#I would bury myself in this concept and make myself a little nest if I could

[caninemotiff]

WORKS BY OTHERS;

TITLE: Orphan Country Verse

AUTHOR: @thelittlestspider

ABOUT;

four super soldiers try to adapt to civilian life after the facility that experimented on them is destroyed

#works by others #moodboard #the king speaks #I still don't know what to tag these as #works for others #maybe #writeblr community #writers in tumblr #writeblr #I saw small town gothic and went feral #hope you like it! #I would bury myself in this concept and make myself a little nest if I could

[theostrophywife]

Could you please do a soft fluffy az/reader where they spend a rainy day in bed reading together? Maybe they're newly mated ?

Ty and I Love your work 🥹

rain clouds.

as strange as it seems, she's endless to me she's just like paperwork, but harder to read she knows me so well, she knows me like i know myself

author's note: as it happens, it's currently raining where i'm at which makes for perfect reading weather so this request is spot on. i'm honestly so soft for this concept and i also threw in a little bit of cheeky az in there.

song inspiration: she by ed sheeran.

Rainy days in Velaris were your absolute favorite.

As the storm rolled in, you watched as droplets of rain pelted the glass windowpane of your bedroom and covered the city of starlight in a soft, cloudy haze.

While High Fae and faeries alike took shelter from the torrential wind and weather, you and your mate took the opportunity to participate in one of your favorite past times—reading in bed.

It had been Azriel's idea to assemble a makeshift nest, gathering pillows and blankets to make your reading nook as cozy as possible. As the two of you cocooned yourselves in bed, the faelights that you'd twined through the headboard twinkled, creating the perfect ambience for a day of leisurely reading.

At present, Azriel was leaning against the cushions, his wings relaxed and draped over his back as he cracked open yet another mystery book. Your mate held the tome in one hand while stroking your hair in the other. You sprawled out across his lap with your nose buried in Sellyn Drake's latest release, which Nesta had kindly let you borrow from her impressive collection.

The steady pitter patter of the rain outside mixed with the shadowsinger's soft breathing filled the room, providing soothing background noise as you delved into the steamy romance novel. Every once in a while, Azriel would lean over to kiss your forehead, nose, or cheek just because he could. The fond gesture melted your heart.

It had only been a couple of months since you both accepted the mating bond, so you were still adjusting to the fact that this beautiful male was yours and yours alone. You smiled up at him, nestling further into his lap while cheekily slipping your fingers underneath his cream cable knit sweater. Azriel felt warm and solid beneath your touch as you traced patterns upon his golden brown skin. The pads of your fingers brushed over every mole, scar, and freckle with a sort of reverence as you committed the feel of your mate to memory.

The shadowsinger sighed in satisfaction. You grinned up at him as his fingers stilled against your scalp. He paused his reading and mirrored the gesture, ensnaring you with the warmth and joy radiating from him. The weather might be dark and gloomy outdoors, but in here, within the private walls of your bedchambers, you had your own little pocket of sunshine in the form of your mate’s smile.

You intertwined your hand in his and brought his scarred fingers up to your lips, kissing each knuckle as your mate blushed. He pressed a kiss to your temple as you returned to your reading. You spent the rest of the day like that, tangled up in one another, lost to your own stories but still anchored by each other’s presence.

The storm continued outside and the only conversation exchanged between you came in the form of Azriel’s occasional gasp which told you when he’d come across a twist in his novel. You chuckled softly until your own book beckoned your attention.

Thank the Cauldron for Nesta and her impeccable taste. The smut in the book had you blushing and curling your toes, but that was to be expected from your friend’s recommendations. A particularly steamy scene involving a headboard and a few creative positions sent a rush of heat to your cheeks. The shift did not go unnoticed by your mate.

Azriel’s voice was low and husky, it’s usual cool timbre scratchy from disuse. “Come across something interesting, my love?”

You nodded slowly. “The plot thickens.”

Your mate raised an amused brow. “I’m sure.”

The mischief in his tone didn’t register as your eyes stayed glued onto the page, eating up every filthy detail with fervor. You hadn’t even noticed Azriel setting his book down until he was gathering you up in his arms. He pulled you into his lap and nuzzled you from behind, his chin resting on the crook of your shoulder.

“Hi,” he breathed.

You chuckled, kissing his cheek. “Hi, baby.”

“What are you reading?”

Blushing fiercely and suddenly conscious of the absolute eroticism that you were devouring without blinking, you attempted to wriggle out of your mate’s lap. “Nothing.”

Azriel caught you by the waist. “I doubt that nothing would illicit such a response,” he teased. “You’re beet red, my love. What’s got my mate so riled up, hmm?”

“The romance is just really well written, that’s all.”

“Oh?” Your mate tossed your hair to the side as you inhaled sharply. His lips ghosted over the column of your throat. "I can't say I've had the pleasure of being aroused by literature as much as you are right now."

Azriel was being an absolute tease as he toyed with the straps of your silk nightgown. You hadn’t bothered changing into your normal clothes seeing as how you’d spent the entire day in bed. A choice you’d come to thank yourself for as your mate's hands wandered over the thin material, the brush of his rough, calloused fingers making every fiber of your being come alive. He eased the strap down over your shoulder and grazed your soft skin with wet, open mouthed kisses.

“Tell me about it, angel.”

Your eyes fluttered close as Azriel sucked gently on your collar bone. “I’m sure your book is much more interesting.”

“I beg to differ,” your mate said, smirking into your skin. “My novel doesn’t seem nearly as thrilling as you find yours to be. Naughty girl, am I correct in assuming that you’re reading smut?”

“Maybe,” you coyly replied. “What would you say if I was?”

You squealed as Azriel flipped you over, pinning you underneath him. With his body pressed flush against yours, arousal rippled through the bond from both ends. He pried the book from your hands and carefully set it on your bedside table.

“I’d say, why on earth are you reading smut when you could be acting it out with me instead?”

Gods. You were practically dripping. Reduced to nothing but a puddle of heat and arousal in Azriel’s hands.

The purely predatory look on your mate’s face sent a shiver down your spine. “I think you’ve got it all wrong, Az. You’re the naughty one, not me.”

Azriel pinned your wrists above your head and looked at you like you were a spread of his favorite dishes. His wings flared behind his back and you got the sense that you were really in for it now. “You have no idea, my love. But don’t worry, I’m about to show you.”

#omg i love cheeky az he's so hot bye #what a gift it is #azriel #azriel fluff #azriel smut #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel acotar #azriel fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel/reader

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Hello, my dear friend! 😎

I hope you're having a wonderful day. I've come to fulfill my noble quest, as promised.

So, we've already had pregnant MC, which I adore and cherish, like all your works. What you do is amazing, and I hope you know that. You bring the kind of joy into our lives that I think does wonders for our weary souls. On top of that, you're one of the kindest souls I've ever met, and I'm lucky to have you in my life and be able to call you my friend. Seriously, you're a miracle and you make the world a better place.

But to my actual request. Could you please do headcanons about the M6 being pregnant? Seahorse dads are very much encouraged 👀 I often think about having children with Nadia, but I don't really like the idea of being pregnant myself (although our dear Countess does make me want to consider it every once in a while. The baby fever is very strong with her.) Plus, I'm certain there are other people like myself who prefer not to get pregnant or they simply can't for various reasons.

Thank you! Hugs to you and much love 🤗❤

Ps.: I'll kiss you if you do it (in a friendly but still very gay way)

The Arcana HCs: When M6 get pregnant

@theintrovertbean I'm here to collect my platonic but still very gay smooch, please :3 (In all seriousness though, I keep rereading your kind words and trying not to cry, that means so much to me. I'm so glad I get to call you my friend too!!)

-- CW for mpreg (obviously). for headcanon purposes, all members of the M6 want to have a child with MC and are happy with being the partner to be pregnant. whether this happens by natural means, depending on what reproductive system you headcanon them as having, or by *magic*, said baby is 50% your DNA and 50% theirs. --

Julian

Did the two of you take active steps to make it possible for him to carry your child? Yes. Did he think he would be fortunate enough for it work? No. Is he surprised now, even though it's planned? Yes

The most freaked out about what his body is in the process of doing. Again, this is something he agreed to and genuinely wants, but it's just so surreal to him that he keeps needing to rationalize it

His way of rationalizing things is to study them

This does not help his ever-present anxiety, especially when he has to limit his caffeine intake and his mood swings are even more intense than normal. He is going to bury himself in research

And then completely freak himself out with the assorted random weird facts, unhinged medical theories, and pregnancy horror stories that he encounters. Which isn't good for the baby

Speaking of, he keeps swinging wildly between being hyperaware of the tiny creature he's growing and completely forgetting about his state. Suddenly his self-care directly impacts someone else

Spending nine months with limited caffeine intake and 0 alcohol was actually very good for him. (even if it made him cranky at first)

The overall process was fairly smooth for him - he didn't have a lot of awful symptoms, and the only health scares were his own anxious "what if" spirals after reading horror stories before bed

Kept working the whole way through (though with considerably fewer hours so he could get more sleep), and generally did a great job whenever he wasn't thinking too hard about it all

Asra

They never actively envisioned this happening in their future, but when you brought up having kids in the first place they were already fairly open to the idea of being the one to carry the baby

There was definitely magic involved in the conception. He's too extra for there not to be (plus, a little boost never hurt anybody)

For such a normally chillaxed person, they did not take this decision lightly. Everything from planning, to conception, to preparing to raise a kid is full of intentionality

He wants to ensure that his kid gets a childhood that lasts as long as they need it to and a happy, safe environment to grow and explore. His baby fever wasn't intense but his nesting habits are

They get in several last crazy adventures before they start to feel the pregnancy and then spend the rest of it either sleeping, getting the baby's space ready, or eating the most unreal food combos

Seriously, you expected weird cravings, but considering how unusual his tastes already are you didn't think it could get much weirder. It can get so, so much weirder (he even managed to finally pry open that jar of kool-aid pickled garlic and put it in custard)

Between their parent's enthusiastic support and Nadia and Julian providing full medical backup, they are well looked after

Not to mention the pregnancy glow. He makes it look ethereal

They aren't fond of physical discomfort, though, and it makes them unusually broody and cuddly. Please give them snuggles

They spend weeks creating the most whimsical nursery

Nadia

She was actually the one to bring it up when she started talking about her expectations of marriage with you after proposing

For how strained her own relationship with her family is, she's more excited about starting one of her own with you than you expected. When you tell her that you want kids too, she's all for it

Sets a rule as soon as she tells her family that she won't be accepting more than two visitors at a time. Namar nearly revolts

Her pregnancy was not easy, at all. It was months before she could keep a full meal down, she was in near constant pain, and the fatigue was unrelenting. And she never let on in public, at all

Seriously, the only people who knew how hard it was were her close friends, trusted Palace people, and doctor. From the outside it was as if she couldn't feel it at all and life carried on as usual

The biggest noticeable difference (aside from her growing bump, which she somehow managed to make her draping clothes look even more regal with) was having Portia deliver speeches for her

Towards the final few months, it caught up to her enough that she couldn't be nearly as active as she used to. She turned one of her side chambers into her office and took all her meetings there

It also became evident how much the Palace staff loves their countess - the cooks worked tirelessly to find easy meals for her (and satiate every craving beyond the laws of culinary art)

Not to mention that the garden was immaculately kept

The amount of gifts for the baby took up several small closets

Muriel

He didn't bring it up. No, you brought it up, because of how out of hand his baby fever was getting. He'd gone from begrudgingly letting kids climb on him to actively offering to help watch them

Which turned into a lifestyle - he started spending all his free time carving toys so he could carry them in his pocket in case some shy toddler looked like they wanted one. You're running out of firewood

He offered to be the one to carry the baby, if you didn't want to

The psychological aspect of it is much harder for him than the physical. He knows his own body, he knows his strength and capacity for survival, and he's comfortable with what he's doing

But that is a whole other person-to-be he's growing, they deserve the best they can get, and he's not convinced he's the best

Is this ... selfish of him? Is this greedy? He knows he'll put everything he is into being a good parent, but what if someone else's best is better than his? MC, what are we doing??

These anxiety spirals happen frequently, either when he's gone too long sitting by himself or when the pregnancy insomnia makes it impossible for him to sleep the amount he normally likes to

On the plus side, the mood swings actually make it easier for him to express what he's feeling (and for you to know what's going on with him) so that you two can navigate it together

Asra is so excited to have a nibling that they stop by almost every day with baby gifts (and supplies from Nadia, once she knows)

He full body freezes every. single. time the baby moves

Portia

Oh, she's wanted to have a house full of kids since she was a kid in a house full of kids. She brought this up with you as soon as she started talking about a future together and she is so pumped

Literally nothing about the concept of it fazes her. She's helped with plenty of pregnancies and births, she's seen the good, the bad, and the ugly, and she is fully confident with you by her side

In her mind, this is the first of many (assuming all goes well, which she fully believes it will) so this is her chance to take things as they come and note them down for future reference

Keeps a daily journal with all her pregnancy observations, plus doctor's notes from weekly check-ups and plans for the baby

You didn't know pregnancy could make somebody more powerful but somehow she's done it. You expect it to catch up to her at some point and for her to take time off to rest, but she doesn't

The pregnancy glow is real and it is named Portia Devorak. You've never seen her hair so bouncy and full (shedding increases x10)

The biggest downside is that she can't stand the smell of cooking or baking anymore, which has long been one of her comfort activities. You'll have to manage meal prep (or partner with a chef)

Speaking of, half the Palace is asking for updates on a daily basis (which she happily provides). Nadia's showering her with more supplies and maternity leave than Portia wants to accept

Julian panicked about being the doctor until Mazelinka shoved him aside and took over as midwife. Portia's in skilled hands

Lucio

This was not planned. This was a happy accident. (Though Bob Ross never painted such a surprised, panicked, violent tree)

Whether because protection didn't work, or because Lucio saw a glowing orb in a weird dream and decided to mess with it while he was sleeping next to you, neither of you were remotely prepared

It doesn't really compute for him at first. The growing thing in his stomach is about as real as the tooth fairy - it's a concept that people tell him about before he goes back to daily life

It's a concept he's fiercely protective of and wants the best for

On a practical planning level, you two take advantage of his relatively easy first few months to take on a bunch of high paying jobs and revisit villages that seemed like a good spot to stay in

He's almost symptom-free until the bump really starts growing and his body starts adjusting for the extra weight. Thankfully by then you've found a place to settle down and reliable income

Lucio, understandably, becomes a complete diva once you do

He's pretty darn proud of what his body is doing, and he's relieved beyond words that he's having an easier time than what his mother described, but he does not like the way he looks

Or the aches and pains, or the breathlessness, or the way his whole body feels swollen and sore. (at least his hair looks nice)

You've never had such a hard time keeping him to his intended budget. He sees one (1) baby item and his wallet flies open

His sweet tooth gets 1000 times bigger than it already is

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana game #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

[siderealscribblings]

If anything, Zelda seemed to be growing quieter and more withdrawn by the day.

At first, she had gleefully donned the mantle of diplomat, charming the Goron and Zora with years of practiced diplomacy. Her rambling, disjointed speeches on Hyrule’s reconstruction grew less animated and more insistent as time passed. As though she were convincing herself as much as Link that her scheme to reunite the fractured land post-Calamity would succeed.

There was a kind of quiet desperation to the way Zelda spoke that made Link a little uneasy. When pressed she would laugh, brush him off, and busy herself with her journal or a book she borrowed from Purah. Trying to reach her when she had so clearly withdrawn was like chopping the Deku Tree down with a butter knife. At least that would yield some progress; the more he pushed at Zelda, the more withdrawn, deflective, and forcibly cheerful she seemed to get.

In some ways, Zelda was like a great oak tree; immovable and unbreakable until it very suddenly was not.

ao3

“Tarrey Town?” Zelda asked, brow knitting in confusion. “I don’t seem to recall a town like that anywhere in my records.”

<It’s new,> Link signed with a small smirk. <Helped put it up myself.>

“You?” Zelda’s brows nearly cleared her browline. Link’s journey outside the Calamity’s influence came to her in fits and bursts; usually flashes of combat or lonely nights spent staring out over Hyrule’s expanse. The fact that he had a life in the few months he had spent taking down the Calamity’s forces was known to her...she just didn’t think he had time to erect an entire town.

<When I came back...I had to get stronger,> Link said, tapping the Master Sword with his fingertips. <She didn’t want me at first...I had to prove myself to her again. Trained with Hudson; hauling lumber and stuff.>

“Efficient,” Zelda said, privately cursing the fact that she had missed snippets of Link working out. “I didn’t think people were constructing new settlements after the Calamity.”

Link shrugged. < At some point, I think they had to move on.>

“Mm,” Zelda said non-committedly, polishing off the last of her riceball and dusting her hands on her pants. “Well, I suppose that’s…that’s comforting then.”

Link frowned, raising his hands as Zelda fished the Sheikah Slate out. “Alright, which shrine gets us closest?”

__

It would have been faster to fly, but Zelda still hadn’t gotten used to diving off cliffs with only a flimsy piece of fabric to protect her from smashing against the ground. So the walk to Tarry Town gave her plenty of time to see what the people of Hyrule had done without her.

Around the edge of the island where the center of town had sprung up, the bare-bones structure of houses and farms were under construction, people coming and going with supplies or weaponry to fend off any oncoming attacks. A ring of stones on the valley floor created what looked to be the foundation for a wall that would one day rise to circle their growing town. As they grew closer, Zelda’s hands eventually found their way to his arm, gripping on to him for support or comfort as they made their way down the path towards the city.

A city .

Zelda had pictured a few ramshackle buildings; the beginnings of civilization, not civilization itself. She had thought she could be of help getting the town up on its feet only to see it standing high above her, casting a cold shadow on her as they passed under the rock formation.

“Did the local governor permit this?” Zelda asked before she realized the absurdity of her statement. Lady Seres and her family had all likely perished in the Calamity; the place where their stately manor once stood swept clean by the passage of time. The concept of property, policy, and propriety seemed somehow absurd in a world where everything had gone to hell; as though titles meant anything after Ganon struck.

<Do they need to fill out paperwork?> Link asked with a teasing smile; a question that sent chills running down her back to pool in the pit of her stomach. Zelda stopped in her tracks, arm tugging free of Link’s grip as they approached a small crowd of workers milling around a pile of lumber. Her eyes were wide, breath coming in short bursts as she took a step backwards.

“I’m...I’m sorry, I think-” Zelda swallowed, shaking her head as she noticed the clear concern on Link’s face. “Sorry, just needed to catch my breath.”

Link’s frown only deepened, taking a step closer to her as a familiar looking Gerudo woman approached them, hand resting on a clearly pregnant stomach.

“”Hoy!” Rhondson called, waving them over with a smile. “We hoped you were coming!”

Rhondson’s eyes drifted from Link to the strange Hylian vai that somehow looked like she was torn between introducing herself and running like a startled doe.

“Your friend?” Rhondson asked, raising an eyebrow as Link shook his head.

“Um...n-not exactly…” Link said, voice strained and quiet from disuse as he glanced at Zelda.

“Zelda,” Zelda said bluntly, smile plastering across most of her face and stepping past Link who didn’t fail to notice the lack of Princess on the front of her name. “I’ve, uh...heard about your settlement from Link and I wanted to see it for myself.”

Link’s stony silence did nothing to mask the suspicion and confusion in his eyes as she saddled up alongside him, gripping on to his arm as Rhondson sent Link a teasing smile.

“Well, a lot has happened since you were last here, Mr. Hero,” Rhondson said, leading them through a ramshackle construction site as Zelda took everything in quietly, eyes flickering over the faces of Hylian, Goron, and even a few Gerudo workers. “We had to relax the naming convention a little; Hudson finally relented after we reminded him there wasn’t enough people named like us in the world. I think part of him was hoping you’d put roots down here one day as well.”

Link glanced at Zelda, clearing his throat as she took the lead. Link despised using his voice unless absolutely necessary; his silent method of communication spoken only by Zora and only then underwater.

“Do you have plans to expand much further?” Zelda asked, following Rhondson across the bridge into the center of town proper. “It’s only that...well, with Castle Town free of the Calamity, I would think building there would be easier, wouldn’t it?”

“Even if the Demon King is gone,” Rhondson said, spitting as most Gerudo did when mentioning the Calamity. “The land he held for over a hundred years is bound to be stuffed with curses by now. I wouldn’t birth my girl there if you drowned me in Rupees. Not to mention those creepy statue things are still over there.”

“Freed from the Calamity’s influence,” Zelda said, coughing as Rhondson turned to look at her. “I’m sure...so I’ve heard.”

“Not taking that chance,” Rhondson said with a shake of her head. “No point in trying to resurrect an old town full of ghosts and bad memories; best to leave the past buried with the old royals that lived there.”

LInk glanced at Zelda out of the corner of his eye, waiting for her to say something. But where he was willfully silent, Zelda seemed to have been deserted by any argument she wanted to make, mouth hanging open and eyes glazed over as Rhondson steered them around town. The more they saw, the more unsettled Zelda seemed to become, breath coming in slow, deliberate breaths that seemed to be forestalling something awful.

He turned his back for a split second, and she was gone, a flash of light on the hill overlooking the town catching his eye.

__

He found her bunched under a tree overlooking the valley, knees pulled up to her chest and back pressed against the rough bark as red-rimmed eyes stared mournfully out in front of her. Wordlessly, he approached her from the corner of her eye, making her aware of his presence before he sat down on the other side of the tree.

“I’m sorry…” Zelda muttered after a moment, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand. “That was foolish of me…”

“Mm,” Link hummed as though he were reluctant to agree with her.

“I just felt like I was...coming apart,” Zelda sniffed. “And I didn’t want to do it in front of strangers.”

“Mm,” Link hummed again, shifting around the tree until he sat by her side, hips touching as she reached out to him for reassurance. Their custom of sharing a bed had lowered some of the physical boundaries between them; it spoke of something they each knew but weren’t ready to address just yet. Not when so much was uncertain outside of their little nest in Hateno Village.

“They’re doing beautifully, aren’t they?” Zelda said with a watery chuckle. “All of them...they’re all doing so well. And it’s good...it’s better than I could have imagined but…”

Link reached out, giving her leg a reassuring squeeze as she tried to piece together her thoughts.

“I thought…” Zelda let out a deep breath, shaking her head. “I don’t know what I thought...I didn’t think my kingdom would dry up and die without my family to lead it but…”

She drew up her knees to her chest, blinking back tears as she watched the world move on without her in the valley below. “I thought I would at least be needed...or wanted. I thought I would have a place in the world I had helped protect but…”

Link watched her deflate as she finally confronted the thing she had been running from for weeks. “Maybe Hyrule doesn’t need Princess Zelda anymore...maybe it never did. Maybe it’s best to let the old kingdom just...lie”

Zelda took a deep breath, looking at him with such a lost and scared look that he felt his heart ache on her behalf. “I just wish I knew what was to become of me…”

The wind rippled past them, sending flower petals tumbling through the grass as Zelda seemed too lost and tired to properly cry anymore. Link stumbled for the right words to say for a moment, starting and stopping several times before crouching down in front of her.

<What if one day you realized you weren’t meant to be a princess?> Link signed, watching Zelda’s red-rimmed eyes trace the motion of his hands. <Would you choose a different path?>

Zelda let out a weary chuckle, looking away in embarrassment. “You shouldn’t use my own words against me like that…”

<Even if you’re right?> Link countered. Zelda was silent for a long moment, listening to the revelers carry on down the hill with a wistful look in her eye.

“It feels like...giving up,” Zelda said slowly. “Like I’m just...walking away from everything my family has ever done; letting my parents down, I expect...even though they’re gone and there’s no one left to be disappointed in my choices I still feel...obligated to try and set things back to the way they used to be. As though I’m some sort of failure if I don’t…”

Link started signing something. “I know,” Zelda chuckled. “I know I’ve done something nobody else in the world can do; I know I’ve helped save the world from the Calamity and ensured that Hyrule lives to see another year, but-”

<It’s hard to become someone else,> Link signed, watching Zelda nod distantly. <Even if that’s someone you want to be.>

“And if I don’t know what I want to be?” Zelda asked, watching Link stand up and brush his trousers off.

<Then we can figure that out,> Link signed, offering her his hand as the last word left his fingertips. Zelda looked at his rough, calloused fingertips for a moment, head tilting to one side as she reached out and took it, hauling herself to her feet with a sigh.

“Impa won’t be happy,” Zelda said, eyes widening as Link signed something exceptionally rude. “ Link!”

Grabbing her hand, he tugged her back up the hill towards the glowing Sheikah shrine above them. “Wait, what about Tarry Town?”

Link shrugged, holding the Sheikah slate up to the eye on the front as the doors opened, the elevator rising seamlessly from the earth beneath her feet. He watched her eyes widen in curiosity, taking a step forward before glancing at him with an uncertain smile.

“Isn’t it dangerous?” Zelda asked. Link tapped the sword hilt on his back with a smile that could almost be mistaken for smug. “Of course…”

<You don’t want to?> Link asked, taking a step backwards. <I get it; it’s nerdy stuff. Probably not interested.>

Zelda’s brow creased into a scowl that didn’t reach the stubborn smile on her lips, marching into the cool, dark elevator and insistently looking back at her would-be guardian. “Well?”

Link stepped into the elevator, nudging her with his shoulder as the door closed and the elevator took them deeper into the earth. Surrounded by ancient technology she could spend the next hundred years studying, with Link’s shoulder brushing up against hers, Zelda felt a little less unsure of her place in this new Hyrule she had helped save.

#my writing #zelink #botw zelink #hurt/comfort #botw

[mattchase82]

Cry of a Lost Soul

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This unusual narrative recounts the revelations of a lost soul to a former acquaintance. It is a powerful record of the steps which led a young woman to lose her soul in Hell for all eternity.

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Although it has several times been printed with imprimatur, this in itself does not guarantee the authenticity of the story.

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An imprimatur merely indicates that the subject matter is free from error in faith and morals.

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Is it true?

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Obviously, it cannot be "guaranteed" because the only evidence is that of the girl herself.

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It certainly may be true and its instructional qualities would pertain even if the story itself were not true.

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In the July apparition at Fatima a vision of a Hell of fire was given to the three little children, and significantly, its existence was confirmed by the great public miracle on October 13th.

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Yet Hell is little spoken of in the pulpits. Because of this, the special intervention of Heaven, may, as at Fatima, be necessary to restore this sobering doctrine to its important place in Christian dogma.

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It is well to remember that the Hell spoken of here is the Hell which has a significant place in Catholic doctrine, the Hell described vividly by Christ Himself, the Hell seen in all its livid horror by the children at Fatima on July 13th, 1917.

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The names of persons and places are omitted because of the nature of the Article.

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Clara and Annette, both single Catholics in their early twenties, worked adjacent to each other as employees of a commercial firm in Germany. Although they were never very close friends, they shared a courteous mutual regard which led to an exchange of ideas and, eventually, of confidences. Clara professed herself openly religious, and felt it her duty to instruct and admonish Annette when the latter appeared excessively casual or superficial in religious matters.

.

In due course, Annette married and left the firm. The year was 1937. Clara spent the autumn of that year on holiday at Lake Garda. About the middle of September she received a letter from her mother. "Annette . . . is dead. She was the victim of an auto accident and was buried yesterday at Wald-Friedhof."

.

Clara was frightened since she knew her friend was not very religious. Was she prepared to appear before God? Dying suddenly, what had happened to her?

.

The next day she attended Mass, received Holy Communion, and prayed fervently for her friend. The following night, at ten minutes after midnight, the vision took place. . .

.

"Clara, do not pray for me! I am in hell. If I tell you this and speak at length about it, do not think it is because of our friendship. We here do not love anyone. I do this as under constraint. In truth, I should like to see you to come to this state where I must remain forever."

.

"Perhaps that angers you, but here we all think that way. Our wills are hardened in evil - in what you call evil. Even when we do something 'good', as I do now, opening your eyes about hell, it is not because of a good intention."

.

"Do you still remember our first meeting four years ago at. . .? You were then 23 and had been there already half a year. Because I was a beginner, you gave me some helpful advice. Then I praised your love of your neighbor. Ridiculous! Your help was mere coquetry. Here we do not acknowledge any good - in anybody."

.

"Do you remember what I told you about my youth? Now I am painfully compelled to fill in some of the gaps."

.

"According to the plan of my parents, I should not have existed. A misfortune brought about my conception. My two sisters were 14 and 15 when I was born."

.

"Would that I had never existed! Would that I could now annihilate myself! Escape these tortures! No pleasure would equal that with which I would abandon my existence, as a garment of ashes which is lost in nothingness. But I must continue to exist as I chose to make myself - as a ruined person."

.

"When father and mother, still young, left the country for the city, they had lost touch with the Church and were keeping company with irreligious people. They had met at a dance, and after a year and a half of companionship they 'had' to get married."

.

"As a result of the nuptial ceremony, so much holy water remained on them that my mother attended Sunday Mass a couple of times a year. But she never taught me to pray. Instead, she was completely taken up with the daily cares of life, although our situation was not bad."

.

"I refer to prayer, Mass, religious instruction, holy water, church with a very strong repugnance. I hate all that, as I hate those who go to church, and in general every human being and everything."

.

"From a great many things do we receive torture. Every knowledge received at the hour of death, every remembrance of things lived or known is for us, a piercing flame. In each remembrance, good and bad, we see the way in which was present - the grace we despised or ignored. What a torture is this! We do not eat, we do not sleep, we do not walk. Chained, with howling and gnashing of teeth, we look appalled at our ruined life, hating and suffering. Do you hear? We here drink hatred like water. Above all we hate God. With reluctance do I force myself to make you understand."

.

"The blessed in heaven must love God because they see Him without veil, in all His dazzling beauty. That makes their bliss indescribable. We know this and the knowledge makes us furious. Men on earth, who know God from nature and from revelation, can love Him, but they are not compelled to do so. The believer - I say this with gnashing of teeth - who contemplates Christ on the cross, with arms extended, will end by loving Him."

.

"But he whom God approaches only in the final storm, as punisher, as just avenger, because he was rejected by Him, such a person cannot but hate Him with all the strength of his wicked will. We died with willful resolve to be separated from God. Do you now understand why hell lasts forever! It is because our wills were fixed for eternity at the moment of death. We had made our final choice. Our obstinacy will never leave us. Under compulsion, I must add that God is merciful even towards us. I affirm many things against my will and must choke the torrent of abuses I should like to vomit out."

.

"God was merciful to us by not allowing our wicked wills to exhaust themselves on earth, as we should have been prepared to do. This would have increased our faults and our pains. He caused us to die before our time, as in my case, or had other mitigating circumstances intervene. Now He shows Himself merciful towards us by not compelling a closer approach than that afforded in this remote inferno. Every step bringing us closer to God would cause us a greater pain than that which a step closer to a burning furnace would cause you."

.

"You were scared when once, during a walk, I told you that my father, a few days before my first Communion, had told me: 'My little Annette, the main thing is your beautiful white dress, all the rest is just make-believe.' Because of your concern, I was almost ashamed. Now I sneer at it."

.

"The important thing is that we were not allowed to receive Communion until the age of 12. By then I was already absorbed in worldly amusements and found it easy to set aside, without scruple, the things of religion. Thus, I attached no great importance to my first Communion. We are furious that many children go to Communion at the age of seven. We do all we can to make people believe that children have insufficient knowledge at that age. They must first commit some mortal sins. Then the white Particle will not do so much damage to our cause as when faith, hope, and charity - oh, these things! - received in Baptism, are still alive in their hearts."

.

"Marta K - and you induced me to enter "The Association of the Young Ladies." The games were amusing. As you know, I immediately took a directive part. I liked it. I also like the picnics. I even let myself be induced to go to confession and communion sometimes."

.

"Once you warned me, 'Anne, if you do not pray, you go to perdition.' I used to pray very little indeed, and even this unwillingly. You were then only too right. All those who burn in hell did not pray or did not pray enough."

.

"Prayer is the first step towards God. And it is the decisive step. Especially prayer to her who is the Mother of Christ, whose name we never pronounce. Devotion to her rescues from the devil numberless souls whom sin would infallibly give to him."

.

"I continue my story, consumed with rage and only because I have to. To pray is the easiest thing man can do on earth. And God has tied up the salvation of each one exactly to this very easy thing."

.

"To him who prays with perseverance little by little God gives so much light, so much strength, that even the most debased sinner will at the end come back to salvation. During the last years of my life I did not pray any more, so I lacked those graces without which nobody can be saved. Here we no longer receive graces. Moreover, should we receive them we would cynically refuse them. All the fluctuations of earthly existence have ceased in the other life. For years I was living far away from God. For, in the last call of grace I decided against God."

.

"I never believed in the influence of the devil. And now I affirm that he has strong influence on the persons who are in the condition in which I was then. Only many prayers, others and mine own, united with sacrifices and penances, could have snatched me from his grip. And even this only little by little. If there are only few externally obsessed, there are very many internally possessed. The devil cannot steal the free will from those who give themselves to his influence. But in punishment of their, so to speak, methodical apostasy from God, He allows the devil to nest in them."

.

"I hate the devil too. And yet I am pleased about him, because he tries to ruin all of you; he and his satellites, the fallen with him at the beginning of time. There are millions of them. They roam around the earth, as thick as a swarm of flies, and you do not even notice it. It is not reserved to us damned to tempt you; but to the fallen spirits. In truth every time they drag down here to hell a human soul their own torture is increased. But what does one not do for hatred?"

.

"Deep down I was rebelling against God. You did not understand it; you thought me still a Catholic. I wanted, in fact, to be called one; I even used to pay my ecclesiastical dues. Maybe your answers were right sometimes. On me they made no impression, since you must not be right. Because of these counterfeited relationships between the two of us, our separation on the occasion of my marriage was of no consequence to me. Before the wedding I went to confession and communion once more. It was a precept. My husband and I thought alike on this point. Why not comply with this formality? So we complied with this, as with the other formalities."

.

"Our married life, in general, was spent in great harmony. We were of the same idea in everything. In this too, that we did not want the burden of children. In truth, my husband would have like to have one; no more, of course. In the end I succeeded in dissuading him even from this desire. Dresses, luxurious furniture, places of entertainment, picnics and trips by car and similar things were more important for me... It was a year of pleasure on earth, the one that passed from my marriage to my sudden death. Internally, of course, I was never happy, although externally at ease. There was always something indeterminate inside that gnawed at me."

.

"Unexpectedly I had an inheritance from my Aunt, Lotte. My husband succeeded in increasing his wages to a considerable figure. And so I was able to furnish our new home in an attractive way. Religion did not show its light but from afar off, pale, feeble and uncertain."

.

"I used to give free vent to my ill humor about some mediaeval representations of hell in cemeteries or elsewhere, in which the devil is roasting souls in red burning coals, while his companions with long tails drag new victims to him. Clara! One can be mistaken in depicting hell, but never can one exaggerate."

.

"I tell you: the fire of which the Bible speaks, does not mean the torment of the conscience. Fire is fire! What He said: 'Away from Me, you accursed one, into eternal fire', is to be understood literally. Literally! How can the spirit be touched by material fire, you will ask. How can your soul suffer on earth when you put your finger on the flame? In fact the soul does not burn; and yet what torture all the individual feels!"

.

"Our greatest torture consists in the certain knowledge that we shall never see God. How can this torture us so much, since on earth we are so indifferent? As long as the knife lies on the table, it leaves you cold. You see how keen it is, but you do not feel it. Plunge the knife into the flesh and you will start screaming for pain. Now we feel the loss of God. The lost Catholics suffer more than those of other religions, because they, mostly, received and despised more graces and more light. He who knew more suffers more cruelly than he who knew less. He who sinned out of malice suffers more keenly than he who sinned out of weakness. But nobody suffers more than he deserves. Oh, if that were not true, I should have a motive to hate!"

.

"My death happened this way . . ."

.

"A week ago - I am speaking according to your reckoning, because according to pain, I could very well say that it is already ten years that I am burning in hell - a week ago, then, my husband and I, on a Sunday went on a picnic, the last one for me. The day was glorious. I felt very well. A sinister sense of pleasure that was with me all the day long, invaded me. When lo, suddenly, during the return, my husband was dazzled by a car that was coming full speed. He lost control."

.

"Jesus, used frequently by some people of German language - escaped from my lips with a shivering. Not as a prayer, but as a shout. A lacerating pain took hold of the whole of me. (In comparison with the present only a trifle). Then I lost consciousness. Strange! That morning this thought had come to me in an inexplicable way: 'You could go to Mass once more', It seemed like the last call of Love."

.

"Clear and resolute, my 'NO' cut off that train of thought. You will know already what happened after my death. The lot of my husband and that of my mother, what happened to my corpse and the proceedings of my funeral are known to me through some natural knowledge we have here. What happens on earth we know only obscurely. But we know what touches us closely. I see also where you are living."

.

"I myself awoke from the darkness suddenly, in the instant of my passing. I saw myself as flooded by a dazzling light. It was in the same place where my dead body was lying. It was like a theater, when suddenly the lights in the hall are put out, the curtains are rent aside and an unexpected scene, horrible illuminated, appears. The scene of my life."

.

"My soul showed herself to me as in a mirror; all the graces despised from my youth until my last NO to God. I felt myself like an assassin, to whom his dead victim is shown during his trial at court - Should I repent? Never! - Should I feel ashamed? Never!"

.

"However, I could not even stand before the eyes of God, rejected by me. There was only one thing for me: flight! As Cain fled from the dead body of Abel, so my soul rushed from the sight of horror."

.

"This was the particular judgment: the invisible Judge said: 'Away from Me'. Then my soul, as a yellow brimstone shadow, fell headlong into the place of eternal torture."

YOU CAN READ THE WHOLE UNEDITED VERSION HERE

.

http://sicutincaelo.org/b08_hell.html

#catholicism #traditional catholic #catholic #catholic faith #heaven and hell #perdition #inferno #paradise lost #lostsoul #be warned #satan #lucifer #christian faith #christianity #the evil within #wickedness #completely unprepared #i was unprepared

[george-mackay-macfine]

Wedding plan,

Requested: No / Yes

Synopsis: George need Eleanore to make his ex jealous. Things go further than they both planned. 

Word Count: 2,320

A/N: This is an idea for a film I was writing, I hadn’t worked on it on years but wanted to turn it into a George fic cause I love the concept. This hasn’t been proof read,

To begin this, I need to relive the worst time of my life. The time my girlfriend of six years dumped me, out of nowhere. 

And to add insult to injury her older sister invited me to her wedding, with an additional plus one… 

So, I devised a plan to get her back, a plan which involved my best friend. Eleanore,

To begin I needed to get Eleanore and our friend Michael to agree to come with me, and that meant crashing their movie night.

Through the door to their apartment I could hear the music of Friday the thirteenth playing, and knowing how much Eleanore and Michael scare, I took it as an opportunity. 

As I slammed the door open Michael and Eleanore jumped, Eleanore throwing popcorn everywhere.  

“I know how I'm winning her back.” I stride into the living room, throwing the door closed behind me. 

“Bugger,” Michael moaned picking popcorn out of his wine glass. I sit in front of them on the coffee table. 

“Katherine, I know how I’m winning her back.” Eleanore picks popcorn out of her hair, throwing some of the kernels at me. 

“Yippie,” 

“Who are you again?” Michael snorts. I open my mouth to reply only to be cut off by Michael. “You kind of look like our old friend George, except our old friend George ditched us for some girl and her magical vagina,” Michael stands and sways past me into the kitchen,

“C’mon Michael, she’s not just some girl.” 

“He’s right Michael,” I look over to her and give her an appreciative smile. “The world girl isn't being properly used, Medusa may be a closer match?”

“Hey now, c’mon,” 

“But you're right. He does have similar features to Michael, for example this one also looks like a total dickhead.” She deadpanned. 

“Look I'm sorry guys. I am. I know I've been a shit mate these last couple of weeks.”

“Eight,” Michael called from the kitchen.

“What?”

“Couple means two, you've been a shit mate for longer than that.” Michael finishes, I look at Eleanore who nods her head in confirmation. 

“Fine. Eight weeks. Thank you Michael. And I'm sorry for that but guys. I need to see her.”

“She won't see me. Please.” Michael walks out from the kitchen and sits beside Eleanore on the couch. “Please.” 

“Fine, What’s your plan?” I pull the envelopes out of my top pocket and hold them towards him. 

“This.”

“You're going to write her a letter.” Eleanore raises her eyebrow. 

“Bit tame, don't you think mate?” Michael chuckles. 

“No, Felicity and Michael's wedding party. She'll be there as Bridesmaid, and we'll be there as guests.” 

“But we weren't invited.” Eleanore clicks her fingers and points at Michael in agreement.  

“But you were.” I fan the envelopes open, revealing the other two. Eleanore reaches forward and grabs the two addressed for Michael and herself. 

“Whose Felicity again?”

“You know this is criminal offence?” Eleanore spoke at the same time as Michael. 

“You know Felicity. She used to come to all the parties... She used to be…” I looked to Eleanore for help .

“Bigger…"

“O.” Michael studies his invitation before looking up to me. “I mean sure, you can show up to this thing looking like a total dish, but that's not really going to do anything to her is it? Not going to make her see what a narky cow she's been.”

“I dunno, I suppose I was just going to show up, and show her I've changed.” 

“That won't work. It's not going to get her blood pumping is it? Make her jealous.” Michael smirked before he looked to Eleanore. “Eleanore can be your date. For all Katherine knows in the time since she left you, you've gone and coozied up to Elle.”

“Yes, then when the wedding comes we can spend the week in Scotland showing her I've changed, and break up at the reception.” Eleanores face shifts to one of disgust. 

“You're mad. You think I want to spend a week in Scotland helping you win back your crazy ex-girlfriend.”

“Please Nore, you're the only one who could make it happen.”

“No I'm bloody not. She hates me, if anything that'll turn her against you even more, idiot.”

“She's a point there mate.” Michael clicks his fingers. I kneel in front of Eleanore and hold onto her hands. 

“She doens't hate you. She just isn't your biggest fan.” I began to plead. “Please. I love her, and I need to win her back.”

“Give me one good reason why I should help you."

“I'll give you two. One, you're my closest friends, two because I love her Eleanore. I need her with me.”

“No,” She stands up and walks towards the kitchen. I share a look with Michael. 

“... Thomas will be there.” Michael coo’s, Eleanore stops, spins slightly. 

“I'm listening.”

“Well, you and Thomas still have that super weird, sexual tension right?”

“You mean their game of cat and mouse they play?” I turned to Michael and raised an eyebrow. 

“It's not cat and mouse.”

"Then what would you call it?” I turned back to her. 

“Mutual use.”

“Well, why don’t you and George both mutually use each other?” Michael smirked. 

And that’s how we ended up here. My best friend Eleanore and I have spent the last four days hanging off one and other, all to irritate our ex’s, or in Elle’s case, 'ignite something in their loins’

I watched her from across the room as I rolled the joint between my fingers, gently rolling the thin cylindrical roll of goodness. 

“Turn on some music,” I called from my side of the room as I brought the wrapping to my lips, licking the open end of it. 

“On it,” Eleanore opened the window behind her, the cool chill of the Scottish night rushing over me. “Brings back memories doesn’t it?” I heard her call, eliciting a chuckle from behind me. 

“All the way back to our first year of University,” I heard her move to the floor where we’d created a nest of cushions and pillows and flip on the stereo. “You know, I always thought it’d be you and I,” I admitted, the wine from the nights dinner going to my head. 

“What?” 

“Second year of University. Remember we lived with Michael, Morgan, and Freddie in that shitty little house.” I looked at her, laying in the bed we’d made. Her cheeks flushed from the wine we’d drunk. 

“Course I remember,” I smiled, the warmth of the memories rushing through me as she looked at me.

“You always used to sneak into my bedroom late at night, after parties.” I finished rolling, “We’d sit out on the roof smoking cheap cigarettes and talk for hours about nothing.” I pulled out a lighter, “To me… back then it was everything.”

“George…"

”First time I met you, I promised myself that I would never fall in love with you, but it was three in the morning and we were laughing way too hard at something stupid,” I walked over and lay beside her, the now lit joint hanging from my lips. “And for the first time in a long time I felt happy, And that’s when I knew I was screwed.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me back then?” I passed her the joint, 

“I couldn’t lose you.” I gripped her hand as she put the joint between her lips and inhaled. “And then you started to date Thomas. God do you know what it’s like to feel that way about someone who doesn’t feel like that about you?” She slowly let the smoke out as I digested what I’d admitted. 

“It’s like drowning, but you won’t fucking drown.” I moved beside her, turning to look at her. God she’s beautiful.

“Who did you love?” She turned to face me, our noses brushing. 

“You,” She whispered. “Third year, after Thomas and I broke up for the first time and you’d just started dating Katherine…” She cleared her throat. “You weren’t home a lot… But when you were I sat there, three o’clock in the morning on top of the roof smoking cheap shitty cigarettes, falling in love with you. Your face, your voice. All of you,” I turned away from her, She didn’t move she was still looking at my face.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” I whispered. 

“Like you, I was afraid of losing you. I’d become so attuned to having you in my life, that the thought of you being anywhere else scared the utter shit out of me.” I turned to look at her again. 

“You and I are just one big ‘it’s complicated’ aren’t we?” She let out another buff. 

“I think we’re just going to have to be secretly in love with each other, and leave it at that.” The music stops, I look away from Eleanore, she looks towards the stereo. One of us is going to have to move. 

“Not it,” I cried quickly. 

“Fucking christ, It’s closest to you George.” I shrug and takes the joint from her lips, popping it between my own. 

“I won, you move.” She groaned and rolled her body. She was partially laying onto of me as she began reaching above to grab the speaker. 

“Jesus, just grab it.” I groaned as her hair fell on my face. 

“It’s just ugh, I can’t reach it.” 

“Just get it,” 

“Fine.” She moved again, straddling my hips, moving to easily reach the speaker. I watched as the pendant slip out from beneath her shirt and dangle over my face.

“You still have this,” My hands grip the pendant, fingers moving over the metal as the music restarted. It was the pendant I’d given her for her birthday in second year. 

“Of course I do,” My hands move away from the pendant over her shoulders. My eyes run over her face. I sat up and leant back on my elbows watching her. 

“How come I haven’t noticed how beautiful you are lately?” She unconsciously moved down towards me. 

“Because you’ve been busy looking at someone else since third year.”

“What a bloody idiot,” I grabbed her and pulled her towards me. My lips meeting hers, I felt the hesitation, and tasted the red wine that stained them. “Don’t think about it,” I whispered before my tongue touched hers. My hands begin to slowly move her shirt off her shoulders as her fingers began to unbutton my shirt. “Nore,” I pulled away looking at her. 

“Mutual use,” She whispered. 

“George,” Someone called with a loud knock on the door. I shifted, feeling Eleanore’s head bury itself into my chest. “It’s me,” I unwrapped my hands from Eleanore’s body, pushing a kiss to her lips as I got up. Pulling on my pants and shirt I walked to the door, pulling it open. 

“Katherine? what are you doing here?” 

“I was hoping we could talk, in private.” She tried to peak around the door. I pulled it behind me. 

“Let me grab my shoes. Won't be a tick.” I ducked back inside grabbing my shoes and pulling them on. I lent down and kissed Eleanore on the head before rushing back to Katherine. “What did you want to talk about?” 

“Us,” 

Michael and Eleanore stood out the front of the doors as the crowd gathered. Eleanore clapped her hands as the bride and groom passed by them, others throwing rose petals. 

“Well,” Michael started loudly, “For a wedding we only attended to make George’s ex jealous, I am happy for them.” 

“Super,” Eleanore muttered. 

“Reception time,” Michael fluttered his fingers, his hand wrapping around her wrist. 

“Y/N, wait.” I called from behind them, I watched as Eleanore tried to move away quicker pulling Michael with her.

“We don’t want to talk to him?” Michael looked back at me with an eyebrow raised. 

“We don’t?” 

“Eleanore. Will you talk to me. What's wrong?” She let go of Michael and pulled me to the side.

“I got my hopes up.” She whispered. 

“About what?” 

“About you actually loving me back.” She whispered, trying to pull away from me. “Forget it.” She sniffled. “It's pathetic really, how much I still hope it's you and me in the end because I know you love her, How much you want her.” 

“Eleanore,” 

“But I'm still the stupid girl whose been in love with you since third year.” 

“But you said,” I took a step backwards, she loves me. 

“I know what I fucking said. I lied G. It's you, it's always been you.” She screamed. 

“Then why would you agree to this?” I screamed back. “Why would you agree to come to this wedding, to make Katherine jealous?” 

“Because I'm an idiot. I thought that if we spent time together, and pretended to be together you would somehow see it's me. Not her,” She moaned hands covering her eyes. “I’m an idiot.” 

“Nore, you’re my best-friend.”

“Friends don't look at each other the way we do George,” Her eyes moved behind me, filling with flames. Someone was walking towards us, and I could only guess it was Katherine.

“Nore…” 

“George, come on the party is starting.” Katherine reached out and wraps her arm around my bicep. 

“Good enough to fuck, but nothing more.” I heard her whisper. “And you…” Her eyes turned to Katherine. “Fuck you, You made me feel like I was never good enough, for Thomas, for George.” Her face fell. “Guess what. I was good enough. I am good enough.” Behind her Michael clapped loudly, Thomas even joined in. 

“Eleanore, let me talk.”

“I almost wish we'd never met George.” She rushed away from me, her cheeks pooling with tears. 

“C’mon George, the party…” 

“Did you know about this?” I asked Michael. "Why didn't you say something? We're just friends.” I screamed. “Why would you suggest this,” My chest heaved with the effort. 

#george mackay #georgemackay #george mackay fanfic #george mackay imagine #george mackay smut

[witchcraftingboop]

Potion, Tomb, Ghost aaaaaaand GO! (You know I'm just fishing for more cool Boop stories lmao)

Potion: Do you have a 'party trick'?

You get a Story Time since I already answered this!

So I had some friends over for drinks at my place and the guy who I'd been trying to drag out of quiet solitude in my store brought a guy friend. The problem was that both of them weren't more social together but just sat across from each other making faces whenever my work wife would say anything. So, I got fed up of with that very quickly.

We were in the midst of a drinking game, so I looked at my broody work dude and was like: "Never have I ever decided someone is the love of my life after two months of her showing the barest amount of interest in me." Of course he had to drink because he's a fucking simp and everyone knows it.

His friend started laughing, thinking he was safe, so I turned to him and said, "Never have I ever been pegged and then lied about it." Because he carried some heavy repressed sexual energy vibes even on just my first time meeting him.

And then they both got to sit there with their premature ejaculating energy having ass sins just laying out in the open, because neither could let the other get away with lying and so they both threw each other under the bus in front of all my girl friends. It was beautiful.

Tomb: Have you ever been in a graveyard late at night?

Wife, dear darling darling wife, of course I've been in a graveyard late at night. Midnight is the perfect time to walk amongst the dead and ask for their favor. But since you're looking for a story, I'll tell you of the graveyard I grew up across the street from.

It wasn't very large. Once I stopped moving around like twice a year, we settled in a small two bedroom apartment in a small middle class town that was primarily white. The church that doubled as a mortuary was equally small and quaint, nearly always quiet and not always noticeable despite being right by the sidewalk on the main road. Behind it was a strip of cement that only allowed a single car to drive through at a time and just beyond that was one of the three entryways to the graveyard. The middle of the graveyard was a crossroad where the three central paths met under a large, stately angel statue weilding a long sword. A place of judgment and secrecy. Full of rusted crosses and thickly wound vines and weeds. It wasn't well-tended, to be honest, but it retained its inherent graceful air. It housed the descendents of the town's founders; some said even the founders themselves could be found there, buried at the heart of the little, oft forgotten town. It was a place untouched by the childish pranks that plagued the businesses and homes throughout every neighborhood. It was a safe haven riddled with its own traps and nests.

My mother wasn't the type to let us out of the house, so the first time I actually set foot in the graveyard I could see from my window was when I was a teenager. It was Halloween, and I'd been given freedom to roam that I was unused to. I marched up to the white, low gate with authority and pride full in my chest, but crossing onto the hallowed grounds was something I couldn't do without being stripped of such emotions. They left me with just a touch of my fingertips on the wooden fencing. It is hard to describe the amount of humble respectfulness that simple touch brought with it, but it is a feeling I've never forgotten.

Ghost: Have you had a supernatural experience?

More than a few. The one that immediately comes to mind is one that can't be shared, but another that comes to mind is the first time I'd tried my hand at summoning demons. It was decided by the deity I'd paired with that I'd done well enough in my protection and discernment work that I could handle a smol evocation ritual. Per my previous spell work, instructions came through dreams and messages. I wrote them all down and waited for the designated moon phase (early in my practice we went by just moon phases, no planetary hours).

When I began the spell, it all struck me as rather ridiculous. I'd cast the circle, set down the separate circle to draw the demon into, fumigated myself and the space, but when it came time to speak I felt plum fucking stupid. I said it fumblingly and with little conviction, and I repeated it over and over again until it fell naturally into the air. And it was a lot like the more I repeated it, the fuller the air became. So I kept going, despite feeling like a cheat and a scam and a loser. I kept talking until it felt like my tongue had frosted over, and I hardly realized at all that I had been repeating the same paragraph over and over and over. When I moved onto the next, the one that dealt with addressing the entity directly, it was like I had pushed every element into a heady, electric torrent through the air. I asked for a sign that they'd heard me, that they'd arrived, and I received it.

It was hard to feel ridiculous after that. Even harder still to believe all those "magic doesn't affect the physical plane" folks. It is hard for me to accept that some would be content about performing magic but not seeing the results for themselves. It was an early experiment of mine, and while it didn't invite the paranormal into my life, it certainly brought with it the concept of control back into it.

#boop's asks #fun facts about boop i guess #paranormal experience #party tricks #graveyard stories #longish post

[pbjpuppy]

Walks

I’ve been going on a lot of walks recently.

‘Cause, y’know being in the house all the time isn’t really good for you. Like, y’know, cabin fever and stuff? Plus, we just did this unit in science- through the computer, they’re calling it distance learning- about indoor air pollution, and how the air inside a home can be multiple times more polluted than outside air, and how most people spend most of their time indoors (90%!), which really makes sitting in my bedroom for long periods of time kind of unappealing.

I don’t always like staying in my room anyway. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I spend most of my time in there like any other teenager does, and it’s great! I love my room. I’m even lucky enough to have my own instead of having to share it with a sibling like some people do. But still, even if you live in paradise it’s a prison if you can’t leave, so I don’t stay in there all the time. Sometimes I just wander around my house in circles instead. Or sit in my dad’s room.

Anyway- walks. Lots of them. One every day is the new routine, unless I get lazy, which has happened once or twice and I always regret it. To the end of the block, which intersects the road in a “T” shape, then I turn to the right and walk all the way until the sidewalk ends (Through the old elementary school’s parking lot- I’m always worried security will yell at me, but so far I’ve been peacefully ignored), then I turn back and walk all the way past my block again to the other end of the sidewalk, then home. It’s not the most scenic route; I live in the suburbs of Long Island and all the trees are dead because it’s only just turned April, and all there is to see is houses and road.

I keep myself entertained, though. There’s actually a lot to see if you really look. Nothing extraordinary, but that’s kind of what I like about it. I keep my eyes to the ground a lot, and you see a lot of litter on the ground: Cups, cans, cigarette boxes, packs of tissues, chicken wire, caution tape, strange boxy wooden contraptions that look busted and have been abandoned. Once I even saw an unopened condom. It’s an environmental nightmare, of course, but for the arrogant human on her walk it provides plenty of brain food. For every piece of trash there was a living, breathing human who held it, who used it, who discarded it. I wonder what they’re like and if I’ll ever meet them, what they’re up to. If they’re alive right now.

There’s not much that’s all too impressive in terms of nature, like I said, but it’s still outside, and I’ve seen a bunch of interesting nature-y things, too. On my first walk, I found a chunk of a wasp’s nest, half-rotted. Recently I found a bird’s nest too, and I wanted to go pick it up, but it was in somebody’s yard and I didn’t want to get yelled at for trespassing. Just today I passed right through a murder of crows, kind of. They were perched in a group on the trees and telephone wires, and their croaking startled me out of my daydreaming to admire them. I’ve seen a lot of things that look like bones that aren’t bones, and one time I saw something that looked like a bone that actually was a bone.

The one natural thing I don’t see on my walks is humans. Not one in a week. I would have expected to see at least one person walking their dog or something, or just doing work in the yard. I mean, everybody else has to be as restless as I am inside, right? But no, no people to be seen. That’s okay, though. The sidewalk is narrow, I like not having to share it. It also means I can text while I walk and not worry about bumping into someone. Plus, I guess it’s been kind of yucky out weather-wise. By the time I get home from my walks my nose is usually pink and runny from the cold.

I live with two other people, my dog, my cat, and my two pet rats. That makes seven living things and three living humans. The house is quiet a lot of the time. My brother and I are both teenagers- I’m seventeen, he’s nineteen- and we spend a lot of time in our rooms. My dad is usually working, or out of the house. He likes to go over to his girlfriend’s house a lot, or out to the city for the weekend before… Everything happened, and I’ll take care of myself for the evening and the following day or so. Sometimes it’s longer than that. I don’t hear from my brother those days, he makes his own food. Sometimes I’ll be home alone and won’t even realize until I walk past his bedroom and see it’s been empty this whole time.

My dad’s been away a lot this week, I think. And my brother’s been quiet. I think he’s told me he doesn’t feel well. That’s okay. I can take care of myself well enough and I think I have people online to talk to. My dog barks a lot, that’s kind of like conversation. Plus, I have Animal Crossing, that game where you live on an island with a bunch of little animal people? It’s really cute, I love it. I talk to the animals on Animal Crossing. I don’t mind being alone.

I’m on a walk, and my fingers and nose are cold and pink. I have an umbrella, but I don’t actually need it. It’s not raining anymore, the wind is just moist and cold. It’s dangling from my wrist. I liked playing tug-of-war with my umbrella against the wind, but the wind won, and my umbrella turned inside out, so I stopped. I’m coming back from the right side of the T.

There’s lots of evidence of humans. There’s so much litter, pieces of trash that somebody was holding and let go of and now it’s on the ground. I thought I smelled weed before, which is gross, but that means that somebody somewhere was smoking it, somewhere nearby. There’s graffiti on the street signs.

There’s lots of cars on the road, too. I don’t know where they’re going. Nobody’s really supposed to be going anywhere right now, I think. We’re supposed to be staying home, that’s what I was told. Maybe they’re going to get groceries. You’re allowed to go get groceries. All of them are getting groceries.

Going to school online is a weird and kind of stressful experience, by the way, did I mention that? I’ve never done anything like homeschooling, I’ve always gone to public school my whole life, ever since I went to the old elementary school that I have to pass through on my walks. I’m used to structure. There’s this bell that drones at the end of every class, and when you hear the bell you get up and shuffle to your next class, forty-two minutes every class period. I’m used to that. Now they’re so far away. The classes, I mean, like, the concept of them. It’s just kind of a vague idea that there’s work I should be doing, now. I’ve been doing okay. I set alarms every forty-two minutes and pretend I’m going to class.

I still haven’t seen a single human. I’ve been looking into the windshields of the cars as I walk and I still haven’t seen a single one. I don’t know who these cars are trying to fool, you can’t drive a car if there’s nobody in the driver’s seat. That’s impossible. But I haven’t seen a single human. Super-smart cars, maybe. I think I’ve heard about those on the news, right? Sometime before everything happened. They’re sending their cars to get groceries.

I walk past the cemetery if I want to walk farther than usual. Usually my walk stops me right by the cemetery. I like ghosts and spooky things so I like living so close to a cemetery. It’s a nice cemetery, too. I don’t go in it very much, the only dead person I know wasn’t buried in the cemetery and I don’t want to intrude on anybody who’s grieving their loved one. Walks aren’t that important and I have a different route. I don’t think I would find anybody in the cemetery, but I’m going to go home anyway. I’ve been walking for a long time.

I think a lot on my walks. My mind wanders. I do it on purpose, actually, I put on my music and let my mind wander while I walk. I like to draw and write stories, and letting my mind wander while I walk is good for inspiration. I’ve been thinking about humans and cars and crows. The crows fly away when I walk near them. I wonder if the humans are like crows and that’s why I can’t see them. Maybe I did something wrong and everybody’s avoiding me. Maybe everyone’s too busy getting groceries to be in their cars. It must be a lot of groceries.

My dad has been away a lot this week. I want to tell him about the bugs I caught in Animal Crossing. I don’t know if I’ve seen him in a while. I thought I said goodbye to him yesterday. Yesterday it was snowing, when I said goodbye. It wasn’t snowing yesterday. I wish he’d get back from whatever he’s doing. I hope he brings me back something from the grocery store.

My brother hasn’t been feeling well. He wants me to leave him alone, I think. I think he said that, and that’s why he’s not in his room. He doesn’t want me to bother him, I think. He hasn’t been feeling well for a long time. He’s such a complainer. There’s mold in the food he left in his room.

Online school is so frustrating. I’m really not good at math, and I tried to message my teacher about an exponents question, but he hasn’t been replying to me. I skipped the math problems, I think, and I can’t find the right website we’re supposed to be doing them on. I can’t find the app on my phone I used to text my teacher. I’m so forgetful. I forgot to text him, I think.

This wouldn’t be happening if everything hadn’t happened. If we were in school, I’d be able to raise my hand and ask the teacher in person about my math question. And there would be other students, too. But we have to stay home. Everyone has to stay home.

I don’t know why we have to stay home. I thought somebody told me. I can’t remember. I know everybody has to stay home. The government said so or something. That’s why I can’t find anybody. Everybody’s at home.

My dad isn’t answering his phone. I want to know when he’ll be home. He’s not supposed to be out. I forgot my dad’s number, I think. I’m going to walk to the grocery store. It’s getting dark out now, but I think I need to go. I’m going to see what all the fuss is about. Everyone’s at the grocery store, that’s why I can’t find them.

There’s not much to see in the suburbs of Long Island. The shapes the buildings make are kind of pretty, though. They’re all warped and blackened, like a giant hand smushed them like play-doh. There’s lots of litter. There’s evidence of humans everywhere. The sun is setting behind the ruined buildings and it looks red and burning. It reminds me of something awful. Maybe a movie I watched, I think, about some awful explosion. The sun is too red and it’s scaring me. I’m going to keep walking to the grocery store.

This parking lot is empty and dirty. There’s lots of litter: plastic water bottle casings, old lighters, trampled wet paper bags, turned over shopping cars, shells of cars, the grocery store sign smashed on the ground. I step on the broken glass because it makes a nice sound. It smells like food, I think. The smell of the food is making my throat hurt, I think. There’s smoke rising from the building. They’re cooking, I think. The sun is so red behind the smoke. It looks like fire.

It looks like fire. There’s so much fire. It’s reminding me of something really bad. I’m really scared, something in my brain is really scared. Something happened and I can’t remember. I don’t want to be at the grocery store anymore. I’m walking home now but my legs aren’t feeling very normal. I wish the sun wouldn’t look so red. Everything is red and warm and smoky. It’s only just April and my nose and fingers are supposed to be pink from the cold.

I’m getting lost, I think. Once I find my way home I can get my dad to hug me so I feel better. I don’t know why I’m crying. Something is making me sad and scared but I can’t remember what it is. Reminds me of a movie, I think. A big scary explosion in a movie. The air smells like smoke. I think I might be upset because of cabin fever. That’s it, I think.

I think I need to go on more walks.

#reuploading with the drawing!! im REALLY PROUD OF IT... #monstrous art #monstrous writing #writing #horror story #short story

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Feline Fancies

Summary: Mr Gold absolutely does not have a crush on the librarian. Never mind the fact that his cat is openly flirting with hers.

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling prompt: “One rule: no falling in love”

Rated: G

=====

Feline Fancies

“We have established a fairly relaxed routine in this home, and I permit you to get away with a lot despite feeding and occasionally housing you, but there is one rule: no falling in love.”

The object of this address paid Gold’s stern voice no heed whatsoever. He wasn’t exactly surprised, after all, he was talking to a cat that went where it pleased and certainly did not consider itself to be owned by anyone, let alone be in a position to be receiving pep talks from the person who owned it in name only.

Gold sighed. He didn’t know why he bothered. Well, deep down he did, but he wasn’t ready to admit that to anyone yet, including himself. So, he used the excuse that approaching middle age and empty nest syndrome had sent him entirely mad, which was certainly the impression that the outside observer would have received if they had looked in through his kitchen window to see him talking to a thoroughly uninterested cat.

O’Malley gave no indication of having heard anything Gold had just said, and he resumed washing his paws with an intense devotion to task that Gold was sometimes able to replicate himself when he found a particularly interesting antique to restore.

“I really don’t know why I bother,” he muttered. “If you end up getting your heart broken, don’t come crying to me about it.”

Although O’Malley was a cat and had no concept of heartbreak in the same way that Gold did, Gold had unfortunately seen many of his own traits in his pet, and he was holding out a feeble hope of being able to live somewhat vicariously through the ginger tom. Like Gold, O’Malley was irritable and anti-social, and aloof in all respects (except when he wanted food, when he became the world’s most docile lap cat). Neal had found O’Malley in the garden, an injured stray, five years ago, and he had become a part of the family furniture ever since, even if he did have a tendency to disappear for days on end.

It was only recently that Gold had found out where O’Malley went during his extended absences. He had been coming out of the library – a place he was frequenting with increasing regularity himself – when he had seen the distinctive flash of an orange tail race up the stairs towards the caretaker’s apartment on top of the library.

Intrigued by this furtive movement, Gold had followed him up, only to find O’Malley sitting on the windowsill making eyes at the fluffy white cat on the other side of the glass. The new librarian, it seemed, had a cat, which had caught O’Malley’s eye in the same way as the librarian herself had caught Gold’s.

By warning O’Malley away from the feline femme fatale, what Gold was actually doing was telling himself not to let his own heart be lost to Miss French. She was young and beautiful and lively and happy, everything that he was not, and there was no way that she could ever be interested in a grumpy old man like him. There was no way that her chic indoor Angora would ever be interested in a scrappy semi-stray like O’Malley.

O’Malley, however, did not seem to be letting such pessimism put him off his stride, and Gold wondered if he perhaps ought to take a leaf out of the cat’s book. Maybe it was time to be positive for once in his life.

Of course, there were several obstacles to this approach. For a start, it was over twenty years since Gold had last been in the dating game, and courtship had moved on a lot in the intervening time. He wouldn’t have the first clue on how to start a conversation with Miss French that wasn’t based on a librarian to patron or landlord to tenant interaction. He was almost about to give it up as a bad job before he’d even begun, until O’Malley finished cleaning his paws and sauntered out through the cat flap with the swaggering air of a cat who had never had to deal with rejection before.

The sight buoyed Gold’s confidence a little. If a cat could do it, he could. Couldn’t he?

Watching O’Malley vanish off down the garden in the direction of the library, Gold had the beginnings of an idea. Although he and Miss French might not have a lot in common, he knew one thing that they shared.

Grabbing his coat and cane, he set off following O’Malley out into town. Perhaps they looked a bit strange the pair of them, striding off with purpose to meet the objects of their affections in the same place, both man and cat on a mission. It was early evening and the library would have closed for the day, but naturally O’Malley had no notion of such concepts as opening hours and socially acceptable times to call on paramours, and he sauntered up the steps and leapt up onto the living room windowsill, calm as you please.

Gold stopped at the bottom of the steps, beginning to get cold feet. Speaking to Miss French in the library was one thing. Speaking to her in her own home was quite another. O’Malley was inconspicuous in that he was a cat. Gold, however, would be intruding a little more. Perhaps it was best to leave things until the morning and find her in more neutral circumstances.

He was about to turn around and go back home when O’Malley decided his course of action for him. It was a warm evening, the beginning of summer finally coming to Storybrooke after months of rain, and the window was open slightly. O’Malley popped one paw into the gap and pushed the window up a little before wriggling through the gap. Gold stayed frozen at the bottom of the steps, wondering what to do then. He could just leave and pretend that nothing had happened, after all, O’Malley wasn’t officially his cat and Miss French could just as easily think he was a stray who’d managed to get inside her apartment. On the other hand, O’Malley had just handed him the perfect opportunity to speak to her, and if he didn’t know better, he’d say that the cat had planned it.

Gold took a deep breath and made his way up the stairs, pausing again before knocking on the door. Miss French opened it a moment later, looking rather taken aback to see him standing there.

“Oh, hello Mr Gold. I wasn’t expecting you here. Is there a problem with the rent?”

“No, no, it’s nothing to do with the rent.” He peered into the flat behind her, trying not to look like he was snooping. He could see O’Malley in the small kitchen area with the white Angora, tucking into a bowl of cat food. The cheeky little blighter. “You, erm, you’ve got my cat.”

“Oh, is he yours?” Miss French opened the door wider and stepped back to let him come inside. “He’s been turning up regular as clockwork for three weeks now. I thought he was a stray, but he looked too well cared for to have been outside for very long. He doesn’t have a collar.” There was a note of admonishment in her voice.

“Well, O’Malley’s not strictly mine,” Gold admitted. “He was a stray when we found him, and he’s got a roaming instinct. It’s highly unlikely that he’s actually called O’Malley. But I feed him, and I often find him curled up in front of the kitchen radiator.”

“It’s nice to know he has a home.” Belle went into the kitchen, side-stepping the two cats as they finished their meal and came out into the living area. “Would you like a cup of tea now that you’re here? You know, I probably shouldn’t be feeding him as much if he has another source of food. He’s a chunky boy.”

Gold nodded; he already gave O’Malley far more treats than was healthy in an attempt to keep the cat coming back to the good life so that Gold could have a little companionship during his days now that Neal had gone to college. He looked over at the two cats as Miss French brought over a cup of tea that he hadn’t had chance either to accept or decline.

“They seem very taken with each other.”

“Yes. I wasn’t sure how Duchess would react when he first turned up at the window, because she’s an indoor cat and she hasn’t really had any interaction with others before. But they’re very happy together.”

O’Malley and Duchess were now curled up in the easy chair together, leaving Gold and Miss French sitting on the small sofa in awkward proximity.

“She’s spayed, so don’t worry. I won’t be turning up on your doorstep with a bunch of little orange and white kittens demanding maintenance money.”

Gold couldn’t help but give a snort of laughter at the image, which quickly turned into a cough when he thought about it some more and realised just how adorable the image of Miss French with her arms full of fuzzy kittens was. Or, more pertinently, just how adorable Miss French herself was, with or without the kittens.

“Mr Gold? Is everything ok?”

Gold nodded, at a complete loss for what to say next, and he returned his attention to the two cats. This would be the perfect opportunity to ask her out. They were sitting right here, and he had the cats as a perfect lead-in. All he had to do was actually pluck up the courage to say something instead of just sitting here like an idiot.

“You know…” Miss French tailed off, looking down at her shoes awkwardly. She seemed to be feeling exactly the same kind of thing that he was feeling, although it couldn’t be because she was trying to ask him out, could it?

“You know…” he echoed.

“Well, I was thinking, since the cats are getting to know each other quite well…”

“…maybe we could get to know each other too?” Gold suggested, blurting out the words before he could second-guess himself. Miss French just looked at him and he felt his shoulders sag. “Or not.”

“No, no. I would like that. That’s exactly what I was going to say myself.”

“Oh. Well, in that case, I agree. With what I just said.” He buried his face in his hands. “This is terrible, I should just stop talking.”

Miss French laughed. “No, keep going. I think it’s cute.”

Had she just said that he was cute?

“Would you like to get dinner some time, Miss French?”

She nodded. “I’m free tonight, if you are? And please, call me Belle.”

He was definitely free tonight. He was always free.

“Ok… Belle. That sounds good.”

“Great!” She grabbed her coat and made towards the door, giving a final fond look over her shoulder at the two cats curled up in the easy chair. “You know, I’m very glad that O’Malley started coming over. I might never have got the chance to talk to you otherwise.”

Gold whole-heartedly agreed with the sentiment.

#rumbelle fic #A Monthly Rumbelling #rumbelle #Belle French #Mr Gold #cats #fluff #meet-cute #Fic: Feline Fancies

[my-hero-aaron]

Summer Camp

Time for another long journey through the adventurous life of Aaron and K! This time they’re training their quirks to the max! 

We’d been hearing rumors about it for weeks, but it was proved to be true just yesterday: we really were going on a field trip! I was excited to actually get to spend some time with K, I’d been cooped up cramming for finals for a good while there. My room had morphed into even more of a disaster area in the process, with a clear nest of loose paper, hurriedly scrawled notes, and a large assortment of meal replacement bars having built up around my desk. I drew in a deep breath and sighed heavily at the arduous task that lay before me in sorting all that out. The wrappers in particular fluttered a bit at my exhalation, and I raised an eyebrow. Why in the world would I pick this up by hand, I’ve got a perfectly good quirk to help me out! I smirked slightly and flicked my eyes shut, breathing in the cold in the room around me to push out into the detritus that had piled at my feet, then paused mid-breath. If I blast frost onto all this paper, it’ll wreck my notes. I grumbled slightly at my realization, and begrudgingly started to pack things away normally.

Before I knew it, the short few days between our last final and the day of the trip had flew by, and as I stepped out of the bus that UA had chartered for our travels, I smiled back at my two best pals. However, my kodak moment didn’t last long, as when I looked around a bit closer at my surroundings, the true purpose of the trip hit me like a ton of bricks. This was no pleasure cruise, but instead a training camp to whip us into shape. Unfortunately, the teachers made clear that my deduction just happened to hit the nail straight on the head. “This trip is focused on you all developing your quirks. Just like any other muscle your body can use, your quirks get stronger and more efficient through repeated application of stressors. This would be the perfect time to work on any weaknesses you’ve spotted in your capabilities, or perhaps develop a new technique you’ve been curious about. As you can see, we’re rather isolated, so letting yourself really let loose won’t be any kind of issue, as it may have been for some of you who have a more... forceful limits to your abilities.”

“Weaknesses to my quirk, huh? I mean, there’s the obvious one I could work on, I have such dreadful trouble working in high-heat environments.” I mumbled to myself, my brain already whirring at any techniques that I had been waiting to put into use. Beside me, Oliver was practically beaming at the colossal expanse of trees that filled the area around the clearing we were in.

“Golly gosh, look at all these pals! I bet some of these cuties have been here for a long while!”

“You’d be surprised, Oliver, some of these trees are younger than they look!” Kailey prattled off in response as she restrained herself from continuing, something our green-minded pal had said clearly setting off a little ping of historical knowledge from her stores.

I smiled slightly at K’s restraint. It seemed like she was already working on improving her quirk. However, she clearly wasn’t the only one, as a hot gust of humid air blasted me in the face. Across the way from us, there was quite a chaotic display occurring, with quite a few of 1-A’s students pushing their quirks to a new high. After a moment’s observation, it became clear to me just where that blast of air had come from: a large pot that was situated over a roaring fire. Huh, I wonder why they’re preparing a stew right in the middle of what’s clearly the training field- My thoughts ground to a halt as I saw just what-or rather, who- was in the pot, and they had my mouth watering for an entirely different reason. It was that kid who had half my quirk and twice my power, and it looked like he had been at his training for a while, the sweat of his exertion mixing with the steam of the water and tracing lines along his gritted jawline. The next thing I knew, Kailey was elbowing me in the ribs (I must have been staring again) and gesturing with her head to follow her.

“Uh... Kailey? What did I miss while I was... uh... zoning out there?”

“We’re on our way to another clearing where they’ll give us space to work on our own quirk training like 1-A are right now. They said if we didn’t have ideas, that the teachers would have something set up to just push our quirks to be just that much more strong.”

“Oh JEEZ, I already do enough of that, I better come up with something quick!” I could practically hear the gears grinding in my head, but I smiled as I could practically feel the pieces clicking into place behind my eyes. That heat wave had reminded me of how thermals worked, huge columns of hot air wavering high into the air beneath the wings of birds as they floated without effort over the ocean. Then that lead me to my fascination with flight. Even in the pre-quirk world, one of the most common superhero powers that someone would say they’d like best. After all, soaring through the air without a care in the world did look like a great time. I’d been looking for an elegant way of flight without the obvious dusting of frost that’d leave me moist and underwhelmed after my jaunt into the skies, and I think Todoroki’s heat had provided me with an option, finally. Thankfully, Kailey had kept me from slamming face first into the ground in front of me as I walked, practically on autopilot, letting the tetrominoes of my thought process slam into the perfect tetris of an idea.

“You look like you’re onto something, Aaron. Care to share with the class?”

“So y’know how hot air rises, right?”

“...Yeah, but you’re going to have to give me more than that, dude. I know everything, doesn’t mean I can find everything.”

“Well, if hot air rises, why can’t I?”

“Aaron, normally when I say you’re dense it’s because you’re not getting my hints, but this time I mean it’s because you’re literally too dense.”

“Nonono, trust me, I’ve got a plan and everything!”

“Okay birdman, let me know what Vlad thinks of your idea.”

“Hey Oliver, have you got any ideas for your training?”

“W-well I do have all these trees, I’m sure there’s something I can do there!”

“DUDE WHAT IF YOU MADE LIKE A GIANT TREE MECH?”

It wasn’t clear if Oliver’s wince was at my sudden loudness or at the sheer cheesiness of my idea, but I never got to find out, because we’d reached our portion of the training grounds. I was going over the way I’d have to look at the air around me, and it didn’t help that the idea I had in mind focused on the way heat moved to cause the phenomena I had in mind, so inverting things to actually work in a way that I could actually produce the impetus of my desired current was, in a word, mind-bending. I’d clearly zoned off deep into my own mind for a bit tinkering with the fluid dynamics problems, as I nearly jumped out of my skin when Kailey’s elbow once again found itself buried in my side. Our teacher, rather begrudgingly, called my name off the list, asking me to come forward for my assignment of initial exercises. I felt my face flush a deep red as I walked up to our teacher, as usual mumbling an apology for my absent mindedness.

“Vlad, before you let me know what you have in mind, I think I’ve got a particular technique I’d like to learn. Granted, it’s fairly theoretical at the moment, but I’m pretty sure it’s at least somewhat possible.”

“Go ahead, Frigius, just know that the whole design of this camp is about strengthening your raw power.”

“Well you know how some heroes can fly even though their quirks kinda have nothing to do with flight? I think I’ve got an idea so I can do something like that, y’see-”

“We don’t have all day, get to the point!” Apparently my carrying on had gotten loud, since one of my classmates cut me off midsentence with a shout.

“To make a long story short I think I can fly if I make the air change temperature in just the right way.”

“Interesting concept. I’ve got a set of drills to help you work on your current limitations, but you can work on your idea for the second half of the day, might help your perception issues.”

“Drills? But Vlad, I already do drills practically every da-”

“Frigius, I’m already humoring you with this flight idea. You’ll do your drills, just like your classmates.”

I (rather begrudgingly) gave a slight bow to my instructor, and hurried back to my friends, my mind already spinning once again on the problem I’d handed myself.

“Hoshihime, you’re up next.”

By the time I managed to come out of my calculatory fog, everyone in the class had gotten their training setups assigned, and Kailey had managed to lead my half-conscious self to the dinner table.

“Earth to Aaron! Have you come down yet?” Kailey’s smirk made it clear that the look on my face alone clued her in to just how busy I’d been considering the angles of my new problem.

“How long was I out? What’d I miss?”

“Well, they assigned everyone what amounts to sets of drills to either make us able to use our quirks more forcefully, or use them more precisely. Apparently the teachers think that since I can control space, I could change what things are made out of, so that’s what my drills are focusing on. You wanna tell him what you got, Oliver?”

“Oh, well, I, y’see, I get to spend time with all these trees!”

“Okay, but do they have anything in mind for you to do with the trees, or...” I raised an eyebrow as I trailed off, hoping to get a bit more information from my green pal.

“My quirk doesn’t work as well without sunlight, s-so the teachers suggested I go deep into the forest and train there!”

“Woah, really? I mean, that’s not what I would have gone with, but I suppose the teachers know what they’re on about... Speaking of, how do ya think they choose stuff like this? Is it like, something they hold a panel on, or maybe they ask our parents? Any ideas, Kails?”

“I’d assume they notice little holes in our technique just from the virtue of our training at school, and build our training regimens around that, in order to keep us from simply exercising our bad habits into huge exploitable weaknesses. Then again, in my case, they simply had a piece of conjecture about my ability guide their decision, so that’s clearly not a hard and fast rule. Considering this camp is mostly about building our quirks stamina wise, though, maybe they just simply take into account what makes it harder to actually use our quirks and expose us to that? Kinda like exposure therapy I suppose? I’m surprised they didn’t flat out hand you something to do with fire, Aaron, given your difficulties with-”

Thankfully, someone announcing that our allotted time to eat was almost over cut off K before she blithered out my major weakness to just about anyone who could hear. A little while later, and we got rushed off to bed.

#my hero academia #mha #boku no hero academia #bnha #my hero academia oc #my hero academy oc #Aaron #Quirk: cryokinesis #Kailey #Quirk: Spacetime Manipulation #Oliver #Quirk: Green Thumb #Mod Glacier #This is gonna be a long adventure #it's almost as long if not longer than overclock

[culturenlifestyle]

Photographer Recreates Beloved Disney Moments IRL [26 Photographs]

Topic: Photography, Cute || by STAFF

Louisiana-based photographer, Savannah Kate Morgan has always deeply loved fairy tales. As an extension of her art and skills, she paid ode to her passion by creating a photography series, which recreates the most magical moments in Disney films.

She tells Bored Panda,

“My name is Savannah Kate Morgan and I am a fairytale photographer from North Louisiana. Since I was a little girl, I have been obsessed with fairytales and all things whimsical and magical. I have always used photography as a way to document how I see the world. 

I have used it as an escape sometimes, from reality. I believe that in going through the process of imagining a concept and bringing it to life, I collect pieces of myself, and awaken aspects that are buried deep down inside of me. 

I am highly influenced by stories such as Alice in Wonderland, The Little Mermaid, and The Neverending Story- anything that is ethereal, whimsical, and promotes dreaming as a form of distorted reality. 

I use photography as a door, or a Rabbit Hole, to allow me passageway to a completely unmapped world and to design my dreams and my future. 

Though I photograph pretty much all things, such as weddings, children, high school seniors, etc., my passion has and always will be fairytale sessions. I have compiled a collection of images that I have created over the years, side-by-side with their original fairytales films/illustrations.”

More info: Facebook

Frozen- Elsa

"Only an act of true love can thaw a frozen heart"- Frozen.

Sleeping Beauty

"From this slumber She shall wake When true love's kiss The spell shall break" - Sleeping Beauty. 

Beauty And The Beast

"Until the last petal falls..." 

Cinderella

"No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dreams that you wish will come true."- Disney Cinderella. 

Cinderella

"Where there is kindness, there is goodness. Where there is goodness, there is magic."- Cinderella. 

Cinderella

"A dream is a wish your heart makes..."- Cinderella. 

Brave

"If you had a chance to change your fate, would you?" 

Beauty And The Beast

"Tale as Old as Time..."-Beauty and the Beast (Daddy's Little Princess Session). 

The Neverending Story

"The Neverending Story" ©Savannah Kate Photography "Years ago, when Savannah was two and a half her parents decided to sell their home and build a new one. Since their home sold the first day on the market in necessitated an immediate move. "Papa" and I invited the small family into our home to live, since we had plenty of room and an empty nest. My dining room was dismantled and turned into a media room for Savannah where she would watch fairytale movies endlessly. At two and a half years old, Savannah could already operate a television and VCR. She had a routine of watching fairytale movies every evening and many mornings. As I picture her now in her little bean bag chair, she always had her "puff" (stuffed animal), pacifier, red rubber boots, and a stocking hat pulled down to her eyes. Savannah's clothes changed, but never her accessories. As this movie played she became totally absorbed and I could see the wonder in her eyes. I would peek in and see Falkor flying through the air with a small child holding on for dear life. The Neverending Story became Savannah's baby sitter, nanny, friend, and family. She usually ignored the five adults vying for her attention. Needless to say we all competed with her movie and often found ourselves joining in on the floor with her in order to enjoy her enthusiasm. Little did I suspect that The Neverending Story would have such a huge impact on her life and on her art."- Savannah's Grandmother, Darla Thames "Nana". (Falkor statue used with permission by Yotaro Sculpts). 

Pocahontas

"Sometimes the right path isn't always the easiest one."- Grandmother Willow. 

Rapunzel - Tangled

"I’ve been looking out of a window for eighteen years, dreaming about what I might feel like when those lights rise in the sky." ~ Tangled (Rapunzel).

Beauty And The Beast

"Tale as old as time..." 

Pocahontas

"You can own the Earth and still All you'll own is Earth until You can paint with all the colors of the wind..." 

Sleeping Beauty

"I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream..." 

Beauty And The Beast

"...for beauty is found within." 

Alice In Wonderland

"Curiouser and Curiouser..." 

Cinderella

"Bippity-Boppity-Boo" 

Alice In Wonderland

"Drink Me." 

Thor

“And this is how it ends. With blood and thunder. With hammer and sword. With one last stand at the gates of heaven…”- Thor. 

Alice In Wonderland

"I knew who I was this morning but I've changed a few times since then."- Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland. 

Cinderella

"At the last stroke of midnight, the spell will be broken..."- Cinderella. 

Alice In Wonderland

"The little girl just could not sleep because her thoughts were way too deep. Her mind had gone out for a stroll and fallen down a rabbit hole." 

Peter Pan

“Dreams do come true, if only we wish hard enough. You can have anything in life if you will sacrifice everything else for it.” ― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan. Please read below. This is Haidyn. Haidyn was born with cerebral palsy. Though he could hardly stand at the time, much less walk, he said all he wanted to do was to "fly like Peter Pan". This little boy is such an incredible miracle and I was so honored to make this picture a reality for him. This picture represents all of the obstacles he has overcome and the growth he has endured. "Haidyn was born at 26weeks, he weighed 2lbs 4oz, he suffered from seizures shortly after being born which caused a small brain bleed. This is why he has Cerebral Palsy. At age 3 Haidyn had a surgery called Selective Dorsal Rhizotomy. This surgery helped loosen his high muscle tone. Haidyn has had lots of therapy, prayers & the love of his family to get where he is now. 2 wks ago Haidyn had Myofascial Percutaneous (PERCS) to help him to be flat footed & maintain balance." 

Thumbelina

"Let me be your wings, leave behind the world you know for another world of wondrous things." 

Alice In Wonderland

“The Mad Hatter: Have I gone Mad? Alice: I'm afraid so. You're entirely bonkers. But I'll tell you a secret. All the best people are.”― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland. 

The Little Mermaid

"You don't know why, but you're dying to try. You wanna kiss the girl..." 

h/t:boredpanda

#photography #design #disney #disney princess #disney prinesses #elsa #frozen #cute #adorable #fantasy #magic #film #movies #fairy tales #fairy tale

[gwenore]

Beneath the Skin. Chapter 26.

Chapter 26: Mr. Gold thinks about the future. 

Mr. Gold is feared by the population of the small town of Storybrooke north of Milton in queen Victoria’s England. Known as the Crocodile for his cold blooded nature and his cruel actions, Mr. Gold knows the true horror he can become if something set a fire in his blood. However no one has been able to do so, but then he runs into a young woman who owns a bookstore and something he thought long buried starts clawing its way to the surface.

Mr. Gold was standing in his bathroom next to his room readying himself to go to bed. Belle had her own a bit further down the hall, closer to the room she had slept in when she had first arrived at the mansion, but it had been quite some time since that room had been used for anything else than storing some of her things, or where she would make herself get ready in the mornings. He felt that it was good for her to have her own space. Not that she used it much other than what was necessary, spending as much time in his company as possible, something that he would always be eternally grateful for.

Because by the gods did he need her. He would always wish to be by her side, and it was his greatest comfort to know that she was there with him in his mansion.

Though of course… she would not always be.

In fact… he had already set plans in motion which would leave them separated forever. The house in France was being prepared for her arrival, he had also transferred all his financial assets and various properties over in her name, having acted as a lawyer on more than one occasion the legalities were not much of an issue.

If he had more time he would have liquidized more of his assets for her, but that was hard as he could not show up in person... though his fortune was such that she would be more than able to live in comfort.

He was also starting to plan out her trip to France, though this was something that he had put off. He was deep down a coward and he did not want to loose her, even though he knew that there was no other choice.

Then of course there was the matter of her former fiancée. Mr. Gold gritted his teeth simply thinking of it.

He had plans for him too of course.

He forced himself to meet his own reptilian yellow eyes in the mirror and it made him slightly shiver. He knew well what laid beyond those eyes… the creature waiting there, impatient and the horrifying force which controlled it.

It was a reason why humans avoided looking into his eyes… even when they had a far more normal shade than now. It was instinct. As if they stared too long… something would stare back. Most had of course only dismissed this as nervousness due to the power and… unsettling man before them. Though Mr. Gold himself knew of course that there was more to the story than that.

He had only done it once…

The murderer. The one who killed the girl. He felt no remorse for what he had done.

He even smirked thinking back. All having asked him what he had done to make this man so desperate for death… to seemingly leaving him a helpless horrid husk of a man, as if his very soul had been ripped from his body. He had always responded the same way.

He had done nothing.

This was true. He had not done anything physical to the man, he had not subjected him to torture or starvation.

No… he had done something far worse.

He had looked him in the eyes… and he had spoken.

It was not his fault that the man could not handle it.

The man which had dared to hurt he woman he had come to care for more than life itself would not be able to deal with it either of course… it would destroy his mortal soul beneath its crushing weight leaving him…

Well he would not be left for very long in truth. Though he would rather the man lived a long life after that, he knew that the creature inside did not really have the patience nor the inclination for such poetic punishments. It followed a far more base nature.

Because Mr. Gold knew he would have to give in then… have the man die for the creature to arise. He blinked slightly.

What would happen at that point? Would he simply fade away? Would there be anything of him left? If there existed a concept of a soul would that…

He was interrupted as his large imp rubbed against his hand, having rested it’s clawed hands on the sink in order to reach him.

“I thought that this area was supposed to be imp free?” he asked it, though it took regard of his words and leapt onto the sink, looking him deeply in the eyes. Mr. Gold simply shook his head before he reached out his hand to pet it.

“Such a silly creature,” he muttered as his claws graced that bulbous skull. They had been together a long time the two of them. His only friend until… until the day he met her. He felt his tail move slightly simply thinking of her. It was still something he would never get used to… not that he had to for long.

Still he had noticed it acting… strange.

He had control of it, but sometimes not as much as he would like. Whenever Belle talked to him or touched him, if she even as much as walked close to him, the tip of his tail would start to… he could only describe it as rattle. It would move so fast that it created sound. He tried to stop it, but the moment he was not actively suppressing it, it would start again. Luckily for him she only smiled at this odd behavior, seemingly finding it amusing.

Mr. Gold let out a final sigh as he turned away from the mirror, the large imp jumping down from the sink, stretching its limbs slightly before starting its nightly routine of walking around the mansion. Mr. Gold watched it walk away, spotting three others which were dragging one of the blankets up the stairs to make themselves a nice warm nest somewhere.

He smiled slightly. It was pleasant in these quiet moments, though with so many imps constantly around, it was never quite still. Though he took quite a bit of comfort in this… before Belle and the imps had arrived he had avoided spending time here unless he had to. Now… even confined as he was to a place which had brought him no comfort he… he felt safe.

Too bad it could not last.

With a sigh he walked into his room where Belle was already in bed, reading a bit while she was waiting for him to come to bed.

“Hi, ready for bed?” she smiled towards him. He smiled back, nodding his head gently.

“Yes… it is late,” he muttered as he walked over to his side of the bed, though he had a bit of trouble getting in… his tail being constantly in the way. Finally he was able to find a comfortable position on his side… or so he thought. The tail was hanging off the side and it quickly become cold. Lifting the blanket he was able to move it under the blanket, finding it brushing against Belle’s legs.

“Sorry…” he muttered as he attempted to get the tail away from him.

“It is fine, I really do not mind your tail,” Belle said as she noticed him wince slightly at the word. She simply closed her book, putting it on the nightstand before she settled down into the bed, taking the blanket around both of them.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed by it,” she assured him as she turned towards her, laying on her side, smiling gently. He simply let out a low huff, still uneasy about the strange feeling of the sensations running up the tail.

“It is not as if it is common for a gentleman to grow a tail,” he told her as he moved his body slightly to be more comfortable.

“No… I have to agree to that, but… I think the reason why I have always liked you, the fact that you are not like other gentlemen. Besides… the fact that you now have a tail has not changed my thoughts of you. You are still you, it is your thoughts and character which matters… the tail does not change this,” Belle reached out her hand and stroked it down his cheek with a gentle smile. His glowing eyes moved slightly, looking up at her eyes, getting lost in their kind blueness. He gave a slight nod.

“Thank you… what would I ever do without you?” he then questioned. She let out a slight chuckle.

“What would I do without you? I have said it so many times before, but I shall say it again… I am very happy here, with you and all the imps… our little family,” she let out a small giggle.

“Not the sort of family I bet you imagined to have when you were a child,” he muttered.

“No… this is true, but that is because I did not imagine myself as a homemaker at all. I was always imagining going on adventures… or having the world’s greatest library, but… well what one wants changes when one grows older… for me this is more than enough. But go to sleep now… you have had a rough day,” she said as she once again reached out and brushed some of his hair away from his face. Mr. Gold simply gave a nod.

“Fine… I guess by now I should know that arguing against you is more than useless,” he gave her a gentle smile to which she simply laughed and nodded.

“Yes… you really should,” she told him as she watched him slip into sleep. It was only then that she allowed it to show that she did indeed worry. It was clear that his change was reaching its end soon and there was nothing which she could do to stop it.

She let out a small smile, continuing to watch him sleeping and she felt her heart warm up simply looking at him. Slowly she then leaned closer and placed a kiss on his forehead.

“Good night… Mr. Gold,” her voice whispered gently towards him, as she herself slipped into sleep.

#rumbelle fic #beneath the skin #rumbelle fanfiction #tail fluff #imps

[myhelrav]

“Don’t worry, you don’t look that old”

A “guest post”, written by me for another forum, and posted here with kind permission of that forum.

Replanting our lives in Tauranga has produced, almost as side shoots, plentiful impetus and opportunity for reflection and introspection, laying bare some Very Big Questions that are often buried when family and work life is settled and keeping you busy. 

There’s nothing quite like turning your back on the house where you brought up your family to bring into focus the painful reality that family life, as that house knew it, has ended. In this house that was chosen with some of our future needs in mind, we are confronted with questions about what that future might look like, what we might look like going into it. All we know for certain is that we’ll never be our younger selves again.

I’m still a mother, but what does it mean to be a mother living far from her children? When I’m not actively mothering and, for the time being, not regularly teaching either, who am I, what do I want, what am I meant to be doing with my life? How do my husband and I live together in the absence of so much of the structure we built together, now left behind? How do I shift back into being primarily my mother’s daughter after having been primarily her grandchildren’s mother? (Imagine what Dr Seuss could do with this!)

These are not comfortable questions, especially as they come carrying baggage - grief, regret, trepidation. They come bearing gifts too, but those can take longer to unpack…

It has seemed to me for quite a few years now that, just when you need them, angels can appear in your life.  At about the time I started documenting Project Tauranga in one place on Facebook, I became part of a group in another place, the online Aging Abundantly Community. These women who choose to lean into the aging process rather than allow it to define us* felt like the new angels in my life at a time when I needed a place to be honest and seek help while I grappled with all the changes Rod and I were putting ourselves through. 

In the early weeks and months here, I felt constrained about how much it was OK to complain to the friends I’d chosen to leave about how hard it was to be without them, too raw to open up the floodgates around the new people I was meeting, and inconveniently inarticulate whenever I tried to record or reflect through my blog. It was a relief to be able to go blah, blah, blah to the caring souls in the Aging Abundantly group who have been there and done that, who patiently read my long posts on their pages and who always came back with thoughtful perspectives.

When I was asked to draft a guest post for that community’s blog a while back, I was happy to give it a go, grateful to have a concrete way in which to show my appreciation. What follows is a slightly edited version of that piece. It’s a snapshot of some of my thinking 3 months ago. It answers few of my questions and raises yet more. It’s dedicated to those online angels.

In the past 9 months, my husband retired, our youngest son left home, we sold our family home of 19 years to shift town, my mother sold her family home of 47 years to move into a “granny flat” attached to our new house, and my stepson also moved in indefinitely while he searches for an elusive new job. Changes abound!

Positives also abound: all 4 of us are healthy, the house is gorgeous, the garden is delivering unexpected treasures that feed the soul, the climate is kind, the living is easy, my mother is bubbling with happiness as she creates her “little nest” and, thanks to a generous Facebook community I stumbled upon, we are surprising ourselves with a more active social life than we had imagined.

My 3 housemates have reasonably clear roles and tasks as they create a life for themselves here. I’m the odd one out; unsettled, missing my friends, my work, the beautiful city I called home for half my life, the lifestyle I had there; trying to figure out what work-life balance I would like to have here. 

The last job that I actually had to apply for was way back in 1989! Since then, all my work has come through word of mouth. I’m a teacher of very young children – babies up to 5-year-olds – and for quarter of a century I’ve been older than my workmates, most of the parents, and, increasingly, many of the grandparents too. I’m worried about looking for work in a town where I don’t have a professional reputation, therefore needing to sell myself all by myself. Wondering how age will factor in.

Blessed with my father’s youthful skin, I have been told “you don’t look that old” all my life. At work it morphed into “don’t worry, you don’t look that old” Usually pretty good at taking the compliment that was intended and assuming people weren’t intending the subtext I could hear - being “that old” is something to worry about - I now find myself wondering if “that old” will become a stumbling block.

With ample time to sit and think, I find myself musing about what “that old” actually means...

My age in calendar years? I am 58.

My stage of life? I’m in transition.

My stage of family life? I’m a newly minted empty-nester.

My dependants? I have co-habiting with me a mother living as fiercely independently as possible (albeit financially at risk now that she’s cashed in her equity) and a young adult who also aspires to be independent in as many ways as possible in the face of little employment or financial certainty.

My financial status? I was very fortunate that my husband’s profession meant he earned far more than I ever could, enabling me to work as part-time as I wished and supporting a very comfortable family life. His retirement brings in its wake a less financially secure life, already having an impact on issues such as how much we can afford to spend if we socialise with people who, still earning, are able to spend more freely.

My employment status? I have yet to find out how easy or otherwise it will be to find work in my field in my new town.

My time and place of birth? I was born into a stable Western family at a time when upwards mobility was still the norm. I’m educated to a higher level than my parents and am more materially well-off than either of them was at my age.

My life history? I was born in a time of peace and have spent most of my life in New Zealand, this remote peaceful paradise I adore.  

My family history? My father died at 68 and only 1 of my 3 grandparents lived into her 90s.

My body? I inherited a fast metabolism, low blood pressure, beautiful skin, strong teeth, a skeletal structure causing extra wear and tear on my knees that was picked up in my early 30s, eyes that started needing a bit of help for close work in my late 40s, hair that, back in my teens, started spotting grey and now, in my 50s, is starting to thin (right at the front where everyone can see it), a long drawn-out passage through menopause, and the shared belief that everyone in my family was born uncoordinated and therefore unlikely to be good at sports (a theory that did not prepare me at all for my sports-mad older son!)

My physical history? I have borne 2 children, the wear and tear that comes with that mitigated by the fact that they were problem-free conceptions and births.

My physical habits? Oh my goodness, have I looked after myself badly! After a lifetime of eating and drinking as much as I wanted while exercising as little as I liked, it’s proving tough to change those habits.

My physical state? The face is pretty OK, the body is pretty overweight, the knees are pretty worn, and when I sneak into “Yoga for Seniors” on my husband’s coat-tails, the lack of flexibility makes me look like I well and truly need to be there!

My state of mind? A work in progress…

My blessings? In my current musings, this is the most interesting of all.  As I strive to find my way in a newly-configured family grouping, I find awe and joy in reflecting on how lucky we were to have a largely settled, happy, healthy family life in the beautiful home that we designed, built, loved to pieces and finally sold. I feel enormously blessed that my mother’s big brave move in casting her lot in with us has got off to such a happy start. I know I would not be missing my friends so much if I hadn’t acquired such a fabulous posse in the first place. I’m grateful in bucketfuls for social media and the way it is helping me find new communities. And I’m revelling in the virtual company of the wise women of the Aging Abundantly Community. I suspect these women are highly unlikely to say to me “Don’t worry, you don’t look that old”

In so many ways, yes, I am indeed that old. And in this new place where I am finding opportunities to redefine myself (a tidy me seems to be emerging and shy me seems to be flying out the window), I am learning to answer that old phrase, not with an inwardly wincing “thank you” for the intended compliment, but with a smiling “yes, and if I’m very lucky I will get to look and be even older than this!”  

* the phrase “women who choose to lean into the aging process rather than allow it to define us” is quoted, with thanks, from http://www.agingabundantly.com/community-home/

[mourningsickness]

Hyde Park's Pet Cemetery

On a gloomy Saturday morning, I braved the spittle of rain and my mounting sleep debt to attend a tour of Hyde Park’s Pet Cemetery. I was late arriving, as usual, and had to run from the station to catch the group, which meets every few months outside the refreshment stand near to Speakers’ Corner. Closed to the public except on these occasions, the cemetery is located in the north-east corner of Hyde Park, backing onto the Bayswater Road. It is secreted behind liquorice-black railings, concealed from full-view of the traffic by the foliage that forms a mesh over its metal bars.

The cemetery itself was the result of a kind of accident. Its inaugural burial took place in 1881, at the request of Mr. and Mrs. J Lewis Barned, two frequent visitors to the park. The gatekeeper, Mr. Winbridge – whose cottage was then attached to the small patch of turf that now forms the burial ground – used to sell them lollypops and ginger beer (Soteriou, 2015). The first plot went to Cherry, their children’s Maltese terrier. The garden at Victoria Lodge was one of the dog’s favourite walking spots and, as a favour to his friends, Winbridge allowed for him to be buried inside. His moss-speckled tombstone, which stands there still, reads: ‘Poor Cherry. Died April 28. 1881’.

Rumour spread like brushfire. Winbridge’s second internment was the Duke of Cambridge’s beloved Yorkshire terrier ‘Prince’, who was (sadly) mangled under the wheels of a moving carriage. The cemetery is full of such tender inscriptions: “To our gentle lovely little Blenheim, Jane – she brought the sunshine into our lives, but she took it away with her”, “My Ba-ba – never forgotten, never replaced”. Winbridge himself was responsible for most of the burials, sewing the bodies of the animals (predominantly dogs, some cats) into calico bags before laying them to rest with his own hands (Soteriou, 2015). Few of the animals’ owners actually attended these internments, for fear of worsening their own distress. Indeed, the cemetery held particular sway with London’s wealthier classes; many of the animals buried there hailed from regal, or military stock. Though its gates closed officially in 1903, the last burial – which took place in 1967 – was that of an ex-regimental mascot.

The cemetery was, it is fair to say, in a state of some disrepair. The headstones were mossy with age, and many of them knocked together, like bad teeth. Some had sunk so far into the hard ground that they appeared almost to be growing from it, like stocky roots. This is, perhaps, to be expected. Given its removal from the public sphere, the need for maintenance is less pressing than in the case of other urban ‘heritage’ sites – such as London's ‘Magnificent Seven’, which counts Nunhead and Old Brompton cemeteries among its number. Though grimy, many of the headstones at Hyde Park were visibly marble, a subtle hint at the graveyard’s former glory. As our guide was quick to point out, this affective custom of the bourgeoisie concealed the more sinister scourge of poverty and destitution that characterised much of Victorian life in London. Opposite the park, in Bayswater, were slums – many of whose (human) inhabitants would have been buried without such niceties, in unmarked paupers’ graves. The cemetery speaks then not only to the weight of affective, and sentimental value invested in pets, but also to a time when pet-keeping was a signifier of intense privilege. For those outside the safe confines of the Victorian leisure classes, they would have been simply an unaffordable luxury.

In her book Precarious Life, Judith Butler offers us the concept of the obituary as the vehicle par excellence for public memorialisation, and the ‘legitimation’ of deaths (Butler, 2004). Paradoxically, she suggests, the obituary functions as a determinant in what kind of lives are valuable. Whether or not a life is grieveable also dictates whether or not it is valuable. Certain forms of life, it turns out, are more grieveable than others. Butler utilises the fraught example of the lives lost (and much “obituarised” on the front page of the New York Times) in 9/11, versus the anonymous, civilian casualties who lost their lives in the Iraq war. Though distant, the cemetery at Hyde Park also brought this notion to mind. What about these delicate companions made them more worthy of commemoration than the vast numbers of poor who lost their lives during that time? Why is it that a visit to a pet cemetery constitutes a ‘quaint’ outing, where a visit to an abattoir would not? Why does there exist no such visual catalogue for the thousands of less-readily individuated species that were lost during the long twentieth century?

The Times, that bastion of media centrism, recently began publishing pet obituaries, sometime in 2016, suggesting that contemporary media enacts a similar function now. Although the Victorian cemetery fell into disrepair through disuse, across the country there now exist dedicated Pet Funeral services, as well as successful working pet cemeteries (among these are facilities in Surrey and East Grinstead, Sussex). Indeed, a 2015 study found that a quarter of British pet owners had ‘either organised funerals for their animals, or would consider doing so’ (Schopen, 2015). Cremation and burial services are already offered by roughly 50 funeral parlours; in excess of 10,000 pet services are conducted each year, including cremations for goldfish, budgies, and mice. We might well ask whether such affairs could be classed as forms of ‘griefsploitation’ – a fresh market for the necro-industrial complex to mine. Though these ceremonies reify and celebrate our love for our pets, this renewed professionalisation also seems at odds with the privatisation of mourning that has taken place across the span of the last century. Recalling the rituals surrounding the death of the small animals of my childhood, I am drawn to stories of ashes scattered in plant-pots and ancient hamsters lovingly buried in shoeboxes in back-gardens, or (for those without the luxury of such spaces) surreptitious areas of public parks.

One aspect of the visit I found particularly bizarre was the discordance between the gesture of affection embodied in each tombstone, and the names of the pets themselves, many of which verged on aggressive, or derogatory to the modern viewer. There were inscriptions bearing terms of endearment – ‘patient and loving to the end’, ‘dearly loved and faithful friend’, ‘a most gentle, a most loving Persian cat’ – nested underneath jagged, monosyllabic names like ‘Scum’, or ‘Smut’. Such ‘punk’ naming felt out of kilter with the wider sentimentalism at work. I was particularly appalled that one gravestone – partially concealed by the scraggly branch of an overhanging tree – appeared to have the N-word etched into it, followed by the birth and death dates of the dog interred within the grave. The sight felt like a violent reminder of the sprawling, and ductile networks of oppression in which Victorian mourners would have been embedded.

Many of the tourists around me were taking photos on their devices, smiling and laughing at the headstones with a sense of childlike wonderment best-described as ‘cooing’. I, too, took photos on my iPhone. Images provide a useful visual jog to the memory; such tours are rare, and I likely won’t return again. As I did so however, I felt ill at ease. There was something vaguely unsettling about the collective glee the cemetery provoked. Its modern-day status as a ‘charming’ spectacle, worthy of capture, felt incompatible with the lived distress of people who buried their pets here, and were too distressed by their loss even to attend. The group (myself included) stood laughingly over the grave of Balu – a dog whose headstone informed us he had been spitefully poisoned ‘by a cruel Swiss’ in 1899. He was singled out by the guide as part of a lighthearted, ‘spot the murder victim’ game. Some tenderness seemed to have been lost in translation here. Was it historical distance that allowed this laughter to enter the frame? Or is there something inherently comical about the prospect of violence committed against the nonhuman by the human? Does a person’s lived experience of suffering expire, or collapse into the stuff of ridicule after a fixed point? If so, who gets to make these kinds of ethical calls? A group of tour-goers, on a bitter Saturday morning?

Increasingly, I felt reminded of the grotesque aspect of our modern relationship with our pets, who seem to be incrementally perceived as source-material for ‘viral’ internet content; whether the innocent videotapes of ‘Animals Do the Funniest Things’, Youtube videos, memes, or thirty-second looped Instagram clips. Despite our care – or perhaps as a facet of it? – we seem to trade in the ridicule of animals, like a gag-reel writ-large. Even in this space supposedly consecrated to their memory, animals retain some affiliation with this ridiculousness. Teasing can be an expression of love. But I wonder if teasing does convey affection in quite the same way, when its object does not have the faculty to tease back. I think of my cat, and his concrete, palpable sense of humiliation when he is laughed at.

Hyde Park’s Pet cemetery is a historically-specific cultural monument, a sign of its time as well as the Victorians’ putative sentimentality, and their pompous, performative affective customs. Showiness aside, it also speaks to a moment in which pets – and their deaths – first began to be taken seriously. The rise of domestic animals saw pets gain not only ‘pet’ names but, with them, a sense of individuality that made them worthy of such commemoration. Even if there remains something spectacular about this space, with its bourgeois intentions, it acts also as a permanent trace of remembrance, an expression of gratitude for the company of creatures whose memories have long-since expired.

Bibliography

Butler, Judith, Precarious Life (London: Verso, 2004).

Schopen, Fay, 'Lots of people are getting pet funerals. Don’t, it’s a rip-off', Guardian, 14 September 2015<https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2015/sep/14/pet-funerals-rip-off-money> [Accessed 14 February].

Soteriou, Helen, 'Inside Hyde Park's secret pet cemetery', Telegraph, 4 August 2015, <http://www.telegraph.co.uk/travel/news/Inside-Hyde-Parks-secret-pet-cemetery/> [Accessed 22 February].

[pbjpuppy]

Walks

A short horror story I liked enough to share!

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I’ve been going on a lot of walks recently. 

‘Cause, y’know being in the house all the time isn’t really good for you. Like, y’know, cabin fever and stuff? Plus, we just did this unit in science- through the computer, they’re calling it distance learning- about indoor air pollution, and how the air inside a home can be multiple times more polluted than outside air, and how most people spend most of their time indoors (90%!), which really makes sitting in my bedroom for long periods of time kind of unappealing. 

I don’t always like staying in my room anyway. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I spend most of my time in there like any other teenager does, and it’s great! I love my room. I’m even lucky enough to have my own instead of having to share it with a sibling like some people do. But still, even if you live in paradise it’s a prison if you can’t leave, so I don’t stay in there all the time. Sometimes I just wander around my house in circles instead. Or sit in my dad’s room. 

Anyway- walks. Lots of them. One every day is the new routine, unless I get lazy, which has happened once or twice and I always regret it. To the end of the block, which intersects the road in a “T” shape, then I turn to the right and walk all the way until the sidewalk ends (Through the old elementary school’s parking lot- I’m always worried security will yell at me, but so far I’ve been peacefully ignored), then I turn back and walk all the way past my block again to the other end of the sidewalk, then home. It’s not the most scenic route; I live in the suburbs of Long Island and all the trees are dead because it’s only just turned April, and all there is to see is houses and road. 

I keep myself entertained, though. There’s actually a lot to see if you really look. Nothing extraordinary, but that’s kind of what I like about it. I keep my eyes to the ground a lot, and you see a lot of litter on the ground: Cups, cans, cigarette boxes, packs of tissues, chicken wire, caution tape, strange boxy wooden contraptions that look busted and have been abandoned. Once I even saw an unopened condom. It’s an environmental nightmare, of course, but for the arrogant human on her walk it provides plenty of brain food. For every piece of trash there was a living, breathing human who held it, who used it, who discarded it. I wonder what they’re like and if I’ll ever meet them, what they’re up to. If they’re alive right now. 

There’s not much that’s all too impressive in terms of nature, like I said, but it’s still outside, and I’ve seen a bunch of interesting nature-y things, too. On my first walk, I found a chunk of a wasp’s nest, half-rotted. Recently I found a bird’s nest too, and I wanted to go pick it up, but it was in somebody’s yard and I didn’t want to get yelled at for trespassing. Just today I passed right through a murder of crows, kind of. They were perched in a group on the trees and telephone wires, and their croaking startled me out of my daydreaming to admire them. I’ve seen a lot of things that look like bones that aren’t bones, and one time I saw something that looked like a bone that actually was a bone. 

The one natural thing I don’t see on my walks is humans. Not one in a week. I would have expected to see at least one person walking their dog or something, or just doing work in the yard. I mean, everybody else has to be as restless as I am inside, right? But no, no people to be seen. That’s okay, though. The sidewalk is narrow, I like not having to share it. It also means I can text while I walk and not worry about bumping into someone. Plus, I guess it’s been kind of yucky out weather-wise. By the time I get home from my walks my nose is usually pink and runny from the cold. 

I live with two other people, my dog, my cat, and my two pet rats. That makes seven living things and three living humans. The house is quiet a lot of the time. My brother and I are both teenagers- I’m seventeen, he’s nineteen- and we spend a lot of time in our rooms. My dad is usually working, or out of the house. He likes to go over to his girlfriend's house a lot, or out to the city for the weekend before… Everything happened, and I’ll take care of myself for the evening and the following day or so. Sometimes it’s longer than that. I don’t hear from my brother those days, he makes his own food. Sometimes I’ll be home alone and won’t even realize until I walk past his bedroom and see it’s been empty this whole time. 

My dad’s been away a lot this week, I think. And my brother’s been quiet. I think he’s told me he doesn’t feel well. That’s okay. I can take care of myself well enough and I think I have people online to talk to. My dog barks a lot, that’s kind of like conversation. Plus, I have Animal Crossing, that game where you live on an island with a bunch of little animal people? It’s really cute, I love it. I talk to the animals on Animal Crossing. I don’t mind being alone. 

I’m on a walk, and my fingers and nose are cold and pink. I have an umbrella, but I don’t actually need it. It’s not raining anymore, the wind is just moist and cold. It’s dangling from my wrist. I liked playing tug-of-war with my umbrella against the wind, but the wind won, and my umbrella turned inside out, so I stopped. I’m coming back from the right side of the T. 

There’s lots of evidence of humans. There’s so much litter, pieces of trash that somebody was holding and let go of and now it’s on the ground. I thought I smelled weed before, which is gross, but that means that somebody somewhere was smoking it, somewhere nearby. There’s graffiti on the street signs. 

There’s lots of cars on the road, too. I don’t know where they’re going. Nobody’s really supposed to be going anywhere right now, I think. We’re supposed to be staying home, that’s what I was told. Maybe they’re going to get groceries. You’re allowed to go get groceries. All of them are getting groceries. 

Going to school online is a weird and kind of stressful experience, by the way, did I mention that? I’ve never done anything like homeschooling, I’ve always gone to public school my whole life, ever since I went to the old elementary school that I have to pass through on my walks. I’m used to structure. There’s this bell that drones at the end of every class, and when you hear the bell you get up and shuffle to your next class, forty-two minutes every class period. I’m used to that. Now they’re so far away. The classes, I mean, like, the concept of them. It’s just kind of a vague idea that there’s work I should be doing, now. I’ve been doing okay. I set alarms every forty-two minutes and pretend I’m going to class. 

I still haven’t seen a single human. I’ve been looking into the windshields of the cars as I walk and I still haven’t seen a single one. I don’t know who these cars are trying to fool, you can’t drive a car if there’s nobody in the driver’s seat. That’s impossible. But I haven’t seen a single human. Super-smart cars, maybe. I think I’ve heard about those on the news, right? Sometime before everything happened. They’re sending their cars to get groceries. 

I walk past the cemetery if I want to walk farther than usual. Usually my walk stops me right by the cemetery. I like ghosts and spooky things so I like living so close to a cemetery. It’s a nice cemetery, too. I don’t go in it very much, the only dead person I know wasn’t buried in the cemetery and I don’t want to intrude on anybody who’s grieving their loved one. Walks aren’t that important and I have a different route. I don’t think I would find anybody in the cemetery, but I’m going to go home anyway. I’ve been walking for a long time. 

I think a lot on my walks. My mind wanders. I do it on purpose, actually, I put on my music and let my mind wander while I walk. I like to draw and write stories, and letting my mind wander while I walk is good for inspiration. I’ve been thinking about humans and cars and crows. The crows fly away when I walk near them. I wonder if the humans are like crows and that’s why I can’t see them. Maybe I did something wrong and everybody’s avoiding me. Maybe everyone’s too busy getting groceries to be in their cars. It must be a lot of groceries. 

My dad has been away a lot this week. I want to tell him about the bugs I caught in Animal Crossing. I don't know if I’ve seen him in a while. I thought I said goodbye to him yesterday. Yesterday it was snowing, when I said goodbye. It wasn’t snowing yesterday. I wish he’d get back from whatever he’s doing. I hope he brings me back something from the grocery store. 

My brother hasn’t been feeling well. He wants me to leave him alone, I think. I think he said that, and that’s why he’s not in his room. He doesn’t want me to bother him, I think. He hasn’t been feeling well for a long time. He’s such a complainer. There’s mold in the food he left in his room. 

Online school is so frustrating. I’m really not good at math, and I tried to message my teacher about an exponents question, but he hasn’t been replying to me. I skipped the math problems, I think, and I can’t find the right website we’re supposed to be doing them on. I can’t find the app on my phone I used to text my teacher. I’m so forgetful. I forgot to text him, I think. 

This wouldn't be happening if everything hadn’t happened. If we were in school, I’d be able to raise my hand and ask the teacher in person about my math question. And there would be other students, too. But we have to stay home. Everyone has to stay home. 

I don’t know why we have to stay home. I thought somebody told me. I can’t remember. I know everybody has to stay home. The government said so or something. That’s why I can’t find anybody. Everybody’s at home. 

My dad isn’t answering his phone. I want to know when he’ll be home. He’s not supposed to be out. I forgot my dad’s number, I think. I’m going to walk to the grocery store. It’s getting dark out now, but I think I need to go. I’m going to see what all the fuss is about. Everyone’s at the grocery store, that’s why I can’t find them. 

There’s not much to see in the suburbs of Long Island. The shapes the buildings make are kind of pretty, though. They’re all warped and blackened, like a giant hand smushed them like play-doh. There’s lots of litter. There’s evidence of humans everywhere. The sun is setting behind the ruined buildings and it looks red and burning. It reminds me of something awful. Maybe a movie I watched, I think, about some awful explosion. The sun is too red and it’s scaring me. I’m going to keep walking to the grocery store.

This parking lot is empty and dirty. There’s lots of litter: plastic water bottle casings, old lighters, trampled wet paper bags, turned over shopping cars, shells of cars, the grocery store sign smashed on the ground. I step on the broken glass because it makes a nice sound. It smells like food, I think. The smell of the food is making my throat hurt, I think. There’s smoke rising from the building. They’re cooking, I think. The sun is so red behind the smoke. It looks like fire.

It looks like fire. There’s so much fire. It’s reminding me of something really bad. I’m really scared, something in my brain is really scared. Something happened and I can’t remember. I don’t want to be at the grocery store anymore. I’m walking home now but my legs aren’t feeling very normal. I wish the sun wouldn’t look so red. Everything is red and warm and smoky. It’s only just April and my nose and fingers are supposed to be pink from the cold. 

I’m getting lost, I think. Once I find my way home I can get my dad to hug me so I feel better. I don’t know why I’m crying. Something is making me sad and scared but I can’t remember what it is. Reminds me of a movie, I think. A big scary explosion in a movie. The air smells like smoke. I think I might be upset because of cabin fever. That’s it, I think. 

I think I need to go on more walks. 

#monstrous writing #horror #writing #short story #horror story #UH HOW DO I TAG. WRITING. #IM V PROUD OF THIS!! give it a read if youd like!! i hope the readmore works #ask to tag!!