#sterling named his stuffed bear | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mandoalorian · 4 years

Note

Being sick with nurse Maxwell lord pls that man can't ever cook a decent soup but who cares he's adorable

Made With Love [Maxwell Lord x Reader]

Summary: Maxwell Lord takes care of his sick girlfriend and makes her 'soup'.

Rating: PG

Warnings: food mention, brief mention of blood/injury, mention of throwing up, illness and death

Word count: 2.3k

Authors note: Thank you for the request! I must admit this was quite the challenge as I don’t usually write about food in my fics but the concept of Maxwell taking care of a sick reader by cooking her soup was just too adorable.

Masterlist

Submit request

gif by @santigarcia

Maxwell didn't have many regrets. If he regretted his life decisions (even the questionable ones), he wouldn't be as successful as he was today. He always told himself to embrace his choices. But…. he did have one regret. One teeny tiny miniscule regret. And that was promising you he'd cook you some soup. Maxwell Lord, the cover boy of Forbes magazine. The man who founded Black Gold Cooperative. The same man who spoke in the White House and was on the television every night, was standing in his kitchen, before an abundance of vegetables, herbs and spices.

"I hate this." you whined, dramatically stuffing a pillow into your face as you tossed and turned in your big bed. Maxwell shuffled closer to you. He hated seeing you in pain. His heart ached. If he had one wish, it would be to swap positions with you. He'd rather deal with the flu than have you suffer before his eyes.

"I know sweetheart," he sighs, taking a wet washcloth and gently placing it on your forehead. "You have a temperature, but this might cool you down." He hadn't rinsed the flannel properly so little beads of water dripped down your face but you didn't say anything because you knew he was trying his best. If there was one thing you admired about Maxwell, it was that he always tried his hardest in everything he did.

"I already feel cold though." you shivered, pulling the thick quilted blankets further up your body. He handed you a glass of water.

"Darling, you're burning up," he shook his head sadly and you let out another whine. "Drink this slowly. It's important to stay hydrated."

"It's so unfair," you groaned before taking a sip of water. He was right, the cool liquid oozed down your throat and you felt grateful for his suggestion. "How come you never get sick?" You prodded your finger into his tummy and he chuckled lightly. "It's not funny Max."

"You're so cute," he sighs longingly, his lips curving into a smile. "I love you, you know." he boops your nose with his finger.

"Stop!" you playfully slapped his hand away from your nose but instead he cupped his palm around your cheek and nursed the side of your face, his thumb brushing across the plumpness of your lower lip.

He leaned in, the curve of his nose dragging across your skin and pressed his lips softly against yours. He didn't move, it was gentle and tender. Normally when Maxwell kissed you, it was hurried and passionate as he tried to throw your clothes to one side and pin you against a wall but this— this was like a whole new side to him. He rubbed his nose against yours and pulled away after only a few seconds.

"Your breath…." he scrunched up your nose and you gasped, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarassment. "Baby, did you throw up?" you nodded sadly and his heart fell in his chest. "Oh no baby." he soothed, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and rubbing your tummy.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, now you probably have all my sick germs." you sighed. You couldn't believe how foolish you had been not to tell your boyfriend.

"No sweetheart, don't worry. The kiss was worth it," he admitted sheepishly and you smiled. "I love you." he repeated.

"Maxie, you're being so soft with me. It's not like you at all." you hummed in contentment as he peppered more kisses from your cheek, to your jaw, down your neck, and on your collarbone.

"You know, when my mother got sick," Maxwell cleared his throat. "You know, when her illness got bad. Our house chef taught me how to cook her soup. I spent three or four days practicing but… I never actually got round to giving her it. Because, you know, she passed away."

You frowned, reaching out and lacing your fingers in his hair. "Oh Max, I'm sorry." you whispered sadly, finding your hand in his and squeezing it tight.

"No, I just mean," Maxwell straightened his posture and looked you in the eye. "I hear soup heals the sick."

"I wouldn't go as far to say heals." you stifled a small laugh and he smiled at you. He loved to see you laugh and he felt even better knowing it was because of him. "Wait," you paused, looking up at your boyfriend with an excited doe-eyed expression. "Are you offering to cook me soup?"

"Wh- no," Maxwell laughed awkwardly. "Me? Cook? I don't cook. You know I don't cook. I can get Lucia to come over and make you something or, we can order some soup from the Chinese place you like-"

You shook your head. "No." you said simply, but Maxwell recognised the gleam in your eyes which showed you were thinking of something. "I want you to make me soup."

"Baby," he sighed. "I can do a lot of things. But I can't make soup. Last time I tried, I was sixteen. Was like- twenty five years ago. I don't remember."

"I'm sure if you tried…. if you got all the veggies out, the herbs and spices…. I'm sure it would come back to you." you beamed. He knew exactly where this was going and he didn't like it one bit. "I know Lucia went to the farmers market yesterday and brought in some fresh veg. I was going to cook us a romantic dinner with it but since I'm bed bound… it won't get used. Unless you make me soup."

Maxwell said your name, stern but fair. Like the way he'd talk to his colleugues or business associates. You loved it when he put on that voice with you. It made you laugh.

"Yes Mr Lord?" you teased and he tsked, booping your nose again.

"You know I can't say no to you." he sighed, standing up and brushing his tailored suit down. "It's my biggest flaw."

You were beaming, a grin covering your face. You stretched your body out and folded your arms across your chest. "Life is good… but it can be better," you did your best impression of one of your boyfriend's infomercials. His head snapped in your direction and he looked just as annoyed as he always did when you impersonated him. "...if you made me some soup." you finished and he rolled his eyes.

"Finish your water." he ordered before padding out of the bedroom and heading into the kitchen.

You smiled. You loved your boyfriend so much. He had his ways. A lot of people were frightened of him but he was different with you. The feared Maxwell Lord was your cuddly teddy bear.

And that's how Maxwell ended up in the kitchen amongst a selection of vegetables. He placed a big pot on the hob and began to heat some water. He stared into the bubbling pool of water, wondering where in your conversation about soup, he had gone wrong. Wondering why he could just never deny your wishes. The water began to spill over the pot and he quickly turned the heat down, grabbing a towel and wiping up the mess.

Okay, now he had to cut the vegetables. He took some celery and carrots and began to chop them up. It was a messy job, and he had cut up way too much. Chunks of veg in all different sizes. He sliced his finger and practically wailed in pain as he bolted to the kitchen sink and rinsed the blood away with cold water. The things he'd do for you. He was just about to find a bandaid when he caught the pot of water bubbling over again. He cursed and wrapped a paper towel around his finger— a temporary fix— before turning the flame on the hob down even more.

With his good hand (the hand that he hadn't injured), he grabbed the selection of veg and tossed it into the pan. He was so rough when he done so, the boiling hot water splashed out the pot and dampened his shirt, stinging his uncovered skin. This is why I need a house chef; he thought.

The celery began to soften in the pan, and he was unsure how long to let them cook for. How soft did they have to be? He sighed, turning back to the messy kitchen counter and taking some vegetable stock to give the soup some flavour. He figured it was easy enough to make the stock. Just add water to the powder. He doesn't know how he went wrong… he must've added too much water. And the powder was all lumpy and crumbly. He emptied the jug of veggie stock into the pan, in hope the hot water would melt the powder down— or something like that.

But it didn't. He prodded the veg around with a wooden spoon, checking to see if the celery was soft enough. He still didn't know. He thought back to the house chef from his youth who taught him how to cook soup. Maybe he could find her number and give her a call. He shrugged off the idea. She'd probably be about ninety years old now, and Maxwell was determined. He wanted to do this himself.

Whilst the celery had formed a thick green mush, the carrots hadn't softened one bit. In fact, they remained just as hard as when he cut them up, despite them sterling in the pan for at least fifteen minutes. He was baffled, to say the least. Maxwell Lord wasn't a scientist but he was sure that there was something mysterious going on. This couldn't be right.

And the vegetable stock… it was brown, watery and clumpy and stuck to the green mush. As he mixed it all together, he decided it didn't look that bad. Maxwell sighed, resting the wooden spoon to the side of the pan. He could lie to the world, but he couldn't lie to himself. It looked disgusting.

Nevertheless, he had tried. He had spent time on it. He blamed you. If you didn't like it then that was on you. You should never have believed that he could successfully make soup. He did warn you. He grabbed a ceramic bowl and began to pour the inconspicuous gloop in. He popped a bit of parsley on top and slid one of the solid gold spoons into the bowl.

He padded upstairs, carefully holding the bowl of soup, and entered your bedroom where you were sat, propped up with an abundance of pillows, awaiting your meal. You held your arms out with desire as he handed you the bowl.

"Thank you sir," you said graciously, a teasing sarcasm dripping from your tongue. You looked down at the contents of what was in the bowl and the smile practically fell from your face. "Max… what is this?" you asked, furrowing your eyebrows together.

He smirked. "Soup."

You pushed it around in the bowl, eying up the rock hard pieces of carrot and grainy bits of veggie stock. "No it's not." you said cautiously, raising an eyebrow.

He knew it was disgusting. He knew you wouldn't want to eat it— but this was your game and Maxwell, as always wanted to play. "Eat it." he urged and you looked at him like he was crazy.

"Maxie…" you whined. He bit his lip, watching you shuffle around in your bed. You stuck the spoon in and filled it up with the thick green pulp. "I'll have some if you have some too."

He wasn't expecting that. "No." he grimaced, shaking his head.

"Yessss," you sounded so congested, but nevertheless you made your best attempt at a flirtation, fluttering your eyelashes, leaning into him. He felt so bad for you. Once again, he couldn't say no. He just couldn't. You licked your lips. "Open wide Maxie." you smiled, flying the spoon into his mouth. He sucked the 'soup' from the spoon and his face soured, although he done the best to hide it.

It smelt, so bad. "Delicious." he gritted out and offered you one of his charming television grins. "Your turn babydoll." he cooed, taking the spoon from your hand and digging it into the bowl.

He didn't hate you, he loved you very much, and he was already feeling bad for you. He placed the tiniest amount of the green mush on the spoon, with just one piece of hard carrot, and pushed it in between your lips. You took it like a pro, tears pricking your eyes as you swallowed it up.

"Good girl," he praised and you nudged his arm playfully. "Proud of you."

You shook your head, and stuck your tongue out jokingly. Maxwell gasped, stumbling backwards and slapping his hands over his mouth in shock.

"What!" you cried nervously. "What is it? What's wrong?!"

"Your tongue!" he yelled, dramatically pointing his finger. "It's green! It's turned green!"

"Its-" panic coursed through your veins. "It's what?!?!" you screamed and Maxwell burst into a fit of laughter.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding!" he laughed.

"Maxwell Lord!" you shrieked, throwing a pillow at him. "Don't tease! You know I'm not well!"

Maxwell's lips curved into a smile. "I don't know what I'd do without you." he admitted, clambering back onto the king sized bed and crawling over you. "I love you so much."

You chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief as he pressed some more kisses into your jaw and your neck. "You're insufferable Maxwell Lord," you said. "But… I love you too." you smiled, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him on top of you.

Permanent: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer (let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! if your name is crossed it out its because i cant tag you).

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #maxwell lord #max lord #maxwell lord x reader

116 notes · View notes

batskulldrag · 4 years

Text

Phoenix by Fallout Boy

Chapter four bitches

obligatory warnings for abuse mentions. and a lot of Virgil being anxious. but plenty of fluff to balance it out

Chapter Three: Flares by The Script

“Toothbrush!” Logan bolted awake at four in the morning. “That’s what I was forgetting! He’ll need a toothbrush!”

“We’ll add it to the list.” Patton yawned, pulling Logan back down. “Lie back down honey.”

Logan dropped himself back onto the bed and sighed. Patton wrapped himself around him and grabbed for his hand.

“We’re going to be ok. We can do this.” Patton sighed, resting his head on Logan’s chest.

# # #

“Ginger or peppermint?” Patton asked, holding up two different tea boxes.

“Peppermint.” Logan didn’t look up from the list he was writing. “Ginger is a more acquired taste.”

Patton nodded and dropped two peppermint tea bags into the thermos.

Roman walked into the kitchen to join them.

“I have scheduled us a few interviews with news stations that we like.” He announced triumphantly. “That should at least reduce the squatters we’ve acquired.”

Logan snorted in derision at the prospect of having to be on TV and Patton fidgeted with the kettle. Tension reigned in the household.

“So,” Roman said cautiously. “What’s Virgil like.”

“He wasn’t very talkative yesterday.” Patton replied, screwing the cap onto the thermos. “He mostly wanted to snuggle.”

“Poor little lamb, living with that… that thing all that time.” Roman sighed.

“Physical affection is probably new to him.” Logan chimed in. “I’m surprised he took to it so quickly.”

“Do you think he’ll like us?” Roman asked timidly.

“I’m sure he will.” Patton chirped. “What’s not to like?”

I can only speculate. Logan thought.

# # #

Virgil glanced up at the three visitors who stood at the end of his hospital bed. Not only had Patton had come back but he brought his friends along. He sized them up discreetly. One of the new guys was slightly thinner than the others and he was the tallest of the group. Not by much, maybe a centimeter. Tall guy also wore glasses that were identical to Patton’s and had very short hair that he had slicked back. He dressed exactly like you would think a teacher would be dressed, which was weird because today was Sunday according to the nurses.

The other guy was a bit more flamboyant and a lot more muscular. His hair was combed back as if he were on his way to a date. He was wearing a white T-shirt under a red and white lettermen’s jacket. Virgil was tempted to think he played football in high school. But one of the front patches on the jacket advertised the happy mask sad mask theater symbol. So, drama guy. Drama guy also wore a cast around his hand that he had painted pirate’s hook over the top of. Cool. Virgil bit his lip, drama pirate looked familiar.

Call it. Virgil mimicked a coach’s tone in his mind. Tall guy is the husband. He seems like Patton’s type. And just look at how they look at each other.

“Hey kiddo,” Patton greeted cheerfully. Man, nothing could bring this guy down. “I thought I’d bring along everyone so you could meet them.”

“Ok.” Virgil said flatly. Were these guys going to gang up on him or were they just here to hang out?

“Firstly, this is my husband Logan.” Patton placed a hand on tall guy’s shoulder and nuzzled up to him.

CALLED IT! Virgil internally celebrated.

“Salutations.” Logan said in a stilted voice, holding out a hand for him to shake. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Not really thinking Virgil draped one of his hands, which was stuck in a sort of claw shape, over Logan’s. The two met eyes and exchanged a look of mutual horror at the awkward scene. Logan took his hand back.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t notice that your hands were wrapped up.” Logan said, now avoiding eye contact.

“You can fist bump me if you wanna.” Virgil offered to lighten the mood. “My hand’s almost a fist.”

“Alright.” Logan gently pressed his closed fist against Virgil’s outstretched claw. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“And this is Roman.” Patton slapped drama pirate on the shoulder playfully. “He’s actually the one who called the fire department on Friday and got you out of the house.”

This guy broke a window with his fist. Holy shit.

“Glad we could be formally introduced.” He held out his hand, then immediately pulled it back. “Right, you can’t do that.”

“Let’s touch bandages instead.” Virgil held out both hands like a zombie, this was fun.

Roman tapped his casted hand across Virgil’s zombie hands and laughed a bit.

“I guess I should thank you for saving my butt.” Virgil said, looking down at his hands. “So, thanks for saving my butt.”

“Don’t worry, I was just doing what anyone would do. Except Garbo and Malloy.”

Patton laughed softly and Logan snorted a bit at this.

“Who?” Virgil asked looking at the other two.

“Never mind that kiddo.” Patton dismissed, ruffling Virgil’s hair. “It’s just a couple of reporters or talk show hosts or whatever they are.”

“Have you heard any news since you’ve been in here?” Logan inquired.

“Just that my dad’s losing custody of me if everything works out.” He fought a smile. “There’s something I never thought I’d get to say.” He paused. “I meant have to say. There’s something I never thought I’d have to say.”

Virgil clumsily picked up the stuffed bear and set it in his lap so he could have something else to look at. What did they know, what did they think they knew? What were they thinking in general? Were they judging him? What if they thought he started the fire? If they knew he didn’t want to live with his dad, then they might think he was lying about the… he didn’t want to think of the word just now. Could they though, think he fabricated all of this? And even if they didn’t, would they just think of him as his father’s son? The spawn of that monster? Did they think he was a bad person just because of who his dad was?

“By the way.” Patton shattered his concentration. “I brought you some tea for your throat.”

Virgil jolted back from the sudden noise and stared at Patton in shock. Not seeming to notice, Patton set a thermal cup with a straw on the tray in front of him and pulled up a thermos. He poured a generous amount of a semi-clear liquid that smelled strongly of mint into the first cup and returned the lids to both.

“I thought this would be a little easier for you to use.” Patton beamed at him.

Virgil stared down at the cup, it was covered with cats of various sizes and colors. It definitely seemed like something this guy would own. But none of that made sense.

Here was Patton, a happily married gay man who was the softest person alive. This is a man who brought him a thermos of tea and a cup with a straw so he could drink it with his useless burnt hands. This guy gave him a teddy bear yesterday and had absolutely no objections to some weird kid wanting to curl up on his lap. How in the name of sanity had this man grown up in the same house as his father? It didn’t make any sense! Granted, Patton acted in privet the same way his dad used to act in public. But why act like that without witnesses?

“Something wrong kiddo?” Patton snapped him back into reality again, this time with a gentle voice.

Shit! He must have been making a face or something!

“What, no, I’m alright.” Virgil shook off whatever face he must have been making. “Thanks for the tea.”

“So, Virgil.” Logan began, still sounding a bit stiff. “What classes do you enjoy in school?”

Why do you care?

“Uh, I’m not really sure.” He stammered. “History is cool. And I like English ok.”

“Do you have any extracurriculars?” Logan seemed to think that was a normal phrase.

“I don’t think I know what that means.” He could see the headlights coming at him.

“Ok, I’ll rephrase. Are you a part of any clubs or sports?”

“I was on the wrestling team in sixth grade. That sucked. And now I’m in the chess club and I think I’m on the debate team. I know one of them is gonna throw me out, I can’t remember which one.”

“Why are they kicking you out?” Roman said with a puzzled look.

“My grades are too bad.” Virgil looked down at the cup again to avoid everyone’s gaze.

And if they get any worse, they aren’t just going to kick me outta the clubs, they’re going to kick me out of the school.

“We’ll have to look into getting you a tutor next semester.” Logan said frankly. Wait, why didn’t he sound mad? “You probably just need extra help with certain subjects. Or have a different method of learning than what you’re being given in the classroom.”

Welcome to the twilight zone. Rod Sterling echoed through Virgil’s head. This didn’t make an ounce of sense.

“Yeah, Roman and I both needed tutoring in high school.” Patton added as if it were no big deal. “And I actually got held back a year. That’s how I met the other two.”

Virgil started seeing spots. Somehow, he had thought that being held back was a badge of shame that would ruin his entire life. Yet here’s Patton acting like it doesn’t matter after school ends. What about all the teachers who know you’re repeating their class? What about all your peers who are now a grade ahead of you? What about … what about anything?

Everything was starting to spin again, and Virgil couldn’t feel his body. He pushed the tray aside and lay down. What was this? Where was all this coming from? Was this a front? Was this real? Could he trust them? Could he trust himself? Who was he supposed to listen to? Who was he supposed to trust?

He didn’t know these guys, they just showed up out of the blue. His dad never even mentioned having a brother. And certainly not a brother who was a marshmallow of a person. Could this guy have really survived growing up with his dad? Or the judgement that comes with being the oldest kid in your class? Could he really be who he said he is? Granted he’d have no reason to lie about it, and he’d already gone through social services, but just who the hell was he?

And who were these other two? Casually mentioning that he might need a tutor, having a hook drawn on a bandage. Fricking saving him from a fire. No, this didn’t add up. Why were they all so nice? They were white slavers, or sex traders, they had to be. There was no way they would be this nice without some kind of motive. Especially not to him.

# # #

Patton put his hand on Virgil’s forehead. He was still pretty warm, but the fever wasn’t that high. Maybe the painkillers were making him sleepy.

“You alright kiddo?” Patton asked, brushing some of the hair away from Virgil’s face.

“Yep.” Virgil answered quickly.

“You’re looking pretty pale. Should I get a nurse?”

“No, I’m ok.” Virgil squeezed his eyes closed intensely.

Logan leaned in to feel the younger man’s head and check his pulse. Patton sent him a look of concern.

“I think we’ve made enough small talk for now.” Logan said, gently putting Virgil’s hand back down. He motioned towards the door with his head. “We should probably let you rest now.”

Patton and Roman stood in silent confusion.

“It was very nice to meet you Virgil.” Logan said patting his shoulder. “We’ll try again when you’re feeling better.”

“ok.” Virgil mumbled keeping his eyes closed.

“Bye, Kiddo.” Patton ruffled his hair. “When you run out of tea in your cup just ask one of the nurses to refill it for you.”

Virgil laughed nervously in response.

“When we come back, I’ll bring some markers so we can make your casts a bit cooler.” Roman tapped his bandaged hand against one of Virgil’s.

Virgil tensely nodded.

The three left at that. When they were far enough away Logan explained why he had ushered them out in a hurry.

“I think we might have overwhelmed him.” Logan explained as they walked. “And caused him to have an anxiety attack.”

“What?!” Patton stopped. “If he’s having some kind of attack, we need to help him!”

“I understand, but if we had continued to hover over him his anxiety would have just gotten worse. We have to understand that this is all very new to him because of the hostile environment he just left.”

“And I suppose his dad being in prison for trying to kill him isn’t helping.” Roman murmured.

“That is accurate.” Logan sighed. “Patton, I know you want to love him and show him love, but just remember he’s used to Payton. To him this is unfamiliar and frightening. He may even think it’s a ploy.”

“I-I can’t be mean to him though!” Patton stuttered.

“No, nor am I asking you to.” Logan sighed again. “We just need to be mindful of our pace and be patient with his. He’ll get used to affection and having a healthy relationship soon enough.”

“It was going so well too.” Roman sighed, shoving a hand in his pocket. “I always knew Payton was a scoundrel, but this is flat out irredeemable.”

“Roman, this is Patton’s brother we’re talking about.” Logan scolded, more out of obligation than anything.

“It’s ok.” Patton sighed, staring intently at the floor. “He’s right, Payton was mean, I’ll be the first to admit that. But this is just evil! He’s just a kid!”

Patton stared downwards as hot tears of sorrow, rage and regret made their way down his cheeks. He felt Roman grab his shoulder and became aware that Logan was hugging him.

“He didn’t have to take the baby.” He choked into Logan’s shoulder. “He didn’t even want him, so why take him? I don’t understand.”

# # #

The last anyone had really seen of Virgil had been when he was about eighteen months old. Payton and Patton’s mother had passed away, finally succumbing to an illness. This left Patton completely out of sorts and with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Not that things had been light before, but the weight sat differently now.

Payton, who was chasing ambitions, was useless when their mother got worse. And he didn’t take care of his son either. When their mother finally did pass away Patton learned a new emotion. A disgusting cross breed between relief and absolute guilt and self-hatred.

It was over, she wasn’t suffering anymore, and neither was he. There weren’t any more fake smiles exchanged between the two. No more lying and saying she looked better when she was literally fading away. No more walking into her bedroom in the morning worrying that today was the day he found her body. No more hospice. And no more being strong for her, he could finally be weak again. He could suffer and hurt and feel this. At last he could feel this!

And he certainly felt it. How could he be happy his own mother was dead? She raised him, gave him life. She took care of him forever. And this is how he feels when she dies? Relieved? How could anyone feel that way?

Payton felt nothing and he didn’t try to hide it. He made an appearance at the funeral and could be heard accepting condolences while spinning a tale about how sad he was that she was gone. He did most of the talking. Patton was just trying to hold himself together and not make a scene, he spent that entire day hanging off Logan’s arm.

And, no, Payton didn’t help to get her things in order. Patton did that on his own. All or their mother’s assets were split between the two of them, with the exception that Patton would get to keep the house. For some reason Payton didn’t contest that, which took everyone by surprise. But he just took his share of whatever had value and left one day while Patton was gone.

He took Virgil with him, obviously. But Patton could never figure out why. With the help of Payton’s claims that children ought to be raised by their parents, and that boys especially need to have fathers; most people said that he had probably accepted the responsibility and decided to be a dad. But Patton held his doubts. Granted, there was nothing he could do. But he had his doubts.

And he was right.

# # #

Virgil lay flat on his back wheezing until the spinning stopped. Despite everything he could hear his father mocking him. Calling him weak, stupid, worthless. Pathetic.

He pushed himself up. He would not be pathetic. He would not let his dad be right.

“Hey, Virgil.” One of his nurses, her name was Valerie, addressed him. “How are you feeling today?”

“Fine.” He quickly rubbed his eyes to cover any trace of tears.

“That’s good.” She smiled, walking over to take his temperature. “Do you feel up to talking to another of our doctors?”

“What’s this new guy?” He asked, the thermometer still in his mouth.”

“Dr. Picani is a psychiatrist, he specializes in child therapy.”

“Do I need therapy?” Virgil jolted back. “Isn’t that just for, like, crazy people? Am I gonna get committed?”

“Dr. Picani is just going to talk to you for a minute.” Valerie rubbed his back gently. “He’s just someone you can talk to to help you acclimate to this.”

“What’s to talk about?”

“You’ve been though a lot. Talking to someone usually helps.”

“I’m not crazy.” Virgil insisted.

“Good.” She ruffled his hair. “Neither am I. But I still see a therapist sometimes.”

“But you’re a nurse.” Virgil pulled his arms around himself.

Somehow that argument made sense. A nurse would know better than to believe in mental illnesses. Right? His father had always said that mental stuff wasn’t real. That it was only something that stupid people got because they were gullible.

“And that’s a very stressful job.” She smiled. “Talking to someone helps. And it should help you.”

“Ok.” Virgil looked around. “So, does he use herbs or brain leeches or something?”

“Oh, carñe[1], you watch too many horror movies.”

Valerie left and was replaced by man with curly, blond hair.

“Oh, there you are Perry.” The doctor smiled.

“My name is Virgil.” Virgil said, sunned.

“Sorry, that was a reference from a cartoon.” Doctor smiled.

“I don’t watch cartoons.”

“Ok. We’ll address that later.” He straightened his round glasses. “I’m Dr. Emile Picani.”

“I already introduced myself.”

“How about your buddy? Has he got a name yet?” Picani pointed at his bear.

Virgil slid his pun bear under his pillow.

“Nope.” He said stiffly.

“OK, so, how are you holding up?”

“Ok, I guess. No. I don’t guess. I’m fine. Definitely.”

Picani gave him a ‘I know you’re lying’ look.

“That’s handy.” Picani nodded. “Are you comfortable talking about your dad?”

“Nothing to say.” Virgil said quickly.

“A couple of doctors told me you’ve been having anxiety attacks.”

“I don’t have anxiety!” Virgil snapped.

No, no. This was bad. He just snapped at this guy. Now he was going to get committed. But he couldn’t have anxiety. He couldn’t.

Everything was spinny, that static feeling crept through his limbs. He gagged and collapsed back onto his pillow, completely lightheaded.

“Ok, ok, Virgil can you hear me?” Picani was taking his pulse.

“Yeah.” Virgil gasped.

“Ok, I want you to take a breath. Breathe in for seven seconds.”

Virgil shakily inhaled.

“Good, you’re doing good. Now, hold for four seconds, and then breathe out for eight seconds.”

Virgil woozily complied.

“Good, you’re doing great. Just keep it up.”

After a minute of breathing Virgil sat back up.

“Feel better?” Picani rubbed his head tenderly.

“Yeah. I guess.”

“You know, it’s not a bad thing if you have anxiety.��

“Yes, it is.” Virgil buried his head in his knees.

“Why?”

“Because you can’t be sick in just your brain. It’s just like, like that placebo thing.”

“Says who?”

“My dad for one.” Virgil looked away.

“Well, Virgil. The brain is its own organ, and sometimes organs have problems. Especially one as complex as our brain.”

“Really?” Virgil looked up at him.

“Really. This is very real, and it’s very treatable too.” Picani squeezed his hand.

“I don’t have to be committed, and I’m not just stupid for feeling this way?”

“No, and definitely no.”

“So, what then?”

“Well, you could tell me if you’ve been having these attacks often.”

“I have.” Virgil sighed. “Pretty much every day lately.”

“Ok.” Picani rubbed his back. “Do you want to tell me about that?”

“Sure.” Virgil chewed his bandages. “Why not?”

# # #

After gathering everything they would need to finish off Virgil’s room the three returned to the hospital for take two of their introductions. Despite Logan’s warnings not to overdo things, Roman brought several paint pens in with him. Before going in the room, they hunted down one of his doctors for an update. This one was a psychiatrist

“Hello, I’m Dr. Emile Picani.” The doctor held out his hand. “Virgil’s psychiatrist. You can call me Emile.”

“I’m Patton, this my husband, Logan and our roommate Roman.” Patton group introduced. “I’m Virgil’s uncle and we’re gonna be taking care of him for now.”

“Well, my initial diagnosis is pretty rough.” Emile sighed. “From the looks of things Virgil has severe anxiety. From what he actually told me, he’s been having both panic attacks and anxiety attacks pretty regularly. Sometimes without even being triggered. He claims to have no appetite and I don’t he’s drinking.”

“What?” Patton gasped in horror. “What do you mean?”

“I saw that you left him a thermos of something. And a cup. But they were both still full and untouched when I came in. And he didn’t drink while we were talking.”

“I was thirteen once.” Roman started. “So, I understand avoiding food, I don’t condone it, but I understand. But. I do not understand why he would dehydrate himself. Did he tell you why?”

“He was very open about the symptoms he has, but he wouldn’t talk about his father or the abuse. So, I can really only guess why he wouldn’t want to drink.”

Please don’t say he’s trying to kill himself. Please don’t say he’s trying to kill himself. Please don’t say he’s trying to kill himself. Please don’t say he’s trying to kill himself. Patton chanted internally.

“Please don’t say he’s trying to kill himself.” Roman said in response.

What?

“No, he’d not trying to kill himself. Suicide attempts are never something drawn out. I just think that the emotional abuse is making him wet the bed, so he’s avoiding fluids altogether to spare himself that humiliation. I’ve seen it done before, it’s pretty common. It’s nothing so dramatic as suicide.”

“What do you think we should do?” Logan asked, having been quiet the entire exchange.

“He ought to improve with time and medication. I also recommend therapy.” Emile adjusted his glasses. “Until then just make sure he stays hydrated and eats properly. And be sure he takes the medication.”

“Trust me, we will.” Patton insisted. “Can we see him?”

“Of course. Just don’t confront him with all this, I can’t actually prove that he doesn’t want to drink. He might just not like tea. But he was pretty dehydrated when we brought him in, and its suspicious.”

“Heyya Kiddo.” Patton forced an upbeat tone in the face of despair as he pushed the door open. “I brought everyone back for another try.”

Virgil blinked slowly. “Ok?” He said, sounding about as confused as he looked.

“Cool,” Patton bounced inside, with the other two in tow. “We’d all like to get to know you a bit better.”

“And” Roman held up his paint pens. “I brought these for your bandages.”

Virgil’s eyes widened a bit and he cracked a slight smile, but almost immediately shook it off. So close.

“That’s cool, you can do that if you want.” Virgil mumbled looking down. “They change the bandages on my hands a lot, so that’d probably just be a waste of paint.”

“Alright.” Roman was not fazed. “Casts were made to be painted. What should we paint on it?”

“Can you paint a haunted house on it?” Virgil lit up again, and for a second he was a kid. “Like with ghosts and witches and storm clouds?”

“Can I?” Roman sounded indignant, he pulled back his jacket revealing a portrait of Jack and Sally standing on their cliff silhouetted by the moon painted on his bicep. “What do you call that?”

“You have tattoos?!” Virgil squeaked.

“No, I got bored in the car and drew that earlier.” He licked his thumb and rubbed a part of it off. “I wanted a tattoo, but I couldn’t pick a favorite among my darling babies.”

“That’s even cooler!” Virgil was distracted completely. “You drew that! It’s awesome!”

“That’s what you get for doubting my skills, you get to be wrong.” Roman smirked. “Come on, help me color in your cast.”

“Have you seen Nightmare Before Christmas before?” Patton added, Disney was a safe subject.

“I’ve seen the songs online, but I never actually saw the movie. It looks cool though.” Virgil answered.

“Have you seen any Disney movies?” Roman looked up at him.

“I wasn’t really allowed to watch TV, and I had a lot of after school things to do, so no. I guess not.” Virgil tensed back up a bit.

Roman leaned back with one hand on his heart and the other one outstretched and flailing as if he were trying to be rescued.

“He has officially gone too far!” Roman gasped saturated in drama. “Where do I report a crime?”

“Really, Roman,” Logan sighed. “You’re making a scene over nothing.”

Patton sat down next to Virgil, who had a very slight amused smile on his face.

“I am making a scene over Disney!” Roman challenged. “I am making a scene over education!”

Logan just sighed and pushed his glasses up. He used his middle finger to adjust them and Virgil let out an audible squeak of laughter. Instinctively, Patton covered Virgil’s eyes.

“I have access to the internet.” Virgil protested. “You can’t save me it’s too late!”

Patton dropped his hands. They couldn’t, could they? Couldn’t save him.

Virgil cuddled up to Patton suddenly as if he had sensed they sudden shift in mood. Patton glanced down at the younger man and saw his vertebrae through the slit in his gown. They were pressed against his skin as if they were trying to get out. And he saw the bruises all vulgar shades of purple and blue. He sighed and held Virgil tightly. They could too save him. And no one was gonna say otherwise.

“Roman, we’ll give him a proper Disney education when we bring him home.” Patton offered. “We’ll start with Nightmare.”

“Agreed.” Roman walked back over to the bed. “Now, let’s make this cast better.”

Logan casually walked over and stood by the bed, he just watched contently as the scene unfolded. Virgil was hunched forward, drawing on his foot upside down with a pen flimsily held between his forefinger and thumb. And Roman was kneeling at the foot of the bed giving footnotes on the entire Disney anthology while he drew. He was just in Lion King, so he started with that one. He began with the opening bars of ‘circle of life’ naturally.

“Dude,” Virgil sat bolt upright and looked around in terror. “I think you just summoned a demon.”

“Well he’d better like Disney.” Patton joked. “Or he’ll be bored.”

“Go home Chernabog.” Roman commanded. “We’re not doing that one.”

“I don’t think Roman has the capabilities to summon a demon.” Logan added, looking around in confusion. “I’m also certain that they don’t exist.”

“He was kidding hon.” Patton smiled at him.

“Oh, of course.” Logan answered quickly.

“Are you writing MCR lyrics?” Roman’s voice pulled them back to the moment.

“You can read that?” Virgil answered. “I’m calling you out on that. You’re lying that writing sucks.”

“’Remember when you broke your foot from jumping out the second floor,’” Roman read. “Oh, I get it.”

“So, Virgil.” Logan chimed in. “You expressed an interest in history earlier this morning. Are there any time periods that interest you?”

“Well, the gothic period to state the obvious.” Virgil sat back up to look at him. “And whatever period in roman history had all the cool stories. Like with the gods and everything.”

“So, you’re more interested in legends?” Logan smiled. “I trust you’d be very attracted to Dante’s Inferno. One of the characters shares your name.”

“Is he cool?” Virgil awkwardly pulled a bandage out of his teeth.

“Yes. He is cool.” Logan confirmed. “He acts as Dante’s guide through hell.”

“Hell’s tour guide.” Virgil said thoughtfully. “That is cool.”

“You like the spooky stuff huh, kiddo?” Patton ruffled the younger man’s hair.

“I guess so.” Virgil nodded. “It usually sounds cooler than that.”

“Macabre might be a better term.” Logan added.

“I hate that one.” Roman chipped in angrily. “Words should know how they sound. I sound that one out and still spell it wrong.”

Virgil chewed absentmindedly on one of the pens and said nothing. Patton once again regretted forgetting his camera. But that probably would have been a bit much. Still it was great to watch Virgil be a kid, watch himself and Logan be dads and Roman, he was either the fun uncle or a distant older brother. They were a family. And for all the troubles they had with their own families that was a feeling he’d never thought they’d all enjoy.

[1] That means sweetie in Spanish

#logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #dr.emilepicani #virgilsanders #parental moxiety #parental anological #logicality #romile #platonic lamp

14 notes · View notes

ezroar · 5 years

Note

Do you by any chance do headcannons? If not, that’s fine, but if you do, can you PLEASE give us info on Marie Schnee and her parents?The artwork with the stuffed toy was enough to make me fall in love with this child!

Well, since you asked so nicely .... Marie Schnee is co-owned by both me and @squadrongal. Squadrongal is the real brains behind the character of Marie so please go check her out :3

Without further ado, we present to you the

Marie Schnee Backstory and Head Canons

Marie Schnee is adopted by Penny and Whitley as a baby from an orphanage. She wasn’t held by any of the nurses or anybody at the orphanage so to avoid her imprinting on anybody until ppl came to adopt her. Whitley was very reluctant to be adopting a child, due to his own feelings with his home life but gave in to his wife’s, Penny’s, wishes who wanted a family of her own. Penny is a robot so obviously she can’t naturally bear children. Whitley wanted to get a ten-year-old but after getting lost at the orphanage, finding himself in the baby nursery and falling in love with Marie at first sight, Whitley was all for taking a baby home.

Penny has to be the strict parent because. Whitley. Keeps. Spoiling. Marie!

Penny: Whitley, you don’t need to buy an entire Atlesian armada for Marie!Whitley: Sdabkdojnvsdf! What if she gets lonely and needs protection?!

Not to mention, with Whitley as a parent, Marie is always styling bc her daddy picks out her clothes. Marie is one very fashionable babey. The finest silks, the most sparkling of jewels, the voguest of fashions! Marie is treated like a princess.

Marie likes pastel colours, fairies and stuff she can cuddle and fall asleep on. Whitley also likes to hug Marie and kiss her horns. Marie is the apple of his eye, the light of his life, next to Penny.

Marie likes tea parties as well and has a million stuffed toys. But her favourite is the sheep toy she’s in the comic with. Marie calls it Swee but Penny and Whitley think she’s trying to say ‘Squeak’.

Obviously, Marie wuvs her mommy and daddy vewwy much. She constantly wants to be held, even if her parents’ arms fall asleep. More than once, Whitley has had to give presentations with Marie holding onto her daddy, while hiding her face in his shoulder bc she shy. If Penny and Whitley put her down, she will cry and reach out for them.

She likes magical girl shows. But not anything like Madoka Magica, or anything depressing. She’s more into stuff like Sailor Moon, Winx and Totally Spies. Animal movies are a plus for her as well bc she loves animals. And Marie has a collection of Remnant’s version of Barbie movies.

Marie is very sheltered and has a sky, timid disposition. She aspires to be like her confident and outgoing mother but is let down by her own anxiety around people. Marie does eventually go to Beacon in an effort to come out of her shell. She’s on a team with Rosanna Pine (another of Squad’s OC and RG child), Sterling (Another Squad OC), and Agni (last name yet to be made) who is her partner.

Marie is, ultimately, a kind girl but can also get taken advantage of due to her being gullible. But thankfully, she has good friends who love her and parents who will murder you in your sleep if you so much as hurt their little lamb.

#rwby #marie schnee #whitley schnee #penny polendina #broken machines

22 notes · View notes

bad-beats · 5 years

Text

Bad Beets Ch. 1 (11/04-11/10)

Do you find enjoyment in other people’s gambling misery? Do you live by the phrase “Life is too short to bet the under?” Would you rather place a sports bet that seemingly has no chance of winning right after tip-off, or would you rather lose a heartbreaker on a meaningless Furman breakaway dunk that covers the +13 in the closing seconds?

Welcome to Chapter 1 of the Bad Beets Blog. I am your degenerate gambling host, Jonah, and I am happy you have decided to take this rollercoaster journey with me. I hope you find enjoyment in my gambling misery, as you will soon realize that I am the unluckiest gambler in the world (*Please note I had action on all of these games, and yes, my bank account was harmed in the making of this blog).

11/4/19

League: Turkish Super Lig

Bet: Ankaragucu PK (+105)

Units: 0.8 to win 0.85

I can tell you from firsthand experience that betting on an 11am Turkish soccer game generally doesn’t end well. Ankaragucu went down 0-1 early, but my guy I. Parlak found the back of the net to equalize in the 68th minute. That was the score up until stoppage time. My bet was looking fine, but I wasn’t expecting a win by any means. I was hoping to escape with a push (because as they say in the world of gambling degenerates, “A push is a win”). It was my bet against the clock, and then this happened…

P. Djilobodji (is it legal to have that many j’s in a name?) scores a 90+3 minute heartbreaker. That is a beet that committed arson. Bad Beet #1 of the week came at the hands of Gaziantep.

11/4/19

League: NBA

Bet: 76’ers vs Suns Over 224 (-110) as part of a 3x2 round robin

Units: 3.7 to win 8.6

This was a classic bad beat. The Suns and 76’ers both have high powered offenses, and they were well on pace to hit the over after scoring a combined 116 points in the first half. My round robin was looking great - the other legs of Wizards ML and Blazers vs. Warriors 1H over 106.5 had both hit and I was in good shape for a great Monday payday. However, the Suns and 76’ers had other plans for me.

This Beet committed a double-homicide (my hopes and dreams). I still made a profit on this bet. Just take the 8.6U winnings that I had basically in the bag, drop the 8, and that’s how much I took home. Bad Beet #2 (I am going to feel like The Count from Sesame Street once this blog is over).

11/5/19

League: NBA

Bet: Bulls ML (+260)

Units: 0.7 to win 1.7

I have lived in Chicago my entire life, so naturally, I blindly bet on my teams regardless of their actual skill. Gambling with your heart never ends well, especially on this specific Tuesday when Lebron and Lakers came to town. The Bulls were up a cool 17 points at halftime and really had me believing that they could pull off this miracle. Hopes were high after the Bulls took a 13-point lead into the 4th quarter. And then the Bulls did exactly what the Bulls do - blow 4th quarter leads.

The Lakers went on a 16-0 run to start the 4th quarter and it was all but over from then on (The Bulls, however, did hit a miracle 3 with 15 seconds left to cover the +7). You know what they say, “Good teams win, but great teams cover.” Those 1.7 units would’ve been a nice addition to the bank account, but Bad Beet #3 got in the way.

This is a bad beet. Thanks to our friends over at https://userbeets.com/signs-that-your-beets-have-gone-bad/ for providing us with some wonderful tips on when it might be time to “toss that beet as far as you can.”

11/6/19

League: UEFA Champions League

Bet: Man City vs Atalanta 1H over 1.5 (-123) (Bonus: live bet at halftime over 2.5 (-176))

Units: 2 to win 1.65 (and the live bet was 4.4 to win 2.5)

This was the kind of game that screamed ‘Goal Fest’ from the beginning. Raheem Sterling slotted the ball into the back of the net in the 7th minute of the game, and I thought the 1H over 1.5 was going to be the easiest bet of all time. Throughout the next 30 minutes, both teams had some chances to score that they couldn’t capitalize on. Then controversy struck! Man City got pulled down inside the box (or so I thought) and were awarded a penalty kick, which is ever over bettor’s wet dream. However, V.A.R decided to be a cock-block and determined that the Man City player was fouled just outside of the box. Great, just my luck. The following free kick looked like it was headed for the upper left corner of the goal, but an Atalanta defenseman stuck his arm out and handled the ball. Back to V.A.R and just like that, Man City was awarded a penalty kick (ball don’t lie). Gabriel Jesus stepped up to the spot with swagger, and I knew my bet was going to cash.

He struck the ball with the strength of an 83 year-old grandmother and put the ball wide of the left post. Fuck. That 1.65 unit win turned into a 2 unit loss real quick.

Naturally, as a gambling degenerate, I had to chase my losses (word to the wise - Do Not Chase Losses). I loved the pace of play and the scoring opportunities from the first half, so I live bet the game over 2.5 (and naturally threw 4.4 units on it to cover my losses from the first half). Four minutes into the second half, Mario Pasilic netted the equalizer for Atlanta, and once again I was sitting pretty. There was no doubt in my mind that at least 1, if not 3 more goals would be scored in the remaining 41 minutes plus stoppage time.

Many moments later the final whistle blew and that was that. The teams combined for 18 shots, and only 2 found the back of the net. What a horrible and cruel world we live in. Bad Beet #4 slaughtered 15 innocent ducks (and my checking account).

11/6/19

League: UEFA Champions League

Bet: Dinamo Zagreb ML (+117)

Units: 0.75 to win 0.9

As I was getting annihilated by Atalanta and Man City, Dinamo Zagreb simultaneously decided that they didn’t want my future children to be able to afford college. This game gives me PTSD, so I will just post the results of the game and you can laugh at my misery.

How you let up not 1, but 2 (!!) stoppage-time goals to blow a 3-1 lead along with my +117 ML bet is beyond me, but Bad Beet #5 of the week kidnapped my sanity and will give me nightmares for months.

11/7/19

League: UEFA Europa League

Bet: Under 2.5 (+117), Under 2.5 (-122), and Under 2.5 (-143)

Units: 0.75 to win 0.85, 1.05 to win 0.85, and 2.15 to win 1.5

Classic cases of “Life is too short to bet the under.” Stoppage time is where unders go to die. I present to you Bad Beets #6, #7, and #8.

Thursday afternoon signals the middle of a gambling week, so naturally, this is the halfway point in the blog. I would recommend you get up to stretch, grab a snack, and take your dog for a walk, because we are just getting started. 8 Bad Beets before Thursday night is cynical.

11/7/19

League: NFL

Bet: Keenan Allen over 68.5 Receiving Yards

Units: 2 to win 1.5

If you don’t bet player props often, I would recommend you start. It’s like fantasy football on crack. They are an absolute thrill. Speaking of thrills, that Chargers vs. Raiders Thursday night football game was full of them for every party involved; the outright winner, spread, and full game total were all still in the balance heading into the last drive of the game. Phil Rivers and his Bolts got the ball back with 1 minute left, down by 2, after Josh Jacobs rumbled into the endzone from 18-yards out to give the Raiders a 2-point lead. Phil Rivers has seemingly lead his team down the field for more game-winning drives than he has children. At this point in the game, Keenan Allen had 8 catches for 68 yards. Keenan is one of the most dynamic receivers in the league along with being one of Phil’s favorite targets. I needed ONE SINGULAR YARD from Keenan on the last drive of the game.

FUCKKKKKKKKKK! Three targets on the final drive, 0 catches and 0 yards. I hate everything. Bad Beet #9.

11/7/19

League: NCAAF

Bet: UCF vs. Tulsa Over 68 (-120)

Units: 1.5 to win 1.25

There’s a lot to unpack in this one. The two teams combined for 45 first-half points. Needing just 3 TD’s and 1 FG in the 2nd half seemed like a cakewalk to me. The offenses in the 2nd half just weren’t as crisp as they were during the first 30 minutes of the game. I knew this game was destined to be a nail-biter heading into the 4th quarter. With 5 minutes left, I needed a field goal for a push and a touchdown for the win. Here are the last few drives of the game…

Trailing Tulsa by 3, UCF turned the ball over on downs and gave the ball back to Tulsa with just a few minutes to play. UCF stuffed the Golden Hurricanes on 4th down to get the ball back and keep the Over 68 hopes alive...or so I thought. ILLEGAL SUBSTITUTION PENALTY GIVES TULSA AN AUTOMATIC FIRST DOWN AND INTO VICTORY FORMATION THEY WENT! FUCK ME IN THE BEARD! Bad Beet #10. I am running out of ways to describe these horrible losses and it’s only Thursday.

11/10/19

League: Swedish Allsvenskan and English Premier League

Bet: Under 2.25 (-108) and Under 2.5 (+102)

Units: 1.2 to win 1.1 and 0.75 to win 0.75

“Life is too short to bet the under” Part 2! Bad Beets #11 and #12.

11/9/19

League: NCAAF

Bet: TCU vs. Baylor Over 48 (-110) as part of a 3x2 round robin

Units: 5 to win 11.5

This is a bit of a different entry, as for the first time in seemingly my entire life, I was on the right side of a Hero Win. The Over 48 in the TCU vs. Baylor game was basically dead from the opening kick. The game was 9-6 Horned Frogs with just a few minutes left in the game. Overtime in college football is every over bettor’s best friend (and every under bettor’s worst nightmare). The Bears kicker drilled a 51-yard field goal with 30 seconds left to send the game to overtime.

This is probably the best comeback hero win I have ever had. If I had been on the other side of this bet, I would have jumped off of a bridge. Luckily, Hero Win #1 saved me.

11/10/19

League: NFL

Bet: Panthers vs. Packers 1H Over 24 (-110)

Units: 1.4 to win 1.25

I would make a far bigger deal about this upcoming bad beet if it was a loss instead of the push that it was, but man this was an all-time push. Check out the final drive of the half for the Packers, leading 14-10.

This drive had it all. A touchdown that was reversed by replay. Matt LaFleur whipping out his big boy balls, only for Jamaal Williams to get stuffed on 4th and Goal. And of course, a legendary push for 1H Under 24 bettors.

11/10/19

League: NFL

Bet: Devonta Freeman over 40.5 Rush Yards (+105) and Lamar Jackson over 65.5 Rush Yards (-130)

Units: 1.2 to win 1.25 and 2 to win 1.55

Remember what I said about player props two paragraphs ago? I would like to now state that I hate player props. Devonta Freeman had 30 rush yards in the 1st half and then got injured, and Lamar broke a sweet, video game-like TD run in the 3rd quarter against the Bengals, and didn’t run the ball a single time after that (along with getting pulled in the 4th quarter because the Ravens were up by a billion). Take a look…

Bad Beets #13 and #14 come at the hands of two weak things: Devonta Freeman’s bones and the Bengals’ secondary.

11/10/19

League: NBA and NCAAB

Bet: Hawks +8.5 (-110) and Fighting Illini 1H ML (184)

Units: 1 to win 0.9 and 0.5 to win 0.9

Every degenerate knows that Sunday night basketball games are known as “bailout specials.” After 12 Bad Beets throughout the week, I was in desperate need of a few bailout wins. However, as the self-proclaimed “unluckiest gambler in the world,” I should’ve guessed that more Bad Beets were on the way. My fingers are getting tired from typing due abundance of horrible beats I had this week, so I’ll just leave the screenshots here to show you my Sunday night demise…

The Hawks not covering was a sick joke, and of course I would lose Illinois 1H moneyline on a buzzer-beater three-pointer. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Bad Beets #15 and #16.

For those of you who stuck with me throughout this post, thank you. I hope you found the enjoyment that your gambling careers can’t be anywhere near as bad as mine. Here are some final tallies from the week:

Bad Beet Count: 16 (with 1 Horrible Push and 1 Hero Win)

Unit Swing: 28.85 to win 30.8 (Basically a 50+ Unit swing due to Bad Beets)

Hopefully, next week’s blog is far shorter than this as I would love to not go through the gut-wrenching destruction of a backdoor cover. Unfortunately, there will likely be many more where these came from. Thanks again for taking the time to read through this! Please leave comments, suggestions, and tell me some of your Bad Beets so that I don’t feel alone on Bad Beet Island. See you next week!

1 note · View note

lady-o-ren · 6 years

Text

Sorcha

Prologue

Read the above link for the full backstory.

Chapter 1

In all of James Fraser's nineteen years he could recall exactly how many days of sunshine he had seen.

How many times his mother's nose was reddened and freckled from it's bite. How they escaped the heat in pools of chilly water that turned them head to toe blue and wrinkled like newborns.

On the days, ones particular in brightly warmth, Jamie would wonder if his father were happy.

Did he too like to watch the flicker of colors shine along the scales of trout as they made their way downstream?

Did he find great delight in his silver coated cheetie Adso, in serious mortal combat with his tail?

Or had his gaze fallen on his mother, hair loose from it's pins in soft waves of crimson gold as she brushed away, lost in dreamy contentment?

On cloudy days dense with fog that shrouded all that lay outside his doorstep or ones filled with thunder so resounding Jamie could feel his teeth rattle, he was sure his father was upset with him.

Was it when he spilled their meager amount of milk on the floors?

When he'd forgotten to latch the door to the chicken coop allowing for their only two birds to flee?

Or maybe it was the many times Jamie used his fists, knees, elbows and all he had on the local boys, whose tongues of bitter spittle were too much to ignore.

What frustrated Jamie was that his mother had no answers when questioned. Only blind faith in her love and the world touched by him. Yet, he could see the waver in her spirit every year that passed, as the lines around her eyes grew slowly deeper with somber defeat until that day in the fields revitalized her anew with blessings of her unwavering devotion.

It only infuriated Jamie more.

Why would his father deny his presence in their lives.

Why wait so long to make Jamie's gift known, a gift where life sprouted from his hands that he still found startling to fathom.

Even now, he could see the shape of it hidden amongst the clouds as a hazy, distant obstruction, it's ray's stubbornly turned away from him in abandonment

That's why Jamie had settled on a plan of action put into motion with a letter.

______

Presently

Jamie was walking from the cowshed, a gleam of sweat covered his face and trickled down his neck that he swiped with the cuff of his sleeve. He carried a bucket of fresh warm milk in his hands, the snowy liquid swished along the rim teasing poor Adso, who followed in hungry anticipation, careful of his masters heavy tread.

Three days of blazing sun had passed now.

The flowers bloomed full and bright, their fragrance filling the air of sweetly spring, birdsong was no longer a whisper on the wind but a joyful chorus and the branches of the trees stretched out in a canopy to bathe in sunlight. The life around Jamie seemed to sing in a glowing hum of praise at such a rarity, and he too couldn't help but smile, despite himself.

Jamie's vision caught a glint of light down the road and shielded his eyes to ascertain the source.

"Jamie!" The glint hollered.

"Goistidh!" Jamie called back in happy recognition, and deposited the bucket of milk on the fencepost to run to his godfather.

The man was a fellow kinsman, partial anyway. When Ellen's parents forced her from home when the signs of pregnancy became apparent. She was left destitute and wandered with not but her wits, but wits can only get you so far when you have a bairn growing to the size of a great gourd and making himself known in the most painful of ways.

Murtaugh was a vagabond Ellen had met at an inn she had found work in. She took an instant liking to the mans straight forward demeanor and his lack of judgment. For him, it was love. No one in a hundred miles could be so blind to the man's undying affections the moment he laid eyes on her, and she nearly socked him for gawking at first meeting.

A friendship formed of trust and true honesty of what laid in her womb, Murtaugh had given Ellen the sum that lined his pockets, all that an expectant mother could need, though it was like pulling teeth from a she-wolf to get her to accept. And unintentionally a name. Fraser.

Ellen, touched by his heart of sincerity and generosity, made the decision herself to drop the Mackenzie name that had shunned her and found the fitting of Fraser to her liking.

Now firmly family, Murtaugh would come now and then bearing 'treasures' for the two.

Jamie's favorites had been animals with funny names and faces, intricately carved out of cherry or oak wood. When older, a dirk of Jamie's very own, much to his delight. That soon failed in comparison to the fierce broadsword, two inches of broad double edged steel, with the hilt beautifully carved with interlaced knots on the grip, given at twelve years. Jamie saw it's significance and never drew it in foolishness of play or boasting. It was kept in it's scabbard, only drawn in lessons to wield the blade.

His mother received books, fat and thin of every and all things. Mysterious intrigue that thrilled, romance that left longing and drawn out sighs, tales of heroes from long ago (more a treat for Jamie), practically myths, and philosophy that could screw the mind to a bruising knot. And once, a sterling plated hair brush simply adorned of thistles that she would keep in a fine cloth sleeve in the back of her drawers.

Their relationship, was one that never crossed the barriers of kinship but Jamie couldn't help his observations and his minds own inventions of the two.

"I dinna ken why ye go on as ye do with Murtaugh." Jamie had asked his mother while she was in a quiet mood of knitting. "Ye pay him more mind then any other suitor ye've had and there have been a few."

"I wouldna mind him much, but he's no' who I was meant for and it would be dishonest to give him my hand when I'm bound to another's, even one so far away." She smiled in quiet reply as she twisted the yarn into a loop.

"Yer not marritMam, not to him," Jamie spat, "Who ken's how many lasses he's found bonny -"

"Sàmhach." The smile vanished with a voice that was a low, sharp whisper and silenced Jamie mid sentence. She gripped the knitting needles tightly in her hands, that trembled slightly in response. "Ye may be tall as any man fer yer age but yer never too old for a strapping. Get ye to bed or get me the belt."

Jamie's mother had never raised a hand to him in all his years and the subject of marriage was never brought up again.

"Jamie lad! Och!" Murtaugh shook his head as Jamie came nearer, "I should be calling ye James now. Ye tower over me like yon oak tree." He took a moment to inspect the once wee sapling before embracing him with a hard slap on the back.

"Aye, take after Mam in that respect." Jamie said proudly.

"That ye do, the good parts of ye fer sure." Murtaugh's eyes softened long enough for Jamie to notice and went pink from cheek to ears and quickly looked upward for distraction and found it in the weather.

"It's been shining fearsome of late." Murtaugh grunted with a nod towards the sky.

"Aye, and I promise I willna question it." Jamie grinned at memories at incessant questions that would drive the man to deep gulps of liquor that caught in his beard.

"I prefer a brisk air from time to time, none of this damn jibber jabber of squawkers the light brings, but aye, tis nice." He relented with a shrug that allowed for the strap of his weatherd rucksack to slide down his arm, hastily tied closed and contents now left in partial view.

Jamie tilted his head to take a wee keek but hopes were quickly dashed by a pair of dirtied hands that moved the bag away from sight.

"Maybe ye are still a lad then."

"Curiosity never wanes, especially on a farm." Jamie laughed.

"Aye, but ye'll get yer hands strewn 'bout the fields if ye keep on as ye do. What I have willna spoil with time and I must be seein' yer mam."

"Ye should wash or she'll hand ye a tawsing and she's in a right place to do it."

"What ye mean?"

"She has a blade at the ready just now," Murtaugh raised his brows,his body stiff, "She shot a red stag this morning and is in a skinning mood." Jamie explained with a chuckle and his godfather's frame relaxed.

"Ellen was always good with a bow and a fine eye about her," he smiled fondly and patted his flat stomach. "Even so I'll take my chances, I'm right near starved."

They headed down to the cottage, followed by a miserably drenched Adso, another battle lost for the poor feline.

______

During supper, where Murtaugh donned a large swell of a bump on his noggin, he noticed the plentiful mass of food that graced the table before him and queried to the sudden abundance. The answer left him with a dead eye blink of disbelief.

A demonstration with a rose plucked from a small blue vase left him with a gaping jaw for a swarm of flies to dwell in.

"I'm still the same Jamie I always was, just..more of me to know." Jamie finished lamely, trying to reassure his godfather and looked to his mother, almost in question, who nodded in confirmation.

"Aye, same. Same is what ye call the ability to give life? That's the gift that the God above all gives women. What ye have I- I dinna ken." He was dumbfounded for sure and stared in wide eyed awe at Jamie as if he was committing the act again just now.

"I think we may have given poor Murtaugh an apoplexy." Ellen teased.

"Shall we give his plate to Adso, Mam?" Jamie added with a deliberate straight face.

Adso, who had been trying to charm his humans by rubbing affectionately against their calves, meowed in happy enthusiasm at such a lovely idea.

He gripped his plate with a loud grunt. The dark, whiskers on Murtaughs face twitched while his nostrils flared wide like a bull, sending mother and son into hearty laughter.

"Cackle like the hens ye are ye wee ninnies, I willna show ye what's hidin' away fer ye," Murtaugh grumbled as he stuffed his gob.

It was a hollow threat.

____

The 'treasures', Murtaugh informed them, were simple this time around, for work as a traveling hired hand had been slim. But something is something, at least he hoped.

For Jamie, a wool tartan of Fraser colors in tones of the earth. Jamie traced the lines with his finger tips, a proud fabric he draped over his broad shoulders smelling mildly of lanolin.

"Verra handsome, mo chridhe." Ellen remarked, as she smoothed the fabric of the young man before her, a faint blush lighting his cheeks.

For the matron of the family Fraser, a pair of bracelets made from the tusks of a boar, lovingly polished to an ivory glow with the tips capped in silver and etched with flowers.

"I ken the'r not finery," Murtaugh mumbled, scratching his beard to near baldness,"not jeweled or gold, just horns of tuskers."

Ellen ignored him and held the bracelets up, the lowering sun catching the ends as if it were truly studded with such splendors. Her eyes, so deeply rich in blue with shades of violet heather at the edges, held a softness, so clearly moved.

"Ye made these, mo sheann duine?"

My old man.

That was as close to a true heart endearment Jamie had ever heard. For the old man himself too.

"Aye." A man of few words when moved and one who couldn't sit in his own ineptitude to voice more.

Murtaugh cleared his throat,"Maybe we could spar a bit, Jamie, see what I can teach ye." Without waiting for an answer he quickly got to his feet and made for the door.

Ellen, seemingly unfazed, looked to Jamie, pulling his drapery away from him and gave her son a push to follow.

"Knock the manners back into your godfather till his ears ring, will ye, mo mhac?"

"Whatever ye say, Mam."

_______

Outside

After a heated sparring session that left young and old more then a bit breathless, the two men dropped like flies to the cool short grass and had themselves a wee nip of whisky to soothe muscles and joints.

"I dinna remember ye being so skilled with the blade on last meeting." Murtaugh huffed, pulling the collar of his shirt to waff in air.

"I've been taught by the local schoolmaster Murray." Jamie said casually, knowing the response he'd receive right close to his ears.

"Schoolmaster?!" Murtaugh exclaimed as predicted.

"He wasn't one in his youth and since his son marrit a wee thing he took an interest in me, maybe a bit of pity too." Jamie took a heavy swig of the brown liquid, sure to grow him a fleece if he kept on.

"That Murray ken't his sword." Murtaugh rubbed the muscles in his arm, tense from a blocked over head strike." Damn, sure."

Silence overtook them as they sat side by side watching the sun dip low behind the crest of the mountain range, washing them in a light of dying embers of ruby bronze and the air became crisp once more.

Now was as good as time as any. Jamie knew when he saw the man that it was providence, his lucky star of hope throwing him yet another bone of what he had been denied. That the letter received a few weeks ago was now a reality for the answers of his youth to be fullfilled.

"I plan on leaving, Murtaugh," Jamie spoke, his voice gruff from the sting of whisky," I want to see a bit of the world before I'm auld and greyed," not a total lie," and I want ye to look after mam for me."

"Does yer mother know?" Jamie expected a string of curses and questions, a whack definitely, but his godfathers voice was oddly soft in Scots to Jamie's ears. A man striving for patience and understanding.

"I think she may know already." Jamie thumbed the mouth of the whiskey bottle, as a tremble of nerves pulsed in his belly, "She's seen other lads leave their home, far younger than I and lately she's been sweeter than buttermilk to me." She was always sweet with him. "I've waited three seasons of crops to put more then enough coins to line her pocket…more then enough for what I need to do."

"Three?" The tone of the older man was lightly accusatory. "This plan of yers has been grinding in yer mind, hasn't it?" He swiped the bottle and gulped down the last of the amber drops.

Jamie was hesitant to reveal the correspondence he had been keeping, of the last letters contents, worried that the danger of such an endeavor would be met with him being hog tied. He scratched his wrist at the thought.

"Dinna fash, I willna be like my father. I plan on coming back home, as quickly as the wind can carry me, I assure ye."

Murtagh tapped his palm against his knee in contemplation with his head hanging low but eyes on the last of the horizons light, longer then Jamie would have imagined.

"I'll care for Ellen's well being while ye have yer walkabout," he answered softly,and I wish ye a swift and safe journey, Jamie. Just use yer heid." The expected slap finally made contact.

"Thank ye, Goistidh." Jamie stood, wiping his breeks of grass when a thought crossed his mind that curled his lips to a beaming grin," And when I come back I hope to see you and Mam hand in hand." Jamie scampered off like a child who had bested his elder, leaving the man reddened to an alarming degree with a string of mumbled curses under his breath.

It was only when Murtaugh raised himself to follow Jamie's path did he notice…

The grass was knee high now where Jamie had stepped.

Flowers that had never graced the fields bloomed in his wake.

And the man the cause of such a sight, his back to him now heading to homes embrace, unaware of how he was now lit within. A ray gently, gently aflame.

***The scene with the tusks I pulled straight from the book

Thank you to everyone for the response to this and my oneshot!! Writing is not natural for me so the support was wonderful.

Also my wifi is going to be on the fritz so the next update might be awhile.

#outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #outlander #jamie x claire #Claire is coming I promise #crash!bang!boom!love!!

130 notes · View notes

jeynewesterling · 7 years

Text

all the wolves have antlers

For @hellyeahayumichan because who else ships this with me?

AU where there was no Tourney of Harrenhal, Lyanna never met Rhaegar, never ran away with him, and she goes through with marrying Robert.

[ao3]

The wedding was the first and last time she would wear a stag, Lyanna decided. She had tried everything she could think of to get herself out of this marriage. She’d begged and pleaded, stormed and raged, but Father was unmoving in his decision. She tried to appeal to Ned, but he wouldn’t hear a bad word about his foster brother. It was sweet, how he tried to appease her worries, Ned was always sweet, but it didn’t make her any more agreeable to this match. Three moons before they were due to leave for Storm’s End for the wedding, Lyanna went to extreme measures. In the dark of the night, she stole some of Benjen’s clothes and packed a bag, planning to take a her horse and ride to… Well, she hadn’t decided where she would ride to. Anywhere but Storm’s End. She had only made it about half a day from Winterfell before Brandon came upon her and brought her back to face Father’s ire. After that, there was no more fights to be had.

Lyanna sat in the Lady’s chambers in Storm’s End, the rooms that would be hers after tonight, and looked about. She was surrounded by stags. On the wall hung hunting tapestries, majestic bucks in green grass fields. Across the bed, prancing harts were embroidered on all the pillows and along the bedclothes. Even out the window, the sight of the Baratheon banners flapping gracelessly in the wind. Stags are prey, Lyanna thought. Why would anyone want to be a stag over a direwolf? When Father came to escort her to the sept, she draped her maiden’s cloak over her shoulders and held her chin high. Wolves eat stags. I will not be made prey.

As a wedding gift, Robert had presented her with a box full of fine jewelry. Some had belonged to his late mother, he told her, but a fair number he had commissioned for the new Lady of Storm’s End. A gold necklace with stones as black as night, a brooch fashioned with the likeness of a doe, a hairnet with pins like antlers… All lovely pieces befitting Lady Baratheon. Lyanna thanked him through clenched teeth but as soon as he’d left her chambers, she stuffed the jewelry box in the back of a drawer, buried under her stockings. She wouldn’t wear a single piece of it. Not when she still had the sterling direwolf pendant that suited her much better.

And that is to say nothing of the gowns in her wardrobe. All silly southron things, cut too low and made of silk that tore too easily. She couldn’t ride in them for the impossible volume of the skirts, and the sleeves too long. Even simple tasks were made more difficult because they were always flipping and flapping about. She couldn’t even write a letter without catching a sleeve in ink. She much preferred her wool kirtles, simple but functional, in plain shades of dove and ash and steel. Dresses of her girlhood in Winterfell. Dresses that belonged to Lyanna Stark, she thought fondly as she traced her fingers over the embroidered wolves dancing along the seams of her gowns.

Lyanna was overcome with a smug satisfaction every time she caught Robert’s eye when he saw her about the castle, looking every inch the Stark. His thick black brows would rise up for a quick moment before they knit together and his lips would pinch as he tried to hold back his frown. He wanted her to be his delicate lady wife, to wear his colors and to bear his sons. To obeys his commands and call him ‘My Lord.’ Lyanna would never be that kind of wife, could never be. If she accepted the Baratheon name without a fight, it would be like dying. Lyanna Stark would cease to exist. And that would not happen, not so long as she could help it.

But Robert could be stubborn as well, Lyanna quickly found out. Just last week, he brought it upon himself to redecorate her solar with a new tapestry. A stag and a wolf together in a snowy forest. It was a sight better than what was there previous, but fool, didn’t he realize why she’d taken down the others? As she had with the rest, she pulled this one down and given it to Renly, who never seemed to have enough. When he realized that no tapestry he ever gifted her hung for more than a week in her solar, he changed his tactics. He’d hang the tapestries in nearly every hall and he made sure to address her as ‘Lady Baratheon’ loudly and often. It felt like she couldn’t turn around without being confront by some deer or another.

Six months into her marriage, and Lyanna had rather successfully kept her promise to herself. She managed to keep her Stark identity, despite many attempts to the contrary. But the night Robert stormed into her chambers, Lyanna could tell immediately that she had gone too far. It was all good fun to play these games when it was only them, but she should’ve known better than to try anything during the Prince’s visit. Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia were going to be arriving at Storm’s End any day now, a short detour on their way to Dorne. The entire household had been able to talk of little else since Robert received the letter from his cousin. The kitchen staff had sent out to prepare for a feast and the maids had been scouring the guest chambers clean. Little Renly had been asking anybody who would listen if the Prince was going to be bringing a dragon with him, no matter how many times Stannis and Maester Cressen told him all the dragons were dead. As for Lyanna, Robert had sent her a seamtress to have a new dress made, but when Lyanna had seen the bolts gold and black, she’d sent the woman away. No doubt, she’d gone back and told Robert, which is why she found him in her chambers now.

“My lady,” he said, voice carefully restrained, but only just. “I just spoke with the seamstress about your dress…”

“You are too generous, my lord. I have so many dresses already. I’ll just wear that to the feast,” she said, gesturing to where her gown was laid out. Silver damask layered over white silk skirts, to say nothing of the snarling direwolves chasing each other around the neckline. It was perfectly appropriate attire to meet a prince in.

But when Robert glanced over it and his face grew that shade of red she loved to inspire, she knew he disagreed. “You will not shame me in front of Prince Rhaegar. You’re Lady Baratheon now, damn it. It wouldn’t kill you to act the part!” He shoved a bundle into her arms before marching out, slamming her door behind him.

When he was gone, Lyanna unfolded what he’d given her. A dress worthy of a Baratheon lady. It was beautiful, she couldn’t deny that, and the cut was more practical than most of the other southron gowns she owned now. The sleeves were full to the elbow, but restrained from elbow to wrist. The skirts were long and full, though less so than the rest of her dresses and there was a brooch at the hip so they could easily be pulled away. It was truthfully perfect, Lyanna couldn’t have asked for better. And even if it was horrendous, she would have to wear it anyway. That look in his eye tonight, she didn’t know what he’d do, but it was plain that there would be consequences if she showed up to the feast wearing anything else. She spread the dress across her bed and sighed. Perhaps it was time to give up her silly games. It would’ve been impossible to carry on like this for the rest of her life anyway. Eventually, she would have to accept that she wasn’t a Stark anymore.

However, when she smoothed out the sash across the bodice, gold silk stitched with what else but stags, she got an idea. The seamstress had left behind some swathes of fabric and Lyanna was sure she had a needle and thread somewhere. She’d never been enthusiastic about needlework before, but her stitches were always fair and she knew exactly what to do. So carefully she tore the sash away before stretching a new piece of silk over her embroidery hoop and settling into the chair before the fire to work.

When word came of the Prince’s arrival, Lyanna dressed with care. The gown Robert had chosen for her as well as the addition she’d made last night. For hurried stitches done in the dark, the pattern came out well, if she had to admit. She studied the effect in the glass before her and smirked. This suited her very much indeed.

After her maids had finished dressing her hair, she made her way to the hall where they were to greet Robert’s royal cousin. Robert was there before her, standing proud in his velvet doublet of Baratheon colors. Stannis was by his side, gripping Renly by the shoulders lest the boy run off. Lyanna paused at the doorway and took in the sight. The Baratheon brothers, side by side, looking like a matched set. Is it really so wrong of Robert to want his wife to fit in this family portrait? But even if she wanted to, she would always stand out. Her hair wasn’t black and she would never be that tall. She could wear their name and their colors, but she would still be a wolf under it all. Resolved, she smoothed out the sigil across her chest and squared her shoulders before entering the hall.

Robert’s eyes lit when he saw that she was wearing his dress, but when they passed over her chest, he stopped. He wasn’t leering at her as he’s done before, no, he was inspecting the sigil there. The alteration she’d made last night. Instead of Baratheon stags, Lyanna had stitched wolves along the sash, wolves adorned with antlers. A compromise. Robert’s brows knit together when he realized what it was, and for a brief moment, Lyanna worried. Perhaps this was a poor time to be clever. It wasn’t her intention to embarrass him in front of his cousin. And if he lost his temper now—

But to her surprise, Robert laughed. Full-bodied and booming, the sound rang through the hall, the echo making it louder. He bent in half and when he stood up again, there were tears in his eyes. Of all the possible scenarios, Lyanna never expected Robert to respond like this. “Oh, Lya, my wife,” he said when he finally recovered himself enough to speak. “I will never be able to get the wolf out of you, will I?” He grinned at her, his blue eyes sparkling, and for the first time, Lyanna admitted to herself how handsome he was.

She couldn’t stop herself from smiling back at him. “Never.”

#lyanna x robert #robert x lyanna #lyabert #otp: all the wolves have antlers #my fic #this ship - i love them

51 notes · View notes

poppymuffinseed-blog · 5 years

Text

share Your Love With Some invaluable Valentine Gifts

Perfume in which so apply

Make major attempts to recognize your sort as well as disapproval. Learn what your fan suches as to eat, what's his preferred color, what type of motion pictures does he like etc. And if you are not exactly sure what turns him on or off, Ask! It's far better to ask than experiment. Acquiring a fresh pearl pendant is not made complex. Thanks to the all-natural beauty of freshwater pearls, there is very little adjustment required to make a beautiful pearl pendant or set-the vital part is the finished layout. You can obtain a good set of pearls by taking notice of several major elements. The very first one is the gloss or shine of the pearl. A great pearl is glossy as well as is scrape totally free. A pearl that is plain does not have sufficient layers of nacre on it.

youtube

Whether it's a food product like fruits and delicious chocolates or whether it's just sweet little nothings like blossoms and also stuffed playthings, they have all of it covered for you. True enough, the statement, "name it, they have it" uses appropriately right here. Sending gifts to Pakistan like these ones can now be done online. These souvenir products bearing the name of the nation you have been to such as t-shirt, pens, caps as well as even refrigerator magnet will be cute ornaments to provide. Make them really feel the place as if they have actually existed also with these keepsakes.

Your bone tissue is not everlasting. It is regularly being and also passing away changed. Every 7 years your body grows what is the equivalent of a totally entire skeletal system.

What is truly top note within perfume?

Currently, in order to see to it that you are able to draw together the ideal gift feasible, you will certainly desire to try to make certain that you are obtaining a great offer on whatever. There are numerous methods to do this. You can patronize local price cut stores near you. Nevertheless, you may find that the most recent launched males's cologne alternatives will certainly not exist. A far better way may be to shop online. There are a great deal of different internet sites that supply you the chance to acquire cologne, perfume and also sprays. Browse the various websites to locate one that can offer you the best deal feasible. https://poppymuffinseed-blog.tumblr.com/tagged/shopping-and-product-reviews is fun and also existing, as well as constantly a feast for the eyes! There is a genuine favorable energy that you can not help but capture when you check out. I really feel one of the a lot more unique things regarding Etsy is the sense of neighborhood as well as the terrific people you satisfy. Whatever is personal. Individuals put themselves available with items they make or collect, and also it really feels excellent to do so among likeminded people. This is likewise the aspect I like most with respect to my shop. Individuals have been helpful as well as so motivating. Etsy is an excellent area to place some products up for sale without a significant investment, in order to figure out if what you are developing is interesting others. I so appreciate the feedback individuals have provided me. Regarding a year ago I chose to include more natural (environment-friendly) things into my life. Among various other things, I started making my very own "perfumes zara colombia" making use of vital oils, and also jewelry making use of all-natural stones, sterling and copper. Eventually I chose to take the dive and list some products on Etsy - as well as right here I am. Where can you locateexpensiveperfumes for economical? Amongthe very bestmeans to obtainseveral of the a lot morecostlycolognebrand names is by going shopping on Ebay. You can buyexamples of the higher-end fragrances like Armani, Versace, and Issey Miyake in samplebottles Check also . Normally these containerswill certainlycostbetween4and also5dollars, and also have sufficientfragrance to last you severalnights. Compare this to purchasingan entirecontainer of perfume ($30-$400) and also being stuck to the samearoma for a whole year. The audio is conducted by our bones when we hear ourselves talk. This somewhat modifies the timbre of our voices. This explains why much of us can not recognize our own voice on a recording, however our pals can. The tape recorder, like our buddies, listen to the audio via air conduction alone. Currently, when your intent is to purchase a pendant or bracelet one more set of aspects have to be taken right into account. All the pearls in the collection have to go with each other well, or be finished in a manner that makes sense. Some freeform layouts benefit from the one-of-a-kind nature of pearls, so slight variations just include to the look of the ended up piece.

Exactly how could I create my perfume last all the time?

#mattress #buying #beds

0 notes

aalt-ctrl-del · 7 years

Text

01 _ Straw Spun to Silk

A Gentleman in a Coat

It wasn’t the sort of day he’d pluck off the calendar as a “go out and do an outdoors”, but the weather suited his mood. The morning didn’t start out like this; fogged and dreary, the nasty clinging moisture that emphasized the smell of muggy marsh from the river cutting through the creak. The sky was dark and overcast, with enough warmth that heavy coats weren’t necessary, but he carried it anyway for just in case. The week was on the cusp of the weekend, and he didn’t preoccupy himself with his usual crew in his haste to get home and get set up.

The whole scrabble rush to meet an unspoken deadline came to a rough crawl when he arrived on his home step. There was no impending rush for Chadwick to step through those doors and confront what awaited inside, but dawdling only postponed the inevitable. He had somewhere to be, someplace to go – relocating ten feet was no different than traveling five hundred miles. He didn’t want confrontation, especially when it could be postponed for a few seconds further.

“I’m home,” Chad announced, as he entered. He invited the depression, the disappointment. He came in, shut the door, and let his parents know who was there.

Chad went from the entry and to the living area, where the toddler pin was. That was where Abigail spent many of her days as of late, not necessarily forgotten; their parents were preoccupied. Chad set aside his books, and leaned over the rim to give his baby sister a kiss on her head. She chirped and flopped around the teddybear she held – it was an old thing, a hand me down. Chad was initially bitter about giving up his favored companion, but the mood quickly passed when he fell in love with Abby. She needed it, and he really didn’t want the bear.

“Have a good day? How’s Stiltskin been keeping you?”

Abby cooed and babbled her baby words; she formed some words, but wasn’t quite to the point of building sentences. She told an adventure about the bear on a journey to the kitchen, but when he got there, there was no one. She proclaimed his name frequently, “Stitsen. Stistsen.” The name of Stiltskin was a shortened version of ‘Rumplestiltskin,’ from the fairytale of the namesake. Sterling was always afraid the little imp would steal him from his mother when he was little, so to insure they never forgot the name he named his best friend after the imp.

That made sense to Chad. He didn’t want an imp to take him away either. The thought shifted his expression, from the cheery merriment of seeing his sister happy and rosy cheeked and gleeful, to that of the business at hand.

“I’ll warm you up some lunch. You want some lunch?” Chad gave Abby another kiss on her head, and hurried to the kitchen.

As expected, the kitchen was empty. For a moment he wondered where his mother went off to, but dismissed his exploring mind. This would work out for him.

He went around the kitchen flipping on the lights; the windows were open, but the fog outside staved off any meager illumination. He almost expected a storm to hit, or the telltale roar of thunder to encircle the small town.

Chad turned on the stove, and while he was at it stashed away a spare packet of matches. He left the chair at the stove, while he went through the kitchen for his supplies. The saucepan, half filled with water, and a bottle. He got milk, checked its freshness, before filling the bottle. It would take time for the water to heat up, so Chad hurried up the steps.

He wasn’t allowed in Sterling’s room, though his older brother didn’t care – they were close like that. His parents made the rule.

For a minute Chad stood observing the messy bed, the used clothing – exactly as he left it. A swell of bitterness burned in the back of his throat, and his fists tightened beside his thigh. Chad crossed to the closet and pushed the panel aside. His brother made his own camping supplies, in spite of their father and their absolute ‘no fun ever rule’. Chad didn’t understand, and he blamed his father – it wasn’t the same as hate. He could deal with his mother right now, but not their father. Note until Sterling came home, but that would depend wholly on their father – if he could swallow his pride.

There was a knapsack stuffed to bursting with the essential of supplies – the rope and floor bottom, along with treated canvas cover, and a sleeping sack. It was bulky and heavy, but nothing Chad couldn’t handle. He wasn’t going far. He hauled the knapsack down the steps and to the back door of their home.

Abigail squealed when Chad passed through the room. “Gimmie a few more minutes,” he called.

The water in the saucepan was boiling. Chad took the pan off and shut the stove down. He set the bottle aside, to cool, and went through the kitchen once more. He packed a napkin with bread and cheese, and the traditional chocolate bars, graham crackers, and marshmallows. He finalized packing, with the assurance he shouldn’t come back into the home unless he needed to.

Still no appearance of his parents. Chad returned to the living room with the bottle, a little despondent. “Got your din.”

Abigail tottered to the fence of the pin and took the offered bottle. Forgotten on the floor, Siltskin starred at Chad with his black, glass eyes. There wasn’t much else Chad could do inside the home, not while Abigail was taken care of. For the time. With his provisions in hand, he returned to the back door and shoved everything out.

The backyard didn’t have a fence, some of the other homes had brick walls and metal bars, but the back fence that was meant to separate the yard from the woods eroded some time ago, the brick foundation crumbled into the soil. There wasn’t much detail on why that was, aside from poor planning and the creak.

Chad navigated the fog; departing the edge of his home and slipped across the yard. The grass was stubby and never had the knack for growing thick or well; his father wasn’t much for gardening. Some trees dotted the yard, and it was between the last two that Chad tossed the knapsack down. He opened the bag up and dragged out the bundle of canvas and rope. When setting up the rope between the tree branches, he realized he forgot the hammer. But the tool shed had a small dugout shovel, which he needed anyway for the fire pit.

During the tents assembly, Chad couldn’t be sure, but he thought someone was singing. Or someone was humming. He paused from hammering the spikes in and listened. It was eerily silent, not even the birds felt merry in the gray vapor sloughing off every perceivable structure. But there was no other sound, except perhaps the gurgle of the water a quarter mile away.

The tent stood sturdy, better than what Chad expected. It was his first go at setting up the camping gear all on his own, but he went on a few other excursions with his brother. Usually, his brother invited him along with his older friends, and they went into the woods to live like Tom Sawyer or some other hero from the books Sterling read.

A fire pit was next. The soil was gaudy and soft, and Chad debated if it was too moist to light wood. Cut lumber was kept beneath the back porch, but Chad could tell he might not have the easiest chore with getting a flame to catch. The bread and cheese would be perfectly edible as is, though that wouldn’t beat a warm meal. He was craving the smores. There was no point in debating it over and over, not without first trying.

Chad returned to his home for some plates and the skillet, and ease his mind about his sister. She was asleep in the pin, a tiny hand fisted around Stiltskin’s ear.

Some wood was piled into the fire pit, but a few extra logs went into the tent. In case it rained. Chad wasn’t planning on camping outside the whole night, his mother would lose it. But she nor his father had gotten in yet. It took an aggravating amount of time of lightening matches and coaxing the sad little flame – fire didn’t like the misty saturation of the air – but finally, after nearly an hour, the wood was glowing orange and timid. Chad maintained good faith and patience, and worked coaxing the flame strong and strong, with bits of hair from his own hair – he needed a haircut anyway. And before he knew it, there was fire. And it was warm and strong, and crackling at the edge of his tent.

It seemed almost a shame to have to go back inside. Chad set the skillet on the flames, and place bread slices down topped with cheese. The scent of toast and bubbling cheese sent his stomach a frolic; he didn’t realize how hungry he was.

“Sterling!” he called. And then, much louder, “Sterling! I’m having a campout! I made a fire and everything! I’ll make you some ‘smores, IF YOU COME HOME!”

The toast crunched when bitten into. Chad hissed and wheezed, the cheesy was oozing and hot. But it was so good. Everything always tasted better when you went out into the woods, on a long excursion to camp and be wild. Food was precious. You needed energy to reach the destination, and you needed energy to return home.

“This is sooo good!” Chad harked, to the wood thicket.

He imagined his brother sulking on the other side of the creek, fishing with a rod made with a branch switch and a thread from a spool. When he smelled the toasted bread, and the warmth of a friendly fire, he’d realize how ridiculous it was to leave like this and come back. Muddy creak fish couldn’t be better than melted chocolate and toasty crackers.

Chad burnt the end of a stick over the fire, like his brother showed him. Sterilized the pointed end and burst off the grungy bark bits. He shoved a white lump onto the stick, and began the process of roasting marshmallows.

“These ‘smores will be the best! I make the best smores!”

The copse of trees loomed silent and unimpressed. Chad sneered, as he assembled a cracker with a chocolate piece. Two pieces, exactly as his brother liked it. Chad resisted his urge to eat the smore, and instead set it on a plate beside the fire. He made another one, and stacked it on the first. He was on a roll, making sandwich treats gushing with sugary delight.

“I made you a whole plate of ‘smores!” Chad stood in front of the tent, hands cupped around his mouth. “ALL for YOU!” He stood waiting, watching. And listening.

The thicket reserved its silent contemplation of the child. If possible, the gaps among the trees and shrubs thickened with shadows. In another hour, it’d be completely dark.

Chad looked back at his home, standing – the kitchen lit, the upper bedrooms aglow. But not Sterling’s room. It was dark and abandoned.

Sighing, Chad plopped back in the tent. He tossed in another log, and roasted one last marshmallow. He ran out of graham crackers, so ate it with just the chocolate and the white ooze bursting. He licked his fingers and curled up, eyes glued the gnawing orange glow of the flames. In the dancing heat he saw his brother, smiling. Proud of him. When Chad was with his brother, he felt like one of the guys. Bold and impactful – when Sterling was there, Chad only had to say something and people would listen. He wasn’t just a kid. He mattered. They went out and did things together; Sterling took him to see scary movies, and if it was too scary, they camp in the living room together and build a tent fort. It was almost as exciting as being outdoors, because Chad couldn’t handle the woods when he was scared; the old house was sinister enough.

With a start, Chad realized he was sleeping. The fire was dying down intot he murk of night, only the intense orange coals lay at the bottom of the pit, grumpy and seething. Chad didn’t want to move, he was tangled in the sleeping sack and not sure how to free himself. His legs were sticking out, and the damp chill soaked into his shins. It was almost like it rained on his legs, and now they were soggy and chilled.

It wasn’t the clammy sensation latched onto him that woke him. It was the trilling, almost rolling canter of the melody. When Chad came a little more to his senses, the hymn faded out. He lay stone struck, listening. He was lodged within the drowse of wake and slumber, his body weighted by the paralysis. Little by little, his limbs loosened. He tossed another log onto the coals, and watched the swirling stardust ascend to the inky blanket high above, to be smothered out entirely.

He blinked at the coals that remained suspended in the grove, flittering between there and gone. They were not like the warm particles that had substance and dissolved into dark matter; these lights glittered but remained constant, unhindered by the fog. As he watched on, it became apparent they were not small lights, but lights that bobbed at a distance.

And they came nearer.

“When I awoke, the path splint before me inviting and open. From then and thus forward I moved onward - no channel retired back upon. The trails are persistent and interwoven.”.”

Chad made no sound, none save for his heart thundering in his chest. He saw the creases around those glinting lights, sharp and sculpted. The soloist approached into the dome of the rekindled flames – Chad wished he had not tossed in that log – he saw that there was nothing but a coat, and perched on the collar was a set of grinning teeth. Sharp, chiseled features glowered, shimmering like polished obsidian carved from stone. Atop the toothy skull….

A hat.

Chad gawked, aware of how vulnerable he was. He debated lunging upright and tearing for the front porch, but he was tucked into the tent and doubted he could burst free in the method he craved. Perhaps, it was possible it didn’t see him.

Then it spoke.

“You must want something very badly.” The jagged snout turned downward; the firelight sparkled along the edges of its cheekbones. “You have made an offer. Is this your tribute?”

It took time for Chad to collect his bearings, piece together its words and their meaning. In a rush, everything clicked. And Chad blurted out –

“Y-yeah. You… you can have them. They’re—” He cut off. It could have them all.

“They are for someone else?” it rumbled. And cocked its head to the side. “I don’t recommend lying.”

“They were for my brother.” Chad cringed down into his cocoon of a bed. “Those are for my brother.”

“Your brother is expected?”

Chad’s shoulders quaked. “He ran away. An argument, with my parents. I want… I wanted him to come home. I want him back.” The tears tickled his hairline and ears. “I’m waiting for him.” A low and long hissed exhaled from the creatures… teeth. It spoke, but its jaw never moved.

“I will agree to your terms then. What you seek, I shall thus compensate.” The creature then crouched down, its knee poked from the low folds of its cloak. Chad winced when the creature lifted its arm; but it only drew its sleeve across its snout and hat. A hand took up one smore sandwich and slipped it behind the raised arm. Crunching issued.

The creature went through two more smores, before it spoke, “These are good.” After a short beat, it lifted its crown and peeked above the dark sleeve of its arm. “Is that all which you seek? Do you wish that I seek?”

Nearly all the smores were gone. Chad gawked at the plate, and then at the thing. “Don’t hurt me.”

“You are my client. I can do you no harm.” It snuffled, and a black tendril of moisture seeped from its nose hole. In fact, the entire inside of its nostril was glistening with that slime. “What it is you want. Be clear with your request, I would not wish to misconstrue it.” The dark pits behind its molars deepened, almost sinister like a sharpened grin.

“You… can find my brother?”

“I can seek your brother,” it corrected. “Locating is a possibility, but I won’t make promises. I grant wishes, but I am tethered by possibility and physicality. What is it you will have of me?” It raised a sleeve across its snout, and resumed eating.

Chad found himself tilting his head down into the blanket of his bed, trying to see beneath the arm; petrified but at the same time, fascinated. “I only had to feed you?”

“That is tribute. Yes.”

“And… you can find— look for my brother? Sterling.” Chad shifted up out of the covers, carefully. He scooted back, though there was no place for him to run or escape to; he remained trapped. But he wanted to accept the idea that this… thing from the woods, was not dangerous. Not to him.

“Make your request, and I will provide my service.” The creature slipped its snout from behind the sleeve, and tilt its head down. The hat hid its brow and skull, everything but the sparkling knobs of its incisors.

“Are you real? You’re some kind of monster, aren’t you?”

“I compliment your keen judge of appearances, and intuition.” The creature shifted, the frame crinkled and clicked as its body rearranged until it was straightened and upright. Chad was almost certain that his father had to be taller than the creature, but it had the capacity to loom up and up and up….. “Was it a monster you needed? Sometimes, only a monster can find what is lost.”

A memory rekindled itself in Chad. Once upon a time, Sterling told him stories about fairytale creatures, and old myths of dead legends; not the kid stuff, but the real Grimm’s Fairytales. Chad was certain the thing emerged off a treacherous deer path – that went nowhere – and their parents always made a point to warn them away from.

And ate the smores. It even liked them.

Sterling always said, ‘if all else fails, be polite, be courteous. If you can’t fight it back, then try flattering one into submission. Maybe you can earn its favor’.

This could all be a dream too. Chad didn’t feel like he was dreaming, but how many dreams did he encounter in his lifetime wherein he knew in the dream that he was dreaming? Not many. He reached under the blanket and pinched himself. His arm stung.

“What sort of monster are you?”

“I grant wishes,” it hummed. The tenure vibrated in Chad’s chest. “I offer good fortune, and favor. So long as I am wanted, so long as I am fed.”

“And smores are fine?” The creature sniggered, charming a timid smirk from Chad. It didn’t seem bad; unsettling and spooky but harmless.

“Share a plate with me, and good luck ye shall see.”

Chad took a last piece of bread, and set a bit of cheese on it. He put the skillet onto the curling flames of the fire and let it cook. The eye sockets and the faint spark within them watched intently. When the bread was toasted brown and the cheese a warm little dollop, Chad took the morsel and set it on his plate. He didn’t want to extend his arm directly to the thing. The skull shifted, and peered at him.

“This is for you,” Chad assured.

With that affirmation, the creature accepted the morsel. It, again, put its sleeve over its head and the soft munching sounds emitted.

“Do you have a name?” Chad stalled when the skull raised, and the eyes bore into him. He waned under the gaze.

“Spate.”

“Spate?” Chad echoed. That wasn’t much of a name, but he didn’t say otherwise.

“That is what I am. That is what I call. What are you?”

“I’m a Chad. Chadwick,” was the reflex response. “Chadwick K, Spencer.” The creature – Spate – nodded, as if it expected the name. It fiddled with the clasps on its coat, and adjusted its collar. “I want to look for my brother. You’ll do this?”

Chad had an abrupt realization. If he sent this creature to find his brother, Sterling might be horrified by its appearance same as Chad was by its approach. He didn’t want to frighten his brother, and he didn’t know what Spate might do if it found his brother. Was it literal in its request – it would find Sterling and then report back? Or did Chad have to first request it return with Sterling? Eitherway, Chad didn’t want to leave it to work by itself; if all possible.

But the next announcement plunged his heart into despair.

“You have exhausted your tribute. Do you have more food?”

Chad scrambled in the dying light of the firepit. He had scraps of bread, but that didn’t seem adequate. He shouldn’t attempt offering it sub quality foodstuff, and risk it turning on him. It didn’t seem like the creature would do that, but there was no telling what Spate was willing or not. The thing only seemed friendly civil, but for how long?

“I don’t,” he admitted, softly. “I can go into my kitchen, and find something.” Chad stared at the faint little lights in the depths of the eye sockets, the only visible surface of the creature he could make out now that the fire was diminished completely in the damp air. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ll be fine,” Spate uttered. “You know my name. You can create, and offer, and I will return at your behest. When you are ready.”

But Chad was ready. He wanted to find his brother. But it was dark and the air folded over his arms and body clammy, and he was very-very tired. He didn’t want to believe he was frightened enough to revoke the desire for finding his brother, but really he was.

“Then I bid you well,” the creature uttered. It’s body creaked and the lights flickered. “Consider with passion what you yearn for, and I will be expected.”

The air became quiet, except for a distant twining on the fog. After several minutes, Chad had the nerve together to grab the shortspade and scuffle at the suppressed embers. There was enough life in the coals to flutter on the surrounding grass and mist, but there was no indication of Spate. No shape or glittering shadow, the only indication of the creature’s presence passing was an empty plate where smores once sat stacked.

Next - We Follow Roads to Nowhere

1 note · View note

hmhteen · 7 years

Text

HMH Teen Teasers: Read an Excerpt of THE DISAPPEARANCES by Emily Bain Murphy!

THE DISAPPEARANCES is truly a book with something for everyone: an historical mystery with fantasy and paranormal elements and, of course, a breathtaking romance. Here, we’ll let this STARRED REVIEW from @publishersweekly explain it better: “Sumptuous worldbuilding, richly developed characters, and a swoon-worthy romance elevate this delightful, fantasy-tinged mystery."

Here’s the synopsis, and you can read the first two chapters right after!

What if the ordinary things in life suddenly…disappeared?

Aila Quinn’s mother, Juliet, has always been a mystery: vibrant yet guarded, she keeps her secrets beyond Aila’s reach. When Juliet dies, Aila and her younger brother Miles are sent to live in Sterling, a rural town far from home--and the place where Juliet grew up.

Sterling is a place with mysteries of its own. A place where the experiences that weave life together--scents of flowers and food, reflections from mirrors and lakes, even the ability to dream--vanish every seven years.

No one knows what caused these “Disappearances,” or what will slip away next. But Sterling always suspected that Juliet Quinn was somehow responsible--and Aila must bear the brunt of their blame while she follows the chain of literary clues her mother left behind.

As the next Disappearance nears, Aila begins to unravel the dual mystery of why the Disappearances happen and who her mother truly was. One thing is clear: Sterling isn’t going to hold on to anyone's secrets for long before it starts giving them up.

CHAPTER ONE

Aila

Gardner, Connecticut

September 27, 1942

I want something of hers.

There’s a teacup downstairs, the last one she used before she died. She didn’t finish her chicory coffee that morning, and what she left stained the porcelain in a faint ring. Her lipstick remains smudged in Red Letter Red along the rim. It’s been three weeks and I still haven’t been able to wash it away.

But I shouldn’t choose the teacup. Nothing fragile is going to survive today.

“Aila?” Cass opens my bedroom door, her white blond hair pinned up in a plait, her wide eyes darker than normal. “Your father says I can come with you to the train station, but we have to leave in five minutes.”

“I’ll be ready,” I say softly. “I would be more worried about Miles.”

She nods and disappears back into the hallway. Her footsteps fall on creaking boards and then the house returns to its solemn hush, so quiet you can almost hear the dust settle. As if we have all already left it.

Five minutes.

I go to my parents’ room.

It’s been tidied since the last time I was here; the day of my mother’s memorial. Now the bed is made. All of the flowers have been cleared away. Her vanity is free of her compacts and even the precious glass vial of “Joy” she always displayed but hardly ever wore. I open her drawers, run my fingertips over her jewelry, but it’s all tangled and gaudy and I want to leave it there, just as she left it. As if she could come in at any moment and clip on her big, ugly earrings, as bright and jagged as suns.

I turn to the bookshelf. It, too, has been sorted, but I prefer the way it used to look, when the books were all jumbled and wedged in at odd angles, threatening to fall onto my feet.

My eye catches a large leather volume, its spine dwarfing all of the rest. I’ve never seen it before. I kneel down in front of it, my knees finding the threadbare place where the rug has worn almost through to the floor.

I pull out the book and flip through the pages. They whisper against my fingers, thin and delicate like moth wings. It is Shakespeare, a collection of his plays and poems, and my mother’s handwriting is everywhere in it, littering the margins and cluttering the white gaps between sentences in different colored ink. The pages are yellowing, as if Mother has had this book for a long time. I wonder where it’s been hiding until now.

An envelope is taped to the back cover. It is blank, and unsealed, and there is a note inside.

“Aila! Miles!” Father’s voice rings out from the kitchen.

“Coming!” I call back.

The note was written recently; I can tell by the way her handwriting shakes like it did when she was nearing the end. It says:

Stefen: You will find what you asked for within this. I will always love you.

Your Viola

My attention snags on the two names. Because the first one does not belong to my father. And the second, though it is definitely my mother’s handwriting, was not her name. My mother was the other well-known Shakespeare heroine. The one who also died young.

Juliet.

“Aila!” my father calls again. This time, it’s more of a warning.

Leave it, I think. You don’t even like Shakespeare.

And maybe I don’t want to know who this Stefen is.

I put the book back on the shelf and decide that I want the teacup. It is my mother just as I remember her: safe and familiar and still marked by her touch. I’ll bring it even if I have to hold it on my lap, cupped in my hands like a butterfly for the entire journey.

I hurry down the narrow stairs, which seem to slope more and more to the right each year. I’ve never lived anywhere but this house—what we fondly call “the Tilt”—and I know just where to place my hand on the banister to keep my balance and where to step so the stairs don’t creak. When I reach the landing I hear my next-door neighbor, Mrs. Reid. She’s in the kitchen with Father, taking final instructions for watching over the Tilt while we’re gone. She’s opening drawers and closing them, and I’m sure she’s the one who organized my mother’s books. Maybe out of guilt.

“I’m sorry, again, Harold, that we aren’t able to take the children,” she says. I pause on the staircase, in the shadows. All I can see are her stockinged calves and the worn leather of her pumps, but I picture her lips pursing down, her white hair wispy and always looking as though it’s being swept heavenward by the wind. “With Earl’s health,” she continues. “I just didn’t feel like we could manage them both.”

She means that she would have taken me, but not Miles. She doesn’t want to be responsible when he inevitably steals something or sets a fire. The creases in Mrs. Reid’s pumps deepen as she shifts her weight. “I thought someone else in town would surely be able to help, but….” She trails off.

“Well, thankfully we’ve found other arrangements,” Father says stiffly. Then he turns away to yell again, but I appear in front of him before he can say my name.

“I’m here,” I say. My eyes fall from Mrs. Reid’s overly rouged cheeks to her hands, where she’s been anxiously fiddling with something. A tea towel embroidered with green leaves—and my mother’s teacup, scrubbed shiny clean.

I swallow. “I forgot one thing,” I say, turning, and running back up the stairs. I touch my mother’s dresses one more time, hanging in neat, still lines in the closet, knowing they will be packed in storage or given away by the time I return. Then I grab the book of plays, stuffing it into my knapsack without another thought.

Father drives us to the train station in our mud-streaked Studebaker; he and Miles in the front and Cass and me in the backseat, my knapsack with the book laying heavy on the seat between us. “Think Mrs. Reid can handle the Tilt while we’re away?” Father asks. He smiles at me in the mirror and reaches over to ruffle Miles’ hair, but Miles just stares straight ahead. I don’t let myself look at the browning dahlias in Mother’s flower boxes as we pull away.

Everything is in motion when we arrive at the station, like the air itself is anxious. Posters flutter on the walls, pigeons flap and peck, tow-white strands of Cass’s hair whip loose from her braid. She helped me set my wave this morning because I’ve always liked the way she does it best, but I can already feel it starting to fall. My dress clings to my legs and my ankles are sweating inside my bobby socks. It’s unseasonably hot for late September. Cass and I step into the shadows of the eaves while Miles and my father purchase our tickets. I lean against a war poster that warns, “Telling a friend may mean telling THE ENEMY.” An advertisement over Cass’ head promises an “ALL-AMERICAN sugar with energy crystallized by the sun!”

Overhead, the clouds swirl like soup.

“You’ll come back soon,” Cass says.

“You’ll write,” I answer.

“I wish you could stay with me,” she says, tears brightening her eyes. She is my oldest friend, the one who climbed into bed behind me on the day my mother died and braided my hair until I fell asleep. The next morning I found she’d woven in her favorite ribbon, the cerulean one embroidered with flowers, that she’d always planned to wear to our first school dance.

“I wish I could, too,” I say. Being stuffed in a room with Cass and her three older sisters sounds better than the unknown ahead, even though I’ve always been a little frightened of Cass’ mother.

Cass stares at the suitcase at our feet. “You’re not going to fall in love with some swoony out there and never come back, are you?”

I squeeze her hand. “Maybe now Dixon Fairweather will finally realize what a dish I am.”

She starts to cry-laugh as my father joins us on the platform, looking down at the newly purchased tickets in one hand and clutching my brother’s suitcase in his other. “Where’s Miles?” I ask, and my father glances up with the pained look of someone who has spent too long staring at the sun.

“He was just here,” he says.

Our train is coming down the tracks, its white smoke pillowing up into the sky. The brassy clang of the bell grows louder.

“I’ll check the entrance,” I say, snatching up my bag.

“Lavatory,” my father says.

“I’ll take the staircase,” Cass volunteers.

There are people everywhere in the depot, mostly women and children, now that so many of the men have been plucked away to fight. I walk through the snaking line and peer out into the street, the heat and train bell in my ears, my heart quick and light. He is not there.

I’m searching for the burnt copper of his hair but on the way back to the platform I glimpse the tweed of his cap instead. Miles is sitting on the floor of the station, eating a half-melted Peppermint Patty he must have hidden in the pocket of his shorts.

I want to jerk his arm, or at least rip the candy from his hand. Instead I stand and let my shadow fall over him.

“Golly gee,” he says flatly. “You found me.”

“Miles,” I hiss. “We were looking for you. Why did you run off?” I ask, although part of me wishes that he had actually gone far enough to make us miss the train.

“Use your eyes,” he mumbles. “I was hungry.”

“Use your head. This is why no one here was willing to take us,” I say, but I soften the words by offering him a hand up. He follows me, dragging his feet, back out to the platform, to my father and Cass.

“Found him,” I say unnecessarily.

I can tell my father doesn’t want to yell at Miles in these last moments we have. He squints at us and picks up our suitcases, his broad, tall frame sharp against the sagging leather. He won’t leave until tomorrow, heading in the opposite direction. A plane to San Francisco. Then out to the endless Pacific.

“It’s time,” he says.

I embrace Cass first and try to think of the perfect words to say but Father’s foot is tapping, his eyes never leaving the nearest conductor, and somehow Miles has managed to ruin even this. “Well,” I say, suddenly shy. “Goodbye.” I take out one of my own ribbons and push it into her hand.

Then I turn to my father. He’s shaved for the first time in weeks and his cheek is so smooth I want to stay there for just a moment longer; breathe in that smell of star anise and lather. I used to lay awake at night, fearing that he’d be called up in the draft. But now that it has happened, I know that he will not die in the war—because my mother just died, and that will serve some sort of protection around him, like a halo. This makes perfect sense to me. So I press my cheek against his one last time, and then let him go.

“It won’t be long before I’ll see you again,” Father says. Miles sets his chin, but then drops his bag and throws his arms around our father in a hard hug. “It’s only temporary,” Father says. He swallows, his voice catching. He lets go of Miles and leans down to whisper in my ear: “my little elf.”

Miles and I board the train and Cass stands just below the window, tears streaming down her face. She’s tied my ribbon into her hair. As the porter loads my suitcase its tag turns over like a browned leaf, and I catch the swirl of my mother’s handwriting.

I wave to my father, but he has already turned away. Now there is not a doubt left that I will see him again. Because this can’t be my final memory of him, with his shoulders weighted under a sky the color of graphite; with my reflection flickering and fading as I wait for him to turn back one last time and watch us go.

The train ride north to Sterling is six hours. I don’t mean to fall asleep but halfway there I do. My neck has a crick in it when I jerk awake. Every dream is the same. The bright puffs of flowers around Mother’s bed; how still she is, her hands like marble when I reach up to touch them; and then the chill that echoes through to my bones until I gasp awake.

For a moment I think we’ve missed our stop, but Miles is sketching across from me and there’s nothing out the window but fields and sky.

I reach for the hidden tip of my knobby right ear, a habit of childish comfort I’ve been trying to give up. I can tell Miles notices by the way he smirks down at the notepad in his lap. His fingers guide various pencils over the page until the familiar curve of our mother’s headstone appears, wreathed with a rainbow of flowers.

It’s all he draws lately, the same picture repeating, just like my dream. I wonder which one of us will stop first.

“Are you hungry?” I ask. I unwrap the peanut butter sandwiches Mrs. Reid packed and hand a half-smashed one to Miles. The train car is almost empty now. We eat without talking, and when I tire of staring out the window, I pull out the Shakespeare book.

The cover is thick and bound with burgundy leather. I flip through the pages, wondering where to start. There are pen markings under certain lines and she’s written nonsensical notes in the margins, circling words like “nose-herb” and “Sounds like Var’s….”

The play Twelfth Night seems to have the most markings. Some of the pages are bent and the ink is smeared. I flip to the end again but this time I ignore the envelope. The back cover is lined with velvet and my fingertips leave patterns on it like they would on a frosted window.

And then I notice the smallest tear fraying at the corner.

I glance at Miles. He is absorbed with drawing the yellow burst of a sunflower, and so I pull on the cover’s thread. It comes away and I realize it’s been sewn on in faint stitches. My curiosity catches like a white flame and I work out the stitches with my nail, staring out the window so that I won’t draw Miles’ attention. When the flap is loosened enough, I slide the book back into my knapsack to hide it. Then I sweep my fingers into the opening.

Even before my fingertips feel glass, I know it.

There’s something hidden inside.

CHAPTER TWO

I tear the opening a little more to give my fingers space to work. Whatever is hidden there feels cold and smooth. I draw it out and examine it in the palm of my hand.

It is a colorless jewel, clear as water, with a teardrop suspended inside and set in a gold band. The familiar chill from my dream suddenly seeps through my fingertips. It’s my mother’s ring. I never saw her right hand without it, and I assumed it had been buried with her. Her rings were usually caked with dirt from her garden, but this one looks as though it’s been thoroughly cleaned. It stings a little, to see it now. This is what I would have wanted to take with me, if she had given me the choice. Why would she hide it in a book and plan to send it off to some stranger named Stefen?

I slip the stone onto my finger but it’s too big, so I hold it in my palm. It takes not half a minute for Miles to notice.

“What’s that?” He looks up from his drawing, eyebrows knitting.

“It’s Mother’s ring. She gave it me,” I lie, and hurriedly unclasp my necklace, exchanging my small heart pendant for the stone. It clinks against the buttons lining my dress.

“Next stop is yours,” says a gruff voice behind me, so near that I jump. The conductor’s breath is stale with coffee, staining the air around us. I haven’t seen any signs of a town since I jerked awake from my dream, and fields stretch out endlessly from beyond the window, only occasionally split by a farmhouse or barn. Gardner had been a small town to grow up in, but this feels like being dropped in the middle of an ocean. An ocean of cornstalks, burnt gold by the sun.

“The finishing word,” Miles says, putting his boots up on the seat next to me and closing his notepad. “Go.”

I play with the clasp of my tortoiseshell barrette. The finishing word was Mother’s game and I’m not sure I ever want to play it again. But as the train slows I think of Cass going home to her sisters, and of my father spending his last night in our home, alone. I jiggle the clasp back open. Every mile on this train, every minute that passes, is taking me farther away from my old life. The life I still want to be living.

A thought comes to me gently, and it is in my mother’s voice. That ship has sailed, honey. Now you can either drown or hitch a ride on the next one.

Will anyone put flowers on her grave while we are all away?

Even though I’m only half-thinking, I have a stroke of genius. “My finishing word is ‘Palimpsest,’” I say. I snap the hair clip triumphantly.

Miles slumps back in his seat. “I’ve never heard of that word. You probably made it up.”

“No, I didn’t. You know tabula rasa?” He gives me a vacant stare. “We’re starting over with a blank slate, but we haven’t completely left our past.”

He chews on his cheek as if he’s trying to decide whether to believe me. “What’s yours, then?” I ask over the train’s shrieking brakes. A patchwork of fields is rolling into the paved streets of a small town center. “My finishing word is ‘forsaken,’” Miles says.

“How dramatic.”

“Fine. Then I’ll make it ‘emprise.’ A fancy word for adventure.”

“That’s a good one,” I admit. “You win.” It’s a strong finishing word, especially for an eight-year-old—even if I hadn’t already decided that I would let him win. “Grab your bag.”

Miles’ eyebrows arch together and then his green eyes narrow.

“What will you do if I don’t get off?” he asks.

“You will,” I say, picking up his bag along with mine. I pretend they aren’t as heavy as they are.

“No one would blame me, you know,” he says, but he shimmies down the aisle toward the exit. “My mother just died.”

“Right, because I have no idea what that feels like,” I say, and when Miles pauses on the train step, I give him a shove. Then I take a deep breath of my own and step down onto the platform.

There are only two people waiting in the shade of the station’s overhang: a middle-aged woman and someone I assume is her son. I recognize Mrs. Cliffton from my mother’s funeral. She was the only person not from Gardner, so she had stuck out in the blurred line of mourners who went through the receiving line that day. She had been formal and reserved when she took my hand. “Matilda Cliffton. I was your mother’s best friend from childhood,” she’d explained, and I recognized her name. “My mother was always so pleased to get a letter from you,” I told her, and I had already moved on to greet the next person when she suddenly hugged me, as if she couldn’t leave until she had done it.

I overheard her offer to help my father however she could. I’m guessing she probably hadn’t envisioned Miles and me stepping off this train three weeks later.

“Hello!” Mrs. Cliffton calls, stepping towards us. Her black crepe funeral dress has been replaced with a day suit the color of plums and a matching hat. Her red hair is pulled up in a smart bun. She is more handsome than I remembered. But maybe it’s because this time she’s smiling. “Welcome!” she says. “Aila, seeing you here is like stepping back in time. You look just like Juliet did when we were young.”

“Thank you,” I say. I am grateful that she can say my mother’s name. That we can still talk of her. “You remember my brother, Miles.”

Miles sticks out his hand. “Miles Quinn,” he repeats solemnly as Mrs. Cliffton takes it. Our father’s pomade has evaporated and Miles’ cowlick now stands up like a missed clump of grass.

“Welcome, Miles. And this is my son, William. He’ll get your bags,” Mrs. Cliffton says.

“Will,” the boy says, extending his hand. He looks to be about my own age, with dark hair that is slightly overgrown, and I can’t help but notice it covers the tips of his ears. His teeth are slightly crowded in his mouth, and his eyes are a blue I’ve never seen before.

He’s sort of handsome.

“So this is Sterling,” I say quickly, glancing around.

“Actually, no,” Mrs. Cliffton says. “Sterling’s still a good drive from here, but this is our nearest station.” She glances up at the darkening sky. “We’ll want to try to beat the rain.” Will takes our bags from the porter and Mrs. Cliffton leads us to a Ford station wagon with wood paneling so smooth it looks glazed.

Miles nudges me. “Just so you know,” he whispers, “your ear is showing.”

My hand flies to the right tip of my ear, but it is still hidden under the carefully arranged layers of my hair. Miles’ face breaks into a grin wide enough to reveal the small space between his two front teeth.

“The finishing word just became ‘insufferable,’” I hiss. I ignore his wiggling eyebrows and climb into the car.

Mrs. Cliffton opens the driver’s door and takes her place behind the steering wheel. She starts the engine and pulls out onto the road, hunched forward, her gloved fingers wrapped around the wheel. She doesn’t make much conversation, and when the car heaves and jerks, the corners of her mouth tighten. It takes her a moment to find the windshield wipers once the raindrops begin to splatter like paint against the window glass.

“Thank you for bearing with me,” Mrs. Cliffton says, her foot easing and catching on the clutch. “We recently lost our driver. I suppose we’re all doing our best to adapt.” She colors as if she realizes how this must sound to us. I nod rather than answer. “We are all so hopeful that the war will be over quickly,” she adds.

This is just temporary, my father’s voice echoes in my head.

My mother’s ring is warming with my touch.

The Clifftons’ car sends up thick plumes of dust behind us on the road and we don’t pass any other drivers or dwellings for miles. “We’re largely farm country,” Mrs. Cliffton explains.

“What does Dr. Cliffton do?” I ask politely.

My question provokes the slightest moment of hesitation. “He’s a scientist,” Mrs. Cliffton says. She glances back at William. “He… looks for ways to improve our quality of life. Now, dears, look ahead—here is Sterling.”

I peer out the window as we come into town. The main street is lined with American flags. There are a handful of stores, all crowned with tan awnings. Letters are painted across the glass windows of a tiny diner.

“That’s Fitz’s,” Will says, nodding toward the rust-red bricks of a general store. We pass a bank, a hardware store, a milliner, a bakery, an empty Texaco station. It looks like any other sleepy farm town, but this is the one where my mother grew up. Maybe something of her is still here for me to find, like sunlight catching a handprint on glass.

“Home’s just a bit farther,” Mrs. Cliffton says, humming, and turns onto a smaller road. Houses and farms are scattered along it like jacks between fields and a thick patch of forest. The sky is wide and laden with heavy clouds. Mrs. Cliffton turns off the road and Will jumps out to open a large cast-iron gate. When he returns the rain has speckled his white shirt with gray. Then the car climbs the curving drive, and the Clifftons’ house comes into view.

The house falls somewhere between the cramped and cozy nooks of the Tilt and the sprawling mansions my Father once took us to see on the cliffs of Rhode Island. Lights blaze from a first floor window through the shimmer of rain. Four chimneys rise from a slate roof and rooms spread from the central house in two glass-covered wings. The red bricks glow as if they would be warm to the touch. I suddenly notice a faint stain blotting the hem of my dress and move my hand to cover it.

“I’m sorry, we seem to have forgotten the umbrellas,” Mrs. Cliffton says, pulling around the circled drive to the front of the house. “We’ll have to make a run for it. The three of you go on in, and I’ll be right behind you.”

Will opens the door to a crack of thunder and even though Miles and I sprint up the stone steps behind him, the rain soaks my dress until it clings to me. The careful wave Cass set in my hair this morning is now slicked to the side of my cheek.

Will pulls open the heavy front door to a bright yellow foyer and I hurry inside. The rainwater runs down my legs into a puddle on the checkered marble floor. A chandelier hangs two stories above our heads, twinkling like the sun.

“Wow,” Miles says, gaping at the raised ceiling, his boots squeaking against the polished floor. At least the rain has masked the stain on my hem.

Raindrops bead on Will’s forehead and drip down his lashes. He reaches a hand to brush them away. “I’ll get us some towels,” Will says, and by the time he returns with them, Mrs. Cliffton is coming in through the front door. She starts when she sees us still standing there and heavily sets down our luggage.

I look again down at the water that has pooled at my feet and narrow my eyes.

The wind has taken on a shrieking tone. The rain continues to beat against the windows. Yet Mrs. Cliffton and our leather suitcases are perfectly dry.

We towel off and meet the Clifftons’ only remaining staff: a live-in cook and housekeeper named Genevieve. She is tall and rail-thin and has hair the color of smoke. The tea she offers us is scentless but strong. It feels like embers going down my throat, heating me from the inside as we follow Mrs. Cliffton on a tour of the house. I try not to compare it to The Tilt, but I can’t help noticing that the door handles are made of curved brass rather than our rounded glass knobs. There’s no beautiful grandfather clock that clicks and bongs throughout the night, no collection of frog knickknacks with little pieces of paper wedged beneath them so they don’t slide down the slope of the shelves. Instead there are decorative books and patterned curtains and tiny painted porcelain boxes that sit in perfectly level display cases. The hallways bear paintings of vases and bowls spilling over with fruit rather than Father’s nautical maps and sketched prints of archipelagos. Maybe he’ll get to see more of the ocean while he’s away, I think. Maybe he’ll bring new pictures back with him.

Some of the furniture looks as though it’s never even been used. But Mrs. Cliffton is enthusiastic when we round a corner and she points out a wooden chair.

“Will built this for me when he was thirteen,” she says proudly.

“It’s really more functional than beautiful,” Will says.

“I adore it,” Mrs. Cliffton says.

“You’re my mother,” Will says, smiling at me with a hint of embarrassment and running his hands along the scruffy hair at the back of his neck. He trails behind as we tour the sunroom and formal dining room and Dr. Cliffton’s library, where books cover the walls with spines as ordered as piano keys. I’m examining an old Victrola and a tidy line of wooden canes when Miles reaches out to twirl the large, midnight orb of a celestial globe. I grab his wrist. He still has peanut butter smudged on his hand.

I shoot him a look before turning to Mrs. Cliffton. “Your home is lovely,” I say.

“Yes,” Miles echoes. He wipes his palms on the tail of his shirt. “Thank you for having us.”

Mrs. Cliffton waves this off. “Your mother was like my sister,” she says. She blinks rapidly and for a moment I worry she’s going to cry. Miles stiffens like a rod next to me. “So you and Miles are almost family,” she finishes, and smiles instead, and Miles’s shoulders relax again.

“Shall we head upstairs? You can get settled in.” Mrs. Cliffton leads us back to the foyer, where I grab my knapsack from the floor and Will collects our suitcases. “Aila,” Mrs. Cliffton says brightly, leading us up the stairs, “do you remember the time I came to Gardner? Not for the funeral, but years back? You were still very young then. Actually, William was with me as well. Do you recall meeting as children?”

“No,” I say after a beat. The pins in my hair are starting to tug and I want to find my room and take them out.

“Juliet and I turned our backs for one minute,” Mrs. Cliffton says, reaching the second floor, “and the next thing we knew you were both down in the field covered head-to-toe in dirt.” She stops in front of the first door beyond the balcony. “We promptly threw you both in the tub.”

When I realize that this means Will and I have seen one another in our unmentionables, and possibly even less than that, I do everything I can to avoid his face. Miles makes it worse with a muffled snicker.

“That’s right,” Will says quickly, juggling our suitcases for a better grip. “We were burying something we’d found in the field, some treasure. I can’t remember what it was. Maybe with some Mind’s Eye we could….”

The way he cuts off makes me look up to catch the most peculiar expression cross his face. His mother’s hand jerks back from the doorknob, and the air strains and crackles with a sudden tension, as if they are waiting for some sort of reaction from us.

“What is Mind’s Eye?” Miles asks, and Mrs. Cliffton gives Will an almost imperceptible shake of the head.

“Oh, just something we can talk about later,” Mrs. Cliffton says to Miles, pushing open the door to the first guest bedroom. “Aila, that’s a lovely necklace,” she continues, changing the subject as she ushers us inside. “I remember that ring. Wasn’t it your mother’s?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Did she really give it to you?” Miles asks quietly as Will places my suitcase on the floor. I nod, uncomfortable with how intently both he and Mrs. Cliffton are looking at my neck.

“She didn’t give me anything,” Miles says, and I wait until their backs are turned, and then hide the ring behind the collar of my dress.

My bedroom is simple and cheerful, with yellow walls that are cozy even with the storm beating against the window. There is a white four-poster bed with an embroidered quilt and a window seat that looks out on the branch of a large oak. Mrs. Cliffton has placed tight puffs of cabbage roses and a picture in a silver frame on the bureau. The image holds younger versions of her and my mother. Juliet and Matilda wear matching school uniforms, their arms slung around one another, their faces caught in openmouthed laughs.

I’ve never seen a picture of Mother at my age. Her hair was a lighter auburn than mine, but she has my gray eyes that are a bit too wide, small nose, and sharp chin. It’s startling how much I look like her.

I unpack my dresses and line my toiletries on top of the milk-white sink, then shelve the poetry volumes I’ve taken from the castaway pile at the Gardner library over the years. Stevenson, Frost, Dickinson, Yeats, and Wilde, each missing its cover or spidered with stains the color of light tea. I can’t bring myself to unpack my winter clothes just yet. Maybe we’ll be home by then. Instead I arrange my father’s dulled throwing dart, Mother’s Shakespeare volume, and Cass’ ribbon on my nightstand. Then I run a bath in the porcelain claw tub and dress for dinner. There are no mirrors in the bathroom--odd for a house that has just about everything else. I wonder if it would be too forward to ask Mrs. Cliffton for one.

I do the best I can with my hair, feeling only by touch, and head downstairs for dinner.

Dr. Cliffton stands from the mahogany dinner table to greet me when I enter the dining room. He is an older, softer version of Will, with blue eyes that aren’t quite as striking and are framed by wire-rimmed glasses. I make polite, stilted conversation—”I’ve never been this far north before;” “The rain sure is coming down”—over a dinner of watercress and grilled peach salad, roast chicken, and some sort of squash tart, all served by Genevieve. We did not eat like this even before the war and the rationing started. “One of the benefits of living in farm country,” Dr. Cliffton says as he notices me eyeing the small pat of freshly churned butter. I want to smear it, salty and smooth and creamy, all along my slice of bread, but I pretend that I don’t care for it and pass the plate on. Miles takes my cue and declines as well. We are impinging on the Clifftons enough without eating their precious butter.

Dr. Cliffton clears his throat. “Did your mother speak often of Sterling?” he asks me. He pauses in cutting the tart. His knife and fork hover over his plate.

“Only a little,” I say. In truth, she’d barely spoken of it at all. There is a long beat, as if this wasn’t the correct answer. For a moment all I can hear is cutlery scraping; the sound of my own chewing.

“She told me once she didn’t much like it,” Miles offers, followed by a yelp as my heel catches his ankle.

Dr. Cliffton laughs graciously but there is something else in it as well. He pushes his chair back in concert with a loud crack of thunder and says, “You know, I believe I’ve just the thing for this occasion.” His right foot drags as he leaves the room, and I recall the collection of canes I’d seen during my tour of the house. I suppose that means the draft will never come calling for him.

Dr. Cliffton reappears a moment later trailing bright strains of Glenn Miller from down the hall. It helps to drown out the steady patter of the rain. “Shall we move into the library?” Mrs. Cliffton suggests. “Genevieve could bring us some coffee, maybe even some ice cream?” Miles jumps up with a nod.

They are all trying so hard, I realize. But I don’t have the energy to keep up. “Actually, I think I’ll turn in,” I say.

“Long day,” Mrs. Cliffton says, nodding. The lights flicker.

The four of them move on to Dr. Cliffton’s library and I climb the stairs to my room. “Goodnight, Miles,” I call from the balcony, and he gives a short wave without really looking.

I change into my nightgown and brush my teeth, staring at the blank wall in front of me. Tomorrow I’m going to ask about the mirror.

I climb into bed, rolling my father’s dart between my hands. I hear Will challenge Miles to a game of checkers, followed by an amused “Hot dog!” barely five minutes later. Miles rarely loses games. He never loses at checkers.

Someone changes the record to Billie Holiday, drowsy and warm. She was Mother’s favorite. I return my dart to the nightstand and use my pillow to block out the music and sound of the rain.

It’s the first night in three weeks I do not dream of her.

***

Well that certainly left a chill running down our spine! Want more? Pre-order THE DISAPPEARANCES at the links below.

Amazon Barnes & Noble Books-a-MillionHudson IndieBound Powell’s

#hmhteen #hmh teen #ya lit #ya excerpt #yaexcerpt #yalit #books #booklr #booknerd #book nerd #ya romance #YAromance #historical romance #historical fiction #quotes #book quotes #teen #excerpt #excerpts

18 notes · View notes

spicynbachili1 · 6 years

Text

Cozy up to the dead with these recent Switch releases

Loss of life, dismemberment, and demons, all simply in time for Halloween

In keeping with Irish folklore, Samhain is the day on the calendar when doorways between the land of the residing and the land of the useless and different areas of the supernatural open at their widest. Over time, the day morphed into what we now name Halloween, a vacation the place kids’s minds are stuffed with ideas of monsters whereas they stuff their mouths with sweet that may ultimately kill their our bodies. Additionally it is the night time when the most individuals on Earth might be discovered sporting slutty Luigi. The Yin and Yang, life and demise relationship between teeth-rotting, blood sugar-spiking sweet, and the attractive Mario Bros. are simply a part of what makes this such a particular time of yr.

For those who’re a Change proprietor and also you wish to rejoice the day in a extra off-beat means, these 5 new-ish video games (most of that are additionally on PC) could do the “trick.” Not like most typical horror tales, these titles do not at all times work laborious to make you concern demise. As a substitute, they permit the participant to interact in contemplative, generally empowering relationships with the tip of their lives, making them an ideal match for Crom Cruach’s large occasion.

Pinstripe

I used to be not anticipating a lot out of this sport, nevertheless it actually blew me away with its writing and voice performing. It is not clear that any of the characters in Pinstripe are alive for any of our time with them, however they actually come to life emotionally, particularly Bo, your three-year-old daughter who faces a destiny worse than demise for many of your journey. The sport is about attempting to avoid wasting her from Pinstripe, a shadowy, devilish man who desires her for himself. It is uncomfortable stuff, however by no means exploitative. It is spectacular how shut the narrative involves straight addressing critical subjects like alcoholism and youngster abuse whereas by no means veering into territory that I would conceal from a ten-year-old.

The sport’s puzzles are extra hit and miss. They vary from quick re-appropriations of Flappy Chook to hidden object hunts straight out of Highlights journal, although they’re all tailor match for the narrative. There are additionally some limited-scope motion sequences, often involving taking pictures one thing with a slingshot or leaping on a canine with a giant butt. All of them vary from fine-to-fun, nevertheless it’s the Burton-esque artwork route, unsettling use of By The Mild Of The Silvery Moon, and underlying themes of paternal guilt and habit that actually make this one work. It is a rated-T 2D Silent Hill: Shattered Reminiscences for the fashionable period.

The Lacking: J.J. Macfield and the Island of Reminiscences

As Chris stated in his assessment, there may be much more to The Lacking than you would possibly glean from simply the trailers. I’ve heard some folks say that the sport seems like one other dread-filled 2D platformer within the type of Limbo or Inside, the place grisly shock-value deaths lie round each nook, besides that this time it is a beautiful younger lady who will get repeatedly massacred. That is not solely unfaithful, however one of many issues that makes The Lacking particular is the best way it turns participant motivations on their head, generally actually. As a substitute of desirous to run away from having your cranium caved in or your legs lower off, it’s essential to run into these brutal assaults in an effort to progress, and it hurts each time.

Hurting herself is the one means for J.J. to avoid wasting somebody very near her. In that means, The Lacking forces the participant to alternate between the roles of protector, victimizer, and sufferer on a relentless cycle, and that is all simply in relation to controlling the sport’s protagonist. It is extraordinarily intense, which makes me all of the extra grateful that the carnage is damaged up by the occasional bursts of surreal comedy and in-game textual content messages that really feel very actual. Regardless of some points with wonky physics and uneven issue curves, The Lacking is a must-play sport for followers of physique horror, survivor tales, and anybody who is aware of what it is wish to be hated only for being your self.

Black Chook

This new Fantasy Zone-meets-Steel Slug shmup from the thoughts of Yoshiro Kimura (Dandy Dungeon, Rule of Rose, No Extra Heroes, Little King’s Story) can also be a few lady who dies and comes again time and again, however not like in The Lacking, the violence right here is never masochistic. As a substitute of coming again damaged and bloody, the star of Black Chook reanimates as a ghostly raven’s head who wreaks havoc on every part she sees. The message can also be slightly tougher to parse. Do all of the soldier-peasants appear like Mario as a result of the sport is about struggling indie devs who wish to let free on the senseless mascot-worshiping client tradition that usually leaves them ignored? Would the world be higher off if the spoiled innocence of nature rose up in a rage and destroyed mankind and all its environment-poisoning expertise? Which has extra of a proper to exist, the vengeance of a useless youngster that left the world in wreck, or the lives of apathetic bystanders who did nothing however watch as that very same youngster died within the streets?

I haven’t got solutions to these questions, however I do know that Black Chook makes it very enjoyable to explode issues, and its soundtrack is already one among my favourite sport scores ever. It is a gibberish opera sung by passionate Muppets the likes of which we have not heard since LocoRoco, and higher but, many enemy spawn occasions are tied to the choral beats. This inherently enjoyable fusion of sound and motion mixed with non-linear development and a copiously deep combo system makes replaying the eight ranges (4 in the primary sport, 4 in new sport plus) a pleasure to blast via each time. Although the sport is technically fairly quick, it has tons of secrets and techniques, unlockables, and random occasions to assist each apocalyptic spherical of destruction really feel contemporary.

Friday The 13th: Killer Puzzle

Sure, consider it or not, this makes the fourth sport to launch on Change this month the place you play as some type of a useless individual. This time although, the rotten face you tackle will in all probability look extra acquainted, even though it is hidden behind an cute hockey masks. Like within the movies from which he hails, Jason Voorhees is out for revenge once more, however this time his homicide spree takes place in a collection of human jigsaw-like puzzles. As a substitute of film items round a board, you progress Jason, who’s mainly the Superman of the slasher world; impossibly robust, capable of transfer into your private house right away, and susceptible to only a few obstacles. On this case, his types of kryptonite embrace lakes, bear traps, and even getting arrested by the cops. Jason could also be a mass assassin, however with regards to interacting with the police, he is downright well mannered.

These issues not often gradual Jason down although. His fundamental drawback right here is, he cannot stroll diagonally, and he can solely cease shifting when he hits a wall or somebody to kill. That may make it laborious to walk up and decapitate a camper who’s hiding in a nook down by a bear entice subsequent to the lake. Whereas the primary 10 levels or so are slightly too straightforward, the following 100+ greater than make up for it with sensible design and satisfying options. The devs additionally labored all of the DLC content material from the Steam construct into the Change port with extra pure, in-game unlocks. Now new variations of Jason are accessed through progressing via varied modes and coming into secret codes. That features the return of the NES’s inexperienced and purple Jason to Nintendo consoles, which is a trademark occasion for anybody who grew up with that individual iteration of our illustrious drowned boy.

youtube

Streets of Purple: DDD

This can be the one sport on the record the place you play as a residing individual, however do not you are worried, it is nonetheless received loads of reanimated corpses to mess around with. In truth, there’s at the very least one boss that bears greater than a putting resemblance to the beforehand talked about Voorhees youngster, although this mama’s boy is extra of a parody and fewer of direct illustration. He is simply one of many many satirical tributes to horror movie icons. You could possibly virtually consider the sport as co-op horror Smash Bros., because it has equally easy inputs, however with a crossover of sport characters combined in with the lookalikes of The Demogorgon, Freddy, Colossus Titan, and the one who scares me most of all, none apart from Jim Sterling.

We additionally simply acquired phrase that the sport is about to get a complete lot greater. As you’ll be able to see within the trailer above, it is getting a free replace, tentatively set to go reside on Halloween. The patch features a good quantity of recent content material, together with new bosses, language choices, and the implementation of on-line leaderboards, all alongside a brief value drop.

I’ve helped advise the creator of Streets of Purple on varied points of the Change port for some time now, so any reward from me could come off as biased, however hey, I am not the one one who likes it. Whereas all of the video games on this record come extremely really helpful, that is the one one which’s constructed for 4 gamers, so in the event you’re planning on partying this vacation, placing this in your Change is the best way to go.

Bonus Deal with

This artwork by James “Illmosis” Beaver, entitled Horror Combat 2, is on the market proper now and I am unable to suggest it sufficient. I purchased an 11×17 print of this piece final month, so I can attest to the print high quality and paper inventory, that are each high notch. In case you have time for one final Halloween ornament earlier than the 31st rolls round, do not be afraid to choose it up.

You might be logged out. Login | Join

Filed underneath…

from SpicyNBAChili.com http://spicymoviechili.spicynbachili.com/cozy-up-to-the-dead-with-these-recent-switch-releases/

0 notes

tyleroakley-obsessed · 5 years

Quote

Ed. Note: You’ve probably been to Victorian Village to see the the historic homes there, or maybe for drinks at the Mollie Fontaine Lounge. Contributor Aisling has more fun facts and lesser known places to look for while you explore one of Memphis’ oldest neighborhoods. Victorian Village was Memphis’ first suburb, featuring spectacular mansions built along Adams Avenue by the city’s business elite on what was the outskirts of town during the Gilded Age. Mollie Fontaine Lounge Today, Victorian Village is home to six sites on the National Register of Historic Places: Mallory-Neely House Museum, Woodruff-Fontaine House Museum, The Massey House (home to Memphis City Beautiful), Mollie Fontaine Lounge, and The James Lee House. Now is a great time to get to know this charming historic neighborhood. Here are seven sights to get you started. The Gingerbread Playhouse Built in 1870, the Woodruff Fontaine House is a gorgeous French Victorian Mansion that’s open to the public for tours. In the garden behind the mansion, you’ll find the whimsical Handwerker Gingerbread Playhouse, which looks like it was transported from a children’s storybook. John V. Handwerker, a pharmacist, had this adorable Victorian playhouse built for his children circa 1890. Today, the Gingerbread Playhouse is rented out for small weddings and other social gatherings. Mallory-Neely House Stained Glass Windows Mallory Neely Hoouse The historic Mallory-Neely House, a 25-room Italianate mansion, retains its original historic interiors, furniture and artifacts, including two original stained glass panels that were purchased at the 1893 World’s Fair in Chicago. A third stained-glass panel may also have been purchased at the same World’s Fair, but it came from a since-demolished house next door on land that today houses the juvenile court building. That house belonged to Hugh Neely, uncle of longtime Mallory-Neely House occupant Frances Neely Mallory, affectionately known as “Miss Daisy.” The panel sat in a judge’s chamber for years, after she saved it from the wrecking ball. In the 1980s it was brought to Mallory-Neely House for preservation. The rescued panel is housed on the third floor, which isn’t included on the tour, but it can be seen from the second floor. The room where it’s housed, by the way, once served as an office for another judge, Camille Kelley, who aided Georgia Tann of the Tennessee Children’s Home in her notorious, long-running baby-selling scandal in which poor children were stolen and sold to wealthy families. Memphis Martyrs Tribute The Yellow Fever Epidemic of 1878 was a devastating chapter in Memphis history. The epidemic resulted in so many deaths that Memphis lost its city charter due to depopulation. St. Mary’s Episcopal Cathedral was home church to a group of nuns, whose superior, Sister Constance, led the mission to nurse yellow fever victims. She, along with three other Episcopal nuns and two priests, came to be known as “Constance and Her Companions,” and the Episcopal Church has a feast day dedicated to their memory. St. Mary’s Cathedral houses a Memphis Martyrs Hall, featuring a permanent exhibition that tells the story of the Yellow Fever Epidemic in Memphis and the martyrdom of Constance and her companions, who died after contracting the disease. The sisters’ names are also inscribed in the cathedral. The Teddy Bear Connection Shelby County Attorney General Luke Wright lived in Victorian Village. The circa 1840 carriage house at 688 Jefferson still stands and is today a private residence. On the wall outside, you’ll find a historic marker that tells the story of Luke Wright. One of his guests was Theodore Roosevelt, and the Wright family is said to have plated their sterling silver gold for his presidential visit. Roosevelt spent the night at the Wright House before a famous 1902 bear hunting trip near Onward, Mississippi, where he famously refused to shoot a black bear that had been tied to a tree. He’s rumored to have said, “Spare the bear! I will not shoot a tethered animal!” American newspapers reported the incident, which became the subject of a newspaper cartoon, and New York candy store owners Morris and Rose Michton created a stuffed toy bear called “Teddy’s Bear.” They sent one to Roosevelt, asking for his permission to name the bear after him, which he approved. Lowenstein House The currently vacant mansion at the corner of Jefferson and Manassas, a spectacular mix of Italianate, Queen Anne and Romanesque styles, was built in 1891 by German-born Jewish merchant Elias Lowenstein, who came to join his brothers in the dry-goods business. The Lowenstein brothers ran what became one of the city’s leading department stores. In 1921, his daughter, Cecilia, donated the house to the Nineteenth Century Club, which used it as a boarding house for young women who traveled to Memphis from rural areas to work in factories as part of the war effort. The property was later turned into a treatment center for mental health outpatients in 1979. Today, it’s privately owned and it’s future is unknown. The Steamship Bell James Lee House The James Lee House is a spectacular mansion in the heart of Victorian Village that’s been transformed into a luxury bed and breakfast. Listed on the National Register of Historic Places, the Victorian-Italianate-style house once belonged to Charles Goyer, founder of Union Planters Bank. It was purchased in 1890 by James Lee, a Princeton-educated riverboat captain who was heir to his father’s steamboat company, who lived in the mansion with his wife and 10 children. The house later served as the James Lee Memorial Art Academy, the predecessor to the Memphis College of Art. Outside, on the side of the house, is the bell from the eponymous steamship The James Lee, which was donated to the James Lee House by Lee’s descendents during the 2013 groundbreaking for the renovation of the historic house into a bed-and-breakfast. Thunderbird Lounge The famous Thunderbird Lounge, opened in 1965, was located in the basement of the Shelbourne Tower at Manassas and Adams Avenue, the site of what’s today the Helix at the District Apartments. Elvis Presley hosted parties at the lounge, including his 1968 New Year’s Eve party, and a number of famous musicians, including Ronnie Milsap, Charlie Rich, and Sam & Dave, performed at this swinging sixties club. Victorian Village Inc. is seeking stories from folks who have memories of the club. What’s next for Victorian Village? – Two new houses built to blend into the historic neighborhood, which will be Airbnbs. – New 40-person outdoor patio at Mollie Fontaine Lounge. – New restaurant called Wright Cafe, which will have coffee and two New Orleans style courtyards. You can follow Victorian Village on their website, Instagram, and Facebook for more updates. Woodruff Fontaine House About the Author Aisling Maki is a freelance writer, editor, and public and media relations specialist with awards from The Associated Press, Society of Professional Journalists and Public Relations Society of America, as well as several awards for fiction writing. Her work has appeared in publications in more than 20 countries. You can usually find her cheering on the Grizzlies, doing outdoorsy things, or traveling with her daughter, Brídín. They live in Cooper-Young with a dog, a guinea pig and a pair of pet mice. Are you a home owner in Memphis, with a broken garage door? Call ASAP garage door today at 901-461-0385 or checkout https://ift.tt/1B5z3Pc

http://ilovememphisblog.com/2019/07/7-things-you-didnt-know-about-victorian-village/

#I Love Memphis

0 notes

additionallysad · 6 years

Photo

Holiday Gift Guides for Everyone On Your List (With Stuff under $20 – And Even $5!) https://ift.tt/2PrVYOI

As is the tradition, I’m a little late with this. Ha! But here it is! (I’m also late with my actual gift buying, so I better get cracking). We like to put all of our gift guides in one place, so below you’ll find the one we made for grown-ups, another one for kids, and (my personal favorite) one full of stuff that’s under $15.

Gifts For Grown-Ups

Here’s what we’re loving, either firsthand stuff we bought for ourselves and have really enjoyed – or things we’re getting for friends & family (or hoping to find under the tree).

1 / Adulting Award Ribbons (4/$25): It would be so much fun to have an “award ceremony” at a family gathering, complete with victory laps & acceptance speeches.

2 / Black Robe with Pockets ($78-98): I bought this robe to wear around the house & I’m OBSESSED. So soft, there’s a tie inside so it doesn’t flap open, and IT HAS POCKETS! I’m living my best life.

3 / Personalized Address Stamper ($28): Always love a personalized gift that makes things easier for people. No more writing out return addresses & they’ll think of you every time they use it.

4 / Customized Road Trip Ornament ($25): Another sweet personalized ornament that you can give to someone who went on an epic trip (also works for someone who moved).

5 / Zodiac Sign Constellation Necklace ($28+): I can’t get over how dainty and pretty these are. All you need to know is someone’s birthday and it feels totally unusual and sweet.

6 / Ugg Slippers ($63-104): I bought these & can’t get over how much I love them. Incredibly soft & well made – plus you can buy $15 inserts to keep them fluffy forever (I’ve heard from people who’ve had ’em 8 years!).

7 / Cheeky Mug ($18): A hilarious mug filled with candy, hot cocoa mix, or an adult beverage is always fun. Plus pants are super overrated.

8 / Cozy Plaid Pillow Covers ($20 w/ code CHEER): Love that these are colorful & interesting enough not to feel basic, but they’d work with practically any sofa, armchair, or bed.

9 / Faux Leather Tote with Matching Pouch ($49): I’m so into this cool metallic finish & that it’s two bags in one. Also comes in black, cognac, and a cool blue-gray.

10 / Men’s Puffer Vest ($30): John loves this vest he got for himself this year and we even found a matching long-sleeve jacket ($14 today!) for our son. Fun fact: when they wear ’em together my heart explodes.

11 / Wood Apple Watch Charging Stand ($42): When I asked John what he thought I should add to this gift guide, this is the first thing he sent me. Think it’s a hint?

12 / Dainty Name Ring ($22 – 30% off today): Yet another totally personalized gift idea, and it comes in rose gold, white gold, sterling silver, etc.

13 / Personalized Leather Keychain ($19): These stamped leather keychains come in tons of colors, and you can put someone’s nickname or even a place on it (like “Pink House” or “Smith Manor”)

14 / Bucket Tool Organizer ($29): Such a great gift for anyone with a home, pretty much. Suddenly you can carry 20 tools that would take 10 trips.

15 / Wubby Fleece Pullover ($50 – 35% off today): I don’t think I need to explain why this cozy fleece pullover would be everyone’s favorite, but I’ll just say this: it’s like wearing a cloud (with pockets!).

16 / Faux Leather Circle Clutch ($28): This is one of those items in your closet that pulls together tons of outfits and looks pricier than it is. That wood ring! Real leather! I’m smitten.

17 / Pocket Bluetooth Speaker ($20): I’d love a bluetooth speaker like this on the bathroom sink for blasting hiphop while I shower (comes in blue & gray).

18 / Coffee Table Dominoes Game ($21 – 40% off w/ code CHEER): These are so beautiful and actually functional! I’d put ’em in a pretty wood bowl on the coffee table for impromptu games.

Gifts For Kids

Once again we put things we actually own and love in here, along with stuff we’re buying our kids this year, or considering for other little cousins & friends.

1 / Sailing Ship Kit ($42): Words can’t express how much fun this would be to hang in kid’s room – and it’s an actual kite, so it can come down and fly.

2 / Personalized Crayon Set ($13): It’s so much fun to open a box and see your name in crayons – especially if you have a name that isn’t always found on those premade signs and keychains!

3 / Coloring Book Dress ($38): Who doesn’t want to color all over a coloring book dress and make it completely your own?! LOVE this!

4 / Instant Camera ($56): Such a fun way to get kids into photography, and see the world through their eyes!

5 / DIY Ukelele Kit ($39): Our daughter’s actually learning the ukelele in school (no more recorder concerts! They switched!!!). She’d LOVE THIS.

6 / Classic Lego Set ($28): Our kids have only ever had John’s hand-me-down Lego blocks from his childhood, so we love that they now sell these huge basic block sets (without the price markup for licensed characters!)

7 / Ada Twist, Scientist ($15): We’ve already got Iggy Peck, Architect in our library and it’s GREAT. Next I want this one.

8 / My Crazy Inventions Sketchbook ($14): We bought this book and our daughter filled it up with the coolest sketches & inventions – so great for imaginations & I’m keeping it forever.

9 / Wreck This Journal ($12): We recently found a YouTuber who documented her entries in this interactive (and destructive!) journal. It’s full of fun prompts and such a cool concept.

10 / Wooden Cash Register ($31): Pretend play is big at our house, so a cash register is one of those things that would get so much use. Love that it’s wood and has a scanner & a credit card you can slide.

11 / Unicorn Robe ($30): My robe lovin’ self has rubbed off on our daughter and she’s asked for a robe for herself! I LOVE IT.

12 / Dragon Slippers ($21): Not to be outdone in coziness, our son has dinosaur slippers that he wears nonstop. So as weird as it sounds, fun plush slippers can make a great gift!

13 / Felt Donut Play Food ($9): So cute and under $10! Everyone loves a donut… and you’d be amazed how many of these their stuffed animals will “eat” ;)

14 / Bear Body Pillow ($15): A big cuddly pillow that doubles as an animal friend is always a good idea.

15 / Unstable Unicorns Game ($20): This game says 14+ on box, but reviewers say 8 year olds enjoy it, so we think it’s a great option for our Exploding Kittens-loving 3rd grader.

16 / Metro Wooden Blocks ($90 now – it used to be $150!): Ok, this is just about the coolest block set I’ve ever seen! And I love that it’s 40% off right now.

17 / Custom Kid’s Letter Jacket ($26): How cute is this custom kids letter jacket?! Ours love anything with their names on them – and a jacket is so useful along with being fun.

18 / Girls’ Charm Bracelet Set ($5): Nostalgia forever!!! Our daughter has and loves her charm bracelet. And at $5 this one isn’t too precious.

Gifts Under $15

Here’s my favorite list to make each year, just because I’m always amazed at how many budget-friendly things are out there that’ll make so many people smile BIG.

1 / Hex Tile Monogram Mug ($10): These are basically the beach house master bathroom in mug form! Fill ’em with candy or cocoa mix & marshmallows and they’re great gifts!

2 / Lumps of Coal Dog Treats ($5.50): Can’t forget our favorite four-leggers and these dog treats shaped like lumps of coal made me snicker.

3 / Gold Palm Picture Frame ($10.49): Giving someone you love a personal photo (of their kids, you guys together, etc) in a lovely frame is always a hit. I’m also loving this scalloped bone frame ($10.49).

4 / Plaid Frame Ornaments ($3.99!!!): Such a great grandparent gift with a photo of you or your kids or even some art they’ve drawn. We give them to both of our parents every year.

5 / Mini Kitchen Tool Ornaments ($12.99): So cute for the chef or the baker in your life! The little wisk kills me.

6 / Triple Chocolate Chip Cookie Mix ($9): These make such great neighbor gifts. Just wrap a ribbon around the lid and you’re done!

7 / Beard Oil ($14.99): John’s a die-hard beard oil enthusiast. So if you know and love someone with a beard, give ’em some and watch their face light up with joy.

8 / Pink Resin Hoop Earrings ($12.99): I love the cool shape of these & they come in other colors (also love the white & the tortoise ones!)

9 / Question-A-Day Five Year Journal ($11.55): If you wish you journaled more, this makes it easy and shows you how much can change over 5 years. It’s lots of fun to go back and read it.

10 / Faux Leather Crossbody Bag ($12 – down from $25): I have a camel colored crossbody bag this size and it’s still going strong! Goes with everything and I love the little latch hardware on this one.

11 / Faux Fur Pom Pom Beanie ($9 down from $22): I love a little knitted winter hat with a pompom (surprise I have one just like this in black).

12 / Sprinkle Ice Cream Cups (4 for $4.97!!!!): I love gifts that you pair with something fun – so these cups all nested with a little container of sprinkles inside would be so sweet. And you can’t beat the price!

13 / Rainbow Catnip Seed Bombs ($14.95): I love the idea of planting these outside (or inside in a pot) to show your cat a good time. They also sell sets to grow wildflowers or herbs which also make good gifts.

14 / Nesting Heart Tray Trio (3 for $4.99!!!): Such a sweet gift for someone to put near the kitchen or bathroom sink for their rings. They also work for tea bags if you serve tea a lot.

15 / What Do You Meme? Expansion Packs ($12.99): We have and love the original game ($29.99), so we’ve been considering adding packs like this Housewives themed one ($12.99) or this Mean Girls version ($12.99).

16 / Plaid Pet Leash ($10.49): Another gift for a four legged friend in your life, and I love the design of this one. Fancy pup.

17 / Slim Wallet ($12.99): John bought this a few months ago and LOVES it. Keeps his pockets from getting too bulky, and it’s incredibly well reviewed.

18 / Ugg Sheepskin Shoe Inserts ($14.95): I mentioned these when I linked to my Ugg slippers, but even if you don’t have them… YOU CAN PUT THESE IN ANY SHOES TO MAKE ‘EM COZY! Rain boots. Flat old slippers. Winter boots. Etc. It’s a lifehack for real.

19 / Pocket Notebook (2 for $10): I love pretty little notebooks! Always useful for keeping in your purse or the car or by the bed.

20 / Gold Turtle Paperclip Holder ($14.99): So I have this thing with animal desk accessories…

21 / Tortoise Hoop Earrings ($12.99): I ADORE these so much I’m about to put them in my cart so they don’t sell out. Treat yo self!

And since there are some pretty great sales going on right now, here’s what I’ve found so far:

Pottery Barn – 25% off sitewide & free shipping – use the code JINGLE here

Crate & Barrel – Up to 70% off here

West Elm – 20% off furniture, 25% off rugs, and 20-50% off bedding, see it all here

CB2 – Up to 40% off furniture and holiday decor here

Target – Today only, 30% off home here

Urban Outfitters – Up to 50% off gift items here

Anthropologie – Up to 50% off ready-to-ship furniture here

Overstock – Up to 70% off & free shipping here

Rejuvenation – 20% off your order & free shipping here

World Market – Save an extra 30% with code REWARDFORYOU here

Serena & Lily – Up to 30% off here

Old Navy – Gifts from $4 and up to 60% the entire store here

Banana Republic – 40% off your purchase here

Gap – 40% off your purchase with the code WINTERFUN here

J Crew – 50% off your entire purchase with code MONDAY here

Psst – To see last year’s lists, a lot of which is still linked and for sale, click here

*This post contains affiliate links*

The post Holiday Gift Guides for Everyone On Your List (With Stuff under $20 – And Even $5!) appeared first on Young House Love.

#additionally sad home renovations

0 notes

vincentbnaughton · 6 years

Text

HOLIDAY GIFT GUIDES FOR EVERYONE ON YOUR LIST (WITH STUFF UNDER $20 – AND EVEN $5!)