps calling her to apologize, she just doesn't pick up. And at the hospital after the baby is born, Buck saying he thought Natalia wasn't speaking to him, implies he did try, she just didn't answer. Buck repeats patterns in the way he keeps waiting for the other person to clue him in before he does something and goes to the worst case scenario first. Buck just never assumes someone wants him around. And I can apply this to Eddie too. He tugs on Eddie's ponytail until Eddie lets him know he's not trying to replace him. We talk about grand gestures and the insanity of asking someone for a second date to his sister's wedding when they left the first one, but he got an apartment with Ali, he asked Taylor to move in because he cheated, he asked Natalia to buy furniture after 3 dates and a birth. But by this logic, you can paint Carla is a grand gesture. Buck wants people to stay and he doesn't measure efforts to make it happen. Buck sitting down and cooling off after the basketball trying to figure out what was really bothering him before talking to Eddie is just as much of a sign of growth as actually talking to Tommy about his expectations for the relationship. But both have their set of problems because Buck is hiding from consequences when it comes to Eddie and he's jumping off the deep end with Tommy anyway. Buck is complex in such an interesting way and no one is looking at the full picture anymore. Yes, Tommy parallels Abby and Ali and Taylor and Natalia. But he also parallels Eddie. And the Eddie ones are very explicitly said because the episode plays that twist. The parallels with Taylor are glaring, the ones with Ali and Natalia are there and all, and the Abby ones, if you want to say I'm pushing, I wouldn't fight you on it. Every argument can be hollowed out if you see it on its own. Buck assumes no one really wants him around and that he needs to prove he's worthy of it before getting someone to stay. That's the actual hamster wheel. Buck goes all in. And it's a fine line to walk. Even more when the show is making a point of showing that applied to situations that blew up on his face before. If you wanna say Buck was healed by the power of getting dicked down, that's your prerogative, but is he?

[cyclogenesis]

life updates ✨

today i'm going to swim UP from the depths of the rejection sensitive dysphoria i've been absolutely drowning in lately and i'm going to WRITE and POST this update despite the fact that i want to delete it all already because nobody cares (shut up rsd!! i fucking told you!!!!) so, anyway~~

today i'm going to write the four remaining netgalley book reviews i'm behind on from last year, and in between i'm going to answer comments and feel engaged with as a human instead of the...fantasy npc simulacrum of a daughter/granddaughter | void of a content machine | middling and wildly rejectable acquaintance i've been feeling like lately. when interactions make me feel bad i'm like oh man i hate feeling bad. feeling bad is the worst and it happened because of an interaction. it is therefore logical to isolate myself from the sources of hurt and avoid interactions. and i'm correct tbh but also that is objectively a bad idea. and i know that because i've done it before. i know my own stupid patterns. argh!!

it's just that the bad interactions make me feel like i'm standing at the edge of a cliff and i have vertigo and i'm swaying and dizzy and i know i'm going to fall. but i'm stuck there. i'm stuck in the moment before falling, in this miserable in-between space. and it's like god. get me out of here!!

i'm going to call grammy today. i should have already called her this week. she went into the hospital on saturday night because she's in too much pain and they let her out monday morning with a new treatment plan. i talked to her sunday and she sounded good. i'll be going back to fresno next week for her 86th birthday.

and i just keep thinking about how i'll be there when the new ethel cain record comes out. and so i'll tuck up into the guest room when grammy goes to bed at 8pm and i'll listen to this hour and a half long record. (ten thousand prayer hands emojis go here.) and the last time i was out of town for a record i was excited about it was boygenius in 2023 and so i listened to it for the first time in another guest room, my friend's in new york, and that's where i heard letter to an old poet for the first time and got weepy. and then i listened to it walking through central park on a cold sunny april morning and felt alive and lovely.

but ethel cain is good fresno music. and i'll be able to listen to it all the way through twice on the drive back home. another bright sharp association for art to carry.

i remember this guy i passed on the street in paris. he was homeless (i think?) and frustrated from being ignored for whatever he was asking (i am not as good at french as i would like to think i am) and he ended up yelling "j'existe! j'existe!" at the passers-by. yeah, man. yeah.

my therapist told me to make a list of things i'm grateful for and that i'm looking forward to in the new year. i'm grateful for a lot. when it comes to things i'm looking forward to, i landed on strange new worlds coming back and also, in case it's not clear, the new ethel cain record. (perverts available january 8th!!!)

but i cannot escape the fact that my grandmother is going to die. and also she hit me with the christmas surprise that she changed her will to make her cousin executor (good, my mom was going to be useless and frankly i was afraid she was going to screw me and take everything) so now what was going to be split two ways between me and my mom will also be shared with him and another cousin (a really pleasant fuck-you to me to equally cut in an eighty year old man who lives with his son and doesn't have, you know, student loans or anything). the assets are basically life insurance, a bunch of furniture none of us really have the room for, and however much we can get for her house, which she owns but which is also a mobile home in fresno.

anyway, assuming it's enough that i can convince myself the expense is justifiable, i will be getting that money and flying the fuck out of here. going to greece, see ya. i have a list of islands. i started leaving the country for my birthday in 2023 in part because after rejecting me in favor of my parents in nov 2021, grammy then didn't call me on my birthday the following year after a lifetime of having done so. in fact, she did not call me until twelve days after. this hurt me so badly that i decided to be in a drastically different timezone for every following birthday, because then nobody needs to call anybody. nine hours ahead at the palace of versailles and not really worried about it. thanks. you'd really think my coping mechanisms would have me better at speaking french by now.

so, yeah. i guess i'm looking forward to getting money from my grandmother dying. certainly my therapist will be interested to hear that. frustratingly, i have reached the end of the duolingo greek course and am now just doing the daily refresh lessons which are not great and seem mostly invested in me being able to say and write useful phrases like "ο πυροσβέστης είναι ανίκανος να τρέξει" (the firefighter is incapable of running) and "η καλύτερη άμυνα είναι μια καλή επίθεση" (the best defense is a good offense). recommendations for other apps with good greek courses including writing are of course welcome. which is to say. are there any

writing is still helping. so there's that!

[gotta-pet-em-all]

Pelipper Mail! A dream — of connection.

You're sitting, somewhere — it doesn't matter where — with someone; a man of about thirty, if you had to guess, with tanned skin and long, dark hair. He's talking about his arm — and some battle, maybe, you don't really process the specifics. The important part is he's disabled, now, and he's learning to live with it. And you talk about your bones, and their tendency to wiggle out of place, and canes and rollators, and all sorts of things. And he talks about his younger sister and her friends, close as family at this point, and you talk about your 'mons.

It doesn't fix anything, for either of you. But it's comforting. It's nice. And for now, that's enough.

….oh. That was nice.

The man introduces himself as Dunban, says his universe is patchy and sometimes he dreams of other worlds. You invite him to sit down; this dream is no good anyways, all sterile calming green and anodyne round furniture with not a single sharp in sight.

“I have this dream a lot,” you say, almost apologetically. “It’s not quite a nightmare, more of a, um, a stress dream to be honest. My cane is somewhere down the hall, but I can never reach it.”

“You have my deepest condolences,” he says, his voice deep. He’s a bit old fashioned, and as someone who’s speech patterns are irrevocably altered by reading more than you converse, you appreciate it.

His right arm is tucked away under a sort of asymmetrical cape, and you squint, trying to figure out if it’s a shadow or a bruise. “Is your arm doing all right?”

“Ah, I’m afraid it’s been like that for a long time. Old war injury,” he explains.

“Oh! My bad, I thought it looked discolored and was going to ask if it was bruised. I guess I should have figured, from the way you dress.” You duck your head, wishing for even a hospital dream to give you better lighting.

“No need to be so avoidant of the topic. It’s not as though it’s a sore subject, simply a matter of learning to live with it.” He carefully, gingerly moves his arm to show you, fingers curled in a neutral position and every movement deliberate but also shaky. It looks rather atrophied compared to the rest of him.

“Nerve damage,” you guess, instinctively taking it in your hand and feeling it up, watching his face. “Chronic pain, loss of sensation, and I’m betting you didn’t even realize it was bruised, did you?”

“No, miss, I did not. You’re quite astute— please give my arm back,” he says tersely, and you jerk back.

“Sorry. Uh. You have lichtenburg marks on your hands. I… don’t know much about war, but were you trying to use that hand to protect yourself from something?”

His expression does something difficult to read. “We all did things to protect ourselves in the war, and to protect our homes. I don’t regret what I did. But I am not left handed by nature.”

[lesmisletters-daily]

Who Guarded His House For Him

Les Mis Letters reading club explores one chapter of Les Misérables every day. Join us on Discord, Substack - or share your thoughts right here on tumblr - today's tag is #lm 1.1.6

The house in which he lived consisted, as we have said, of a ground floor, and one story above; three rooms on the ground floor, three chambers on the first, and an attic above. Behind the house was a garden, a quarter of an acre in extent. The two women occupied the first floor; the Bishop was lodged below. The first room, opening on the street, served him as dining-room, the second was his bedroom, and the third his oratory. There was no exit possible from this oratory, except by passing through the bedroom, nor from the bedroom, without passing through the dining-room. At the end of the suite, in the oratory, there was a detached alcove with a bed, for use in cases of hospitality. The Bishop offered this bed to country curates whom business or the requirements of their parishes brought to D——

The pharmacy of the hospital, a small building which had been added to the house, and abutted on the garden, had been transformed into a kitchen and cellar. In addition to this, there was in the garden a stable, which had formerly been the kitchen of the hospital, and in which the Bishop kept two cows. No matter what the quantity of milk they gave, he invariably sent half of it every morning to the sick people in the hospital.

<i>“I am paying my tithes,”</i> he said.

His bedroom was tolerably large, and rather difficult to warm in bad weather. As wood is extremely dear at D——, he hit upon the idea of having a compartment of boards constructed in the cow-shed. Here he passed his evenings during seasons of severe cold: he called it his <i>winter salon</i>.

In this winter salon, as in the dining-room, there was no other furniture than a square table in white wood, and four straw-seated chairs. In addition to this the dining-room was ornamented with an antique sideboard, painted pink, in water colors. Out of a similar sideboard, properly draped with white napery and imitation lace, the Bishop had constructed the altar which decorated his oratory.

His wealthy penitents and the sainted women of D—— had more than once assessed themselves to raise the money for a new altar for Monseigneur’s oratory; on each occasion he had taken the money and had given it to the poor. “The most beautiful of altars,” he said, “is the soul of an unhappy creature consoled and thanking God.”

In his oratory there were two straw prie-Dieu, and there was an armchair, also in straw, in his bedroom. When, by chance, he received seven or eight persons at one time, the prefect, or the general, or the staff of the regiment in garrison, or several pupils from the little seminary, the chairs had to be fetched from the winter salon in the stable, the prie-Dieu from the oratory, and the armchair from the bedroom: in this way as many as eleven chairs could be collected for the visitors. A room was dismantled for each new guest.

It sometimes happened that there were twelve in the party; the Bishop then relieved the embarrassment of the situation by standing in front of the chimney if it was winter, or by strolling in the garden if it was summer.

There was still another chair in the detached alcove, but the straw was half gone from it, and it had but three legs, so that it was of service only when propped against the wall. Mademoiselle Baptistine had also in her own room a very large easy-chair of wood, which had formerly been gilded, and which was covered with flowered pekin; but they had been obliged to hoist this bergère up to the first story through the window, as the staircase was too narrow; it could not, therefore, be reckoned among the possibilities in the way of furniture.

Mademoiselle Baptistine’s ambition had been to be able to purchase a set of drawing-room furniture in yellow Utrecht velvet, stamped with a rose pattern, and with mahogany in swan’s neck style, with a sofa. But this would have cost five hundred francs at least, and in view of the fact that she had only been able to lay by forty-two francs and ten sous for this purpose in the course of five years, she had ended by renouncing the idea. However, who is there who has attained his ideal?

Nothing is more easy to present to the imagination than the Bishop’s bedchamber. A glazed door opened on the garden; opposite this was the bed,—a hospital bed of iron, with a canopy of green serge; in the shadow of the bed, behind a curtain, were the utensils of the toilet, which still betrayed the elegant habits of the man of the world: there were two doors, one near the chimney, opening into the oratory; the other near the bookcase, opening into the dining-room. The bookcase was a large cupboard with glass doors filled with books; the chimney was of wood painted to represent marble, and habitually without fire. In the chimney stood a pair of firedogs of iron, ornamented above with two garlanded vases, and flutings which had formerly been silvered with silver leaf, which was a sort of episcopal luxury; above the chimney-piece hung a crucifix of copper, with the silver worn off, fixed on a background of threadbare velvet in a wooden frame from which the gilding had fallen; near the glass door a large table with an inkstand, loaded with a confusion of papers and with huge volumes; before the table an armchair of straw; in front of the bed a prie-Dieu, borrowed from the oratory.

Two portraits in oval frames were fastened to the wall on each side of the bed. Small gilt inscriptions on the plain surface of the cloth at the side of these figures indicated that the portraits represented, one the Abbé of Chaliot, bishop of Saint Claude; the other, the Abbé Tourteau, vicar-general of Agde, abbé of Grand-Champ, order of Cîteaux, diocese of Chartres. When the Bishop succeeded to this apartment, after the hospital patients, he had found these portraits there, and had left them. They were priests, and probably donors—two reasons for respecting them. All that he knew about these two persons was, that they had been appointed by the king, the one to his bishopric, the other to his benefice, on the same day, the 27th of April, 1785. Madame Magloire having taken the pictures down to dust, the Bishop had discovered these particulars written in whitish ink on a little square of paper, yellowed by time, and attached to the back of the portrait of the Abbé of Grand-Champ with four wafers.

At his window he had an antique curtain of a coarse woollen stuff, which finally became so old, that, in order to avoid the expense of a new one, Madame Magloire was forced to take a large seam in the very middle of it. This seam took the form of a cross. The Bishop often called attention to it: “How delightful that is!” he said.

All the rooms in the house, without exception, those on the ground floor as well as those on the first floor, were white-washed, which is a fashion in barracks and hospitals.

However, in their latter years, Madame Magloire discovered beneath the paper which had been washed over, paintings, ornamenting the apartment of Mademoiselle Baptistine, as we shall see further on. Before becoming a hospital, this house had been the ancient parliament house of the Bourgeois. Hence this decoration. The chambers were paved in red bricks, which were washed every week, with straw mats in front of all the beds. Altogether, this dwelling, which was attended to by the two women, was exquisitely clean from top to bottom. This was the sole luxury which the Bishop permitted. He said, <i>“That takes nothing from the poor.”</i>

It must be confessed, however, that he still retained from his former possessions six silver knives and forks and a soup-ladle, which Madame Magloire contemplated every day with delight, as they glistened splendidly upon the coarse linen cloth. And since we are now painting the Bishop of D—— as he was in reality, we must add that he had said more than once, “I find it difficult to renounce eating from silver dishes.”

To this silverware must be added two large candlesticks of massive silver, which he had inherited from a great-aunt. These candlesticks held two wax candles, and usually figured on the Bishop’s chimney-piece. When he had any one to dinner, Madame Magloire lighted the two candles and set the candlesticks on the table.

In the Bishop’s own chamber, at the head of his bed, there was a small cupboard, in which Madame Magloire locked up the six silver knives and forks and the big spoon every night. But it is necessary to add, that the key was never removed.

The garden, which had been rather spoiled by the ugly buildings which we have mentioned, was composed of four alleys in cross-form, radiating from a tank. Another walk made the circuit of the garden, and skirted the white wall which enclosed it. These alleys left behind them four square plots rimmed with box. In three of these, Madame Magloire cultivated vegetables; in the fourth, the Bishop had planted some flowers; here and there stood a few fruit-trees. Madame Magloire had once remarked, with a sort of gentle malice: “Monseigneur, you who turn everything to account, have, nevertheless, one useless plot. It would be better to grow salads there than bouquets.” “Madame Magloire,” retorted the Bishop, “you are mistaken. The beautiful is as useful as the useful.” He added after a pause, “More so, perhaps.”

This plot, consisting of three or four beds, occupied the Bishop almost as much as did his books. He liked to pass an hour or two there, trimming, hoeing, and making holes here and there in the earth, into which he dropped seeds. He was not as hostile to insects as a gardener could have wished to see him. Moreover, he made no pretensions to botany; he ignored groups and consistency; he made not the slightest effort to decide between Tournefort and the natural method; he took part neither with the buds against the cotyledons, nor with Jussieu against Linnæus. He did not study plants; he loved flowers. He respected learned men greatly; he respected the ignorant still more; and, without ever failing in these two respects, he watered his flower-beds every summer evening with a tin watering-pot painted green.

The house had not a single door which could be locked. The door of the dining-room, which, as we have said, opened directly on the cathedral square, had formerly been ornamented with locks and bolts like the door of a prison. The Bishop had had all this ironwork removed, and this door was never fastened, either by night or by day, with anything except the latch. All that the first passer-by had to do at any hour, was to give it a push. At first, the two women had been very much tried by this door, which was never fastened, but Monsieur de D—— had said to them, “Have bolts put on your rooms, if that will please you.” They had ended by sharing his confidence, or by at least acting as though they shared it. Madame Magloire alone had frights from time to time. As for the Bishop, his thought can be found explained, or at least indicated, in the three lines which he wrote on the margin of a Bible, “This is the shade of difference: the door of the physician should never be shut, the door of the priest should always be open.”

On another book, entitled <i>Philosophy of the Medical Science</i>, he had written this other note: “Am not I a physician like them? I also have my patients, and then, too, I have some whom I call my unfortunates.”

Again he wrote: “Do not inquire the name of him who asks a shelter of you. The very man who is embarrassed by his name is the one who needs shelter.”

It chanced that a worthy curé, I know not whether it was the curé of Couloubroux or the curé of Pompierry, took it into his head to ask him one day, probably at the instigation of Madame Magloire, whether Monsieur was sure that he was not committing an indiscretion, to a certain extent, in leaving his door unfastened day and night, at the mercy of any one who should choose to enter, and whether, in short, he did not fear lest some misfortune might occur in a house so little guarded. The Bishop touched his shoulder, with gentle gravity, and said to him, <i>“Nisi Dominus custodierit domum, in vanum vigilant qui custodiunt eam,” Unless the Lord guard the house, in vain do they watch who guard it.</i>

Then he spoke of something else.

He was fond of saying, “There is a bravery of the priest as well as the bravery of a colonel of dragoons,—only,” he added, “ours must be tranquil.”

[a-little-revolution]

I'm writing fanfiction for a piece of media where a vast majority of the people in the world are little people. What would be some notable everyday differences for a world primarily built around little people versus a world primarily built around not-little people? The first and only thing that comes to mind are that bicycles would be built for different proportions, but that's it.

Hello! Gosh so much would be different!

Counters would be about 2-2.5 feet off the ground, and chairs would have shorter legs and seats

High shelves would likely need to be on some sort of rotating system so all the shelves could be accessed from low down - think the ones from Wall-E!!

Things would need to be fully accessible for mobility aids, and steps would be shorter and closer together

Farming would be done on raised beds

Far more goods and products would be sized down to Little proportions - including clothes, tools, furniture, houses, etc.

Checkout counters would be lower

Automobiles would run tests on Little dummies, and change airbag patterns to prevent whip-lash

Public spaces would have low sinks, toilets, and changing tables

Hospital beds and furniture would be low enough for little people to use without assistance, and more research would be put towards properly dosing Little patients

And gosh, so much more..

-Elliot (they/them)

[jokeringcutio]

Third time's a charm Otis B. Driftwood x Reader (How Reader was Rescued)

Fandom: House of 1000 Corpses & The Devil’s Rejects & 3 From Hell. Pairings: Otis B. Driftwood X Reader. Rating: Mature (for topics and themes) Warnings: Violence, Blood, (Decent) mentioning of corpses and corpse abuse, Pregnancy, Semi-Graphic Birth, Breeding Kink, Murder, dubcon and noncon. Summary: How you got rescued from the Firefly Family.

This can be seen as a continuation on [ This Drabble where they take you to the hospital ] and was specially written for iffyline

The third time's a charm

At first, you had hope. It wasn’t a tiny bit, it was huge. Enough to fill your heart and mind. You’d gone from being hopelessly lost to being determined to remain alive. It felt as if your life was balancing each second of the day on a scale that could tip over unannounced. But now you held hope, and that meant that you would do anything to remain alive until the police would come to rescue you. No matter how degrading it would be.

You’d seen your friends die in horrible ways, and had to watch some of them still on display – either as pieces of art or body parts of them that had been re-used for furniture. Yeah, better not think about that. Though you’d never received your answer as to why you were the only one still alive, you could hazard a guess. The Firefly member named Otis was to thank for that. He’d claimed you from the get-go, held you tied up in his room, and fucked you raw until you could no longer walk.

It was thanks to falling ill that Baby and Otis had driven you to the hospital where you could alarm the doctor about your predicament. You were missing. You and your friends. And you had told the doctor all about the dangerous family that held you captive. You’d warned her not to take action too soon, because you knew if the attempt failed, the family would know that it had been you who had been blabbering to the doctor. You feared not only for your own life, but also for theirs.

Thankfully, your capturers were none the wiser. Your cover: the unfortunate fetus inside your womb. Otis had been withdrawn on the way back, uncharacteristically quiet and absentminded. Baby had been over the moon. As for the others of the family, well, Baby had been right. Mama Firefly got a certain gleam in her eyes when the sonograms were shown, she was thrilled. Tiny and Rufus seemed to be okay with it all. They hadn’t said much about it to you, just seemed to accept it as a fact. Captain Spaulding had slapped your shoulder and welcomed you to the family. Then Otis had left the room and had thrown the door shut behind him. You had been left with the Firefly members all on your own for the very first time. Unchained. Nothing had happened. Baby had gotten you something to drink. That was all.

Otis had returned for you not much later and you’d fallen back into the same old pattern that had emerged ever since you had arrived. With you locked up in his chamber and him taking his pleasure from you whenever he liked. But there had been glances you hadn’t seen from him before. Something in his eyes had changed and sometimes you could see him clench his jaw or flex his hand before forming a fist.

You thought he hated the idea of becoming a father.

And so you prayed your rescuers would arrive soon.

They did, sooner than you would find out. The first rescue mission they undertook failed horribly. You were stuck in Otis’s room when it happened, tummy round with child for God knows how many weeks. Too long. You’d not noticed anything had happened until Otis told you, many weeks later. And only because you’d recognized a police badge among one of his new art exhibits.

Gross.

You’d expected a second wave soon after, but no one came.

~

In the end, you ended up giving birth on Otis’s bed, making it one bloody mess that had his eyes light up in delight.

“See, a birth can be fun,” Mama Firefly had said. She stood next to you to help pull the babe from your womb.

“It’s very artistic,” Otis said, his eyes alit with emotions that resembled pride and… was that love? No, it couldn’t be. Lust. That must have been it. But he looked at you at that moment like he looked at his best artworks. And you felt like you were, torn below, legs parted, your blood seeping all over the blankets.

The baby cried and Otis took the child in his arms. Blood covered his strong biceps and stained his white undershirt, but he was unbothered. Perhaps this sight frightened you even more than if he had turned away and neglected your child. It was him, pure as could be, talking to the little fellow in his hands as if he was the most important thing in the world.

Like a father.

Otis loved his child. And dang if that didn’t hurt. You saw it in the way he looked up at the kid, saw it in how he tried his best to care for the child even if he sometimes horribly failed at it. Thing was, you never stood on your own in this. Mama Firefly got your back, and so did Grandpa Hugo. You could always rely on Baby to help you out with anything that needed to be done. And slowly, ever so slowly, you were given back some of your freedom, as if they accepted you as part of their twisted little family.

You could roam the house, do basic things all by yourself. Otis seemed to trust you more now that the two of you shared a baby. But you were scared. A future in this house, for your child? It couldn’t be anything good. You kept praying for someone to come and take you and your child away.

~

The second time the police came to investigate, you were in the living room, your baby son on your lap.

“What took them so long?” you murmured, watching the blue lights as they swirled outside the window.

“Shit,” Baby cursed, her voice unladylike and raw. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Get all your things and go,” Captain Spaulding shouted. He looked pointedly at you, but it was Otis who got into motion, grabbing your hand. Of course, you’d almost forgotten, that whenever the police or anyone of importance showed up, you had to hide. You were still reported missing after all, and your family and friends hadn’t given up the search for you. They’d appeared on numerous television shows and sometimes still made the news when they thought they’d found a new lead.

But the doctor knew where you were. There was a lead! Why hadn’t they come sooner? Why had the second attempt taken them this long? The doctor knew you were here. She promised to alarm the police. They knew! Why had they left you to your fate long enough to give birth in this hellhole?

“’ere, give ‘im to me,” Hugo cradled the baby in his arms, disappearing into a different room.

“No!” you shouted, but Otis already pushed you into his room and shut the windows, barring them.

“You stay here,” he said, eyes flashing with something dangerous that told you he was not to be argued with. You watched as he got a gun out and collected some cleavers he used to make his art. Then he left, locking the door behind him.

You cried in your hands while you listened to the sounds of a confrontation below. If he hadn’t barred the windows, you might have been able to signal to the men outside. But no such luck.

You were let out of the room for dinner and were handed your son. He was safe, except for a few blood spatters on his little romper that luckily didn’t belong to him. Grandpa Hugo had protected him with his life, he said. And while you had been shielded from the horrors below, your infant son had been present to watch the murder in real time.

Baby and Tiny were arguing about the reason the police had come to visit. You didn’t feel like you had such a great appetite when you saw one of the policemen on the table. Instead, you held your son while you breastfed him, aware of Otis’s watchful eyes as he ate his dinner, eyeing you approvingly.

~

The baby bump showed, visibly, and it disgusted you how Otis would rub his hand over it, would talk to the unborn child as if the baby already could understand. Talked about all the projects he had in mind for them to work on and the things he wanted to teach the kid.

It had been different one time. But after your son was born, Otis changed. A little. He’d gone from quiet and pensive to overly enthusiastic and ready to involve his kids in whatever he had in mind. Nothing that risked their lives though, which was a relief. You watched him take your toddler son by the hand and guide him around the premises. Or haul him on his lap to help him carve one of his new exposition displays.

Yes, he actively engaged your son in creating new centerpieces. He held his tiny little hand to steer the carving knife. He made your child actively cut human flesh into artful shapes.

And you hated him for it. Hated him even more now that a second child was growing inside. You knew you could not steer away from his touches, knew you could not avoid whatever nature had in store for you. You just survived each and every day and deliberately had forgotten that there were people out there looking for you. The hope you once held had diminished and dwindled into a small pilot flame. Still there, ready to be lit again, but not bright, barely visible.

They would not come. They had tried and they had lost. What was there to hope for?

You’d imagined escapes, even tried a few, but it had all ended back in Otis’s bed, chained to the headboard, with him eagerly thrusting inside of you while he berated you for your attempts. In fact, that was probably how the new baby had been created. But it had been so tempting to try and drive off with one of the cars. And you’d gotten closer than you ever had before.

Well, it was all in the past now. You’d have to wait for another opportunity to arrive.

~

“They’re sweet, aren’t they?” Mama Firefly said from her rocking chair on the porch.

Your son chased after your daughter. She was still a toddler, stumbling around on chubby legs. He was lean and slender, a mirror image of his dad.

A simple nod was all you gave as a reply. Your eyes focused on your children while you hoped it would remain at two.

Behind you, the wood of the doorway creaked, and when you looked up, you saw Otis leaning against the doorpost, arms crossed in front of his chest. His cold eyes rested upon your kids.

Then a tiny smile curled his lips.

You quickly looked away again.

~

When the police came for you again, things were completely different from before. They didn’t race towards the house with sirens on. Instead, an ordinary-looking car made its way to a safe distance, and the first policeman didn’t run into any of the Fireflies. He ran into you.

You were outside, watching your kids as they were playing when a stranger came into your periphery. You didn’t hesitate, didn’t give it a second thought, and called out for him.

The stranger said your name, didn’t even seem surprised, and you responded affirmatively. It was you. And you needed to get out.

He gestured for you to head his way. You didn’t hesitate, picked up your toddler, and grabbed your son by the hand. You led your kids into the safety of the stranger’s car. The man joined in the passenger’s seat and turned to the woman behind the steering wheel.

“Go, go, go,” he said, and she drove off.

Nothing heroic. No great showdown or bullet shot.

Yet, you were out.

~

Whenever someone with bleached hair passed you by, you did a double take. Just to make sure it wasn’t him. Odd, really, because it could not be Otis.

He was dead.

So the police had said.

When they’d taken you and your kids to safety, a second squad had surrounded the house and that bullet fight you thought hadn’t occurred took place without you knowing. The Firefly family had fought back resiliently, but the police had learned from the last time. In the end, the Fireflies tried to escape by setting the house on fire.

Otis had been mauled down by one of the policemen. They told you he’d been on the floor once the flames engulfed him.

You were free, even if some of the family had managed to get away.

Your kids grew up leading normal lives. Though your son showed traces of morbid interest, remembering how it felt to carve up flesh with his dad.

He blamed you as well. He missed his father. You never apologized for taking him and his sister away from that toxic environment and was determined to wait until your son was old enough to understand what had happened. He was clever, you were certain he would understand.

And so the three of you led a brand new life, surrounded by friends and family. Hope started to rebuild again inside of your chest, and fear left your heart droplet by little droplet as time went by.

You would live the life you had craved for. You weren’t a quitter.

~ * ~

“You should just walk up to them,” Baby said, eyeing the man next to her with annoyance. “Stop lurking. What is the worst that could happen?”

“You’re right,” the man said. He marched out of his hiding place, white hair flowing behind him, beard jutted forward with pride.

“Hello there, kid.”

Baby snickered while she watched him bend forward to talk to the teenage kid. A young and slender boy with hair just as pale. From behind the boy, a girl emerged. She’d been playing a distance away but came closer when she saw the stranger approach. She looked a lot like her mother, Baby thought. But had her father’s eyes.

“Dad?” the boy said. “You came back for us?” Not scared or with a stammer, but with relief visibly painting his features.

“Just wanted to say hi,” Otis said, leaning forward to ruffle the girl’s hair before doing the same to the boy. “Not gonna steal you away from your mother. Missed you too much.”

The children beamed up at him, prompting Baby to step out from the shadows to watch the family reunion openly.

Otis’s eyes glinted when he spoke to his son. “Think your mom will want me back?”

~ FIN  ~

[grinmaw]

Bellow the cut is what happens on page 14. If you dont wanna be spolied then dont read below cut.

I was qurious to see what a fan- fic version of the story might look like. There is only so much I can put in a single page so this is a more in- depth view of the story.

Later that night…

She did take upon his ‘suggestion’, and was now trying to get as comfy as possible for a good night sleep. As the king’s very special guest, or friend rather, she was of course, offered an equally special room.

Fancy was one word to describe it. It was decked from floor to ceiling in furniture only befitting someone who belonged in royalty. Like a Princess... A grand bed took a sizable portion of the room, covered with fine cotton sheets and fluffy pillows. The rest of the room was decorated with all manner of furniture, all expertly crafted, some of them full of clothes like dresses and such. Others had jewelry and other trinkets tucked away in their drawers. Even the carpets were made of fine material and had intricate patterns sewed into them.

Rozaria didn’t care much for this finery. She hasn’t even used the bed since day one, quite content to sleep on a pile of pillows on the floor. She was busily kneading some of them with her paws, her claws softly scratching the fabric.

If Bowser wanted to treat her like a princess then so be it, she wasnt about to complain. His antics were still very much amusing to her.  

She was back in her dragon form, instead of her usual humanoid one. There were no prying eyes, or quivering voices hidden in dark corners, so she was quite content to be her true self behind closed doors. The Koopas were brave, but it didn’t elude her eyes how sometimes they would look wearily at her, and grip their weapons a little tighter as she passed them. It was to be expected, she supposed. She was like a predator walking amongst potential snacks, and who knew when she would decide that shes done playing pretend and take over the castle. Of course they wouldn’t trust a dragon that easily…unlike Bowser.

He seems to be the only one that was not unnerved by her presence, and would seek it even. The past few days he would drag her around the castle, as if they were chained together, all day long. She didn’t understand why was he being so hospitable to a creature such as her, but she wasn’t about to question him. She was quite content on waiting out whatever game they were playing. If he was pretending to be nice just to get something in return, then he would eventually slip up. They might’ve made a pact of friendship, but Rozaria wasn’t so naïve to think that that wouldn’t be broken at some point. For now, she would just have to be patient..

The castle was eerie quiet without its King present. Bowser did leave for the Mushroom Kingdom that night, just as he said he would.

“Guess he just cant wait to meet his girlfriend. Or perhaps he is the romantic type that likes to propose under the full moon?”, she could just imagine him getting down on one giant knee and taking the princesses’ dainty hand in his big meaty paw, blinking at her dreamily, with the full moon framing them both. A scene straight out of the sappiest of romance novels. She snickered at the thought, covering her mouth with her paw.

And just a few days ago he was ready to throw down with her when she crashed in his castle the first time. To think that a brute like him could be such a hopeless romantic.. He would sweep that princess right off her feet, probably.

Rozaria opened her mouth in a giant yawn, her sharp teeth glinting in the dark room. She spread out her arms, and laid her head on top of them, settling down on the pile of pillows.

“I’m sure he will gloat all about it tomorrow”, she closed her eyes and drifted off.

-----

The sun had replaced the moon some hours ago, its warm rays shining through the window. Rozaria wasn’t exactly asleep but wasnt quite ready to leave her comfy place on top of the pillows. The sun’s rays were rather pleasant on her scales.

A booming noise resonated through the castle. Her feathers stood on end and her eyes flew open. She lifted her head to listen better. It happened again, at some other location In the castle. It was like a bunch of explosions going on.

“Are we under attack?”...

[zebracakesarecopingmechanisms]

Assigning each ASOUE book a TMA entity (+why)

*Also taking the Netflix show’s portrayal/atmosphere into account.

The Bad Beginning: Web 🕸️

The Baudelaires are beginning to realize that things have been going on behind the scenes that they can’t understand; they are almost completely trapped in Olaf’s scheme til Klaus finds a loophole.

The Reptile Room: Hunt 🦷

The Incredibly Deadly Viper is initially percieved as a threat, if short-lived, and the Baudelaires are surrounded by dangerous creatures. Simultaneously, this is the book in which they truly realize Olaf is determined to keep chasing them.

The Wide Window: Lonely ☁️

Imagery of a large, empty house in a grey, foggy lake setting combined with the theme of grief. They are also without their guardian for a while after she faked suicide and was temporarily presumed dead.

The Miserable Mill: Dark 🌑

The Baudelaires do not know what happened with their parents here; information is being hidden from them. Klaus’ vision is literally impaired at several points in the story due to his glasses being damaged, in addition to the mandatory nightly “lights out” immediately after dinner.

The Austere Academy: Slaughter🔪

Vice Principal Nero’s fixation on the violin provides frenzied music, a common theme of the slaughter. The children are collectively cruel to the Baudelaires via Carmelita’s leadership. They demonstrate moblike behavior at the pep rallies.

The Ersatz Elevator: Spiral 🌀

The penthouse has hundreds of rooms and corridors in which one can easily be lost; there are repeating patterns on walls and furniture as well as the children’s clothing. Proportions seem exaggerated, ie the scale of the house, the limo, Esmé’s hat and fur coat, etc. The elevator is a false door that acts as a deception. Esmé is the first character to convincingly lie to the Baudelaires, and the contradictory rules of the In/Out system are nonsensical and confusing. And, of course, there is literally a Red Herring at the auction.

The Vile Village: Buried ⚰️

The Baudelaires are, in a literal sense, in a dry and dusty desert village full of sand. In addition to this, Duncan and Isadora are trapped together in the cramped, dark space of the fountain for the bulk of the story. In a more figurative sense, the Baudelaires are also buried under extensive suffocating and restrictive laws.

The Hostile Hospital: Eye 👁️

Heimlich Hospital contained files of information on nearly every conceivable subject; a massive gathering of knowledge by a man who ironically has poor vision. Olaf keeps a constant watch through the security cameras, and when Klaus is being forced to operate on his sister, an entire theater is seeing him.

The Carnivorous Carnival: Flesh 🥩

While the “carnival freaks” are of course not actually examples of body horror and are just people with deformities, they are still viewed as such by audiences within the narrative. Additionally, Madame Lulu is literally eaten alive by lions.

The Slippery Slope: Vast 🌊

In this case, the Vast mainly refers to the sky and heights, though the ocean is incorporated at the very end leading into the Grim Grotto. Falling off the mountain is a constant background fear; Sunny’s cage is thrown off the edge, and we see Kit do her little falling-and-flying trick with the dragonfly wings.

The Grim Grotto: Corruption 🪰

I was tempted to put the Vast here, but honestly the ocean itself was more of a unusual setting than a legitimate source of fear. The major conflict of the story was the infection/contamination of the Medusoid Mycelium.

The Penultimate Peril: Stranger 🎭

The Baudelaires do not know whether they anyone are speaking with is trustworthy, especially Ernest vs. Dewey.

The End: Extinction 🏭

The island is partially covered in garbage and debris, and everyone there is poisoned by the Medusoid Mycelium and will presumably be wiped out.

*Honorable mentions to the Desolation (fire, suffering) the Lonely (very few believe or help) and the Hunt (Count Olaf’s constant pursuit) as overtones of the entire series.

[patternfurniture]

Luxurious Modern Furniture Shop In Bahrain

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[homerforsure]

hii allison, i’m especially intrigued by your eddie time loop wip, even if it’s not actually a time loop 👀

- @doeeyeseddie

HI!

For you and for @steadfastsaturnsrings and @fleurdebeton and also Anon (hi, anon!) I have an early snippet.

And for people who don’t hang on to my every post, I happened to mention a bit ago that ai thought Eddie needed to get stuck in a time loop so he could fully exhaust all the ways he could think of to save his and Shannon’s relationship so he could realize that it was always going to end.

It’s not really a time loop because he’s going to visit different moments in their lives, but he is definitely trapped.

With a heaving gasp, Eddie clawed his way out of the dark. He was blinded at first, by light and then by pain–fierce, encompassing, inescapable pain–that drew a scream to his throat and then… stopped. Like a curtain drawn on a scene he wasn’t meant to witness.

The echoes of it lingered as he tried to sit up, rubbing his eyes against the phosphorescent rainbow that still blinded him. He didn’t feel like he was in his room. Eddie didn’t know where he was and fear made him frantic, even as his limbs remained unwieldy, a hurtless static tingling through them as his nerves tried to wake up.

“No. No, no. No. No. Nope. Hmm-mmm. That is not okay.”

A woman’s voice, familiar and freaked out, broke the silence that Eddie hadn’t realized he’d been sitting in and his head swiveled automatically to try and see her. The light was ebbing and the corners of the room slowly came into focus as he blinked. Eddie tried to speak and the words passed like a breath through his lips.

“No, we are not doing this. Not today, not any day,” the woman said, a loud squeal like heavy furniture sliding across the floor underlining her words. “You can’t stay here. Shoo. Shoo!”

Was she talking to him? Eddie thought it sounded like she was across the room, but he didn’t even know what room he was in. Too quiet for a hospital. Too sterile to be his house. He rolled onto his knees with more effort than it ever should have taken and tipped his head to try and see around the fuzzy circle of light in the center of his vision.

The brightness had no source in the room. All Eddie could make out were smaller lights glowing from high up on the walls and from a table-no, not a table–from an oversized desk and a bank of computer monitors. The woman wasn’t sitting at them.

“What-” was all he managed to say.

“Oh no.”

Blinking again, harder, and rubbing his fists against his eyelids, Eddie asked, “What happened? Where-” His voice gave out again and he pounded a fist against the smooth, cement floor.

“Okay, maybe don’t- You’re gonna- Alright.”

Eddie lifted his head one last time, squinting through the golden haze towards the sound of the voice. There was a chair, dragged as far away from him as it could get and, standing on it like she’d seen a mouse, was a woman in a patterned dress and a lab coat. Squinting hard as her face came into focus, Eddie said, “Karen?”

It didn’t make sense, but there was no mistaking the golden brown twists of her hair or the softness of her eyes as she looked down at him. She didn’t look happy to see him, face crumpling into a frown as she shifted her feet on the chair in a carefully balanced version of stomping them.

“Not exactly,” Karen said. “Fuuuuuuuck. Fuck, fuck fuck.”

[amybizarre]

Royal (Reincarnated As The King's Future Spouse P1)

(Yeahhh... It's one of those manwha style reincarnation concepts-)

_______________________________

Last thing you remembered was driving home from work late at night, when some idiot swerved into your lane right in front of your car.

Flashing lights.  Loud crashes.

Pain.

Darkness.

A brief moment of red and blue lights outside your broken windshield.

More darkness.

Sweet relief.

Floating.

Comfy.

...

<^> <^> <^>

.....

Birds chirping. Behind your closed eyelids, you sensed warm, early morning sunlight. But no outside breeze brushed over your face.

You were in a bed. It didn't feel familiar to you. The mattress and pillow were far more comfortable than anything you ever slept on. And definitely too comfortable for a hospital bed!

You groaned quietly and stretched your sore limbs. Yep, bed was also wayyy too big for a hospital bed. Feeling around you failed to find the edge of the mattress on either side of you.

Your head was still fuzzy and your thoughts all muddled up. Deciding that now wasn't your time to get up, you shifted onto your side, slid your hands underneath your head and pillow and dozed off again.

Why was it so quiet? You lived in a city, you should have heard at least a few cars by now. But no motors could be heard anywhere. Only the peaceful and quiet birdsong from outside a window was audible.

And the muffled footsteps and chatter of people walking by outside the room you were in.

Was this your room then? Maybe.

You would discover more information about your situation after an extra nap though.

...

<^> <^> <^>

...

The second time you awoke in this unfamiliar, but definitely heavenly bed, not a lot seemed to have changed. It was brighter now, indicating that the early morning had turned into full on day. The birdsong was still there. So was the absence of noisy cars outside.

Still a little groggy, you opened your eyes. Only for them to immediately gorw the size of plates.

You scrambled to sit up straight and took in the room in amazement. (And slight alarm)

Everything around you seemed so... Ornate. Luxurious even. Indeed, the bed you had slept in was pretty big. It wasn't a four poster bed, but nonetheless it's dark, wooden frame was carved with intricate vine-like patterns. This artistry in woodwork could be found on all the furniture items within the bedroom. On the desk. The cushioned chair accompanying it. The wadrobe. The shelves and drawers. The two armchairs in front of the small fireplace- Everything.

Everything was also kept in warm and inviting colors, such as a warm créme or red.

Still staring at everything completely awestruck, you reached up to rub your head.

With surprise, you felt bandages underneath your fingertips.

Huh? How did this happen? You barely remembered the crash, but how did you get from the road to.... Here? Wherever here was.

Only really one way to find out. You move the heavy covers to the side and crawl to the edge of the bed. Your feet met fur, when you set them on the ground.

Alarmed you pulled your feet back up, worried you stepped onto an animal. But when you looked it was the hide of a wolf, spread out like a rug.

Uh.... Was this a real hide...? Was this kind of thing still allowed even? Last time you checked this kind of thing was trendy in the medieval ages.

You stepped onto the pelt. It's luscious fur tickled your feet. You smiled and wiggled your toes at the new sensation. Kneeling down beside the pelt, you lifted it up slightly to look underneath.

Yep, that definitely was a real hide, judging by the leathery texture underneath. You couldn't find a tag anywhere, only confirming your suspicions.

As you knelt beside the pelt, bum up in the air, you suddenly heard laughter behind you.

Alarmed you shot up, scrambling to get back onto your feet. Your head immediately swirled with dizziness. But you fought it off to look around for whoever was laughing at you.

At first you couldn't find the culprit. Until they, or rather, she, snorted out: "Oh my! What are you doing?? Have you never seen a pelt before??"

Aaand she went right back to laughing her tiny, glowing butt off. You didn't know whether to be embarrassed or intruiged. Either way, you were blushing and staring.

Only a few inches away from your face floated a tiny person! She was roughly the size of your palm and looked like a fallen star! Literally. Her face had the shape of a star. From her skin to her golden dress, everything about her was glowing.

You wanted to say something, but only ended up opening and closing your mouth repeatedly.

"Wh-Who are you? What are you?" You finally managed to ask, interrupting her endless laughter.

"Have you lost your mind also, (prince/princess)?" The tiny lady asked you teasingly. "I'm Sally Starlet. Your very own faery godmother."

You were confused. "Faery? But I tought they weren't real and only existed in magical stories?"

She gasped loudly in exasperation, clutching her pearls with dramatic guestures.

"You...! I am very much real! And magical! See??" To prove her point, she trwirled around, emmitting glowing particles, that twinkled not unlike glitter.

Huh. Little faery, big personality.

"You should seriously remember me-!"

You shook your head. "I must have lost my mind then..."

Which wasn't too far from the thruth, considering the situation you were in.

"I don't remember anything." Anything from this world, at least.

Sally's eyes widened in surprise and she flickered nervously. "Nothing at all...?"

She flew closer to your head, doing a few laps around it, inspecting the bandage on it.

"Oh dear, seems like that riding accident two days ago was worse than we thought..., " she mumbled under her breath.

You heard her though, and tilted your head. "Accident?"

"Yes, yes. Accident." Sally sighed. "Let me brief you real quick."

You nodded and sat back down on the bed, paying attention to her. She took a deep breath and started.

"Let's start with the basics. You, my dear, are your royal highness (Y/n) (L/n), Crown-(Prince/Princess) of Spades."

Woah! You're a what now? Sick!

"You're currently traveling with your uncle, the royal advisor, and me, your faery godmother to meet your fiancé, his royal highness, the King of Hearts."

Oh. Oh no-

"Fiancé? Are we in love?", you interrupt Sally.

She crossed her arms. "I don't think so. His and your union was arranged by your father, the King of Spades and the late Queen of Hearts. May the gods bless her soul. You will meet your 'beloved' for the first time today."

You gulped nervously. What kind of feverdream did you land in? By now you had decided that this most strange situation of waking up in a magical fantasy world must be some sort of coma-induced dream. A very vivid one, that is. A very real one...

"Can you tell me more about this arrangement, please?"

Sally complied without question. Apparently, the two kingdoms - Spades and Hearts - used to be at war with each other a few decades ago. The kingdom of Hearts won and the previous King of Spades (your grandfather) was replaced by your father. Him and the late Queen of Hearts had worked out a contract to keep the peace between the two nations for future generations as well. This included the arrangement of marrying their future heirs off to each other. However, the two also decided to allow their children to be, well, children and to let them meet for the first time when both of them were adults. And now here you were! On the way to the palace of Hearts, to fulfill this contract.

Your head swirled after taking in so much information at once. By now you were rubbing your aching forehead with your elbows on your knees.

"So! Let me get this straight...," you muttered, "I'm on my way to marry a man, who I've - not only- never met before, but he also rules a kingdom that was at war with mine."

"Yeppers-" Sally concluded matter-of-factly. "So, we better get you back on the road. You've got a war to prevent."

You gasped. "What-?"

She quickly waved you off. "A hypothetical one, don't worry."

Already too late for that. You were worrying. About a lot of things, actually.

With the help of Sally's advice - or rather instructions - you got dressed and readied yourself to be presentable for a king.

The fantasy-esque clothes were definitely something you'd need to get used to. Considering how (pretty/handsome) you felt in them, you didn't think it' d be much of a problem though.

When you brushed your hair, Sally also revealed to you, that you were currently at the residence of Baron and Baroness Merciful, who were kind enough to allow your small party to rest in their home after your accident.

You made a mental note to express your gratitude to them. On your way down the stairs, Sally quietly explained to you, who was who. God bless her thoughtfulness.

You made your way into a country style furnished entrance hall and from there to the right into the kitchen, where you heard voices.

There you were greeted by the sight of a purple haired, bearded man sitting at the table, enjoying a cup of tea. He was Rasmodius (L/n), your uncle in this universe.

Across from him sat a well kept, red haired man with a goatee, who was chatting with him about their travels. This man was the baron.

His wife, the baroness was standing by the window, quietly observing something outside. Her hair was also of a striking red - a trait you will find very common in the Kingdom of Hearts - and braided to a simple hairstyle.

Upon your entrance, the conversation between the baron and your uncle halted, both glancing over at you. Rasmodius' eyes lit up with with joy.

He rose from his seat and pulled you into a tight hug, almost squashing Sally, who had rested on your shoulder. "My sweet (Y/n)! I'm so glad you're up and moving again!"

You awkwardly hugged him back. He was basically a stranger to you, mind you. So this whole situation was a little difficult for you to handle. But you did so gracefully, unwilling to let your "loss of memory" get through to him.

"Thanks, uncle. I feel rested and well enough for the road.", you replied, upcoming journey in the back of your mind.

Despite her tiny size, Sally tried to pry Rasmodius off of you, for some reason.

"We get it, old man! You're glad they're still alive! But let go now, before you break their ribs- And ruin their outfit..."

Oh, that's why.

Admittedly, you still felt a bit dizzy, but weren't sure whether to blame it on your head injury or current situation.

Your uncle complied to Sally's request with a sheepish smile. He beckoned you to sit down at the table with him and the baron.

"Come now. You must be starving."

Indeed, you were. You were ready to eat a whole bear. Instead of a bear, however, the baroness gently set a plate down in front of you.

Scrambled eggs and a roasted slice of garlic bread. It smelled absolutely delicious.

"My husband and I are also overjoyed to see you doing better, (prince/princess). I know the food may not be what you're used to, but I'm sure it will satisfy you all the same.", she spoke in a gentle voice.

You smiled. "Thank you very much. I don't mind, it looks delicious."

You and her both chuckle quietly, before she pat your shoulder and let you eat.

"Here, have some tea as well. It's formidable in this kingdom!" Your uncle enthusiastically slid a cup across the table towards you.

The baron chuckled. "Thank you. Our king loves his tea. So much in fact, that he revolutionized the way it's grown here."

Oh wow. You've never been a big fan of tea, but opted to try it anyway. Just to be polite. When the people here were so proud of their tea, you'd better drink it.

And boy, was it good! It had a rich and aromatic taste, that was comforting and refreshing at the same time. And a little sweet too. Truly, the best tea you ever had. Or maybe you just sucked at making it yourself. But you'd never admit that.

Soon enough, breakfast was over. Your uncle declared it was best to hit the road again as soon as possible. Lest you keep your 'beloved fiancé' waiting.

Servants readied your horses outside, while him and you expressed your gratitude for the baron's and baroness' hospitality. And then it was time for you to face the first challenge of your stay here. Riding.

"The white horse is yours, the brown one your uncle's." Sally filled you in, as you hesitated in front of the animals.

You paused for a different reason however.

You were scared. The animal in front of you was big. And muscular. It could run you over in a heartbeat if it wanted to, and trample you with its hooves. Now that you thought about it, you had never faced a horse before.

And now that one was staring at you, its nostrils flared to an unsettling degree, you found yourself frozen.

Rasmodius, blissfully unaware of your silent panic, gently pushed you further towards the animal.

"I know it's a bit nerve wrecking to ride again after an accident, but you gotta get back into the saddle quickly, before you develop fear.", he happily rumbled on.

Too late for that-

He continued. "Look, Starla is also a bit nervous to have you on her back again, but don't fret. I'll keep a hand on her reigns as well, just in case."

With these words, Rasmodius lifted you up and into the saddle in one fell swoop before you could say anything. You tensed up in the saddle.

The horse, whose name you now assumed was Starla, picked up on that and nervously pawed at the ground.

Why was this so high up? Your head swirled again, when you looked down. So you settled for staring forward instead.

You picked up her reigns, unsure how to hold them or what to do with them. You just clenched your fists around them, hoping for the best. Rasmodius mounted his horse as well and got a hold of Starla's reigns as promised.

A few last goodbyes were exchanged with the Mercifuls and off you, Sally and your uncle went.

Sally got comfortable between Starla's ears. A brave choice, if anyone asked you, considering how much they moved around. Her ears weren't the only thing moving however.

Her entire back rocked from side to side with every step she took. With how tense you were, this made it really hard for you not to fall again.

Sally glanced back at you. Her initial smile of enjoyment, turned to a frown of worry, when she saw your distressed expression. She fluttered over to your shoulder.

"What's wrong?"

You hesitated for a moment, trying not to break into a cold sweat.

"Th-the horse, I-" You didn't know how to explain yourself.

"Relaaax..." Sally whispered as to not to alarm Rasmodius, patting your hair. "The more you tense the harder it is for you and your horse. You gotta loosen up in your waist and let your lower half swing with her steps."

You tried to follow her secret instructions. Surprisingly you found it fairly easy to do. As if your body remembered doing this, even though your mind didn't. It became a whole lot easier to keep your balance.

"There you go. Keep doing that for now. I'll organize lessons for you later, yeah?"

You nodded to Sally, thankful for her help once more.

Your small group rode through the countryside for a few hours. You passed through a few villages and lush forests, which sights you drank in in wonder. Everything was so... Fantastical and medieval. It seemed like you truly time travelled.

Plus, looking around had the benefit of distracting yourself from the fact you were riding a big animal, you had no clue how to control.

All it took, was for the horse to make up its mind and run off and it would take your helpless ass with it to oblivion.

Uh oh. Bad thoughts! Quick! Distract yourself!

You focused on the road ahead as your group reached the peak of a hill. The road led into the first city in the distance. Behind it the vast blue sea, barely visible underneath the horizon. And on the coast line, in an elevated position, stood the palace of Hearts, reaching tall and proud into the sky. Made entirely of white bricks and red ornaments, its elegant spires rose far above the capital below. Truly a majestic piece of architectural genius, you found. All in all, a breathtaking sight to behold.

You were nearing the destination of your journey.

There, inside this beautiful castle waited your new future, which you hoped would be equally as beautiful.

<^> <^> <^>

The sun had begun to set, dipping the world in a warm, golden glow upon your arrival at the castle. A fanfare played, when your group rode through the gates into the castle courtyard. Servants hurried over to take care of your horses and luggage and two guards took you inside.

You entered an entrance hall the size of a cathedral, high arches carrying red banners with the crest of Hearts on them.

The setting sun filtered through the tall windows, sending sleek rays of golden delight to the polished marble floor.

Amidst this stunning scenery was he. Standing proudly in his castle, ready to welcome you with open arms and a kind smile.

A figure of authority, dressed in elegant attire and his signature red cloak with white fur. His red hair combed up into a neat pompadour.

His heels clicked across the floor, as he approached you, Sally and your uncle.

There he was.

His royal highness Wally Darling, the King of Hearts.

Your future husband.

[puddingpong]

🌈CSP Assets MasterList🌈

I use Clip Studio Paint a lot… and i am always checking the assets store

This is a big list of assets i find interesting/useful that are ✨free✨

🖌️Brushes

Belt Buckle

Scattering Papers

Bullet Band

Simple Rope

Wisteria Flowers

Rubble/Debris

Vertical Rocks

Pointy Rocks

Chains

Simple Chains

Floor Pattern

Wizard Bookshelf

Cartoon Leaf Brush

Large Foliage

Bushes

🛋️3d Furniture:

Modern Bookshelf

Antique Books

Chesterfield Antique Chair

Bookcase

Simple Computer Chair

2 seats Sofa

Armrest Chair

Office Chair

Fancy Chair

Celestial Globe Set

Simple Queen Bed

Bird Cage Chair

Toilet Set

Bunk Bed

Hospital Bed

⚙️3d Misc:

Angel Wings

Cogs

Helm

Wires

Cowboy Hat

Camera

Dog Muzzle

Valves

🏠3d Buildings / Structures / etc

Back Alley Wall

Cartoonish Back Alley

Mobile/Ice Cream Stand

Outside Asian Insp. Lantern

Tall Upscale building with 4 entrances

Medieval Market Stand

Fantasy city street

Mansion

Wooden School Hall

Boxing Ring

Multitenant Building

Sci-fi Door

City

Medieval Ruins

Throne Room

Big House

Iron Gate

Torii Gate

Japanese Style Room

Cliff Covered With Concrete Blocks

Medieval Shop Stand

Bus Seats

Boxing Hall

Simple Building Apartments

Sci-fi Medical Pod

Basic Ruins

Tiny Cafe Table Set

Tall Shopping Street Building

Shopping Street Building

Inside Castle Throne Room

Inside Castle Hall

Inside Castle Corridor

Skyscraper

Fantasy Castle/Church

🚲3d Vehicles

Racing Bike

Bicycle

⚔️3d Weapons

Nodachi Sword

Medieval Sword

Dart Gun

Pistol Parts

Automatic rifle

Futuristic Weapon Set

🎸3d Instruments:

Drum Set

Guitar

Electric Guitar

Electric Guitar (Mustang Type)

🌈Hope it helps? idk... bye bye🌈

[simcardiac-arrested]

nwb needs marketable themed items. nwb should be in smash bros. he should be in a shitty 2000's ps2 game based on a movie. He needs to be in warrior cats. nwb should be in home video footage. nwb needs to have a themed furniture set based on him. nwb should be a part of a viral meme format stock image. he needs to be flushed down like a dead pet fish. he should be a tf2 class. nwb should have a creature named after him. nwb should be a pattern in a patterned shirt. he needs to be found in good will. nwb needs to HELP MEEEE HEELPPPPPPPP SOMEBODY HELPPP

we should call the hospital on you