#oscar can be grass/ghost

[musubiki]

actually for the tcwg pokemon au im gonna say lime doesnt have a specific typing BUT all his pokemon have naturally mad def/special def stats

[gaydryad]

ok question if hypothetically I were to make a html + css template for making custom pokémon teams (cough such as for OCs cough) in the Bulbapedia widget style, would anyone else be interested in using it? if so I will go into this trying to write it as an actual decent template

[itaipava]

— little moments of f1 boys yearning for their best friend.

˒ ⌕ LANDO NORRIS

it’s the middle of the night and you’re lying side by side in bed. you told a joke that he didn’t find that funny, but he can’t help but laugh next to you while you’re laughing so hard at your own humor. he stops laughing for a bit and looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen - because you are. moonlight enters the room, shining on your chin, lips, and cheeks, and a soft, joyful glow shines in your eyes. he feels this need to run his fingers along the contours of your face, in a light and gentle caress, but he resists. and yet he can’t help but think that maybe he loves you, with all his heart, even if you have a weird sense of humor sometimes.

˒ ⌕ DANIEL RICCIARDO

it’s a little too early in the afternoon to be drunk but here you both are. you’re sitting on the couch and he’s not certain when you got close but his breath hitches ever so slightly when you lean your head against his shoulder and he shifts a little so that he can place a hand on your back; an almost-hug. you’re saying something and your breath is warm on his skin and perhaps it’s the influence of the alcohol but he’s overcome by a burst of a certain something in his heart. he pulls you closer and when you start to move away, he doesn’t let you go and he says ‘stay.’ and you do. for a minute. then two. then time doesn’t matter anymore.

˒ ⌕ CARLOS SAINZ

it’s when you ask him to turn his face away so you can change your shirt; you already have a beautiful and trusting intimacy, so you trust him enough to do something like this around him. he turns around, but when he turns to you again, he takes a little of your body away while you lower your shirt, putting it on completely. his breath hitches in his throat as an insatiable desire surges within him; the desire to touch you. he wanted so much to be able to explore every little part of your body, know the story of every scar or spot, worship your body as if that were the last thing he would do in his life. he looks away quickly but that image will stay with him forever.

˒ ⌕ CHARLES LECLERC

it’s the middle of the night and you’re lying side by side in bed because the movie is too boring and each other’s features are so much more interesting. you talk about anything that comes to mind as you trace light patterns on the bed between the few inches between the two of you. he loves hearing you talk, he really does, but right now he can’t hear you. he is so hypnotized and obsessed with you; it’s like you’re holding the stars as he walks through the clouds. his eyes shine like never before and he feels lost when you smile as you continue talking, completely oblivious to the effect you have on him.

˒ ⌕ LEWIS HAMILTON

sitting on the balcony, the two of you are talking. you ask him if he could go anywhere right now, where would he go? and he thinks, perhaps to a little cottage in the countryside where it’s peaceful and the days slow and sweet; or perhaps a bustling city that never sleeps, with its neon lights and people from all walks of life; or perhaps a picturesque town where culture comes alive and and every building whispers an ancient history. and he looks at you because you’re there with him everywhere he goes; lying on the grass next to him; going out for a dinner in a fancy restaurant together in the busy city; sitting in a little café in an old city… he wants to let you know but instead he jokes, his voice light, his face holding a ghost of a smirk, ‘anywhere away from you,’

˒ ⌕ OSCAR PIASTRI

the sun is about to set and he sits beside you on the floor. as the movie plays on his laptop, he watches it while listening to you talk about your day. at one point, he glances at you and it’s supposed to be a glance but the sunlight is on your skin and he can’t seem to look away. seeing your questioning face at him, he tears his eyes away from you, back to the screen. and the two of you watch the movie quietly while this feeling he isn’t brave enough to name swells in his heart.

˒ ⌕ MAX VERSTAPPEN

when others are superficially talking about people they find hot, he never joins in the conversation and if you’re there, he glances at you a little too often. if someone asks him to describe his ideal type, his mind goes to you immediately as he describes your qualities. in a room full of people, he always finds himself wondering where you are as his eyes look around, the smitten smile on his face when you lock eyes from across the room.

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Again

about this: nathan bateman x f!reader. contents: 18+/nsfw/minors dni, smut, wife kink, oral f!receiving, unprotected sex, nathan the asshole simp™️. wc: 1031. an: my brain plagued me with this thought at like 12 am. here it is.

oscar issac characters masterlist

This is not how you anticipated your time in the garden would pan out. The sun hangs high in the sky, a soft breeze swirling in the air. You’d been halfway done with your task of weeding and watering the garden when Nathan sauntered down the steps of the front porch.

“Can I help you?” You ask, glancing over at him.

He holds up his hands, rounding his eyes with innocence. “Can’t a man ogle his wife?”

You should’ve known then and there that he was up to no good. Slowly but surely, Nathan gets closer and closer. With each step your blood rises, your heart thumping steadily in your ears. Until his lips are ghosting your temple, beard tickling at your skin.

Now, despite that cooling breeze, you are warm. There’s pure, overwhelming heat coupled with sparking pleasure. You’re surrounded by it, drowning in it and there’s no place you would rather be.

“Nathan,” You breathe, the sound of your voice feeling miles away.

You hear a deep hum, the scratch of his beard against your thighs, and then an inhaling breath. When you sit up on your elbows to gaze down at him, Nathan’s dark brown eyes glitter back at you. His mouth and beard shine with your slick as his lips curl into a smirk.

He wags his eyebrows, voice so soft and sweet as he asks, “What is it, honey?”

“I was doing something,” You huff, still out of breath though his work has stopped momentarily.

It’s not lost on you how this would look from another point of view. Your panties in a heap in the grass, sundress bunched around your breasts. Nathan rutting into the ground as he sips from between your legs like it’s the fountain of life. There are tools and weeds spread about, dirt smeared on skin and clothing alike. You two are the definition of a dirty, horny mess.

Nathan’s smile widens into something as beautiful as it is arousing, sending a shiver up your spine. “And now, you’re doing me. Lay back, I’m making my wife cum.”

You don’t have the discipline to object, not that you want to. Nathan had brought you to the precipice of your peak just to tease you down more than once, and now you’re wound tight, ready for release.

Nathan slides into you with practiced ease, bending to capture your mouth with his own, moans melting into each other’s. His hips move against yours, gently but relentlessly, withdrawing completely before pressing in as far as your body will take him.

You let your legs fall open wider, clutching at his shoulders to stay as steady and still as possible, wanting it just like this, just how he’s giving it to you. He dusts kisses on any part of you he can reach as he continues to fuck you— your cheeks, jaw, neck, coveting every inch of you.

“That’s it, baby, let me fuck you. Let me make you feel good like I’m s’pose to. That’s what I’m for, hmm? To make my wife cum. Give her whatever she wants.”

“Nathan, please. I need you, need more,” You beg softly.

He gets two of his fingers wet, snaking them between you so that he can rub softly at your clit. “I need you too, honey. C’mon, I know you can cum for me. Can’t you?”

“Yes. Mhmm, I can,” You nod, eyes wild with lust when you gaze up at him.

“Your pussy’s so fucking good, baby. Perfect fucking wife with the perfect little pussy. Gonna make me fill you up,” He groans, his voice growing more hoarse as he slowly unravels.

His cock, his praise, his filth— they wind you tight, tight, tight, until you cum, clenching around his cock as you call out his name. Nathan lets out a breath gasp and then he’s filling you to the brim, whispering into your ear how much he loves you.

He kisses you until you’re both breathless and only then does he pull out to clean you both up. Nathan helps you into your panties and smooths your sundress back into place before refastening his jeans and snaking an arm around your waist. The two of you lay in content silence besides the occasional chirp of a bird and your mingling breath.

Suddenly he asks, “Do you wanna get married?”

You nearly choke on your laughter, turning your head to look over at him, “We are married, you made it very clear in the filth you were spewing at me.”

He ignores your teasing, his brows are drawn together so you know he’s serious. “Again. Do you want to get married again?”

“Nathan, that wedding was a fortune.”

“Who gives a fuck how much it costs,” He scoffs, pulling you more firmly onto his chest. “I don’t mean like that. I mean just me and you. The guy who guides the bullshit.”

“The bullshit, huh?”

“You know what I mean. What do you think?”

You frown, leaning back a little bit to look him in the eye. “I thought you liked our wedding.”

“Honey, I fucking loved our wedding,” He reassures you easily, smoothing a hand over your cheek.

“Then why again?”

“Why wouldn’t I want to marry you again?”

His answer completely floors you. Your heart melts. Soft and gooey, completely pliable and completely his. You’d ask him to marry you if he wasn’t already yours if he hadn’t already asked you for the second time. You can see that your speechlessness is starting to get in his head, and he opens his mouth to say something.

You quickly cut him off with a kiss, murmuring against his lips, “I love it when you get all sentimental.”

There is no denying the soft flush in his cheeks, “Hush.”

“Yes, Nathan, I’ll marry you again. Can we do it here?” You gesture around to the garden.

“Can I do you here?” He asks suggestively, that charming smirk gracing his face again.

“You already did.”

“Again,” He whispers into your ear before he starts to suck kisses into the skin of your neck.

“Again,” You breathe in agreement, blinking up at the blue sky once more.

nathan taglist: @missdictatorme, @runa-falls, @campingwiththecharmings, @toracainz, @steven-grants-world, @clemdango04, @jdbxws, @crispysublimecupcake, @sub-aro, @faretheeoscar, @cupidysm, @whentheskyispinkandabitblue, @nova-ivy541, @sparkypantelones, @veritable-trash, @mangoslushcrush, @thhriller, @tenderhornynihilist, @queerponcho, @redcake333

[petaltexturedskies]

Yes, death. Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no to-morrow. To forget time, to forget life, to be at peace. You can help me. You can open for me the portals of death's house, for love is always with you, and love is stronger than death is.

Oscar Wilde, The Canterville Ghost (1887)

[midnightcupiid]

i want a love like i’ve seen in the movies, that’s why i’ll never fall in love

pairing: valgrace (leo valdez x jason grace)

summary: jason is dead. leo writes letters to him to cope.

word count: 418 (oof)

a/n: GUESS WHO FINALLY GOT HER ACT TOGETHER!!!!!! title from ‘like the movies’ by laufey, relates to nothing i just thought it was cute lmao. wrote this at 2am while severely dehydrated and sleep deprived. i did not check, but hopefully the spelling is ok. enjoy!!!!

(dividers by @plutism)

jason,

you’ll never get this. trust me, i know it. you’re gone.

piper says you wrote letters to me when I was gone. gods, why would you write letters? you’re you were dyslexic, you idiot! i’m barely writing right now. this is hard.

i never found the ones you wrote when we were going through your stuff. i wish i did. maybe it could’ve given me some closure, i guess. i hold on to every part of you i can find. your clothes smell less like you every day. the flowers i put at your grave the first day are starting to wilt. 

i still can’t believe it; we were done, out of the woods.(will has been forcing me to listen to taylor swift to try and cheer me up. it’s torture.) now, you’re gone. what’s the point of anything at this point? nothing feels real. one day, i’ll go to elysium. see you again. hopefully. the judges better grant me that mercy. i’ve lived a shit life. i deserve a happy ending. at least, i think i do.

i would go to a therapist, but… i don’t think that would be good for me right now. too much thinking. i usually try not to think. instead, my therapy is building stuff in bunker nine. i’ve been looking at spheres. they can do so much! i almost lasered off my whole arm the other day and but it’s whatever, you don’t want to hear me ramble right now.

i’m reading more, too. you would always get on me about that. well, fake you, at the wilderness school. you were always so righteous. i guess real you was too busy saving the world to annoy me about my reading habits. anyways, i asked annabeth for recommendations. BAD IDEA. now she’s forcing me to read all the “classics”! it’s a nightmare. but some of them are okay, like jane austen. did you know she was a baddie? because she is. but i was reading the canterville ghost, by oscar wilde. there was one line that made me think, which i don’t do much, clearly.

“death must be so beautiful. to lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one’s head, and listen to silence. to have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. to forget time, to forget life, to be at peace.”

i know most of this is wrong. they don’t have any silence in elysium! but for what it’s worth, i hope you’re at peace. you deserve that, after everything.

i miss you.

leo

end note: ANYWAYSSSSSS

i am planning to make a prequel of one of jason’s letters eventually. i rlly hope you liked it! i’ll link it here when it’s done. lmk if you want to be added to the taglist!

GENERAL TAGLIST: @illneverforget365

VALGRACE TAGLIST: n/a

[pretty-paper-cuts]

6 Feet From The Snow

I found out I was going to die when I was 5 and got into an argument with my 3 month younger cousin. She said, ‘We all die.’ ‘No, silly,’ I replied, ‘only people who get into an accident, get murdered die.’ And so, the two of us decided to ask the only present adult, my aunt, who happened to be a medical counselor, and ever since, my steps have been falling faster to outrun the avalanche and escape the chase.

But the toll that death extracts is more than what one can give. Death doesn’t come as a wild wave on a calm sea, disguised as an embrace, before it sweeps you to sea. Death is not a riptide. It’s a gentle wind on a winter night. It’s a caress you see arriving but still startle at the touch of. It’s the cold that makes your breath steam, but not yours alone. Death is a wildfire that burns more than just a match.

‘It is not a metaphor, this ache.’ said Catherine Abbey Hodges, in her book, after losing someone close to her.

‘Let me die first or I will die twice.’ wrote Atticus.

What is death, then, if not a shroud of pain that cloaks more than a bullet wound. If we turn death from a killer of tomorrow to a murderer of joy, then does that not make grief the riptide?

The aforementioned grief or pain of experiencing the loss of someone is a greater euphemism for sadness. It does not really hurt, even though sometimes it does, in the back your throat, in the creases of your friction-cut eyes; the fatigue in your body that is numbness stuck in a fist fight with too many emotions. But in general, grief isn’t physical. It doesn’t leave scars. It doesn’t leave bruises that can heal, scratches that 0in ’t the pain of ‘getting’ hurt. Because you still are. Head hung low and breaths shallow, you still are. It is the pain of losing something. As John Green put it, ‘That is fear. I have lost something important and I cannot find it, and I need it. It is fear like if someone lost his glasses and went to the glasses store and they told him that the world had run out of glasses and he would just have to do without.’

President William McKinley, the third American president to be assassinated had lived for several days after being shot. Before he died, his wife cried, ‘I want to go too!’ and right there, McKinley spoke his last words, ‘We are all going.’ Existential as it is, we are, in fact, all going. My aunt said so, and ever since, I’ve been avoiding crawling through a life I can grow wings and fly through. But to fly, I have to sprint, and to sprint means to head closer to the cliff that is death.

There comes a time when we realize that our parents cannot save themselves or save us, that everyone who wades through time eventually gets dragged out to sea by the undertow—that, in short, we are all going.*

I grin each day, at the snowfall, the way the sunlight reflects off the flakes. I rest when my feet get tired. I marvel at the falls. I change paths. I weave through alleys. I somehow seem to run towards the cliff too fast and run from the snow too slow. But I live. I live each day, and some days, I don’t. Some days I sit by the fire and let it warm my bones. I don’t let the nightmare my 5 year old self had drive shotgun when I take the wheel.

And that is my struggle with death. The Ancient Greeks said Thanatos, the Greek God of death was possibly the only thing under the heavens and on it that was more beautiful than Eros, the Greek God of love.

Over time, just like the Greeks and the Roman sought to personify death, poets too sought to turn death into acquaintance, rather than a stranger.

Oscar Wilde, in his book ‘The Canterville Ghost’, wrote, ‘Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with grasses waving above one’s head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forget life, to be at peace.’

Wilde had his version of death, and I have mine. Perhaps his God is kinder, his sand less harsh. Maybe he preferred the waving grass to my friction-cut eyes. It hardly matters, in the end, when the only thing left is rotting wood and soaking ashes and peeling skin. I doubt that when the pavement’s red and the sirens are deafening, any of us will be considering who was right. So I guess today, I’ll paint for myself, a kinder sky.**

Inspired by a mediocre book with haunting themes

* John Green, Looking for Alaska

** ‘Paint me a kinder sky.’ quote I read way back on Pinterest and can’t find the source of.

[trevlad-sounds]

Wednesday 20 September Mixtape 374 “Summer Stone”

Experimental Library Instrumental Wednesdays, Fridays & Sundays. Support the artists and labels. Don't forget to tip so future shows can bloom.

Secret Circuit-Ripe Ready 00:31

Pneumatic Tubes-Summer's End 04:49

The British Stereo Collective-In the Tall Grass (from The Ghosts of Fleet Forest) (New Mix) 06:29

Pete Jolly-Leaves 07:43

Oscar Rocchi, Franco Godi-Fantastica 09:20

Piet Van Meren-Stoned 11:40

Satoshi & Makoto-Crawl Up 14:06

The Sorcerers-The Horror 16:49

Peel Dream Magazine-You Really Mean It? 20:26

Roedelius-Sonnengeflecht 21:22

Moon Mullins-Over the Marine Parkway Bridge 24:36

Belbury Poly-Earth Lights 28:23

Bravo Tounky-La Bonnette 32:45

Trevor Bastow-Chopping Block 35:28

[legendsofmyriad]

Legends of Myriad: Arc One - Chapter 1: The Gateways - Part 1

Chapter 2

Arc One Masterlist

-- -- -- -- --

A rush of water cascaded from the ridge, plunging into the Tolmark River in a flurry of foam and peppered droplets. Each ripple trapped the light of the setting suns and reflected liquid gold. Along the banks, diamond-petalled Efros flowers spread their honeyed leaves and Osimer blooms drank the ascending night into their inky blossom, a poisonous violet glow slithering between the blades of summer grass. The river billowed and snatched at the loose reeds and twigs, and dragged the fallen vegetation into the current. Unable to fight back, they were carried from the humble quiet of the Citadel and towards the bustle of the city of Mora. 

“Come on,” Alek called over his shoulder, hopping from stone to stone. 

“If you say ‘come on’ one more time, I am going to push you in,” Oscar warned, bringing up the rear of the trio. He teetered on a rickety rock and jumped to the next before gravity could make a fool of him. “Not everybody is as athletic as you.”

“Maybe you should have studied with Thrulian Academy instead of Cyrogen then,” Alek said. 

“I’d rather dedicate myself to the arts than run about huffing and grunting like an ogre all day.”

“And how is that working out for you now?” 

Oscar pouted and inched around a crop of barbed leaves. “Please tell me it’s not much further.”

Ahead of him, Esther gazed up at the Marble Falls. Moss and grime scaled the fractures in the soggy stone, and dribbles of fading sunlight meandered through the overhanging boughs. “There!”

“What?” Alek said, craning his neck to follow her line of sight. “I just see rock.”

“You should be used to that being in Thrulian,” Oscar retorted. At the two unimpressed glances, he held his hands up. The uneven stone beneath him lurched. He wiggled his arms to stay upright, and his reflection mocked him with an identical uncontrolled flail. “Okay, I deserved that.” 

Esther sighed and returned to the waterfall. “Can you see the patch of shadow that is darker than the rest? That is where we need to be heading.” She examined the streaming outflow and slippery rocks beneath her and assessed the way ahead.

The closer they got to the spilling surge, the more tumultuous the terrain became. Stepping stones grew smaller, and the river churned. One misstep, the tiniest slip, and they’d fall prey to the vicious current. 

Hardened dirt provided them with some footholds, but Alek tested each meticulously before setting his entire weight on them. With a helpful hand, he supported his two friends in their gradual progress over the water, and before long night pressed in on nimble feet. 

“Are we sure we should do this now?” Oscar said. “Wouldn’t it make more sense during the day?” 

“We’re more likely to be seen during the day,” Esther replied. “Besides, I don’t want to skip my classes.”

“Stars forbid little miss know-it-all missed a class.”

“I’m the one who found out about this place, so it’s my decision when we go.”

Alek bouldered by to hush them and hurled himself across the last stretch of water, squeezing himself against the damp wall. A sparse track opened out to his right. In a slow, careful spin, he reached out to catch the others as first Esther, and then Oscar, made the brave jump.

Esther shuffled along the path and behind the waterfall. Darkness expanded into the rock and wisps of a frosty breeze fluttered against her hair. Narrow streams of water trickled from the gloom to join the river, bringing with them the smell of mould and earth. 

“Can you see anything?” Alek asked. “Trolls? Monsters?”

“Ghosts?” Oscar added.

“If there is anything of the sort in there,” Esther said, “it’s being awfully quiet.” 

Alek bore his palm up to the darkness and conjured an orb of light. The sphere bobbed as he moved and threw out glimpses of the inner cave. “Only one way to find out.”

Hesitating at the edge of the shadow, Oscar contemplated going back. He hadn’t even been sure about all this. Why should he risk his life for Esther’s curiosity and Alek’s innate desperation to be a hero? But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to see inside. If Esther was right, and she almost always was, a lifetime of inspiration waited beyond the dark, and the artist in his soul was desperate to drink it in. 

“Come on, scaredy,” Esther said, taking hold of his hand. “Can’t find untold wonders by waiting in the doorway.” 

A corridor of mist and shadows formed the entrance to the cave. Within the tunnel, thriving fungus oozed. Twinkling mushrooms and sticky snowcaps wriggled from the fissures in the rock, illuminated by Alek’s sphere and snaking towards the light. Webs and grime wormed through the grey. 

“Do you think there are spiders in here?” Oscar asked, eyeing the ropes of dust swinging across the ceiling. 

“In a place like this? Of course,” Alek said. “Big, bulbous, spindly creatures that jump on your face and eat your eyeballs.” 

“You’re so funny.”

“I’m glad someone is finally realising how hilarious I am.” 

“You know I was being sarcastic, right?” 

Alek’s sprightly demeanour sank, and he let out a grunt. “You’re no fun when you don’t play along.”

“Will you two be quiet?” Esther hissed. Treading softly, she turned on the spot, picking up a rising rumble. By the time she’d located the source of the noise, the roof disintegrated. Sprinkles of grain showered them in the seconds before the tunnel entryway collapsed. 

“No!” she screamed.

Alek yanked her back and pulled her into a run. Crushing stone rocked the passage and chased after them. Only once they’d passed into the inner sanctum of the cave did the rockfall offer the students a reprieve and a last whoosh of grit flew from the cracks in the closed-off underpass. 

“What in the name of the stars was that?” Oscar coughed, brushing the powder from his crisp, ivory shirt. 

Esther grazed her palms across the tumbled rock and expanded her magic out through the gaps. “Security system,” she replied. “I should have realised. Must have been implemented when the gateways shut down, in case someone came snooping.”

“Like some smartarse students?” Oscar shook his light brown curls and wiped his hands on his pants, fussing over the state of his once immaculate uniform. 

“Lighten up, grumpy face,” Alek said as he helped him remove the brunt of the dirt. “Don’t act like you don’t secretly love the thrill.”

Grumbling, Oscar twisted so that his friend could reach the top of his shoulder blade. Once they’d tidied their hasty escape from death, they joined Esther by the collapsed tunnel. 

“Any way of moving it?” Alek asked. 

Esther shrugged. “If we try to remove it by force, we risk the whole cave coming down.”

“And if we move it manually?”

“It would take weeks. Doesn’t look like there’s a flowing supply of food and water in here.”

Alek clicked his tongue and tipped his head back. He couldn’t see the ceiling through the overhanging shadows, and the natural columns that held the roof aloft didn’t seem sturdy enough for an evening climb.

Deposits of Eventide crystals shimmered up the walls and dispersed their harmonious lilac bloom around the cavern. Larger growths burst from the floor, more luminous than their tinier counterparts as they went about their mission to plant glittering ponds across every crooked surface and patch of stone. 

“I’ve never seen Eventide deposits this big before,” Oscar said, marvelling at the magical crystals and skimming the smooth outer shell. The power within prospered and filled him with a serenity that soothed him to the core. He breathed out a brief chuckle at the tingle in his palm and turned to the rest of the cave. Illuminated in radiance and bursting with magic, the regrets he’d brought with him about their adventure waned. 

The caves spanned for what felt like miles. Further tunnels led to precarious criss-crossing walkways with the promise of a terrible, spiky death on either side. Remnants of crumbling man-made structures poked out at odd angles, and a few withered stone faces watched them as they progressed. 

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” Oscar asked, tip-toeing the last couple of metres over a decaying bridge. 

Esther roamed ahead and disappeared into the gloom of the adjoining passageway. Moments later, a squeal reverberated through and the boys darted after her. 

“What is it?” Alek said, putting himself between Esther and any potential enemies. He raised his fist and swivelled to locate the adversary, but the chamber remained reticently quiet.

“I think we’ve found it,” she whispered. “I think this is it.”

Oscar stared in awe. The natural space melded with the chiselled statues, and Eventide purple hues ghosted across the pale grey bodies to make them look alive. History teemed within the abandoned walls as the timeworn figures from their lessons guided them further in. 

The aisle of stone spirits cleared and opened into an octagonal hall. In the centre stretched a rounded platform. A slender strip of light bled around the edge. Where it came from, none could tell. It seemed to seep from the ceiling to embrace the disc-shaped stage, keeping the dirt and grime from touching it. 

“Is that a temporal gateway?” Alek asked, wide-eyed. 

“One of them,” Esther answered, taking the stairs two at a time to reach the platform. “Each senior member of the Citadel had their own. I’m not sure who this one belonged to.”

“Feels like I’m floating,” Oscar said, moving along the raised floor to admire the images etched into the metal. “I wonder how long it’s been since this was used.”

“Nearly three-hundred years,” Esther replied. “Give or take. Some even think that the gateways are a myth.”

“Yet here we are,” Alek said. He threw out his arms and spun on the spot. 

“And yet here we are,” she agreed with a beam, the revelation of her find washing over her in a joyful wave. 

Oscar wandered the centre of the platform. His heart pounded and his mind reeled as he absorbed the spectacle into his soul. “This is an incredible discovery. I mean, we are walking on the greatest invention known to Solgarde.” 

“Inspiring enough for you?” Alek said. 

“Inspiring? It’s divine! Even the most skilled sculptors of our generation could never capture such beauty.”

Alek clapped him on the shoulder, and the ground beneath them trembled. “Did I do that?” He patted Oscar again, and the room remained still. 

“Don’t be silly,” Esther said. “These caves shift sometimes. I’m sure it’s nothing.” 

Growling shudders rattled the metal and the clangs of the inner workings resonated through the private chamber.

In a few long strides, Alek made it to the lip of the circle. As he attempted to step through the golden light, a barrier sent him stumbling. He tried a few more times until Esther pulled him back. 

“It’s not going to let you through, stupid,” she said, sweeping down the shield and hissing at the prickles that jabbed her skin.

Behind them, the carven images lit up, one after the other in a designated sequence. 

“What is it doing?” Oscar panicked. “Why is it doing that?” 

Alek snatched his friends as a pillar of light exploded around the gateway. A deafening hum drowned out the clatter and quakes of the awakening machine. Like a magnet, the glowing column drew the three students closer until it absorbed their bodies into the mass, and the chamber burst into life.  

 * * *

 Crackles resounded in a fierce cacophony of short, rapid blasts. Darkness split in blinding flashes. Huddled together, the students waited as the entire world cracked around them, splintering them into nothingness and forcing them into an abyss they’d never return. 

Esther opened her eyes first and squinted through the white light. As her vision adjusted to the fervent glare, she made out angled desks and arched windows. 

“We’re dead, aren’t we?” Oscar fretted, burying his head into Alek’s shoulder. “Esther’s curiosity has finally killed us.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Esther said. Hardened dirt crunched beneath her feet as she stepped off the hexagonal dais. “I can’t say I’ve ever heard of an afterlife in an abandoned lab, so we’re not dead yet.”

In the rays of sunlight striving to stream through the grimy windows, dust churned and retreated into the inky corners. Accumulations of damaged paper covered a cracked wall, and she wandered closer. The symbols on each varied, from angular runes to flowing cursive, none of which she could read. 

Alek supported Oscar in his shaky climb down from the gateway and inched towards the heart of the room. The lab hosted multiple levels and staircases popped up all over the place, some of them spiralling up to balconies and others a mere few steps to bookcases and shelves.

The bottom floor descended gradually and flattened out as it reached the hovering globe in the centre. At first, he thought it similar to the one in the Citadel library, but upon closer inspection he noticed no landmass or oceans, only pulsing dots and strange names. Lucarian. Skuld. Eternity. The plaque underneath spelled out ‘Myriad’ in chipped gold letters. 

Wandering around the holographic sphere, he found home. Solgarde. Small and twinkling in the winding chain of worlds. “What is this place?” 

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Esther replied from the desks as she rifled through the drawers. 

“Whatever it is, it doesn’t seem like it’s been used in years,” Oscar said, crossing the lab to the overgrown plants fighting to be free of their glass cases. Some surviving vines snatched the lights sustaining them and snapped them clean in two. The rest withered, their wrinkled brown petals shivering in the cold. 

“Or longer,” Esther mumbled, rubbing a patch of grime from the towering windows behind her. Snowy mist obscured much of the land outside. Beyond that, it appeared barren. There were no shadows to pinpoint any buildings, but the fog curled around a structure sticking out of the pale sand. 

Crouching down to see what it was, she trailed the contour of what looked like a misshapen ribcage. Shredded cartilage flapped as the wind tried to tear it from the bone. There were other, smaller skeletons nearby, some having formed salt crystals along the ridges. “We need to be careful. I think something bad happened here.”

“Abandoned lab? Nobody around? No, I’m sure everything here is perfectly fine,” Oscar quipped. 

“It’s not abandoned,” Alek said, climbing up to the humming machines where an oval pod protected the only life left on the planet. Frost covered most of the man’s navy waistcoat, and a pair of glasses rested in his midnight curls.  

“Is he dead?” Oscar asked, tapping on the glass as though a polite knock would rouse the slumbering man. 

“His chest is moving, so I think he’s still breathing,” Alek shrugged. “Maybe he’s in some sort of deep sleep?”

From the apparatus, Esther examined the digital displays and analysed the sequences. Despite being unable to understand the words, she worked out enough to figure each screen displayed his life signs. Recordings of brain functions. Fluctuating numbers to calculate heart beats. Graphs to show the strength of blood. 

“It appears to be a time sleep,” she said after concluding her examination. “Some machines are monitoring his health, but this one is a chronometer. It’s been going for centuries.” Moving so that Oscar and Alek could see for themselves, she gazed at the surrounding equipment for explanations to the many questions provoking her curiosity. “I just don’t get what he was doing here. What was he researching? Why was he here in the first place? There doesn’t seem to be any remnant of civilisation anywhere.” 

“The only person with any answers is him,” Oscar pointed out. “Reckon you can wake him up?”

Sage eyes darted along the controls of the capsule and Esther scratched at her cheek. “I’m a seeker of knowledge and truth, not a miracle worker. Without being able to understand all of this stuff, I could end up killing him.”

“Perhaps it wouldn’t be a good idea to wake him up,” Alek suggested. “For all we know, this man is a threat.”

“Doesn’t look much of a threat.” Oscar searched about the pod and shook his head. “Can’t see anything in there with him and there’s nothing he can do damage with around here. It’s all just pointless lab-”

Whining screeches trilled from the wall-mounted speakers and warning alarms plunged the laboratory into a sea of crimson. Screens projected from the larger desks circling the globe of Myriad. By the time they stopped, there were dozens, each showing images of unfamiliar cities and unknown lands. 

Jets of steam burst from the suction hatch of the pod and the students scampered back.

Alek created a curved shield and latched it to the fractured wooden tiles before reinforcing his fists with magic. Flecks of the spell blinked around his knuckles like lightning bolts, striking along his skin and crackling in the air. “Is the gateway still active?”

“Looks closed off,” Esther replied. “I think it shut down when the alarms started.”

“Then prepare yourselves.”

On his left, Esther removed the flail from her belt and ignited the runes on the surface of the spiked ball. As the last ancient symbol activated, jade embers leapt from the polished metal. 

Oscar wriggled his fingers and built up a vibration in his fingertips, spreading the hum through his hands and up his forearms. He flexed his muscles to accommodate the charge of energy and held still. “Ready whenever you are.”

Alek remained transfixed on the hissing equipment and waited for the figure within to emerge. Smoke billowed in dense clouds and rolled towards the ventilation in the ceiling. 

As the hatch opened, the waking man lolled forwards, snagging himself on the rounded glass door and lurching over the lip of the sleep capsule. Grunts toppled from his mouth as he struggled to bring himself to a halt. 

“Now,” Alek ordered. 

In a fluid movement, the Cyrogen student flicked his fingers against the floor and drove the vibrations in his arms along the tiles. The kinetic power slipped beneath the man’s feet and sent him sprawling ungracefully to the ground. Alek and Esther rushed in to apprehend him. With sparkling fists and a flame-wreathed flail inches from his eyes, he surrendered. 

“Is this any way to treat an old man?” he groaned, shuffling backwards against the pod. He clambered for something solid to hold on to and eyed the three intruders. “I mean you no harm, so please cease with these theatrics.”

Alek slowly relaxed his defensive position and extended his hand, wrenching him up off the dirty ground. “Apologies for knocking you over.”

The man snorted and brushed residual powder from his chequered trousers, muttering under his breath about understandable misunderstandings. Fixing his thin glasses and correcting the lapels of his tattered jacket, he rose to his full height. “I suppose introductions are in order,” he said. “I am Professor Bartholomew Amias Spark. If you do not knock me clean off my feet again, I will say it is a pleasure to meet you.”

-- -- -- -- --

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[thornfield-library]

Review and Commentary: The Canterville Ghost by Oscar Wilde

5/5 - Spoiler Warning

“Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one’s head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace.”

An enjoyable short story that, during the first half, I read for amusement, and, by the end, I was hooked, wondering how the story would resolve. It begins with the Otis family buying Canterville Chase, despite warnings of it being haunted the ghost of Sir Simon de Canterville, who had killed his wife three hundred years prior. The family says that they do not believe in ghosts, but when a bloodstain is spotted by Mrs. Otis (she "does not care for blood-stains in a sitting room") and is swiftly removed by her son via Pinkerton's Champion Stain Remover and Paragon Detergent, Sir Simon's haunting begins in full force. Many times, the ghost tries to terrorize the Otis family like he has done to others in the past, but utterly fails. His attempts only meet him with members of the Otis family telling him about various products to fix problems he is experiencing (Tammany Rising Sun Lubricator from Mr. Otis for oiling the chains on his wrists and ankles and Doctor Dobell's tincture from Mrs. Otis for his indigestion) as well as a fake ghost made by the Otis twins to scare him. As a matter of fact, the twins seem to find joy in terrorizing Sir Simon, a complete twist on a traditional ghost story.

After several weeks of trying, Sir Simon comes to the conclusion that the American family does not deserve his haunting, and even gives up on keeping the bloodstain in the sitting room and only comes out to walk around at night when no one else is around. Though, the twins do wait for his appearance and catch him after he has changed into another "character", which is another interesting aspect to this story. The idea that one ghost is playing the part of several other specters is an amusing one to say the least, especially given that they are referred to as roles that Sir Simon seems to change into costumes for.

The drama of the story really begins, in my opinion, when Virginia Otis comes across Sir Simon in the Tapestry Chamber. She shows sympathy toward him, even offering to give him a sandwich after he tells her he was starved to death by his wife's brothers after he murdered her. The ghost reveals to her that he has not slept in three hundred years because of the sins he committed in his life and that Virginia is the only one that can help him rest by weeping and praying for forgiveness of his sins. She is whisked away by Sir Simon and her family cannot find her for 24 hours, before she suddenly appears before them outside of the Tapestry Chamber. She informs her family that the ghost will not haunt them anymore and that he can finally rest, before leading them to the room where his skeleton still lay. The family holds a funeral for the dead man, Virginia marries her betrothed, and they live happily ever after. Though I wish the relationship between Sir Simon and Virginia was expanded upon more, I still enjoyed their ending.

There is a lot of symbolism within the story, such as the Otis family representing the average materialistic, American family. The father, Hiram Otis, is a Minister to the United Kingdom (he quite literally represents America). His wife, Lucretia Otis, was a "celebrated New York belle". Their oldest son, Washington Otis, of course could be representing the country's capital, Washington D.C., or the first president of the United States, George Washington. The twin boys are only named once in the story, with nicknames at that, being "Stars and Stripes", which calls back to the American flag. Finally, their daughter, Virginia Otis, is named after the state of Virginia, which also happens to be where the first settlement in America was started (Jamestown).

You could look at this story and see a parody of a ghost story that makes fun of Americans for being too materialistic and having no desire to uphold traditions, but out of all of the people who lived in the house after Sir Simon perished, the Americans were the only ones who were unbothered by his tactics. They refused to be haunted by the past and challenged Sir Simon's rule over the property, making him change his own ways and look toward begging the angel of death for mercy via Virginia. The girl who was revealed to be American, but born in London, offered to help the spirit instead of trying to torment him back (like the twins) or "fix" him (like Washington and her parents. What Wilde seems to be saying is that the British need to stop being so aristocratic and relying on traditions and Americans need to be less materialistic and critical of others. Like Virginia says to her now husband of her experience with Sir Simon,

“He made me see what Life is, and what Death signifies, and why Love is stronger than both.”

[etruatcaelum]

HENRIETTA PINE

PHYSICAL

Tall. Reedy. Skin heavily freckled. Lots of red-brown curls. Protuberant brown eyes. Face bony, gaunt even, with prominent cheekbones, a long round chin, a large, jutting nose. Hands callused. Quick, precise movements.

She's a faunus; her most visible trait is her dentition, as she has only an impressive set of incisors and back molars, but her whole digestive tract is leporine and she has accordingly very unusual dietary needs. Henrietta cannot eat meat; she can, and does, with great enthusiasm, eat grass.

STYLE

Simple and to the point. Worn-out work jeans and black or white A-shirts, plus beaten-up solid-color flannels and fleeces for colder weather. Many of her clothes are made by hand.

Henrietta does not have an emblem. She doesn't hold with that kind of thing.

Her weapon, insofar as she has one, is a hand-axe. Of the "wood-chopping tool" variety. She's a fair hand with most basic weapons, and agricultural implements, and in particular weapons that evolved from agricultural implements—but best with an axe.

AURA

Not quite black—look close, and it's a pitchy brown. She has no formal training and indeed, like most folk where she's from, doesn't know what aura is; as far as Henrietta cares, she's just some sort of hedge-witch.

SEMBLANCE

She wouldn't identify it as such—this terminology isn't widely known in her neck of the woods—but Henrietta's semblance first emerged as lucid dreaming before developing into, first, the ability to cast her conscious out of herself while she sleeps to roam the night as a spectral black rabbit, and later the ability to enter the dreams of other people in this form.

While dream-walking in this way, she has a material form—someone awake could hold the rabbit in their hands, if she let them—but a shadowy, protean one. Try to catch her when she doesn't want to be caught, and the rabbit will flow loose like water, then reform just out of reach. She can't move through solid objects, but the thinnest gap is enough for her to slip through.

Grimm do not show any aggression toward her in this form. The rabbit is an avatar of Henrietta's identity, her self-knowledge, and to the grimm this looks... not all that different from a grimm, in fact, if a peculiarly silent one. So they let her alone. Consequently, Henrietta is not much inclined to think of the grimm as soulless abominations, and the notion that there's more to them than that is one she has no trouble accepting.

She is responsible for a significant number of ghost stories.

PRINCIPAL ALLUSIONS

The Little Prince –> She's the Rose to Oscar's Little Prince, reversed as the caretaker he reluctantly leaves behind, who follows him into the world.

Watership Down –> The Black Rabbit of Inlé is an inspiration.

OTHER NOTES

Henrietta was born and raised in the Palash region of southern Anima. The region is not a part of Mistral, although its western margins do spill into the hinterlands of Kuchinashi and the exact location of the border is a matter of ongoing dispute.

Despite being some of the most fertile country in Anima, the Palash region has not been annexed by any larger neighboring state since late antiquity; the danger posed by Mount Atrox, one of the largest and most active volcanoes in the world, and the grimm-infested jungles surrounding it, imposes serious operational and logistical problems that make large-scale administration of the region prohibitively difficult.

Most of the region’s population lives in a constellation of interdependent free towns and villages, although a significant minority of mainly faunus are pastoral nomads. Henrietta was born into one such nomadic group, orphaned by grimm at the age of ten, and taken in by then-childless farmers afterwards. She now lives in a village called Radicar, near the contested border with Mistral, on the farm she inherited from her adoptive parents.

Henrietta is, by the standards of the region, fairly wealthy—which is to say, she owns a horse: a cobby bay mare named Feray. She runs the farm together with her younger brother, Emre Solsen, his partner Glencoe, and their children, Alon, Lina, and Talha, the youngest of whom is twelve years Oscar’s senior. Although she of course takes to the fields during all-hands-on-deck times of year—plantings and harvest—Henrietta herself is an indifferent farmer and spends most of her days at the Radicarian guardhouse, where she organizes the village’s branch of the regional militia.

She is not a huntress—but she does know how to fight grimm, a necessity for people living outside the kingdoms.

(Oscar’s assertion that he never had combat training before means something different than it would mean to someone who grew up in one of the kingdoms: the regional militia comprises volunteers between the ages of nineteen and sixty, and Oscar—being fourteen—had never drilled with them before, but he was raised knowing how to fight and defend himself as a matter of course.)

The militia is organized around a system of watchtowers, signal lamps, and horse-drawn trolleys which run on tracks running between every settlement in the region. If one town or village is attacked—whether by grimm or bandits—the combined forces of the entire region can be swiftly mobilized to its defense.

Palashian nomads do not directly participate in this system, but most groups have a few riders acting as message-runners and scouts on behalf of the farmers full-time, in exchange for the promise of shelter, supply, and protection should the nomads suffer any calamity.

[thatguywithabook]

"Death must be so beautiful. to lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. to have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. to forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace. you can help me. you can open for me the portals of death's house, for love is always with you, and love is stronger than death is" with such ease? to touch my soul so casually?

— Oscar Wilde, The Canterville Ghost

[hekatontarch]

Yes, death. Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no to-morrow. To forget time, to forget life, to be at peace. You can help me. You can open for me the portals of death's house, for love is always with you, and love is stronger than death is.

La muerte debe ser hermosa! ¡Descansar en la blanda tierra oscura, mientras las hierbas se balancean encima de nuestra cabeza, y escuchar el silencio! No tener ni ayer ni mañana. Olvidarse del tiempo y los males de la vida; quedar en paz. Usted puede ayudarme; usted puede abrirme el portal de la morada de la muerte, porque el amor le acompaña a usted siempre, y el amor es más fuerte que la muerte.

Oscar Wilde - El fantasma de Canterville.

[kissedbypoem]

Yes, death.

Death must be so beautiful.

To lie in the soft brown earth,

with the grasses waving above one's head,

and listen to silence.

To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow.

To forget time, to forget life, to be at peace.

You can help me.

You can open for me the portals of death's house,

for love is always with you,

and love is stronger than death is.

— Oscar Wilde, The Canterville Ghost

[philosohappy]

From page 13 of The Canterville Ghost, by Oscar Wilde

Far away beyond the pine-woods,’ he answered, in a low dreamy voice, ‘there is a little garden. There the grass grows long and deep, there are the great white stars of the hemlock flower, there the nightingale sings all night long. All night long he sings, and the cold, crystal moon looks down, and the yew-tree spreads out its giant arms over the sleepers.’

Virginia’s eyes grew dim with tears, and she hid her face in her hands.

‘You mean the Garden of Death,’ she whispered.

‘Yes, Death. Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one’s head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no to-morrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace. You can help me. You can open for me the portals of Death’s house, for Love is always with you, and Love is stronger than Death is.’

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

"Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no to-morrow. To forget time, to forget life, to be at peace. You can help me. You can open for me the portals of death's house, for love is always with you, and love is stronger than death is."

– Oscar Wilde, The Canterville Ghost.