#Avon Living Coming Soon

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Edward Scissorhands x Reader

On her quest to make at least one sale for the day, Avon lady Peg cautiously steps into the eerie mansion of a known inventor. She soon learns that it has long been devoid of life, with the exception of Edward, a synthetic human creation left unfinished. She returns to the bright suburbs accompanied by the poor young man, earning the curious stares of the bystanders. Among the colorful houses, however, Edward spots a gloomy dwelling that the neighbors seem to avoid. Who is the mysterious occupant?

Winner of the Halloween Poll! A short gothic romance in the style of Tim Burton, where two outsiders find solace in each other.

[Horror Masterlist]

The light yellow car slows down as it reaches the driveway and the engine stops. Peg makes her way out and hurries over to the passenger side, keys dangling between her fingers. She helps Edward out once she sees him awkwardly shuffling in the seat, unsure of his next step.

"You'll love it here. I just know it."

The woman hastily closes the door behind the tall, peculiar visitor. She places a gentle hand on his back and guides him down the asphalted path. 

Edward's gaze briefly wanders further into the street. The houses are slithering along neatly, their vivid colors somewhat tiring to his unaccustomed eyes. Yet one of them sticks out. Strangely enough, it reminds him of home. A rusty iron fence surrounds the property, and patches of lush, unkempt vegetation creep through the bars. The walls are dark and crooked and the black tiled roof casts a shadow over the entire abode.  

"Who lives there?" The question escapes his lips almost unconsciously. 

Peg follows his gaze, eager to introduce the area to him. Once she settles on the source of his inquiry, her smile falters for a second.

"Oh, my. That's, well..." she lets out a forced laugh and encourages him to continue walking. "I'm glad you're already so curious, Edward dear. You'll get to know everyone soon, don't worry about it."

One more push and the guest has securely entered the house. As she prepares to twist the knob into a lock, she peeks out for the last time, surveying the surroundings with mild worry. A neighbor is walking their dog, whistling in the distance. As they approach the mysterious building, the animal begins to bark and the owner scurries to the other side of the street. 

"He's so...strange!" one housewife exclaims, sipping on her lemonade.

Joyce is biting the temple tips of her sunglasses as she carefully inspects the dark haired man, currently using his sharp, spear fingers as barbecue skewers. She's batting her long eyelashes, entranced. She does like her men on the enigmatic side. In fact, she might just have a word with him. She folds the sunglasses and hangs them by the collar of her low-cut blouse. Of course, she doesn't forget her famous ambrosia salad as she departs from the rest of the fidgeting women. 

"Ed, darling. You must try out my signature dish!" she daintily holds up a spoon and attempts to feed the pale newcomer. 

He cautiously opens his mouth, unsure of how else to respond to the gesture. He tries to find Peg within the crowd, hoping she'll give him a new task away from this uncomfortably touchy person. And as luck would have it, his savior has come to the rescue. Peg doesn't hesitate to pull Edward away, cheerfully mumbling a domestic excuse. 

Once freed from the shackles of awkward social interactions, the man tiptoes his way out of the yard and down the street. He doesn't like the constant murmur of people talking. He doesn't understand the jokes, the loud laughs, the complicit slaps on the back. He feels as if he's on the other side of a glass window, separated from an audience demanding cooperation despite him only being able to discern muffled, discontinued meaning. 

None of this was mentioned in the Etiquette book. Or perhaps it has always been there, and the Inventor never got to the specific chapter. Died lamentably before he could explain how one navigates neighborhood BBQ parties.

Edward's step is clumsy and he doesn't have a particular direction in mind. In his scattered daze he nearly trips over something and turns around apologetically. You're sitting on the ground, resting against the fence. The book you were reading is now thrown aside, as you're too busy massaging the ankle that just got kicked by the sudden intruder. You look up, ready to scold the responsible airhead, but your eyes stop on an eccentric feature that catches your attention. 

"What happened to your hands?"

You're a little embarrassed by your unexpected, tactless curiosity. The man seems entirely unfazed, however.

"They weren't finished. I'm incomplete."

"Hmm. Isn't everyone?" 

Edward considers the question and recalls the people he's met so far. Peg and her husband. Joyce. The children. 

"But they don't look unfinished. They have all the body parts."

You chuckle slightly at the literal observation. 

"Well, you can't check them on the inside, can you? Most people have missing parts. Or broken ones."

"Where would you get it fixed, then?" Edward is startled by this new discovery. 

"You learn to fix it yourself. Otherwise it just stays like that, maybe forever."

He lifts his hands and stares at them. Is he going to be like this forever, too? He hasn't pondered the concept of time much before Peg had found him. Yet now, 'forever' feels unsettling. 

"Do your hands bother you that much?"

Edward doesn't know how to reply. He wishes he could resemble everyone else, that much is true. Then people wouldn't stare. And they wouldn't be afraid. As he mulls over the right words, he suddenly becomes aware of his surroundings. It's the house he noticed earlier, when he first arrived here. Which means...

He examines the person before him. They, too, look complete. So why?

"Why does everyone avoid this place?" He remembers the gathering he just left. "You weren't at the neighborhood party either. I thought all neighbors will show up."

"I was never invited."

"Why?"

You shrug.

"You're also not currently attending, are you? Otherwise you wouldn't be here."

"I took a break. It's too loud. Can I sit here?"

Before you can answer, he drops himself next to you with a thud. His fingers swish together as he adjusts his posture. 

"Oh, sorry, I forgot. What is your name? I'm Edward."

"Uhh... (Y/N)." You mutter, taken aback by his direct approach. What an odd fellow, you think to yourself.

"Nice to meet you, (Y/N)." As he scans your features again, he feels compelled to add, "You look rather pretty."

A faint blush takes over your face and you twirl your hair in an attempt to hide it. Is he mocking you? You genuinely can't read his intentions. 

"You don't look too bad yourself, Edward. I think the hands add to your charm." You eventually find the confidence to blurt it out, quickly following up with a laugh.

His heart tightens and he almost forgets about his hazardous extremities, having to stop himself from touching his now throbbing chest. He's never malfunctioned before. It doesn't feel like anything is wrong, either. Your comment, for some reason, made him very happy. 

(Y/N). Looking back to everything that happened, he's glad. Maybe he should thank Joyce next time he sees her. He wouldn't have met you otherwise. 

As the sun begins to set, you remind Edward that it's impolite to leave a party for too long. He protests, stating he prefers your company. As flattered as you are, you rephrase it as Peg being worried about his sudden disappearance and he feels bad enough to agree on his early retirement. On the condition he can hang out with you again. Once you guarantee a reunion, he makes his way back home. 

As he lays on Kim's bizarrely fluid mattress, tucked into the layered pastel sheets, Edward is overwhelmed by a strange, unfamiliar warmth. A wide, childish smile is plastered on his face and won't go away. Each time he closes his eyes to fall asleep, he pictures the encounter. (Y/N). It's a nice name, isn't it? He finds it particularly charming. He whispers it out loud in the dark room, as if making sure it's real. Reminding himself you're real. 

He can't properly explain it. It's the same thick window that stands between him and the world, but you're next to him. An outsider. A rejection. The idea that someone else out there shares his struggle has cleansed him of any longing for acceptance. Why bother with a sea of foreign, smudged faces? Peg becomes Joyce, and Joyce fades into Marge, and they all become a generic crowd of smiling pleasantries. It's a funny thing, being among humans. Once he left his old mansion behind, he realized how truly alone he had been. Still, being surrounded by people he could not comprehend made him feel even more lonely. That is the tragedy; sitting at the grand table, empty handed, unseen, unheard. Misunderstood. No one's fault, really. It just happens. But every now and then, if fate so allows, one might just find another starved attendant. With the same glint in their eyes, of someone not belonging. 

Oh, he can't wait to see you again.

It's unusually noisy outside for a late evening and you can't help but glance out the window. That's when you notice the roaring crowd, trampling in a hysterical march of unknown purpose. You have a bad feeling about it. The horned moon leers down at you like a bad omen and you quickly throw a jacket on, sprinting into the street. 

"What's this all about?" you shyly ask the nearest group. 

"Witch!" Esmeralda scowls at you with a pointing finger. 

Peg notices the commotion and runs towards you, completely disregarding the prophetic warnings of the woman. 

"Oh, (Y/N). It's Edward. They..." she sighs, frustrated. "I know I don't have the right to ask you this, but you're his friend. Could you please make sure he's alright?" Her voice is pleading and regretful. 

You nod without saying anything else. Before you turn to leave, you swiftly gesture to Esmeralda, raising your index fingers up and mimicking a devilish look. She gasps and throws her hands together in prayer.

It had to be done. 

Meanwhile, Edward has reached his old mansion and just now stopped in the entrance hall, panting anxiously. He feels nauseous and helpless. It's not that he's being chased by the enraged members of the neighborhood that alarms him. He cannot stand the possibility of not being in your presence ever again. How frightful, how agonizing! He claws at a nearby column in turmoil. 

It can't be, it won't happen. He'll tear his way through the masses if he has to. Oh, what a terrible thought. His Inventor would roll in the grave if he knew the violent ruminations that plague him right now. But if he has no other choice...Would he go as far as taking someone's life if it was for your sake? Well, technically speaking, his sake, really. He wants to see you. He needs to.

Panic slowly creeps through his body. The thoughts are piling up in an erratic hum and he can't find his focus again. He paces back and forth, attempting to recollect himself, but there's an urgency that drowns him in cold sweat. 

"Edward?"

The ringing stops. A switch has been flipped and he snaps his head in the direction of the voice. It's you. Completely spellbound, he extends his hand to touch your face, verifying whether you might be an illusion of his feverish desires instead. The blade pierces your skin, leaving a bright red trail behind. 

"I'm so sorry-" he cries out, realizing his act. 

You softly lower his hand with a reassuring smile. 

"It's just a small cut. Don't worry about it. I think we have more important matters at hand, won't you agree?" you joke as you nudge your head towards the window. 

"I spoke to the police officer on the way here, so we shouldn't have any surprise guests." 

You remove your jacket and throw it over some dusty furniture before climbing up the stairs. Halfway through you briefly stop and urge Edward to join you. He simply nods.

When the issue is settled and everything has been said and done, will you return to your miserable exile? Won't the neighbors become suspicious if you're frequently seen sneaking up the hill? Perhaps even the utmost secrecy won't prolong the visits much. 

And then what?

As he considers the potential scenarios, he becomes increasingly impatient. The joy of your return has been tainted by the impending doom of abandonment. He wishes you'd just stay with him here, forever. 

Once the conclusion has been reached, he lets out a quiet apology. Maybe to you, maybe to the beloved Inventor, maybe even to himself. He inserts a finger into the entrance lock and silently twists it. 

You must forgive him. Or at least try to understand him. He just loves you too much, (Y/N). Is it truly such a hideous crime? To want to keep you safe? If so, he will live with the guilt. But not without you. 

You're home. 

[apiscircensis]

dunmeshi au for my twst ocs bc I fell head first in the dungeon and got brain damage

[edit: a whole wall of text under the cut]

ok so this is set in the dunmeshi world but it's a separate story, unrelated to the main plot and characters

Shipwreck Cove is a dungeon on a cliff by the sea, near a coastal town. it's impossible to reach it by sea, as it's surrounded by constant whirlpools, the only way to get in is by climbing to the highest point of the cliff

great part of it's inner structure is submerged or surrounded by water, but it's still frequented by many adventurers bc the water that flows to the upper levels seems to have slight curative properties. legend says the water at the heart of the dungeon can heal incurable illnesses or even grant eternal life

🦑 Morgan (gnome) has been lord of the dungeon for something around ten years. his original wish is a secret

he was once an adventurer. he's an experienced mage both at healing magic and offensive spells (and has also studied the darks in secret), but his weak legs slowed down the party, who had no qualms in letting him know so, either by reproaching him or straight up letting him fall behind

one day, angry and frustrated, Morgan abandoned his party and ventured deeper into the dungeon by himself. by the time he noticed, he had reached the deepest level and, well, things happened

Morgan has severe abandonment issues. he created the quaintest little dungeon to lock himself in with his close circle. it was a beautiful and safe place, so that people could come and go at their leisure

soon enough, Morgan started feeling like people went more than they came back, so he started tweaking the dungeon bit by bit to discourage people from roaming. changing pathways, setting traps, creating more monsters. generally making it increasingly harder to navigate, until it became practically inhabitable except for the designated safe area, which was still pretty much a little eden

his resentment was such that he would find a way to make people part of the dungeon itself

at some point, tired of his body and of his lack of power over others, he turned himself into a kraken chimera, sealed his demon in a chest immediately afterwards, and has since then lived locked up with the few people he could trap in a wrecked ship at the deepest point of the dungeon, guarded by an ever larger kraken (that's his pet that he feeds other monsters and hapless adventurers to lol)

[only one person was ever able to escape Morgan's dungeon, an elf that used to be his closest confidant. however, just as they were about to step out, Morgan stole and sealed their magic in a locket that he keeps somewhere in his ship-home

this elf lives in a secluded area further than the outskirts of town, where they welcome adventurers to whom they offer incredible things in exchange of them traveling and conquering the dungeon, with the intention of getting back their powers that way]

🐒 Blake (tallman) and 🎇 Jacob (dwarf) are a pair of adventurers that hate each other yet have been working together for years lmao

they're quite successful in their expeditions but they're insufferable, so they're always looking for new members for their party bc the previous ones got fed up and left sksksk

they arrived at Shipwreck Cove following the legend of the water of life, each of them for their own reasons

(I still haven't decided if monkey Jacob exists in this au)

⚫ Avon and ⚪ Alba are a pair of walking mushrooms that are always together. they're funny to look at from afar, but they have a nasty vibe when you get close so adventurers prefer avoiding them

Morgan enjoys watching them tussle, so when more people started going in the dungeon he made them an area where they can still be seen while being out of reach enough from strangers. they've become some sort of a local attraction

(I originally thought to make them half foot florists, but a friend came up with this idea and I thought it was so funny that I adopted it lol)

🕰️ Eri (elf) is an historian. he feels a fascination for the short lived races, so he moves to different towns for periods at a time to document the daily lives of those who live and pass through there

🌻Lucas (kobold) is more of an explorer than an adventurer. he and 🛰️ Xander (dwarf), an inventor, travel the world together looking for strange materials and objects for Xander's experiments

🐻 Björn (tallman, bear beastkin) is an adventurer from the north that likes showing off his strength. he travels from one place to another looking for new challenges and creatures to beat

⏳ Noya (gnome) a scholar with an expertise in magical artifacts, who also studies the development of magic. since he's not allowed to study the origins of magic, he has had to settle for observing and studying how it evolves in every day contexts. he occasionally crosses paths with Eri

💋 Philly (elf) is a criminal enlisted by the Canaries against his will. his crimes include theft and selling of magical artifacts, arson, and murder, but true cause of his conviction was attempting to use the dark arts to extend his tallman lover's lifespan

(he's a die hard fan of the Daltan Clan novels and all the other prisoners hate him bc it's all he ever talks about sksbsk)

🎶 Aedon (tallman) kabru without the trauma is barkeep by day and singer by night. they like watching people and trying to guess their stories

and that's it, that's all I have for now✌️😋

[hazel-of-sodor]

Something Holy This Way Comes

Ch.14 The Works

Other Stories

Other Chapters

With six engines in the works, it was very crowded, and the other engines were forced to wait outside as the three engines were looked over. Seren and 590 were content to watch the sudden drama unfold from where they were being worked on as Blaidd was reunited with her old fleetmate. After she got over the shock of Hegni's unexpected return, Blaidd was quickly back to her normal self, making snarky remarks about the railway falling to chaos the moment she was gone, but no one minded as Hegni's quiet laughter filled the works.

Screech and Cassandra were found to be in good shape mechanically, just in need of rest after the last twenty four hours. Hegni was in worse shape, Miss Morgan's pacing growing more and more frustrated as more issues were found. The engine's motion and cylinders were gone, her wheels were rusted to the point replacing them outright was being considered, and her cab fittings were missing. It would be months, if not a year before she could be repaired.

Miss Morgan's eyes narrowed as she was told the results, " Hegni, how did you end up abandoned in the Lloergan scrapyard when I was told you had been scrapped days after leaving here."

The goods engine blinked tiredly, "I was brought on an abandoned line to LLanw  from Glain a few years later. I don't know how much later though...I had already been sitting in the other yard so long I lost count of the days."

Avon wrinkled her nose in confusion, "why would they move you to an abandoned scrapyard?"

"Leverage." Cassandra said solemnly. "A hidden ace up their sleeve if they ever needed it."

Miss Morgan's eyes narrowed, "you think they planned to use her against me."

"It makes sense," Freda said, "if they ever needed to control you they could threaten to scrap her."

"Why haven't they tried then?" Enid asked, her nose scrunched in confusion.

"They never had to." Abbey said quietly, "not until Screech arrived."

Miss Morgan nodded slowly, "before her arrival, we were barely hanging on, one breakdown away from the railway closing."

"They believed we were doomed either way."

"Yes." The controller leaned against Abbey's running board, "and now they're desperately trying to figure out what has changed."

"And they're too busy with the North Western at the moment to give your railway their full attention." Cassandra explained, "due to the books the NWR is in the public eye, and they can't afford to lose control."

"That won't last forever," Gywn cautioned. "Soon or later, they will focus on us. We have to be ready for them."

Miss Morgan frowned, "with Hegni's recovery all our engines are accounted for... I saw what was left of Saint David's frames myself," she said, her voice pained.

"That leaves closing the line to Harlech." Abbey reasoned. "They will close the line the first chance they get."

"But not while attention is on you." Cassandra reassured, "they'll wait until my visit is forgotten."

The Uman and Din's chief mechanical engineer, Miss Osian stepped down from Hegni's footplate. She was tall and broadly built, with musculature to match. It was rumored that she had rerailed Avon by hand when she had derailed in the yard shortly after the line's reopening. She had arrived in Uman shortly after the late Mr. Morgan had fallen ill with the mysterious illness that had taken his life, introduced as an old friend of Mr. Morgan's, and she had basically run the line until Mr. Morgan's funeral. After Miss Morgan had returned to run the railway, Miss Osian had applied to become the lines chief mechanical engineer, saying, "Old Bethan would have never forgiven me if I left you to bear this alone."

Ever since she had managed the line's works, living quietly with Miss Morgan. 

"Hegni is nearly worn through in some places," she said gruffly, "she won't be steamable till winter at the earliest, and that's if we don't find anything else wrong with her." The woman patted the 0-8-0's running board gently.

"Well at least you have an engine once she's repaired?" Ceri offered,Tyto nodding agreement.

"A fine one at that," the CME agreed, "we just have to make it until then.

Cassandra winced as she shifted, "Our controller is working on it. I'll have to leave soon enough or the Other Railway will start asking questions."

"We haven't pulled you from your duties as 

Caomhnóir have we?" Una asked in sudden concern.

"These are my duties as Caomhnóir," Cassandra assured the other tank engine, "not only saving, but keeping engines safe, even if Screech is already doing a good job in that role. Besides, my controller thought a few weeks away would help me deal with the stress of the position."

Robert snorted, "and how'd that work out?"

"I tried to stay out of trouble."

"you fought a remnant."

"I had help this time!"

Abbey quickly caught on, "this time?"

Cassandra smiled sheepishly, but Abbey remained unimpressed, "how did you end up fighting a remnant by yourself?"

"Which time?" Robert asked before Cassandra could respond, the tank engine shooting him a betrayed look.

"Well there's hardly anyone else to do it!" She protested, "If I could call for back up then I would."

"Then you will have no problem calling for help from now on," Abbey said firmly.

"Pardon?" Cassandra was clearly confused.

Screech opened an eye to stare at the tank engine, "if you run into such a fight again, Abbey expects you to call for my aid."

She continued before the tank engine could protest, "you said yourself the Uman and Din no longer stands alone. That goes both ways Caomhnóir. I understand you are able to handle yourself, but you are not immortal."

Cassandra stared at Screech for a long moment, considering, "you know I won't call for every single thing that goes wrong."

"We're not asking you to." Abbey agreed, "we trust you to know when to call for help."

Cassandra sighed in defeat, "I am not foolish enough to reject what help I can get." She locked eyes with Screech, "as long as you agree to the same."

"Of course.”

"...Thank you."

[willstafford]

Wit to Woo

LOVE’S LABOUR’S LOST Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford upon Avon, Thursday 25th April 2024 Three men and a King pledge to devote the next three years of their lives to study, abstinence and celibacy.  Of course, as soon as the oath is signed, along come four beauties on a diplomatic mission.  Each of the men starts writing love notes and poems to one of the beauties, behind his confederates’…

[charlesandmartine]

Wednesday 13th November 2024

By the time we were up at 6.00, most of our fellow travellers had left or were preparing to leave. Now is the time to travel whilst temperatures are less punishing. Masochists had been camping in tiny tents overnight not far from our chalet. It is inconceivable what it must be like to share the temperature and flies with an overwhelming desire to sleep in somethingnot much bigger than a shroud. They are now long gone. Still little traffic on the Barkly, although there were sounds overnight of the huge roadtrains ploughing through the darkness. A four trailer train, possibly weighing in at 200 tons and travelling at 110 kph, would not be too aware of the wildlife it may encounter, and there certainly is encounter judging by the butcher's slab seen in daylight hours. Entire cows are far from uncommon. But these vehicles are designed and protected to withstand such mishaps.

By 7.00, the Roadhouse maintenance teams are ramping up for a new day; lawns need to be sprinkled with powerful jets of water to protect that fresh green oasis appearance, paths blown clear of the 24 hrs of debris from the lush trees, the clean laundry hanging out on sturdy washing lines next to our chalet.

By 10, the 4 month old Ford Ranger, which has sat idle since Monday, was loaded and fired up ready for the relatively short 260 km journey ahead of us.

We searched for places of interest on route but struggled to find any. However, we did come across a monument at Avon Downs in Northern Territories, not far from the Queensland border which marks the place where, 4,000 sheep arrived, completing the longest ever sheep droving trip in Australian history, led by Wallace Caldwell. He and his men and 11,000 sheep left Rich Avon near Donald in north western Victoria in September 1882. The journey took 16 months and covered 3,500 km. The story was told in The Longest Drive by Tom Guthrie.

Then there was the sign, Welcome to Queensland. Surreal set in such flat plains stretching far and wide. We are in big cattle country, having a rich history of droving. And the clocks lurched forward 30mins.

The town of Camooweal, where we are spending the night, can be found by the Georgina River. The first Britisher to take a lease here was George Sunderland in 1865, arriving with 8,000 sheep. He didn't really hit it off too well with the aboriginies who were already living here, coupled with stock losses attributed to wild dingos and wedge tailed eagles. With the result he abandoned his lease. The Englishmen Benjamin Crosthwaite and William Tetley, who were marginally more successful, took up the lease again in 1876. A town sprang up in 1885.

The town soon had a reputation for cattle. During the wet season, some 1500 head of cattle would graze by the Georgina River awaiting telegrams as contracts to purchase from miles around. Up until the 1960s, teams of drovers would take them out. Gradually, roadtrains would replace these drovers and now the only but important link with this heritage is an annual Drovers Camp Festival in August.

Today, Camooweal is a bit of a ghost town. Population 236 at the time of writing this. Roadtrains carrying cattle rattle through disturbing the peace and tranquility of the town and its 4 drinkers sipping Castlemaine 4xxxx on the verandah of the Hotel Bar and then when the dust has settled again, the town returned to its slumber. A boarded up corrugated iron Heritage Centre had a convenient horse tethering rail as in a cowboy movie. The post office and supermarket was closed, as was the Drovers Museum. We felt obliged under the circumstances take a break from the stress of such a busy place to repair to the hotel pub ourselves and partake of a schooner of Stonehouse beer. A schooner always sounds huge, but I can assure you that it is merely a large half pint. Refreshing though in a chilled glass.

Our digs for the night score highly in the basic section, highly in the fragrance of carbolic section, poor in the 'let's make the establishment look chique, classy and expensive' section. I don't recall how much we are paying for tonight's experience, but I suspect it's too much. However, on the up side, we are only here one night, and it is clean. It has to be with that much carbolic! Our fellow travellers, I suspect, may make their living with trucks.

Chicken and salad again tonight due once again to the lack of cooking equipment. And another schooner down the road of the excellent Stonehouse.

[hidelias]

FINAL CHAPTER ! A bend in space-time Season 2 - [Chapter 32: The end of something]

It's always very emotional for me to finish writing a season of this fic, but this time I felt so at home. Thank you for your support! Season 3 will arrive in August ♡

---

[Chapter 30: The end of something] Links : AO3 - Wattpad - FFN

Summary: Time resumed its course, and night is falling on the Umbrella Academy's last day in 1963 Texas. For Five has obtained a briefcase… and soon, he'll bring everyone back to 2019.

Excerpt

It's strange to look towards a horizon to which you don't belong. And yet, I have cherished them, those hard and excluding sixties, yet exalted by the immeasurable hope given by a few. The proto-hippies, the very first nerds, the dreamers, the poets, the activists. And those who accepted that they were simply - humbly - human. Some of them - no doubt - have changed me for life and timelines.

I'm thinking of Mark and Wayne tonight. To all the 'Children', especially Kitty and Jill, Timothy and Allen, and even Priscilla. I think of Lloyd: I don't blame him. I also imagine Ray - alone tonight - in the house he shared with Allison, who now returns to her daughter. To Sissy, who has finally made the choice to stay in this era.

And I'm thinking of Dave. Just like Klaus, still inside the devastated living room behind me.

More than anyone who lived through 1963, he left his mark on my short life here, although being just seventeen. Not for what another version of him had been for Klaus, no. For what he is already - here and now.

Klaus and I both know: by now, if he hasn't changed his mind, Dave should be boarding one of the vehicles parked outside the Avon Street recruiting office. As on every Saturday, the blue Air Force bus will carry off the young recruits, including the aspiring Sky Soldiers, their crest still tattooed on Klaus's shoulder. The skull, the rifle, the palm leaf. But this minibus is never the only one parked there. Right alongside it, a red bus takes young Marines to both similar and different fates. Another kind of involvement in the Vietnam War, in particular. And in this moment, as I walk back through the living room wall, I know what Klaus is thinking about, as he drops his smile of nostalgia, sorrow and hope.

He's wondering - as I am - which of the two buses Dave will be boarding.

(…)

↝↝↝↝ Read 'A bend in space-time' ↜↜↜↜ Full chapter : AO3 - Wattpad - FFN Season 1 complete : AO3 - Wattpad - FFN Season 2 complete : AO3 - Wattpad - FFN Season 3 coming soon

I chose to insert an OC - Rin - into the plot of The Umbrella Academy, appearing almost only in deleted scenes. This fic is not a self-insert nor a OC-centric fic : Rin exists to flesh out the canon characters, and the fic is mostly focusing on Klaus. Please read the introduction for more details ♡

[ksfoxwald]

Fire and Hemlock Readalong: Part 3 Chapter 1

We now begin Part 3 - Where Now?

Polly goes to live with her dad, packing the stolen photograph and the toy soldiers. That may be what saves her, allowing her to call on the heroes by means of sympathetic magic.

She finally starts reading The Golden Bough on the train, and we get a lot more clues in the chapter titles - "Sympathetic Magic," "The Sacred Marriage," "Kings Killed at the End of a Fixed Term" stand out in particular.

With Dad and Joanna we see another example of adults who are so locked in their way of being they have forgotten to use their imaginations. Everything in the flat is perfectly, unsettlingly neat and tidy. Later Dad takes Polly out to the Zoo, and curiously, she describes the bird house as "magical," even though birds aren't really a major motif in this story. But they are flying around loose and free, unlike Polly right now. "It's like when I dream inside my own brain!" she says. The freedom of imagination in a mind that is otherwise trapped, perhaps.

It soon becomes apparent that Dad has not told Joanna that Polly is staying for good, and when Joanna asks straight out how long Polly is staying, Polly panics and says that she is leaving tomorrow. Here, once again, the adults fail Polly, leaving her on the doorstep without making sure she has a ticket or gets on the train. With nothing else to do, Polly starts wandering around the city alone, in a very mythic way - this part is referenced in Diana's Heroic Ideal essay, comparing her to Snow White lost in the forest. And the scene where she stands looking over the river evokes TS Eliot's Four Quartets, which is another framing device in the story.

Jones:

Polly walked to the middle and stopped. The wind took her hair there and hurled it about. She leaned both arms on the chubby metal fence at the edge and looked down, dizzyingly far, to the sinewy brown water of the Bristol Avon racing between thick mud banks below. The wind hurled seagulls about in the air like wastepaper.

Eliot:

I think the river Is a strong brown god Trying to unweave, unwind, unravel And piece together the past and the future, Between midnight and dawn, when the past is all deception The future futureless, before the morning watch When time stops and time is never ending

So Polly stands in-between things, both literally on a bridge, and figuratively between the past and future, between her mother and father, another Nowhere place.

As she leaves the bridge she spots Morton Leroy, and understands that this is all his doing, though I'm not sure what part he played because we don't get real rules for how they work. Did he engineer the misunderstanding between Dad and Joanna? Or did he get into Polly's head, with that whole "bleached with pride" feeling where she insisted she could find her own way home? Perhaps he was using the connection through the opal pendant for that, too. We know they are able to get at other people, but I think they are only able to do that through Polly. The whole "panics and starts saying things to get out of the Situation" is such a normal response that you wouldn't assume it was magic at all without everything else going on, but that's the nature of the Leroys, isn't it? To use ordinary things to control people.

As Polly walks, we see more mentions of the wind, hurling trash about in a foreshadowing of what is to come.

Then, as Polly continues to move in-between places, thinking that the shift from office blocks to old houses is like stepping from Here to Nowhere, she manages to call on Nowhere again in the sight of a familiar car...

I was trying to work out how to put that last sentence, and after writing it I realized she is calling on her power here, and in fact is doing so throughout, in a way that leads us directly into the final challenge where Laurel says "Tom can use anything which is truly his [to escape]." Polly is able to use Nowhere to escape because it is truly hers in a way that Laurel and the Perry Leroys can't control. They can use it and twist it for their own ends sometimes, but they don't own it.

[noxtms]

DATE : 8th of may, 2023. WITH THANKS : to mozzie @ofmccnlight​, who contributed the final third ( & to who i owe my life ) ! 

I.   HERMIONE GETS OFF THE BUS AROUND THE CORNER from her parents house. it's late enough that she probably could've risked apparating, but the last time she'd thought that she'd been distracted by something at work and tripped on the landing ; her neighbour had been out watering his begonias in preparation for the 'sunny spell' in their forecast and she nearly jumped out of her skin when he straightened up behind their shared fence and called out to say good evening. it was a narrow miss, almost ruinous, and though she was resolved to never have a repeat, she wasn't confident in her ability to be altogether present following memorial weekend. too many feelings were dredged up over those hellish few days, and even the bus ride was a solemn, distracted affair - forehead pressed against cool glass and eyes pressed tightly shut, hermione let the muted hustle and bustle of the late night crowd wash over her and very nearly missed her stop.

she's disappointed but not surprised to find that the council still haven't fixed the streetlight that sits directly in front of her semi detached. she takes a moment beneath it to adjust the strap of her overnight bag one final time and stare up at the flickering bulb - briefly entertaining, not for the first time, the idea of simply using magic to do their work for them - and then shakes herself from looming reverie and sets off down the drive. magic, as mrs weasley has often chastised in her presence, is not a fix all ; a LOT of her life in the past few years has been spent accepting these things she just cannot or should not change, and the council will send someone round soon.

probably.

no sign of her neighbour, so she probably didn't have to go through the pains of catching a muggle bus from the leaky cauldron - she sighs at the thought and crouches to retrieve the spare key her parents had kept in one of those silly faux rocks, her own still with the other neighbour trusted to care for crookshanks the past few evenings. she was a nice girl, similar in age but lacking the same sort of life experience that had caused the perpetual bags beneath hermione's eyes. when she'd dropped the key over the road to her, she'd offered to get her a good deal on a sleep mask from the avon like company that she'd signed up to recently, telling her that it would 'clear them right up' ; she'd bit her tongue and told her 'thanks again', managing to rush out the door before saying anything too critical. she'd probably have to do the same when she called round the next morning, but that was definitely a problem for tomorrow and for now, hermione was happy to trust in a good nights sleep in her own bed. 

she straightened up, plastic rock in hand, and set about sliding the little compartment open as she turned to face her door and, suddenly, froze. no need for the key ; she drops the rock back to the ground, hoists her bag further up on her shoulder and pulls out her wand from her back pocket, no longer caring who sees her doing it. with just the streetlight to illuminate the front of her house, it hadn't been immediately noticeable to hermione that the door was hanging just slightly ajar and naturally, her first thought isn't that the newly minted avon girl simply forgot to pull it closed the way she'd told her. she doesn't have that luxury. 

her heartbeat pounding in her ears, hermione forces herself to take one step at a time and approach the door. it's her worst nightmare come true, the very reason that her parents still think they're living their dream in southern australia ; the idea that her muggle existence, here, her childhood home, that it's all been found out and…- she pushes it open with her foot, wand raised and ready, and then there is a FRIGHTFUL yowl and she jumps, violently, only just managing to hold out her arms to catch him as her ginger cat launches himself at her, full force. 

"oh, crookshanks-" she surveys the initial damage, the shattered glass of a hallway mirror and the contents of a drawer that have been spilled across the carpet, clutching him to her but keeping her wand high, "oh, silly boy. what happened?" 

II.   she almost misses him. wakes too late in the morning & gets stuck in the entrance hall saying her goodbyes to the wix she won't see again until the next memorial ; she never really unpacked and she's been ready to go since the remembrance ceremony wrapped up the night before, but GINNY knows how it would look if she was one of the first to go. visceral discomfort is boxed, residual anger is bottled, everlasting grief is locked away - memorial weekends are perpetually marked by the sacrifices that she has to make for the sake of her friends and family, but it never gets any easier. she's usually ready to blow, about now, but she manages to extract herself before disaster strikes and sets off down the trail before anyone tries to call her back again. so one minded is her focus on escaping the castle grounds that ginny doesn't realize that he's making the same trek alone until he's almost at the hog flanked gates. it's a split second decision - she glances behind her, quickly, establishes that there's no one to witness it, and then she breaks into a bit of a mad dash. she doesn't call out to grab draco's attention, but she does manage to reach him before he apparates or sticks out his wand arm for the knight bus with only minimal breathlessness, which she considers a win. 

quizzical, he turns at the sound of heavy footfall & ginny comes to a halt that she tries to make look natural. 

"hey," she says, lamely, "i didn't know you were here this weekend-... i didn't see you." 

he lifts a single shoulder in a lazy sort of shrug. "our circles don't overlap," he's distant, but that's to be expected. she doesn't think it's aimed at her, specifically. memorial weekend brings out a different side to all of them, really, and ginny isn't fool enough to think that he's always as open as she once found him ( nor as distrusting as she would need to be to consider it a falsehood ) but since then, it's been a lot harder for her to ignore the dark circles pressed beneath his eyes.

she's no longer sure where the initial instinct came from, and a little too willing to see it through to the end : "do you want to come back to mine?" she asks, and when she sees his next thought forming, adds, "just to… hang out. that's all. you can leave if it starts getting claustrophobic." 

his lips quirk at that, a tiny tease of the smile she's come to look for, and when she reaches out a hand - ginny knows he'll take it. 

they apparate onto her 'doorstep', though it can't really be called that. she's tried to dress it up a bit in the few years that she's been living there but there's only so much that she can do. a fresh lick of paint, a funny doormat that luna found funny but neville had gone beet red when he'd seen ( i see london, i see france… ), one potted plant that was slowly giving up on life - seven wix lived on the same floor as her and had put about the same amount of effort in, but ginny was suddenly quite conscious of how it looked to an outsiders eyes. a bit sad, probably. cheap, she thinks, and then she banishes the thought ; he knows who she is, by now, where she's come from & where she got to. she's not ashamed of either, and for all that almost fretting, all her worries about this sudden marrying between two worlds - the one where they are ill defined and this one, where he's… well, let in - he doesn't say anything except a dry, "your plants gone brown."

"yeah, well, i've been a bit busy to remember to water it-"

"for its entire lifetime, i presume…?"

"shut up," she tells him, sternly, rooting around in her bag for a moment until she finds her wand and tugs it free. she taps it against her door handle ( she can never find her key when she needs it ) and the lock gives a loud click as it moves out of place.

ginny turns her focus to him as she pushes through, keeping her wand in hand - just in case he feels the need to make any undue comments - and explains, "you might be unfamiliar with the concept, but this is a flat. they're a bit small, but they're very cosy. mine's probably a little messy, but i-" he breaks their gaze and looks over the top of her head, and it is the tiny widening of his eyes that forces ginny to turn and notice, for the first time, the elephant in the room.

this isn't her mess. the burrow, that had looked like this every once in a while, usually at the start of summer when everyone was back under the same roof and in the same state of disorganized unpacking - but she never would've been so careless. everything she owned that had once had a place had now found a new one on the floor. her mattress was shoved up against the wall ; drawers turned upside down ; the cushions on her sofa had been torn into, their down strewn across the chaos. she didn't have to peek around the corner to know that her kitchen was in much the same awful state - she could see that something had spilled on the tile, because it had crept dangerously close to the carpet in the doorway. 

she was speechless.

malfoy was not.

"merlin… do you actually live like this?" 

III.   a crack rings out through the stillness of ottery st. catchpole as LUNA LOVEGOOD stumbles into view out of nowhere . the speed in which she had thrown herself into the apparation prompts a forward momentum that continues even as the spell spits her out smack dab in the middle of her front garden , more than a few yards away from the front porch sheʻd been aiming for . no one is awake to witness the way she almost ends up ass over teakettle in the dirigible plums . the surrounding night is entirely silent barring the giggles that follow the blonde figure as it trips itʻs way through the garden plants , interrupting the quiet snores of the weeping flowers near the kitchen window. they shake their bell - shaped bulbs at her , tinkling softly and sleepily , in admonishment . she blows a raspberry at them . they pull back in reproach and donʻt bother trying to pass on anymore messages . it certainly wasnʻt they who raised her to have such manners . besides , they were sleepy . their night had been interrupted enough as is .

the idyllic garden life continues to sleep even as she noisily makes her way into the house , not even blinking as the front door gives way beneath her prodding hands . neither her nor xenophilius were ones to lock the door when an alohomora was a master key for anyone who really wanted it to be . besides , their home was an open one . all were welcome if they needed a place to sit and have tea with someone always willing to lend a listening ear .

she breezes through the entryway and into the kitchen , handbag landing on the floor with a thump after she aims for the coat rack and misses by a mile , nearly tripping on the various bits and bobs that are always scattered across the floor . she knocks into more than one end table or bookshelf , teeming with items that have a tendency to just spill over . the mess that she spies through her peripheral , blurry as it may be , seems par for the course .

through the doorway of the kitchen , she spies a light coming from beneath the door and goes about setting two mugs out on the counter . the teapot is an heirloom from her motherʻs grandmother and sits waiting , already full and already heated , for when she pours the two cups that have become more nightly ritual than it was originally intended . itʻs as practiced as the way she places the cover on the sugar container , more than used to the way that her father leaves things about in his forgetfulness . 

“ bit of a late night writing spree , then ? ” she calls to the light still on way later than it should be and is not surprised when she doesnʻt get an answer . this is how things go when heʻs deep into his writing binges . luna talks and talks and talks and her father resurfaces to hear her eventually . not immediately. but eventually , 

“ you know , you really arenʻt producing your best work when youʻre straining yourself by staying up so late , ” she scolds across the house , nudging loose parchments out of the way with her socked foot as she makes her way to the door and gently opens it with her hip 

“ so you might consider heading to bed after this cup — ”

the mug shatters moments after luna hastily shoves them onto the desk , uncaring as to where it is set and not even flinching when it lands too close to the edge and slips right off . 

xenophilius lies crumbled on the ground . heʻs bleeding profusely from a wound on his head .

[m4zed]

NPCS : Ariadne's (adoptive) parents

Aretta Chapuis (née Olowe)

Aretta is born into a family of second generation immigrants from Nigeria in Liverpool. In her youth she used to ride in her free time & dreamed of becoming a professional equestrian. Instead she ends up as the first in her family to go to university, attending courses for psychology and economics. After some more qualification Aretta starts working as a insurance broker, specializing in healthcare. At the age of 26 she takes a job in Manchester & this where she meets Gérard. He proposes a year into their relationship and for a while the couple lives in Manchester and Paris. They do want children, but feel no rush about it & are fine just enjoying their life together as it is. Eventually they settle in a beautiful little house in Bradford-upon-Avon, with Aretta commuting to Bath for work. At this point she's given up the thought of biological children and they decide to try adoption. This is how Ariadne comes into the picture. The 5-year-old orphan instantly wins their hearts and quickly becomes the centre of their world. Both Aretta and Gérard dedicate themselves to raising the child and surround them with unconditional love. As soon as Ariadne is old enough to understand, they also explain the adoption to them, so they have been aware of that early on. Knowing how it feels to be disconnected from your heritage, Aretta does her best to support Ariadne in that regard and they even make a trip to China together. When Ariadne comes out as a lesbian to their parents, it gets the ball rolling for Aretta & educating herself leads to acknowledging her own bisexuality. With her child studying abroad, Aretta also discovers painting as a hobby.

Gérard Chapuis

Gérard hails from a small village in Southern France, where he grew up with four siblings & surrounded by cows. While he loves nature, he dreams of getting out & making his own way. That eventually brings him to Marseilles & he starts an apprenticeship with a carpenter. If it teaches him anything it's that Gérard enjoys being on the move, getting his own hands dirty. During that time he gets his first camera & it turns into a full obsession. Enough for him to quit carpentry & apply for jobs in photography (in the meantime depending on retail jobs to support himself). It takes a few years & more training, but slowly Gérard starts building a name for himself & enjoys travelling through Europe and beyond. In Manchester he meets Aretta and they bond over their shared love for animals. After a short time, he decides to stay in England to be with her & they get married. Since he mostly works from home anyway, Gérard takes a step back when Ariadne is little & stays with them. Perhaps that established the close bond between them, because while Ariadne loves Aretta with their whole heart, Gérard holds a very special place & the two of them are very close. To this day Ariadne enjoys travelling with their father & they're very grateful for Gérard's connections in Paris that helped with flat and the university when they moved there.

[ijustkindalikebooks]

Review: Falling Hard For The Royal Guard by Megan Clawson.

Love is in the heir in this royally good rom com debut releasing in Spring 2023 – perfect for anyone who likes relatable heroines (with great hair), hot and aloof book boyfriends (with great hats), near misses, almost kisses and a corgi or two.

Having followed Megan on tiktok and hearing about this book, I was really looking forward to reading this as it seemed like a fun read with a lot of detail about the tower and this book certainly didn't disappoint it what was an enjoyable read based in the Tower Of London.

From the beginning of the book how this author frames what is her home is really brilliantly done, the imagery and scene setting is incredibly done with a richness that really allows for this story to come to life where it is set and it makes me want to go and visit as soon as possible? Like I really want to go to the Tower of London now.

The plot is fun, cute and has all that you want from a romance, but the history woven into this story is just, it hit right for me and I really had a great time reading it and hearing about what it is like to live a private life in a very public space.

Thanks to Avon and Netgalley for the ARC, I can't wait to read more from Megan, this is such a cute debut.

[mandssisters]

Brizzle innit 22.11.22

“By any means possible” A train taking the strain today. Across two counties. Wiltshire into Avon. Bristol. Love Brizzle.

After the storms of yesterday today we got lucky with the skies, they were blue again. Whilst waiting for the train at Salisbury on a cold but sunny platform I got the step count up for the day to 3,500 before boarding. Result. And didn’t buy a hot chocolate to compensate for the cold. Joe Wicks would be proud of me.

An easy 78 mins on the train. A short walk from the station to the des res Ho e clearly the Ibis budget doesn’t stretch to T’s and L’s.

I needed chips. What better way to enjoy them than in a Wetherspoons! Living the dream. Now I had a real fan girl moment, I got right up close and personal with …….. a real life pair of Gromit and Shaun the sheep sculptures. Trip already made! #suchafan Bristol been the home of Aardman animations.

Right let’s cut to the chase. The venue. Google maps did show me what to expect. And it didn’t disappoint. WOW. An idiot could have walked past quite easily and thought it was a disused warehouse….. I mean idiot. 😉

The marble factory. ((Stone cut marble not the glass ball variety.)) Back in the day I bet this place was amazing? But right now it was opposite a building site which was once an industrial estate and even the ATS Tyre shop google maps had promised me had closed!! The only location highlight was a Vegan Cafe called Future in the railway arches which sold the best donuts in town. £10 for 3 well spent.

#homersimpsoneatyourheartout

Met the very lovely Evie in the queue. from Wales…… saw Marcus at Cardiff last night so was still buzzing. Queue time passed quickly.

Motion as I’m going to give it its proper name (the marble factory) is a night club and hanger warehouse. It was pretty cool inside capacity around 1200. All standing but some balcony standing. A real hidden gem.

Monica was back. She gave a very honest set against all the odds. She was so funny. I think one too many strepsils, lemsips, paracetamols may have been taken! There was so much rambling it was fun to watch. Great work Monica. You pulled it off.

To the show.

Ooooooooh new shirt. Tweed shirt and are they called “baggies” where is seeing bees 🐝 Patrick Grant when you need him!

Opening with Awake my soul, the cave.

Banter:

Came in the form of Football.

Last nights gig in Wales not being able to announce the score as 2 blokes had “saved” the game to watch later!!

I would appear that we had “Miss Wales” in the audience as at various times ramblings were shouted! And Marcus joked at the end that for “I will wait “ Miss Wales needed to keep quiet.

Every song is about footy…

From the balcony gods came a very sweet “shout” of “it’s coming home”!!

Marcus even joked that

“Exeter being a shit show” quiet literally!! He recapped how he got a stripping down about his use of bad potty mouth language from a friends dad. Who questioned the need of the word FUCK? It’s only a good job he didn’t get carried away with “c*nt”.

Post shows, Taylor Mackall ace musician, comments about the performance of Only Child most nights and critiques the 50% of cords Marcus gets right during the average performance of only child! Harsh.

Sadly we didn’t get to see the wonderful Monica onstage for Go in Light, as he insisted she gets well for her main performance. As she isn’t in TIP TOP form!!

After the fake end of show, and encore, another fab rendition of Cowboy, with added burp slurp! Apparently within the tea cup was tonic water most nights, but tonight it’s tea but has the same effect.

Then off piste from the set list we were in for a treat. 6 mins of bliss. Marcus’s favourite song “not dark yet” by the one and only Bob Dylan. Loved this. What a real treat. At the end the slight boast that the next one was written with Bob, although he wasn’t actually there!! WIGMHOY.

Too soon it was off mic I will wait. The crowd very respectful. Miss Wales did wales proud.

I waved a sad goodbye to band as they won’t be with Marcus for leg 3 in stores next week. Going to miss them they are so tight. Marcus’s voice just gets better and better each night. Vs mine which can barely speak atm without coughing!!! What a total joy these dates have been. Over too soon.

Today. Enjoying life with a walking tour of Banksy street art and a trip on the S S Great Britain in the dry dock. Well worth a trip, fascinating engineering and fantastic recreation of sea travels circa 1840s. What a visionary Isambard Kingdom Brundel was. And a great Ambassador of the top hat.

X

[greatnessthrusted]

Master William Shakespeare, the Bard-upon-Avon

Born the prodigal son of a tanner, Will was touched by the muses at birth. He was intelligent, handsome, creative, artistic, sensitive, and truly quite fortunate in that these strengths were recognized for what they are. He was afforded an excellent education despite his low birth and soon became one of the most celebrated writers of his time—and all time to come after. A playwright and poet by equal measure (despite the unequal numbers of both being produced), Will lived and died quite comfortably, though not without tragedy.

As sometimes happens with great figures in history, the world was not quite done with William Shakespeare, and so the powers that be brought Will back—in a fashion. Will has become what is known colloquially as a Legend: a figure of history born into the world anew, albeit changed. He is both more and less than a mortal man: undying, though he can still feel pain and suffer, unaging, and cruelest of all, unable to create. It wouldn’t do to have a second coming of Shakespeare, after all. Will is fully incapable of leaving a mark on the world. Everything he creates comes undone the moment eyes are no longer upon it: it took half a play and four different sonnets to figure that out. He’s more or less made peace with his new life, though he mourns his inability to express himself.

NB: Despite using Curry as a FC, this Shakespeare is not based on the BBC miniseries but on my own headcanons and lore.

Name: William “Will” Shakespeare

Title/s: The Bard, the Bard-upon-Avon, the Bard of Avon, Master Shakespeare

Age: 52 at the time of his death, roughly 32 in resurrection, but he’s stopped counting age altogether

Species: formerly human, currently human-adjacent

Appearance: 5’9” ( cm); dark brown curls; hazel eyes; a well-kempt beard; a single piercing in the right ear. FC is Tim Curry circa 1978.

Orientation: bisexual, biromantic

[deestimes]

Living the Dream Year 3 Day 159 – Clifty Hill 2 - Framing continues - Avon, NC O'Sun review

Year 3 Day 159 – “Living the Dream”. Sunday, 10/08/2023. Clifty Hill 2 – The weather turned much cooler today. Steve is enjoying not having to work under the brutal sun. The 2 x 10 Ceiling joists aka attic floor joists are still going up pretty fast. We are short a few and a Lowes run is coming soon. The bird or wind planted cantaloupe made it through the night under the tarp. Never had…

[thebluehands]

Le jour de notre rencontre, vendredi 15 septembre 2023

Aujourd'hui est un jour spécial pour moi, le jour de notre rencontre, le jour où tout a commencé. Une rencontre de la nouvelle génération, une rencontre qui n'a rien de romantique, mais qui par la suite est devenue une belle histoire d'amour.

C'était un 15 septembre, jour de pluie où une simple notification a tout débloqué entre nous. Quelques mois plus tard, nous nous sommes mis en couple et depuis, nous vivons de notre relation comme des amoureux de toujours.

Cela va bientôt faire 4 ans, bientôt 5 ans, que le temps passe vite ! De mon côté, je t'aime tellement que je te couvrirai d'amour jusqu'à que je ne le puisse plus, jusqu'à mon dernier souffle.

Nous avons traversé des hauts et des bas comme tous les couples, mais jamais rien de grave. Juste des petits moments où nous ne nous comprenions pas ou que notre vision des choses pouvaient être légèrement différente.

Ce qui est drôle dans cette histoire, c'est qu'un an après notre rencontre, j'ai tout quitté pour te retrouver que ce soit la banlieue parisienne, la région parisienne ou bien, ma famille. Cela me fait penser à un film romantique, mais entre nous, tu es ma seule famille.

Je ne me suis jamais sentie autant chez moi que lorsque je suis avec toi, que d'avoir ces petites notifications de toi le matin, le midi ou le soir.

Nous sommes revenus au point de départ, de l'amour à distance pour que tu puisses t'épanouir dans tes études et ton travail. Nous nous retrouverons quand on le pourra. Laissons le temps faire les choses, laissons les choses se faire doucement afin de nous retrouver plus forts.

De mon côté, je compte devenir la meilleure version de moi-même, devenir plus forte, créative, charismatique, jolie et d'en sortir plus grandie.

The day of our meeting, Friday, September 15, 2023

Today is a special day for me, the day we met, the day it all began. A meeting of the new generation, an unromantic encounter that turned into a beautiful love story.

It was a rainy September 15, when a simple notification unlocked everything between us. A few months later, we became a couple and since then, we've been living our relationship like lifelong lovers.

It will soon be 4 years, soon 5, how time flies! As for me, I love you so much that I'll shower you with love until I can't, until my last breath.

Like all couples, we've had our ups and downs, but nothing serious. Just little moments when we didn't understand each other or when our vision of things might be slightly different.

The funny thing about this story is that a year after we met, I left everything behind to find you, whether it was the Paris suburbs, the Paris region or my family. It sounds like something out of a romantic movie, but between us, you're the only family I've got.

I've never felt more at home than when I'm with you, getting these little notifications from you in the morning, at lunchtime or in the evening.

We're back where we started, loving from a distance so that you can thrive in your studies and your work. We'll get together again when we can. Let's give it time, let's take things slowly so that we can find each other again stronger.

For my part, I intend to become the best version of myself, to become stronger, more creative, charismatic, more beautiful and to come out of this stronger.

[talldarkandroguesome]

2nd of Last Seed, Middas

The Queen continues her generosity. Today a messenger brought by a letter with a small parcel, both stamped with the royal seal.

The letter was just a lovely outpouring of thanks and appreciation and for as little as I have thought of my role in all of this to be, to feel as though the queen does see my contribution as so important is truly humbling.

I have always tried to make a contribution to the greater good. I have always thought of myself as a tool for positive change in society around me. That said, I do not usually expect any thanks for what I have done. It is a job. A duty. Simply to have completed my assigned duty is the expectation. To have done an artistic job or done it more efficiently, that is the pride that i can gain from it. But words of congratulations on my efficiency or method are typically the only positive reaction I expect to find. If any.

To have seen just how much this meant to Khamira, to have her compare me to a legendary hero of her ancestors, that is almost overwhelming. I do not feel of myself that I am a hero. I am not. I am an enhanced mortal with the ability to provide a service that other mortals cannot always manage. I cannot die and so I can go into those more dangerous situations and come out of them again, even if it does cost me a life or two.

The death is painful. It feels awful. I fear that feeling every time I have to go through it. But then I am me again and I am whole and alive. I am naked, reborn of Nirn as I was that day that Mannimarco drove his wretched dagger through my heart, but I am alive. And the only down sides of the process on me are that my hair is short, I have none of my belongings, and I get that much more Daedric influence upon me.

I do not feel so different. I still feel like me. Yet Avon has said that the Daedric influence he has found upon me is not insignificant and that he fears what another five or ten deaths might mean for me.

After seeing the death that falls around me, the way others have given their lives to protect me, me who cannot die, I wonder what the cost of my condition has on those around me. The true cost. People giving their lives in hopes to save me when even were I to die, I would be alive again in as long as it takes to brew a cup of tea. If they died, what would the cost of that life be?

What was the true price of Lolethys and of Hald's lives? Lolethys at least may have helped to protect Tharn from death. But Hald? I do not know that he died for anything at all.

No, I should not dishonor their deaths like that. Hald saved me so that I could be in the fight to distract and ground a dragon that otherwise may have attacked Tharn and Khamira as they worked to close the Moon Gate and set the moons back in their path in the sky.

I must think of it that way. I have no other choice.

I am lucky that Nettle has the same skills as I and was able to survive. His recovery has been slow because there was such severe damage, in particular to his ribs. The House is calling us back to report our progress in person. Or so Nettle tells me.

I have been keeping a close eye on him, for he does not listen to the healers' advice and twice now has pulled something that has caused him to have to go back. As soon as he is healed up enough for travel, we will go back, if for no other reason that to see that he is obedient in getting back into good form.

Oh, speaking of, we have a sort of home here in Rimmen. That was the contents of the parcel. A deed and key to a small building within the palace grounds.

The letter read as follows:

"Five-Clawed Warrior,

In recognition of your service to Anequina and our rightful Queen Khamira, Moon-Bishop Sebizah hereby grants you stewardship over the Hall of the Lunar Champion. Our ancestors dedicated this temple to the legendary hero, Khunzar-ri. Alas, the raking claws of time have reduced it to a shell of its former glory. Even so, some relics remain intact. In ancient times, four enchanted tablets allowed adventurers to walk in the footsteps of Khunzar-ri. Three are lost to history, but one remains. Place this tablet on the Jonelight Altar and take the first step to restoring this hall to its former glory. Moons bless you, Sebizah"

From her letters, Khamira says she and the Speaker had used it when they would come through Rimmen and did not wish to be seen, shielded by the moon-bishop. It has sparse furnishings, but is quite spacious. Khamira says that as I have played the role of Khunzar-ri to her as Anequina, she could think of no better person to entrust the space to. She hopes that when I have time I can do her the favor of trying to recover the last missing tablets, but that she understands that I have other duties as well.

It is a far more generous gift than I deserve, but I am touched and glad for it. To be the hero of such a Queen and to be compared to such a legend, I must repay this kindness somehow. I do not know yet how. But perhaps, just perhaps, this service I have done will allow me some influence in the future that could be useful in my service to my Prince.

Only time will tell.