#hazel bradford

[jessread-s]

✩📧🥞Review:

The friends-to-lovers rom-com of my dreams!

“Josh and Hazel’s Guide to Not Dating” follows Josh Im and Hazel Bradford as they set each other up on progressively terrible double blind dates in an attempt to convince themselves there is nothing between them. 

I could not get enough of Josh and Hazel’s starkly different characterizations! Josh is more mellow, soft-spoken, and reserved. Until Hazel enters his orbit, he’s just going through the motions in life. Hazel is playful, outgoing, and quirky. She refuses to settle for anyone embarrassed by her wackiness. At the outset, the two seem completely incompatible in terms of their personalities, but their friendship allows for romantic feelings to develop. The two have the most fun together and I loved watching them learn to open up, see each other exactly as they are, and give in to the gravitational pull that draws them together the more double blind dates they go on. Each one is more disastrous than the last and contributed to my immense enjoyment of the story. I can’t count how many times I broke out in laughter and the ending made me smile so big! I truly had a blast reading this one.

Cross-posted to: Instagram | Amazon | Goodreads | StoryGraph

[lexxwithbooks]

📖: 𝑱𝒐𝒔𝒉 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑯𝒂𝒛𝒆𝒍'𝒔 𝑮𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝑫𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 🐶🍎🦜

✍🏽: 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐋𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐧

[foxes-that-run]

That time 1D posed for Vogue with a Taylor lookalike next to Harry:

December British Vogue: The Fab Five Full Interview

By Jo Ellison 18 December 2012 (x)

Photographed by Patrick Demarchelier wearing a Christian Dior dress - with One Direction - for the December 2012 issue of British Vogue. Patrick Demarchelier

In just two years, since coming third on X Factor, they've charged their way to global fame, smashed new records and set millions of hearts aflutter. Not bad for a boy band who don't dance. Jo Ellison tries to catch up with One Direction in the December issue of Vogue.

Could it be that the only person in the world not familiar with One Direction is Patrick Demarchelier, the photographer today charged with capturing the fab five for Vogue. Sitting on a battered leather sofa in a comfortable studio in north London, his typical Gallic indifference to the upcoming task is almost comic. "So, oo iz ziss zat we are shooting?" he appeals to the room. "The Beatles?" Pretty much, an entourage of overexcited females nod back. He shrugs, and glances at his watch.

For the benefit of Demarchelier - or those who don't associate regularly with seven-year-olds, televisions or radios, or those of us of a slightly older vintage with dubious moral intentions - One Direction are currently the biggest pop band in the world. In two years, since coming third in the reality talent factory X Factor, they have achieved successes even Simon Cowell couldn't have quite dreamt of. At the time of writing, Messrs Liam Payne, Harry Styles, Zayn Malik, Louis Tomlinson and Niall Horan are number one in 50 countries, boast about 10 million Facebook fans and lead more than 6.5 million followers on Twitter. Their debut album, Up All Night (a pop-pourri of infinitely familiar but earwormy tracks, including the ubiquitous summer anthem What Makes You Beautiful), was the first by a British act to go straight to number one in America. Ever. Its release coincided with an epic, global, sellout tour, during which their every movement was accompanied by a shrieking tsunami of tweenage desire. They've just recorded a "difficult" second album in Sweden.

Critics may dispute their musical legitimacy - they don't write songs, nor play instruments, nor dance (unless you count swaying vigorously on the spot). Neither was their genesis remotely organic; the five were thrown together "live" on air when they failed to persuade the X Factor judges of their strength as soloists. In short, they are as manufactured as McDonald's. But 1D, as their apparently un-ironic moniker would now have them, are the modern pop phenomenon. As Alexa Chung puts it: "They're no Beatles, obviously, but it's nice to see a boy band dress well for a change. They remind me of a box of puppies at Christmas - each one more adorable than the next."

The question as to exactly who is the most adorable remains the most hotly contested debate in the playground today. Is it Liam, from Wolverhampton, star sign Virgo, with his newly shorn, post break-up crew cut, his phobia of spoons and his excellent Kermit the Frog impression? Or Zayn, a chocolate-eyed Capricorn from Bradford, who has three sisters, always wears two pairs of socks and can't swim? Maybe it's Louis, the green-eyed granddaddy of the gang, another Capricorn, this time from Doncaster, about to turn 21 and one of only two members to hold a driving licence. Is it little Niall, Virgo, a blond moppet from Mullingar in Ireland, with not-so-invisible invisible braces, "a soft spot for girls with green eyes" and a habit of curling up and dozing off at any given opportunity?

Or is it Harry? Which, of course, it is, because if you have heard nothing whatsoever of One Direction you have probably heard of Harry Styles, the hazel-eyed, mop-topped, bedimpled lead singer and baby of the group, with whom the whole world has fallen in love. Harry, an Aquarian, who hails from the village of Holmes Chapel in Cheshire. Harry, whose delightful scowl of petulant confusion, like a teddy bear trying to do trigonometry, has skewered millions of fluttering hearts, and has wooed scores of women if the papers are to be believed (and wouldn't you, if you were he and had that kind of opportunity?). Harry, whose favourite food is tacos, who hates mayonnaise, adores the Beatles, likes to perform Justin Bieber at karaoke and who is the first to introduce himself to the assembled crew when the band arrive, two hours earlier than scheduled, throwing everyone into a paroxysm of panic that even the best Carry On film couldn't emulate.

"You're never going to get used to walking into a room and have people screaming at you," he says of his status as World's Most Fanciable Adolescent, as a stylist fumbles around him with a black tie in as professional a manner as she can muster. Despite being so terribly attractive, with his lazy northern brogue and cursedly pretty face, he has managed to stay sanguine about his fame. "There's a lot of things that come with the life you could get lost in," he says, eyes flickering earnestly under the signature 'do (ebony curls, fringe swept-over, mussy at the back). "But you have to let it be what it is. I've learnt not to take everything too seriously."

And how does he feel about the endless photocalls and press shoots that go with the territory? Days like today, for example. "I enjoy 'em, actually," he says. "Especially ones like this, where you don't have to just sit there and grin."

He's especially comfortable in the fashion world; he was the only member of the band who sat front row at Burberry last September, for example. "I like fashion," he says. "When I look back at the kind of stuff I wore on the X Factor, I laff." In fairness, he was only 16 then, a highly forgettable period in anyone's style evolution. "No," he shudders, recalling the bow ties and long straggly scarves that accessorised his earliest television appearances. "There's no excuse."

Despite being the most obviously charming of the group, Harry is also remarkably self-contained. In front of the camera he can appear removed, even shy at times. As to his role in the group: "I float a bit," he says vaguely, before adding, "and I can fall asleep anywhere. That's my thing."

Asked to identify the "father figure" among them, the boys nominate Liam, who is wrestling with the laces on a new pair of white Converse and getting used to the aforementioned haircut. "At the start, the management said I wasn't allowed to change my hair," he says of the strict aesthetic with which the boys are expected to comply. "But then I did it anyway, so they kind of let that one go. I tend to change my hair quite a lot." The change affords him a small window of anonymity. "I can go out and about," he says. "The other day I went out dressed as a big chav - Adidas trainers, jogging bottoms - and no one recognised me."

"It seems almost sad that a little haircut should represent such a big opportunity for the boys to lead anything like a normal life, if only until the papers catch up with them 24 hours later, but they are, at least, beginning to enjoy more autonomy in their artistic lives. The new album allowed them "to experiment with new sounds", says Harry. "We want to gradually get more and more 'live' sounding. So this album is a lot less little synth sounds, more guitars and drums. It's important to experiment with things - we want to move with the times, but keep true to ourselves."

For others, the second album was a longed-for chance to flex some musical muscle. "We did a lot of writing in the studio," says Niall, the self-described "carefree" member of the team. "And I play the guitar, so I play on a lot of the tracks on the album." A "born performer", whose first party trick, aged four, was to sing Saturday Night at the Movies to any willing audience, Niall has no issue with screaming women. Adores touring. "I love it. I love the screaming. They love it, too: they've all got their tickets and they've been waiting a year or so to see you, so you've got to give it your best." That said, he - like all of them - is looking forward to the three-day holiday they've been allocated, and the quiet normalcy of "hanging out at home and going to the pub with my old mates".

But now it's time for work. And so they assemble, staring down the lens of Demarchelier's camera with all the intensity of Derek Zoolander, as the sphinx-like Edie Campbell trails lissom limbs along their shoulders. Approaching 22 herself, she's far too old for these young swains: "They're just children," she laughs as she quick-changes into white Dior. Anyway, the boys seem largely impervious to her beauty, Zayn standing stock-still as she arranges herself around him, never breaking eye-contact with the lens. Perhaps he's in awe of her - the band's groomer later mentions she's never seen the boys so "well-behaved". True enough, they are a treat to shoot: quick, uncomplaining, each doing just as they are told - there's barely even any banter between frames. It's far from the hi-energy performance they bring to the stage, but no less efficient.

Such professionalism is almost eerie - the product of a long, long education at the school of Simon Cowell but they're ever so sweet with it, too. Afterwards they sign autographs, pose for pictures, thank everyone for their time, and are as lovely as you hope they'd be. And then they're off, all ushered, in one direction, towards the next appointment on that relentless schedule of world domination.

One Direction's new album, Take Me Home, is out now.

Read more: The December Issue Highlights

[preservationofnormalcy]

So a bunch of white flowers sprouted in my front yard overnight, and everything in the general area of my house smells like dead fish. Any idea what I'm dealing with here? I might just get the weedkiller.

Oh, interesting. So, in a lot of cultures, white flowers have a sort of symbolic association with death. Flowers in general do, of course. Rebirth and regrowth and all, life rising from the dead ground. But white flowers in particular. Maybe something to do with a symbolic wiping of the slate or a new beginning. We can definitely check into if there’s some sort of thanatic weirdness going on, but it may take a little while I nail it dow—

I texted Hazel, she says it's probably just an invasive Bradford Pear and not anything extranormal, so

Oh.

Yeah.

[pantheonames]

Hii

Could I please get name recommendations for a Fyodor fictive (from Bungo stray dogs)

Masc/neu please! And like vague theme of old, writing, and like, imagine the Victorian era, but anything is fine!

I hope I did this right! Thank you!

Masc and neutral old english / Victorian names !

If these dont work feel free to request again!

Old English - Masc:

Ackley , Acton , Afton , Ailen , Alcott , Aldrich , Alfred , Alvin , Atherol ,

Bancroft , Barcley / Barclay , Barden , Baron , Baxter , Beacher , Beaman , Beardsley , Bentley , Bob , Bolton , Booth , Bradford , Bradley / Bradlee / Bradly , Brandon , Brayden , Brent , Brewster , Brock , Broderick , Bromley .

Calder , Caldwen , Calhoun , Carleton , Carlyle , Carington , Carver , Chad , Channing , Chapman , Charles , Chilton , Claiborne , Cleveland , Clifford , Clinton , Clovis , Colby , Colton , Creighton , Cynric ,

Dallin , Dalton , Dane , Darrel , Darwin , Dempster , Denver , Denton , Devon , Dickinson , Digby , Donald , Dudly / Dudley , Dunstan , Durward , Dwennon , Dwight ,

Edward , Egerton , Elmar , Elton , Esmond ,

Farley , Floyd , Forbes , Ford , Fulton,

Gail , Garfield , Garrick , Garyson ,

Hamilton , Harden , Harmen , Harold , Hugh , Hunter , Huntley ,

Jagger , Jarman , Jarvis , Jonsey ,

Kenelm , Kenley , Kent , Kenton , King ,

Lawson , Lincoln , Linwood , Lomar ,

Maitland , Manley , Manning , Marden , Marlow , Millard , Miller , Milton , Morven ,

Nash , Nelson , Newman , Nyle ,

Ogden , Orman , Osbert , Osmond , Oswald , Oswin , Oxford ,

Packard , Pierson , Preston , Putnam ,

Radcliff , Ralph , Ramsey , Ransford , Ransley , Rawlins , Rayburn , Redford , Reginald , Remington , Rider , Ridley , Rigby , Ripley , Rishley , Robert , Rochester , Rodman , Rodney , Rudyard , Rutherford ,

Sanford , Scott , Seabert , Seward , Shaw , Sherlock , Sherman , Sherwood , Shipley / Shiply , Slade , Snowden , Spencer , Spike , Stanley , Stokely , Stroud ,

Telford , Terrel , Thane , Thatcher , Tomkin , Townsend , Tranter , Tripp , Truman ,

Wakefield , Wallace , Walton , Washington , Watson , Wayne , Webster , Wesley , Wetherby , Wheaton , Wheeler , Whitfield , Wilfred , Winston ,

Old English - Neutral:

Addison , Aldercey , Amberjill , Amsden , Ansley , Ashley , Audrey , Averill ,

Barnet / Barnett , Bede , Beldon , Beverly / Beverley , Birch , Blade , Blake , Blossom , Blythe , Bond , Booker , Bray , Brinley , Brook / Brooke , Burgess , Burn / Burne ,

Cameron / Cameryn , Carling , Carter , Chelsea , Columbia , Corin , Corliss , Courland , Currier ,

Daralis , Dawn , Dayton , Demelza , Dixie , Dorset , Dover ,

Eartha , Easter , Eaton , Edda , Edlyn , Edolie , Edsel , Elden / Eldon , Eldridge , Ember , Emerson , Ena , Ewing ,

Fairfax , Fern , Fielding , Fleming , Fleta , Free ,

Gleda , Goldie , Granger , Grayson / Greyson , Gypsy , Gytha ,

Hadley , Halsey , Halton , Harva , Harvey , Haylee , Heather , Hazel , Hilton , Holly , Honey ,

Ida ,

Jillian , Joy ,

Kaelyn , Keyon , Kim , Kimberly / Kimberley , Kinsey , Kipp , Knox ,

Landon , Leigh , Leland , Lind , Litton , Llewellyn , Locke , Love , Luella , Lyndon , Lyre ,

Maida , Maitane , Makepeace , Marsden , Mather , Mead , Missy , Misty ,

North ,

Oakley , Olin ,

Palma , Palmer , Parker , Parr / Parry , Payton , Pell , Penn , Penley , Piper , Poppy ,

Queena ,

Radella , Rae , Raleigh , Raven , Ravinger , Read , Roberta , Rylan ,

Sandon , Selby , Shandy , Shelly , Shepard / Shepherd , Shirley / Shirly , Siddel , Storm , Studs ,

Tanner , Tatum , Thistle , Thorne , Thorpe , Thurlow , Trudy , Tuesday , Tye , Tyne ,

Ulla ,

Vala ,

Ward , Waverly , Wayland , Wells , Wendy , West , Whit , Whitney , Wilona , Wilifred , Winslow , Winter , Winthrop , Woodrow , Write / Wright , Wylie , Wyndam / Wyndham ,

Yadda ,

Victorian Era - Masc:

Abraham , Albert , Alvin , Anton , Archie , Arnold , Arthur , Augustus , Abel , Adrian , Alexander , Amos , Apollo , Archibald ,

Baxter , Benedict , Bernard , Bram , Benjamin , Bert , Bram ,

Charles , Christian , Chester , Claude , Clide / Clyde , Colin , Caspar / Casper , Conrad , Cuthbert ,

Douglas , Duncan , Daniel , David ,

Earl , Edgar , Edison , Edmund , Edward , Edwin , Elmer , Eugene , Ewart ,

Floyd / Floyde , Frank , Frederick , Franklin ,

George , Gilbert , Grover , Griffin / Gryffin / Gryffon / Griffon ,

Harold , Henry , Herbert , Howard , Harry , Herman , Hubert , Hiram , Hugo ,

Ivor ,

Jack , James , John , Julius , Jerome , Joseph ,

Lawrence , Leo , Lester , Livingstone , Lloyd / Loid , Louis / Luis , Ludwig , Luthor / Luther , Leonard , Leopold ,

Mack , Marton / Martin , Matthew / Mattieu / Mathieu , Melvin , Michael , Morris ,

Nicholas , Norman ,

Oliver , Oscar / Oscer , Otis , Otto ,

Palmerston , Patrick / Patric , Percy , Phineas , Percival ,

Raymond , Robert , Roy , Reginald / Reginold ,

Samuel , Sylas / Silas , Stanley , Simeon , Simon , Silvester / Sylvester ,

Thaddeus , Theodore , Thomas , Tesla , Timothy ,

Victor / Viktor / Vicktor , Virgil ,

Walter , Warren , Watson , Wellington , Wilbur , William ,

Victorian Era - Neutral:

Boaz ,

Cassius , Cecil , Clarence , Caius , Cyprian , Cyril ,

Enoch , Ephraim , Ernest , Everett / Everette / Everet , Elijah , Ellis ,

Fletcher , Flossie ,

Harvey ,

Ira , Ives , Irving ,

Jules , Jesse / Jessie / Jessy / Jessye ,

Larken / Larkin , Lord , Leslie / Leslee / Lesley ,

Marion , Merritt ,

Ray ,

Sterling , Sidney / Sydney ,

Temple ,

Wiley ,

Please remember to read the store policy !

[cliperry]

December Vogue: The Fab Five Full Interview

By Jo Ellison

18 December 2012

media.vogue.co.uk

Photographed by Patrick Demarchelier wearing a Christian Dior dress - with One Direction - for the December 2012 issue of British Vogue.Patrick Demarchelier

Photographed by Patrick Demarchelier wearing a Christian Dior dress - with One Direction - for the December 2012 issue of British Vogue.Patrick Demarchelier

In just two years, since coming third on X Factor, they've charged their way to global fame, smashed new records and set millions of hearts aflutter. Not bad for a boy band who don't dance. Jo Ellison tries to catch up with One Direction in the December issue of Vogue.

Could it be that the only person in the world not familiar with One Direction is Patrick Demarchelier, the photographer today charged with capturing the fab five for Vogue. Sitting on a battered leather sofa in a comfortable studio in north London, his typical Gallic indifference to the upcoming task is almost comic. "So, oo iz ziss zat we are shooting?" he appeals to the room. "The Beatles?" Pretty much, an entourage of overexcited females nod back. He shrugs, and glances at his watch.

For the benefit of Demarchelier - or those who don't associate regularly with seven-year-olds, televisions or radios, or those of us of a slightly older vintage with dubious moral intentions - One Direction are currently the biggest pop band in the world. In two years, since coming third in the reality talent factory X Factor, they have achieved successes even Simon Cowell couldn't have quite dreamt of. At the time of writing, Messrs Liam Payne, Harry Styles, Zayn Malik, Louis Tomlinson and Niall Horan are number one in 50 countries, boast about 10 million Facebook fans and lead more than 6.5 million followers on Twitter. Their debut album, Up All Night (a pop-pourri of infinitely familiar but earwormy tracks, including the ubiquitous summer anthem What Makes You Beautiful), was the first by a British act to go straight to number one in America. Ever. Its release coincided with an epic, global, sellout tour, during which their every movement was accompanied by a shrieking tsunami of tweenage desire. They've just recorded a "difficult" second album in Sweden.

Critics may dispute their musical legitimacy - they don't write songs, nor play instruments, nor dance (unless you count swaying vigorously on the spot). Neither was their genesis remotely organic; the five were thrown together "live" on air when they failed to persuade the X Factor judges of their strength as soloists. In short, they are as manufactured as McDonald's. But 1D, as their apparently un-ironic moniker would now have them, are the modern pop phenomenon. As Alexa Chung puts it: "They're no Beatles, obviously, but it's nice to see a boy band dress well for a change. They remind me of a box of puppies at Christmas - each one more adorable than the next."

Performing on NBC's Today Show at Rockefeller Plaza in New York, surrounded by adoring fans.

The question as to exactly who is the most adorable remains the most hotly contested debate in the playground today. Is it Liam, from Wolverhampton, star sign Virgo, with his newly shorn, post break-up crew cut, his phobia of spoons and his excellent Kermit the Frog impression? Or Zayn, a chocolate-eyed Capricorn from Bradford, who has three sisters, always wears two pairs of socks and can't swim? Maybe it's Louis, the green-eyed granddaddy of the gang, another Capricorn, this time from Doncaster, about to turn 21 and one of only two members to hold a driving licence. Is it little Niall, Virgo, a blond moppet from Mullingar in Ireland, with not-so-invisible invisible braces, "a soft spot for girls with green eyes" and a habit of curling up and dozing off at any given opportunity?

Or is it Harry? Which, of course, it is, because if you have heard nothing whatsoever of One Direction you have probably heard of Harry Styles, the hazel-eyed, mop-topped, bedimpled lead singer and baby of the group, with whom the whole world has fallen in love. Harry, an Aquarian, who hails from the village of Holmes Chapel in Cheshire. Harry, whose delightful scowl of petulant confusion, like a teddy bear trying to do trigonometry, has skewered millions of fluttering hearts, and has wooed scores of women if the papers are to be believed (and wouldn't you, if you were he and had that kind of opportunity?). Harry, whose favourite food is tacos, who hates mayonnaise, adores the Beatles, likes to perform Justin Bieber at karaoke and who is the first to introduce himself to the assembled crew when the band arrive, two hours earlier than scheduled, throwing everyone into a paroxysm of panic that even the best Carry On film couldn't emulate.

"You're never going to get used to walking into a room and have people screaming at you," he says of his status as World's Most Fanciable Adolescent, as a stylist fumbles around him with a black tie in as professional a manner as she can muster. Despite being so terribly attractive, with his lazy northern brogue and cursedly pretty face, he has managed to stay sanguine about his fame. "There's a lot of things that come with the life you could get lost in," he says, eyes flickering earnestly under the signature 'do (ebony curls, fringe swept-over, mussy at the back). "But you have to let it be what it is. I've learnt not to take everything too seriously."

And how does he feel about the endless photocalls and press shoots that go with the territory? Days like today, for example. "I enjoy 'em, actually," he says. "Especially ones like this, where you don't have to just sit there and grin."

He's especially comfortable in the fashion world; he was the only member of the band who sat front row at Burberry last September, for example. "I like fashion," he says. "When I look back at the kind of stuff I wore on the X Factor, I laff." In fairness, he was only 16 then, a highly forgettable period in anyone's style evolution. "No," he shudders, recalling the bow ties and long straggly scarves that accessorised his earliest television appearances. "There's no excuse."

Despite being the most obviously charming of the group, Harry is also remarkably self-contained. In front of the camera he can appear removed, even shy at times. As to his role in the group: "I float a bit," he says vaguely, before adding, "and I can fall asleep anywhere. That's my thing."

Asked to identify the "father figure" among them, the boys nominate Liam, who is wrestling with the laces on a new pair of white Converse and getting used to the aforementioned haircut. "At the start, the management said I wasn't allowed to change my hair," he says of the strict aesthetic with which the boys are expected to comply. "But then I did it anyway, so they kind of let that one go. I tend to change my hair quite a lot." The change affords him a small window of anonymity. "I can go out and about," he says. "The other day I went out dressed as a big chav - Adidas trainers, jogging bottoms - and no one recognised me."

"It seems almost sad that a little haircut should represent such a big opportunity for the boys to lead anything like a normal life, if only until the papers catch up with them 24 hours later, but they are, at least, beginning to enjoy more autonomy in their artistic lives. The new album allowed them "to experiment with new sounds", says Harry. "We want to gradually get more and more 'live' sounding. So this album is a lot less little synth sounds, more guitars and drums. It's important to experiment with things - we want to move with the times, but keep true to ourselves."

I love the screaming.

For others, the second album was a longed-for chance to flex some musical muscle. "We did a lot of writing in the studio," says Niall, the self-described "carefree" member of the team. "And I play the guitar, so I play on a lot of the tracks on the album." A "born performer", whose first party trick, aged four, was to sing Saturday Night at the Movies to any willing audience, Niall has no issue with screaming women. Adores touring. "I love it. I love the screaming. They love it, too: they've all got their tickets and they've been waiting a year or so to see you, so you've got to give it your best." That said, he - like all of them - is looking forward to the three-day holiday they've been allocated, and the quiet normalcy of "hanging out at home and going to the pub with my old mates".

But now it's time for work. And so they assemble, staring down the lens of Demarchelier's camera with all the intensity of Derek Zoolander, as the sphinx-like Edie Campbell trails lissom limbs along their shoulders. Approaching 22 herself, she's far too old for these young swains: "They're just children," she laughs as she quick-changes into white Dior. Anyway, the boys seem largely impervious to her beauty, Zayn standing stock-still as she arranges herself around him, never breaking eye-contact with the lens. Perhaps he's in awe of her - the band's groomer later mentions she's never seen the boys so "well-behaved". True enough, they are a treat to shoot: quick, uncomplaining, each doing just as they are told - there's barely even any banter between frames. It's far from the hi-energy performance they bring to the stage, but no less efficient.

Such professionalism is almost eerie - the product of a long, long education at the school of Simon Cowell but they're ever so sweet with it, too. Afterwards they sign autographs, pose for pictures, thank everyone for their time, and are as lovely as you hope they'd be. And then they're off, all ushered, in one direction, towards the next appointment on that relentless schedule of world domination.

One Direction's new album, Take Me Home, is out now.

[spacedfictional]

An Excerpt from The Edge of Existence & Where to Find it - Chapter 6: She Blinded Me With Science!

At the back of the room, a chemistry array stood like something out of a pulp fantasy novel, all twisting glass and glowing liquids. A holomatrix screen floated above it, displaying notes and formulas for whatever was bubbling in the setup. A man in a lab coat, his dark hair slicked back and glasses perched on his nose, was focused on the array. He turned taps, lit a Bunsen burner, and adjusted tubes like he was conducting a symphony of alchemy.

This had to be him. The big cheese.

Elaine had slipped into another room, her creepy cat sticking around like my shadow. It perched on a bookshelf, its glowing green eyes locked onto me, unblinking. It hadn't moved since I walked in, and I was starting to wonder if it ever blinked at all.

Clearing my throat, I stepped forward and addressed the scientist. "You must be our host. Thanks for having me. I'm Tracy Lawrence of the-"

Before I could finish, a woman's voice cut me off. "The Quantum Pulse Network, yes, I'm keenly aware of who you are~!"

The voice belonged to a thin woman with unkempt dirty blonde hair, hazel eyes, and thick red-framed glasses. Her cream lab coat, complete with the iNNoTec lightbulb insignia, had its sleeves rolled up, and she held a half-filled plastic cup of boba milk tea in one hand. She stood in the doorway, grinning like she'd just stumbled across a new experiment. Elaine appeared behind her, the cat now back on her shoulder.

The woman strode toward me, hand outstretched, and grabbed mine in a shake so enthusiastic I thought she'd pop my arm clean off, like a barbie doll. "Delia Bradford, Owner and CEO, Innovation Technologies Incorporated. A wonderful pleasure to finally make your acquaintance!"

Caught off guard, I managed to mutter, "O-oh, the pleasure's all mine."

[envihellbender]

The Powers as serial killer avatars? :3c

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Characters: (OCs) Noor Essa, Darja Bič, Aubrey Marsh, Meyer Brody, Roxen Vilatte, Nina Kova / Hazel de la Croix, Devyn Fraser, Bertrand Hardie, Milo de Verley, Jamie Barrett, Aidan McKennon, Sara Bayat, Cora McKenna, Rhiannon Powell,

Content: buried alive, germophobia, fear of the dark, parental abuse, murder, factory farms, arson, suicide, drowning, dolls,

The Buried

Noor Essa is a runaway who lives in the Sahara desert. They are known to the people of Cairo, although considered something of a myth. It is known people go missing, but it is often debated as to whether that is a serial killer, a mystical figure who hides in the tombs, animals, or simply exposure to the elements.

Most refer to them as a graverobber which is not entirely accurate, whilst they encase themselves in the pyramids and tombs they feel most at peace in they never actually take anything from within them. They are horrified at that prospect, they were raised to worship the dead and always find peace amongst them.

Their victims are often historians, thieves, and tourists who’ve gotten lost in the desert. They only come out at night because the daytime is too hot and dangerous in the Sahara. They kill for food, and also bury them by the tomb they currently live in as a tribute to the corpse who is sharing their home with them.

The Corruption

Darja Bič was meticulously clean, everything in her lab was sterilised several times over. That included herself, her skin was permanently a sore pink from how often she’d scrubbed at it. Ever since she’d became apart of the Corruption and those insects had begun to follow her, those worms … it had gotten worse. She was determined to be clean. Healthy. Including the victims she captured.

She wore medical gloves and a mask the entire time she touched them outside of her lab. Her breath was starting to grow short and shaken from the damp that had collected behind the medically certified mask, and her hands grew cracked, easily cut open and often infected. She always came up behind her victim, walking with her coat zipped up to the top and her hood up. She was unapproachable but seemingly harmless, until she injected them in the neck.

It was disease she was fascinated with, she simply despised the worms she had to step on five thousand times a day. She’d always been scared of them bastards and now they were everywhere. Her victims were strapped to her table screaming into their gag and pulling on their steel restraints. Today, she was going inject the handsome young man, with a combination of measles, typhoid, and anthrax.

The Dark

Aubrey Marsh was fourteen when it started. They suppose it was because their father had locked them in the cellar, they always did enjoy the dark so it hardly seemed like the punishment it was supposed to be. Their bedroom was down there now, the mattress in the floor next to the dripping water from the old, creaking boiler. The liquid became darker every day. They didn’t plan on killing their father, but after he’d killed their mother and left the corpse to rot down there with them it seemed only fair. When the creature came to them in the Dark, a promise to take care of them and help kill their father was all too enticing.

When their father came down one day, with a dog dish full of food and a bottle of water, the light switch wouldn’t turn on. He cursed, yelling at Aubrey asking what they’d done now. He should have noticed that it wasn’t the standard dark, it was pure blackness. He should have felt the two thin hands shove him down the stairs, but he didn’t. He hit the stone floor at the bottom without knowing a single thing. Aubrey stood over his corpse, and kicked him in the head. They didn’t think about their mother before they left, the one they’d killed him for.

Aubrey enjoyed dark, damp places, and began living in abandoned factories. Thankfully there were a lot of them on the outskirts of Bradford. Enough that they could stay in them for months at a time, seeing their fair few urban explorers, photographers, and occasional ghost hunters. Aubrey had fun following them, watching them grow anxious as they made their surroundings darker and darker, and had silhouettes follow them around. Leading them to the tall, wooden stairs, barely registering the small thin hands that pushed them.

The Desolation

Meyer Brody had been an arsonist for a long time before the Desolation came to him. It started when he was eight with old mattresses that people abandoned under the flyover. He’d become fixated and snorted with laughter if there happened to be a rodent sleeping in one. He didn’t watch or torture it really, is how he saw it, he was observing the flames. The death of an animal was just a coincidence. It would normally run away, still alight. He soon got bored of this however, graduating to burning down bushes and trees. He found his favourite part was going to them days later to see how they had been completely, and utterly destroyed. That became his new fascination, the flames had grown boring… now it was seeing something be turned to ashes.

It was after his third stint in juvie that he escalated. He was finally home, age sixteen, and his mother was ranting at him for how he was throwing his life away. This time it was her disapproval about how he’d refused to go to Temple with her, but let it go enough to go by herself. She said if his father was alive today he’d know what to do with him. That’s what gave Meyer the idea to go to his father’s graveside that evening, after his mother had locked the door. He snuck out through his bedroom window, and picked the lock to the shed, pulling out some of his fathers old things. A shovel and pick axe. He ended up walking instead of taking his bike.

His original plan was to dig up his father and set alight to the body, but when he saw a group of irritating boys from school there he couldn’t help but feel anger running through his chest. They saw him, shouted antisemitic slurs and called him a freak, as they always did. He wasn’t really thinking when he picked up his shovel, nor when he smacked each one over and over again. The one who tried to run away he didn’t hit quite so cleanly, the metal sliced through his temples, and his shovel slammed through his victim’s skull.

He piled them all in an open grave of his own creation, and of course he set them alight. It became a tradition after that, he’d find people, anyone would do, and watch them burn to death. He wasn’t sure when the Desolation came to him, he supposed it was when he met Jude, and when she introduced him to Agnes. He didn’t have quite the same devotion to her that Jude did, all he could think about was how he’d appreciate what Agnes had far, far more than she did.

The End

Roxen Vilatte could often be found in the corner of the Sweetwater brewery, despite the fact he never ordered a drink no one told him to leave or even paid him any mind. He sat there with a book and a chess set - an ancient, battered thing. People didn’t look at him twice, they either didn’t think anything was odd about this or they simply found him too frightening to ask. The only time anyone spoke to him was to challenge him to a game of chess, he’d smirk and agree, his voice a thick Louisiana drawl. He’d roll up the sleeves of his red plaid shirt and watch his opponent intently, always choosing black. He won, of course. The player would always leave him pale and shaking, as if they’d looked into the face of the devil himself. Strangely enough, not a single one managed to live until the end of the week.

Was Roxen killing them? Certainly. Well. In a sense. You see, they killed themselves he always said. They chose the chess game, they should have known from the strange carvings on the side of the board there was something odd about it. He never forced anyone to play, or even approached anyone for a game. He always waited for them to come to him. The fact he was more clear and inviting to a certain type of person and forgotten by others was a strange coincidence. The fact they all were killed from suicides, despite none having any history of mental illness or suicidal thoughts prior to this was also an odd little connection. Nothing to do with him, of course.

One day, a tall, thin young man with a thatch of red hair and bright green eyes came in, sitting opposite Roxen. He was somewhat known in the town as the strange boy in the old farmhouse who lived with his grandmother. He wasn’t old enough to drink yet but that didn’t stop the bar from serving him a good whiskey and coke. He sipped at it as he sat down challenging Roxen to a game, immediately Roxen did not like the young man. For one thing, he hadn’t chosen to appeal to him - he simply… approached. For another, he was smug, and that was infuriating to Roxen. He accepted the offer against his better judgement, and they played for hours. By the time the what had been the mid afternoon sun had set, the young man proudly declared checkmate - the first one to ever beat Roxen. As he stood astounded, staring at the board the young man simply said: “well, guess I gone an’ escaped death today.”

The Eye

Few knew of Nina Kova, the Dutch immigrant living in Paris, but her professional alias of Madame Hazel La Croix was known all over mainland Europe in the right circles. Her shop was on the river Seine, and came to life at night. Large neon lights declared precisely who she was to anyone who would pass: MADAME HAZEL LA CROIX’S MAGICAL EMPORIUM. Underneath it declared her as a psychic medium who offered one-to-one sessions, groups, performances, and seances, as well as expensive and specialised store of everything from new age to occult to witchcraft related tems. Customers often came from all over Europe, and sometimes further afield, to see her, or buy her stock. She refused interviews and any filmed performances, which increased her credibility to many.

The reason for Hazel’s esteem was how accurate everything she said was. Many sceptics tried to go to catch her out, but they couldn’t deny that when her eyes switched from their soft brown to a bright green and she asked if you had a grandfather named Manuel who died of a stroke and used to take you walking in Per Lachaise cemetery with his dog… it was hard to dispute. Every time she asked a question she had a smirk on her lips as she stared directly into your soul. She knew precisely how accurate what she was saying was. She knew. Sceptics would try to deny it on occasion but they’d splutter and she’d sigh, asking if they could please be honest.

Despite her fame, that did not mean she stopped her hobby she’d developed from childhood. It started with her mother, she’d pretend to give her messages from their dead father, through automatic writing and knocks in the walls. Her mother believed it and quickly Hazel found herself being displayed to leering adults who’d poke and prod and ask intrusive questions. They were happy to use her as a party trick, and despite her hating the whole ordeal she learned to use it to her advantage. Her mother would charge obscene amounts of money, and Hazel tormented her with horrible messages from her father. “He” said how she was a monster who he never loved, how he was having affairs throughout their entire marriage, that she should atone through acts that greatly benefited her daughter. When her mother has been driven mad, Hazel grew bored and decided to have her father declare she should hang herself. Hazel found she could be extremely persuasive, and she never quite understood why. She giggled as she saw her mother hanging. So naturally when she was gifted with the Eye, there was only one thing to do.

The Flesh

People didn’t expect Devyn Fraser to be a vegetarian, they were a chef at a high end restaurant that regularly served meals like veal and foie gras, how on earth could they be? They had a simple answer for that, everyone who eats meat or harms an animal would get what was coming to them. They said with a smirk as the smell of duck and steak filled the restaurant. They’d then laugh, as if it was a joke, setting the everyone around them at ease. As if they weren’t sizing up the man who’d ordered a bloody steak, who joked he wanted it still alive. Or the woman who asked for veal without batting an eyelid. They wouldn’t be eating at the restaurant again, not that they knew it when they left happy and full. Sometimes laughing with their friends or partner. They didn’t see the tall, chubby cook who was watching them intently - already having asked for the customers payment information.

Devyn enjoyed making their victims suffer the way the animals they had a part in killing suffered. The domain of the Flesh was a factory farm after all, and they enjoyed bringing them through the torment until they got bored of the new meat. A customer who ordered the veal, in this case a tall, willowy woman with a button nose and smug expression, was locked in a dark room. It was so small she couldn’t sit up comfortably, she’d been stripped to just her underwear, fed only lard and water through tubes that were pressed through the wall into her mouth. She couldn’t scream, her throat was too dry for that, all she could do was wait and think. She was completely alone with her thoughts, waiting to die, just like the animal she ate.

Those who are the steak got a similar death, in this case a stout man with curly brown hair and a crooked jaw. He awoke completely naked squeezed in a cage with other men like him, he attempted to speak with them but they looked at him with glassy expressions and only spoke in low grunts. Once a day an attendant, a tall, misshapen man, appeared. His torso was bumpy in some places and also oddly thin and lacking any muscle definition in others, his arms and legs had too many joints and bulged out at the wrist and ankles. He injected them all with a strange cocktail of medications, based on the way their chests grew and muscles depleted it seemed to be some form of hormones. Their troughs were filled with slop, and Devyn only came to see them when they walked them to the abattoir, asking if they enjoyed their last meal. They did work very hard on it after all.

The Hunt

Bertrand Hardie arranged the Hunt every year, and it was always quite the success. The attendees were those devoted to his same patron, regardless of whether they were avatars, agents, or his old friends. The Hunt was based on a tradition his great grandfather had created, of taking his friends and those of his class on a gigantic hunting trip once a year. The difference was that they traditionally hunted animals - foxes, rabbits, badgers, moles, and the like. Upon being chosen to become apart of the Hunt Bertrand had took in his stride, he was delighted by the prospect even. It also gave him an idea, the annual Hardie Family Hunt would he reborn, it had last taken place until a few years before Bertrand’s father’s health had declined. After the man’s death and Bertrand’s rebirth it seemed right to bring it back. Only this time, there would be one crucial difference. The prey, game, or whatever you like to call them were people.

The victims were collected in the months leading up to it - often they were captured from the streets, hiking in the highlands, or anywhere else stragglers tended to hang out. It would rarely be Bertrand, he obviously did not lower himself to talk to them directly before he started the game. The agents who picked up the game were charming, offering a kind ear, and in a lot of cases a warm meal and a place to sleep. In Aberdeen itself it was harder, they were more streetwise and on watch there. People actually looked out for each other. That was a problem. It was the outlying towns were no one blinked when a homeless twenty something disappeared. Between the time they were caught and the Hunt, the agents brought them back to the holding cells, as Bertrand called them. In reality it was a large country manor, and each prey was looked inside one of the bedrooms, they were well furnished enough with en-suite bathrooms… but having to ask for help with the slightest thing, such as how they kept the hot water and electricity off unless they requested it. And they needed a good reason.

Bertrand stood on the outskirts of the mountain, the one owned by the Hardie family with manned barriers around the edges to make sure no one escaped. He wore a smart tartan flat cap, a large coat, and held a obscenely sized shot gun. As the Hunt took over his body, his nose and chin grew into something representing a snout, his teeth sharper, and his eyes narrowed. His body grew taller and his muscles developed. He didn’t wait for the beginning of the game to be announced, as soon as he caught the sent of the first human, he ran, fixated and unblinking on the path he needed to take. The game has been released all over the mountain, and now it was their job to find them.

The Lonely

Milo De Verley was a handsome young man, which was not harmed by his soft French accent and thick blonde eyelashes. His eyes were the shade of caramel, and his curls made him look almost angelic. So when he showed up at the house of a victim, claiming to be a long lost nephew, cousin, or perhaps the son of a dear friend, it was hard to accuse the man of lying. He had always fallen upon hard times, and desperately needed a family member or friend. He was polite and threw in a good story which painted him as the victim, and the target as a possible hero. People were eager to help him, and Milo had a type.

His victims all fit the following standards: lived alone, had friends or family visit less than once a month, divorced or widowed, no pets, and a generous income. The latter was the most important for the beginning of his plan. Somehow, when he spoke of barely being able to afford the hotel he was staying in, he’d get talked into spending the night at his target’s. He was family after all (or as good as.) He’d cook them breakfast as a thank you, what a charming boy he wasl. He did all their shopping to let them know he was grateful. In fact, with all his help they barely needed anyone outside their home at all. Soon they became dependent solely on him, they helped Milo, and now he’s as helping them, keeping them drugged and pliant.

When the victims were found, Milo played the teary eyed loved one so well. He seemed heartbroken, going on how they were all he had and the same was true the other way around. None of the deaths were treated as suspicious… which is strange, since every single one of them had an obscenely high level of arsenic in their blood.

The Slaughter

Kutlay Androu’s Battle & Glitch was a rare find these days, so when Jamie Barrett found it in Mega-Bytes, his local retro video game café/shop, he was convinced it was a fake. He remembered the story from his childhood in the nineties, it was all they talked about at St Joseph’s Primary School for a few months and he’d always been fascinated by the story. He didn’t actually know anyone who bought the game, but he saw the advert on TV. The premise was quite simple, it was a fighting game that seemed similar to Streets of Rage but you took advantage of ‘glitches’ in the game to attack your enemies. This could be causing them to be thrown up in the air with their limbs flying off, or zooming through them and causing them to explode. He remembered excitedly discussing it with his friends and begging his parents for the game. They insisted that he’d get it him for Christmas but by then every copy had been recalled from the shelves. Jamie decided whether this game was fake or not, for £6.50 he could take the risk.

The story of the game was that it had been found in the possession of six different mass murders. Jamie remembered them, and they all definitely happened. There was Erin Dunn - a fifteen year old in Dundee who killed eight civilians and six police officers with a hammer from her dad’s tool shed. She was a quiet, studious girl who never raised her voice, she’d never even got into a fight or argument with anyone. She had a good group of friends, a happy middle class home… no one could figure out what would cause her to snap. Then Robbie Turner from Inverness who took an axe to his work colleagues. One day he was a happy go lucky project manager, next he came in and slashed them to bits. The other one Jamie remembered was Breagha Lynch, when they found her at supermarket she stacked shelves at she was sat in her manager’s chair wearing his skin. Normally, this sort of thing would get dismissed as hysteria, but the fact each one played the game for three days straight before each attack seemed too much of a coincidence to ignore. From what the families’ of the killers said, this game hypnotised them for three days. On the third day, they got up as normal, and they had an extreme, intense anger. Erin trashed her living room before storming out of the house, Robbie threw his computer across the room before going on the attack, Breagha was seen chewing on a colleagues arm she’d ripped from their body. Whether it was the cause or not, the games were recalled.

Jamie was practically giddy as he set up his old mega drive, he’d sent a picture of it to a couple of his old school friends. Lyall responded with a few laughing emojis and adding that he better have an axe in hand. Austin on the other hand seemed less amused by it, after an hour or so he replied with a message begging Jamie not to play it. He assumed Austin was joking, but was a little perturbed by how serious he seemed. He decided to ignore it for now, instead setting up his new game. He sat on his floor cross-legged with a large packet of Doritos, grinning from ear to ear as the intro played. It seemed fairly standard, a muscular pixelated protagonist who couldn’t stand still and was surrounded by streets and blood splatters. When the name filled the screen there was a huge crack on the screen that was filled with static and jagged colours that then morphed into the word ‘Glitch’.

After two days, Austin MacKay - an old friend of Jamie’s - was sent an odd text message from him. Simply: “Do you think the Pied Piper had bagpipes?” He wasn’t sure how to respond, so decided to leave it. Another day later was even more peculiar, it was then he received: “it would’ve been funnier if Robbie Turner had played Golden Axe instead”. Austin wanted to phone the police then, but he didn’t have anything to go on other than an urban legend and a couple of strange text messages. Perhaps if he had have done, he thought for a long time afterwards, maybe Jamie wouldn’t driven his car through that shopping mall, driving through as many people as he possibly could.

The Spiral

Aidan McKennon enjoyed people thinking he was a faerie, he supposed it made sense - he grew up Ballymote and whilst it’s not that they believed in faeries exactly… It was that they didn’t test them just in case, and when Aidan became a strange, distorted being of fear… perhaps ‘faerie’ was the closest word most people could think of to describe something like him. Before he changed, he was five foot three, his long black curls went past his shoulders and he’d spent since the first day of his puberty fifteen years trying to hide his breasts and hips. When the Spiral took him, or rather when he happily and willingly ran through the doorway, knowing it would take him from his miserable, isolating life, he did it so that he could grow six inches, flatten his chest, and deepen his voice. Of course his limbs stretched even further, his fingers, arms, and legs. His hands were distorted, his blue eyes had become pits of black, and his hair more like an oil filled mass. Almost like the illustrations of the fae he’d seen, and he fully intended to use this to his advantage.

Aidan wandered around the foggy hills and mountains of County Sligo, tricking walkers and ramblers, and helping them get lost. He’d appeared as mirages, tempting them as a way out, a friendly face, but disappearing causing them to become even more lost in the wilderness. He’d sometimes talk to them, his voice could be a charming lilting tone, or it could be a menacing, angry growl. He switched between the two depending on what the situation called for. He could grow, and shrink. When he was cut or hurt, his wounds leaked moss, and healed over with mushrooms. When he walked, it was as if his legs were tree branches, spindly and rooting themselves into the ground. When it came to the stormy days, with heavy rain and dense fog, he didn’t bother trying to maintain his more human shape, instead he let the rain take care of his leaves and grass that grew in the crooks and folds of his body.

The fear of those lost in the countryside did keep Aidan sated, but every now and then he needed more. It was quite simple, he’d lead a curious tourist to a ring of mushrooms he’d planted - a “faerie ring” they were too stupid to ignore. They’d sometimes take photos, often step inside, and when they did that’s when Aidan would strike. He’d cause them to feel like they were being dragged into the grass beneath them. They’d willingly given themselves to him, and as a result he’d take them to his labyrinth. He’d sit above it, usually hanging upside down and swinging in the railing. He enjoyed watching his Minotaur follow them through it, and observing as they slowly realised the victims were trapped eternally.

The Stranger

Sara Bayat whistled as she put the finishing touches on the dress she was making for her new doll. The template she had drawn was based on the photograph of her mother back in Mashhad when she was a teenage girl. It reached her feet, the fabric a navy blue with gold and silver stars sewn into it. Her hijab was a beautiful silk, a navy that blended into her dress. She spoke to her sewing machine about how good of a job it was doing.

She put the finishing touches on the beautiful blonde curls made of real human hair on the wig she was putting together for the doll. Ever since she first came into contact with Nikola Orsinov she’d had the ability to breathe life into her toys. However, now she didn’t want to speak to people. She just wanted dolls. So there was an obvious, clear solution. She just had to make more dolls. The wig she was creating was based on another photograph on her notice board, a photo of Ingrid Burgman from Casablanca. She learned to make dolls from her mother, her grandparents own a nice little store in Mashhad. A toy store where they made nearly all of the products themselves, Sara had only seen it in photos - like everything in Mashhad. A strange city full of strangers who’s faces only stood out to her form colourful photographs. They weren’t real. None of them were real.

Sara stood proudly in front of her new doll, it was a few inches shorter than she was and slimmer. Sara carefully sewed on the doll’s wig, slapping her when she moved and cried too much. Sara would prick her doll in the scalp with every stitch, seemingly indifferent to the blood that dripped down her neck. Sara kissed her doll’s forehead, humming to herself as she thought of how well this one would fit in with all the others. Her army’s of dolls that would slowly be apart of Nikola’s circus alongside her mannequins.

The Vast

Cora McKenna had another photo printed in National Geographic. She’d gotten to the point where she stopped caring much - it was the fifteenth now after all - but she was particularly proud of this one. Her work had already been creating buzz in the art world, she specialised in underwater photography and had a knack for finding unique spaces. They said her work created a terrifying sense of open, unending dread. A sheer vastness unthinkable by the human mind. This photo had been marvellous, glorious, the best experience of her entire life.

It was deep sea diving in the North Sea with her then girlfriend Shona. Cora had been disappointed with how much Shona had struggled with diving, she complained the whole way there despite knowing how important it was to Cora. When she got there, she insisted she didn’t want to do it, Cora had to practically force her into the diving suit. She was tempted just to push her in, but she knew that would never work. Instead Cora gave her an ultimatum, she can be on the boat alone or come with her. Cora was very careful to highlight all of the things that could possibly go wrong on the boat, causing Shona to make the sensible decision.

Cora was glad she couldn’t hear Shona as she clumsily swam after her. She could sense her unease and anxiety, and was sure she would be complaining the entire time. Still, there was something satisfying and enthralling about how terrified Shona was behind her. Cora couldn’t explain how she knew where to go, her gut dragged her there. It dragged her down into the cave and through the tunnel. Shona tried to tap her many times to signal to her she was concerned but Cora ignored her. Eventually they reached the cavern, where Cora got her photograph.

When she looked up, she couldn’t even see the sky, and she swore that when she turned around the cave had disappeared too. All she was was the glorious empty sea, a gorgeous free landscape of pure water. She closed her eyes and let her limbs hang there as she saved moon ured it, ignoring Shona tugging on her arm. When Cora opened her eyes she saw them, a mass of moon jellyfish beneath her feet. One rose up in front of her eyes, a lone jellyfish against the empty void of sea. She took a glorious photo, the jellyfish barely a foot in front of her face with the mass of water behind her. When she turned round, expecting to see Shona’s excitement instead she was crying, rambling something as if she forgot Cora couldn’t hear her. She sighed and did what she always had to do, she grabbed Shona’s oxygen tube and yanked it out. Smirking as she saw Shona struggle, confusion and betrayal in her eyes as Cora saw her process that she was going to die alone in a gigantic sea of nothingness. Her body would be stuck there forever. When Shona drifted off Cora sighed, this was the eighth girl she’d brought here. It was a shame no one appreciated it like she did.

The Web

Rhiannon Powell was very good at her job, she worked for her local church in Beaumaris and volunteered for the mental health hotline. She was easily the most asked for whenever anyone had a request, the young woman worked the night shift mostly, and did so without expecting a single thing in return. She had a bright smile, blonde hair tied back in a sensible ponytail and wore jeans and a blouse every day. She was often alone, meaning when she was actually there she had the power to do and say whatever she liked. The Chaplin trusted her to do her best, and after all, so many of their callers asked for Rhiannon personally, as she’d helped them before. Of course, he wasn’t wrong… He simply didn’t realise that what Rhiannon considered her best wasn’t quite what he predicted.

The brilliance of the phone line is that it was completely anonymous, if the caller wished to tell the operator their name that was fine but meant Rhiannon suddenly was not interested in them. If they didn’t have a name, no identifying features then they were the perfect prey. She would always start of the same way, a bright “hello, love, how can I help?” She had a way of setting the customer at ease, after a few moments of small talks and getting down to the real problem Rhiannon would say something along the lines of: “Well, if you really want your partner to understand how you’re feeling perhaps you need to show them. A few scratches on the wrist is easy to ignore, you half conscious in a bath tub of your own blood is much more difficult.�� In her sweet voice it sounded gentle, encouraging, and as if it was coming from their mother.

She always kept up with each of the suicides, she felt a string of her web pull her towards each person she spoke to. Sometimes she visited those who were still alive, she nipped in for a cup of tea and add a cheery “well, since your still alive you can’t have been feeling that bad. Thank goodness.” Knowing full well it will send them into a spiral of self doubt. She gave advice about taking care of knives to keep them sharp, the best medications to take for overdosing, and a few affirmations to repeat about how selfless and pure suicide was. She had managed to help 220 callers commit suicide after all, and she was still adamant to keep adding to that total and not let any of them escape her.

[sporadiceagleheart]

this is my tribute edit to The Amber Hagerman Alert System January 15th 1996 and rest In Peace To The Great Gospel Legend Willie Neal Johnson the song that's my son and this is for amber Hagerman and any kids who were murdered or kidnapped and abducted and hasn't been found yet but I can go outside tonight to look up at the sky towards heaven and pray for amber Hagerman and pray to Jesus Mary son before the next December 2025 comes back around and I'll say I hope that Jesus christ finds those missing kids out there and bring them back home safe and sound their names are on Amber's tribute edit it's Michelle B. Norris, Jonbenet Ramsey, Lily Peters, Caylee Marie Anthony, Opal Jo Dace Jennings, Angie Housman, Tristyn Bailey, Rebecca Reusch, Madeleine McCann, Inga Gehricke, Sumner Wells, Haleigh Cummings, Morgan Nick, Asha Degree, Carola Titze, Jaycee Lee Dugard got found I think, Nyleen Kay Marshall, Alessia Vera Schepp, Livia Clara Schepp, Kayla Berg, René Hasee, Rahma el-Dennaoui, Bradford Pholi, DULCE MARIA ALAVEZ, Sofia Lucerno Juarez, Cynthia “Cindy” Ardina Leslie, Jackie Lynn Leslie, Estrella Cordova-Arias, Lisa Irwin, Sabrina Aisenberg, Danielle Therese Pitcher, Brandy Lynn Myers, Isabella Kalua, Etan Patz, Abby Williams and Libby German, Sheila Fox, Estelle Mouzin, Amber Renee Barker, Eliška "Elsie" Paroubek, Renee Aitken, Jonathan Allen, Victoria Allen, Mylette Josephine Anderson, Anastacia Marie Argentova-Stevens, Brittney Ann Beers, Tammy Lynn Belanger, Mary Boyle, Hazel X. Bracamontes, Melissa Lee Brannen, Lorie Lynn Lewis, Cherrie Ann Mahan, Nyleen Kay Marshall, Timmothy James Pitzen, Ben Needham, Ilene Rebecca Scott, Amy Lynn Bradley, Tara Calico, Lindsey Baum, Aliayah Lunsford, Crystal Tymich, Reachelle Smith, Bianca LeBron, Myra Lewis And Harmony Montgomery and some more other kids in the edit

[skeletonspirt]

my 2012 tmnt universe ocs

My OC Émilie Richard, Aka Emy or Em

She’s half Cajun-Creole half Japanese, fluent in;Japanese,Cajun French,Louisiana creole, and a little Mandarin Chinese. Often makes fun of Casey’s Canadian French.Great cook and even better shot(master marksman). Originally worked for the shredder as a bargaining chip over her father but betrayed him and joined the turtles. Shredder trained her along side Bradford and Karai making her a kunoichi training. Hates Bradford with a passion. She’s secretly half mutant, her father being Tiger claw, hid her ears under a beanie and her strips with either makeup or long clothes. Later shows off her strips and ears while with the turtles.Is dating Lei.

My other OC Lei

Casey

Chinese American and the younger brother of Hun. Fluent in Mandarin,Cantonese, and Taishanese. Was raised by his brother as member of the purple dragons till Hun left on business. Master of martial arts but prefers kickboxing. Joined the turtles after realizing he did not want to be a part of a gang or join up with shredder. Still has the purple dragon tattoo. Later gets mutated by dog pound into a dragon like mutant who has Karai’s ability to turn human. Is dating Emy. Him and Casey did not get along at first due past encounters. Later gets over it after having to work together to save each others lives in one of Baxters traps.

Appearances

Emy

Same skin tone as mutant mayhem April with tiger strips all on her body. Deep brown eyes that sometimes have slit pupils. Natural orange tiger striped hair she wears in shoulder length locs and lies and says it’s dyed. Has tiger ears on the top of her head she hides with a green beanie. Puts fake ears on to keep people from noticing her lack of normal ears. Has a tail and claws in both her hand and feet. Has a more wrestler like build due to her training,high muscle density, and tiger mutant dna. Signature color is dark green and later revives a green bandana from splinter once she joins them.

Lei

Similar hairstyle to Huns until he joins the turtles, afterwards he grows if out and wears it in a loose bun. Dyed his hair to have purple highlights when part of the dragons, now dyes it green. Hazel eyes. Large purple dragon tattoo that goes from the left shoulder to the wrist. Boxer build. Mutant form, long green snake like body with four legs, horned lizard like head with hair, spikes all along the body, extremely sharp teeth(keeps in human form along side the horns on his head)(long venomous fangs, venom is lethal), thin flaps he uses to glide. mutant dna was horned lizard,spiny viper, Draco lizard. Yes he can do the blood thing like horned lizards, he just find it absolutely disgusting.

[dollycas]

Cooking to Death: Stirring the Pot (The Ghost Texter Paranormal Cozy Mystery Series) by Marcy Blesy #Spotlight #Giveaway - Great Escapes Book Tour

Cooking to Death: Stirring the Pot (The Ghost Texter Paranormal Cozy Mystery Series) by Marcy Blesy It is my pleasure to shine the spotlight on Cooking to Death by Marcy Blesy today! About Cooking to Death Cooking to Death: Stirring the Pot (The Ghost Texter Paranormal Cozy Mystery Series) Paranormal Cozy Mystery 1st in Series Setting - Michigan Publisher ‏ : ‎ Independently Published (June 14, 2024) Paperback ‏ : ‎ 302 pages ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 979-8323615087 Digital ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0D21LBL3M A Paranormal Cozy Mystery Series: Twenty-four-year old Vivien Belcher--Ms. B, for obvious reasons--teaches a full class of kindergarten students in Southwest Michigan in a Lake Michigan beach town. Trying to maintain control of her overly enthusiastic students while managing life as a fully-fledged adult, Vivien's life is balancing as perfectly as a gymnast sticking her landing until the scale tips when she receives an unlikely and unwelcome text message from her ex-boyfriend…her dead ex-boyfriend. Trapped in the Transitional World and having to atone for his many sins in life, Kasper must "make good" by helping to solve the murder of his beloved high school lunch lady. The problem? It's hard to solve a murder as a ghost. But Kasper doesn't count on Vivien's reluctance to help him, not to mention her doubt. And he really doesn't count on his reaction to Vivien moving on with relationships in her life that don't include him. What ensues is hilarity and frustration as Kasper's time is running out to convince Vivien to help him. Being a ghost is hard. But so is being a new teacher. Great Escapes Praise for Cooking to Death: Stirring the Pot (The Ghost Texter Paranormal Cozy Mystery Series) by Marcy Blesy I’m here to tell readers that this new book is 300ish pages of such fun. Go now and put this on your Kindle and you can thank me later! ~Sarah Can't Stop Reading Books About Marcy Blesy Marcy Blesy is the author of over thirty books including the popular cozy mystery series: The Tucson Valley Retirement Community Cozy Mystery Series. Her adult romance mystery series includes The Secret of Blue Lake and The Secret of Silver Beach, set in Michigan. Her children's books include the best selling Be the Vet series along with the following early chapter book series: Evie and the Volunteers, Niles and Bradford, Third Grade Outsider, and Hazel, the Clinic Cat. Marcy enjoys searching for treasures along the shores of Lake Michigan. She's still waiting for the day when she finds a piece of red beach glass. By day she teaches creative writing virtually to amazing students around the world. Marcy is a believer in love and enjoys nothing more than making her readers feel a book more than simply reading it. Author Links Website     Facebook     Instagram     GoodReads  Purchase Links - Amazon  Book 2: Dribbling to Death (Taking His Shot) August 2024, Preorder Now! Also Written by Marcy Blesy TOUR PARTICIPANTS - Please visit all the stops.  July 30 – Mystery, Thrillers, and Suspense – SPOTLIGHT July 30 – Literary Gold – AUTHOR INTERVIEW July 31 - Christy's Cozy Corners – AUTHOR GUEST POST August 1 - Sarah Can't Stop Reading Books – REVIEW August 1 - MJB Reviewers – SPOTLIGHT August 2 – Maureen's Musings – SPOTLIGHT August 2 – Sapphyria's Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT August 3 – fundinmental – SPOTLIGHT August 3 – Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book – SPOTLIGHT August 4 – Cozy Up With Kathy – REVIEW, AUTHOR INTERVIEW August 5 – Lady Hawkeye – SPOTLIGHT August 6 – Ruff Drafts – CHARACTER GUEST POST August 6 – Socrates Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT August 7 – Baroness Book Trove – CHARACTER INTERVIEW August 7 – StoreyBook Reviews – AUTHOR GUEST POST August 8 – Ascroft, eh? – CHARACTER GUEST POST August 8 – Novels Alive – REVIEW August 9 – Celticlady's Reviews – SPOTLIGHT August 10 – FUONLYKNEW – SPOTLIGHT August 11 – Elizabeth McKenna - Author – SPOTLIGHT August 12 – Boys' Mom Reads! – REVIEW a Rafflecopter giveaway Have you signed up to be a Tour Host? Click Here to Find Details and Sign Up Today! Want to Book a Tour? Click Here Your Escape Into A Good Book Travel Agent Read the full article

[earnestlyeccentric]

Josh and Hazel's Guide to Not Dating

Author: Christina Lauren Rating: 3/5 Hazel Bradford knows she’s super intense and quirky, qualities that most men don’t like. Josh Im always thought of Hazel as that girl everyone had a funny story about. Spoilers ahead. Continue reading Josh and Hazel’s Guide to Not Dating

[leanstooneside]

It's an old dog for a hard road (SILVERZEPHYR)

◊ ACCELERATED BRADFORD

◊ ACCELERATED ED

◊ ACCELERATED BYRON HOFFMAN

◊ ACCELERATED BEETHOVEN

◊ ACCELERATED JON

◊ ACCELERATED GEN ERIC VIAGR

◊ ACCELERATED ALI ADROIT

◊ ACCELERATED ADELAIDE

◊ ACCELERATED DELILAH REEL

◊ ACCELERATED AUBREY

◊ ACCELERATED ANDERSON

◊ ACCELERATED ELOISE

◊ ACCELERATED MAXIMILIAN MASON

◊ ACCELERATED SAM BORE

◊ ACCELERATED EMMETT CICADA

◊ ACCELERATED MIRIAM PARKE

◊ ACCELERATED HAZEL PROSPECTOR

◊ ACCELERATED TOMAS KENT

◊ ACCELERATED JACQUELINE SEROLOGY

◊ ACCELERATED DOCTOR'S

◊ ACCELERATED MICHELLE ARWPWVCYXDNSW

[emmebook]

O GUIA PARA NÃO NAMORAR DE JOSH E HAZEL DE CHRISTINA LAUREN

ORIGINAL: Josh and Hazel’s Guide to Not Dating 2022 Universo dos Livros 256p ⭐⭐⭐⭐

SINOPSE: Hazel Camille Bradford sabe que ela é exagerada em certos momentos - e, francamente, a maioria dos homens não está à altura do desafio. Se o seu exército de animais de estimação e a emoção pelo absurdo não os assustam, sua falta de filtro significa que ela dirá exatamente a coisa errada em um momento delicado. Quem perde são eles. Ela é uma boa alma em busca de diversão honesta. Josh Im conhece Hazel desde a faculdade, onde sua loucura provou ser completamente incompatível com sua moderada contenção. Desde a primeira noite em que se conheceram - quando ela desajeitadamente vomitou em seus sapatos - quando ela lhe enviou um e-mail ininteligível enquanto estava em uma névoa pós-cirúrgica, Josh sempre pensou em Hazel mais como um espetáculo do que como uma companheira. Mas agora, dez anos depois, depois que uma namorada traidora virou sua vida de cabeça para baixo, sair com Hazel é uma lufada de ar fresco. Não que Josh e Hazel namorem. Pelo menos, não um ao outro. Porque arranjar um ao outro encontros às cegas progressivamente terríveis significa que não há nada entre eles... certo?

[ethicsustinvest]

ESG support falters this proxy season

“But investors adapting more tactics to engage with portfolio companies.” [COMMENTARY] This article contains a good breakdown of the number and successes of ESG-related proxies this AGM season. The number of proxies concerning the environment has dropped while those regarding social and governance issues are prioritized. ESG support falters this proxy season, by Hazel Bradford, June 26, 2023,…

[pagan-stitches]

I may need to stitch her! She’s so tiny and adorable. Thanks, chickadee. Your birthday wishes were second only to the hubs—with the time difference you have a massive head start on my family who apparently aren’t early birds like myself.

I’m planning bábovka with the Babičky for breakfast, but lunch is “on” you—papară from the Danube cookbook, and the remainders of some blue Lady Grey from MacBeans.

❤️ 😊 😘 🤗 🎂

Planning a ritual bath today after gathering the hazel branches that have fallen over the winter (I have plans *rubs hands together*). Maybe some birthday writing for the blog. Tomorrow’s spiritual birthday on St. Matthew’s day is going to be big. I’m releasing my bird buns in honor of the sparrows wedding that in some parts of Czechia they claim happened on his day and I’m drowning Morana early this year. I said I was going to do it upon seeing the first daffodil or the neighbors Bradford pears starting to bloom.

Since I was born at midnight on the 23rd, the 24th seems a good time to start my devotional year!

Lots of love sweets, thanks for spending part of it with me from across the pond.

😘 🤗,

A birthday Berehynia for my bestie babe on her solar return. Happy birthday, my dear, dear @pagan-stitches. Hope the next 12 months are filled with joy, prosperity, and many mushroom puddings. ❤️