#Garden Bench Plaque

[classicmemorialbenches]

Techniques we use to depicting images on memorial bench designs

At Classic we have a number of techniques we use to depict images on our memorial bench designs and one of our favourite things to do is the colour resin inlay. There are several techniques that can be used. Here are,

✅Preparing the artwork

✅Carving the shapes into the wood

✅Pouring all of the colours

✅Skimming off the excess glue

✅clamped

[bullet-prooflove]

Inspiration: Terry Silver x Reader

Tagging: @Thedeadsingforme @thottieonline @rhepworth @eddieslut69 @mia1653

Companion piece to Roses - A bouquet of roses sparks an act of revenge.

The morning after you run into your ex at the art gallery Terry wakes up to find himself alone in bed. He sighs as he runs his palm over the cool sheets because he hates that JP does this to you, that he still gets into your head after all this time.

The house is empty when he gets up, your car isn’t in the driveway. He wracks his brain for a moment trying to puzzle out where you’d be at this time in the morning and that’s when he remembers Osaka, how peaceful you always feel sitting underneath the trees during the cherry blossom festival.

There’s a place like that in LA, he recalls, somewhere you’ve been asking him to take you when he has a little time. It makes sense that you would go there, try to recapture the feeling of serenity you felt in Japan.

He finds you in Descanso Gardens, sitting on a bench with your sketchbook in your lap. It’s only when he sits down beside you that he realises just how tightly you’re gripping that fineliner.

“It’s happened again.” You say quietly as you stare down at the blank page. “I can’t draw.”

He hears the devastation in your voice at that admission, he feels it deep within his heart. The last time this happened it took almost a year to break the block.

“I hate that he does this to me, that I allow him to have this power...”

“It’s not as easy as that.” Terry says knowingly. He still wears the scars of his father’s emotional abuse, there’s days when he looks in the mirror and he remembers the cruel, twisted things the old man used to say and he feels them viscerally. Those are the days Terry needs a little more from you, your attention, your care, your love. And you give those things to him in abundance because you know what it’s like to be told you’re a disappointment, that you aren’t worth a damn thing.

That’s what happens when JP steps back into your world, you go back to that place. He may not have hit you, but there is no question in Terry’s mind that he abused you. Terry hates him for that, he hates him for a lot of the things he did to you.

“Let’s take a walk.” He suggests, tilting his head towards the reflecting pool. “A break may do you a little good.”

You don’t speak, instead you pack away your sketchpad before raising to your feet and taking Terry’s hand. He knows that you find the sound of his voice soothing so he guides you through the gardens explaining the history of the place, the flowers they have on display, the conservation efforts.

When you find yourself outside the Sturt Haaga Gallery, he draws you inside. It’s worked in the past, being around other people’s artwork, reviewing their techniques, it inspires you to try something new. It’s the reason that you were in Paris the day the two of you met.

He hangs back as you wander, your fingertips trailing over the display plaques as you read the words. He loves watching you in your element, he often wonders what it’s like, seeing the world through your eyes. You pause in front of a vase made of paper clay and embroidered fabric. He know it’s the colour that’s captivated you, it’s a rich shimming azure that reminds you of the sea back in Italy. There are contrasting flowers sewn into the material, rich hues of yellow and red, each one glistening with rhinestones.

And just like that the block is demolished and you find yourself sitting with your back to the wall on the opposite side of the room, sketching out your own provisional version of the piece. Sunshine yellow you write in the margin, alongside an arrow directed towards the main body of the image before moving onto your own delicate vine work.

It’s a couple of hours later that the gallery closes for lunch, by then you’ve developed several pages of the design along with your own notations. You’ve never worked with paper clay before, it’s going to get a little fun, a little messy and Terry thinks that’s exactly what you need.

You’re excited by the time you leave the gallery, your eyes are bright, there’s a spring in your step. You clutch your sketchbook to your chest as you tell Terry about your plans once you get back home and he can’t help but smile because you have that spark again, that fire. The cloud that JP cast is gone and there’s just you, shining in all your glory.

It’s an hour later, that your phone chimes with a notification. You’ve left it in the charging dock in the kitchen, the same place you always do when you work in the studio because you don’t want to be disturbed. Terry glances up from his lunch preparations, catching a glimpse of the message before it disappears off the screen.

Come out and play with me tonight, Velvet Underground - The Red Room, 10pm. – JP x

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[channoticedmeuwu]

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐌 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 — 𝐂. 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐍

tsk — who were you? what were you? that's all 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐍 thought about when you stood next to him on the auditorium stage, smiling at the dozen school photographers and fingers holding a plaque that now belonged to both of you. How dare you; disrupt Part-Time Perfect's chance of being the one and only. How dare you; try to make your way into being the face of the school next to him, after being someone he watched from afar for years?

and how dare you look so fucking hot while doing it

W — mention of hospitals. otherwise none?

A/N — a small kiss to the cheek to distract from the fact that this series isn't ending too fast bc I absolutely refuse to let it just end.

you two sat outside the hospital, sitting on one of the benches near a garden where many patients sat, watching the huge fountain hum lazily. the night was growing on, stars twinkling in the sky as the both of you absorbed the night.

"you seriously didn't have to," soobin was protesting, stacks of completed homework answers in his hand as he stared at you with his pleading eyes, "y/n, I can't take this!"

"why not?" you only pushed it back into his hands, "you're the only one who doesn't beg me for homework answers. you kind of deserve it."

"but..." his voice trailed off after he noticed the heavy stack of answers had little doodled hearts and sea animals on the corners, and instead, he broke into a laugh. "thank you."

something about your little additions to what you gave him warmed him from the inside. he found himself just staring at you, going dumb in the head while the reflection of the moon peered onto your features.

you only hummed in response, staring at the night sky as the wind blew your hair into your mouth. "ugh!" you exclaimed.

soobin just giggled underneath his breath, watching you ruffle your hair and settle them down. every strand you touched curled between your fingers. he wanted to know what it felt, maybe, just maybe, to run his hands through your hair, to listen to you breathe against his chest. he wanted to know what it felt to match each others breathing, to hold hands and dissolve in each other's warmth....

"soobin!" you snapped your fingers infront his lost eyes, "this is the third time I said your name, smartass."

and then he saw your face. oh, your face, eyebrows raised, eyes bright and lips wearing your signature teasing smile. he pursed his lips, memories of the tight space back on the rooftop during the trip returning. oh, how you were magic. the way you left him craving you, your eyes staring at his lips, your mouth parted and eyelashes fluttering— you were practically asking him to kiss you on the spot. and it was shameful, to say the least, that he wanted you to get closer, to shut the space between the two of you, to feel your lips on his own.

he found himself swallowing as your lips curled into a smirk. flowers of adrenaline started nipping at his knees. he felt himself going lightheaded, staring at you like he only wanted to kiss you. shit, soobin, not now!

"what's wrong, soobin?" you inched closer on the bench, causing soobin to lean back. "y'know," you began, "you get awfully quiet staring at me these days."

"force of habit," he huffed out, looking the opposite way, "you make my mind go blank."

and then he realized how that sounded out loud. fuck, why did you say that, soobin?

you blinked at him. now your mind was going blank, "oh." silence followed you two as you fought the burning sensation in your chest.

the fountain continued to hum. the night continued to grow.

"well," you tried to force out something, anything, "here's seri's gift," you felt a smile creeping to your lips as you met soobin's darting eyes.

"uh—thanks, but you didn't have to."

"shut up."

you stood on your feet, "I better get going. it's getting late and you should get some sleep."

soobin just mumbled protests, giving you the same guilty look he gave you on the rooftop as he involuntarily laced his fingers with your own, begging you to stay. he tilted his head at you, studying your movements, as if to say just a little bit longer?

you smiled, trying to forget what soobin blurted as you bent closer. although you were better at masking it than soobin, you've been observing his fidgeting fingers, his bitten lips, his messy hair, his eyes tenderly gazing at you like you had something he wanted—you.

you felt butterflies hitting against your stomach walls as you repressed the urge to stay. you stared at him, at his tired eyes from staying up too long, at his burning ears from just being with you, at his permanently pink cheeks— feeling yourself grow warmer, fonder.

"try not to overwork yourself," you said, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. you heard his breath hitch as you felt his fingers tighten around yours. you realized he still hadn't let them go from when you stood up. but he didn't protest, letting out a slight hum, or a gasp, or both—of relief, as if you finally awarded him for being so composed around you.

his eyelids threatened to close, finally finding sleep seeping into his eyes for the first time in days. he felt your warmth spread all through his body. his grip tightened. you ran a hand through his hair, his features melting to your touch.

"it wouldn't really work if this co-president thing became solo, would it?"

41 — crew love

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[rottenshigaraki]

I went to an art museum recently and it got me wondering who from the league would go with you

Here are those headcanons

{Twice, Mr.Compress, Toga, Spinner, Shigaraki, Dabi}

This was in my drafts from a year ago. here you go LOL

Mr.Compress

The only one whos willing and excited to go is Mr.Compress. He buys the tickets

He holds your hand

Reads every plaque

Will read them to you if you want

He will take his time admiring the artwork

Really enjoys the sculpture

Its an all day event for you two

Would spend a good time at the rose garden, smelling and observing all the beautiful flowers

Will steal a few of them for you to take home

Dabi

Dabi will not go. At all. Ever.

You could not bribe this man to go

Thinks its the boringest thing on earth

He could care less about art and definitely isnt going to spend all day with you just standing around

He’ll drive you and pick you up

Asks Toga or someone to keep you company

Tomura Shigarak

Shigaraki also wouldn't care

He might tag along just to make sure no one would try to talks to you, and to just be with you

He'll admire the artwork a lil, thinks its nice and can see the work that was put into it

Doesnt care to read about them though

Also doesnt care about the rose garden that isnt even in bloom yet but he rather be outside than in

The silence was so deafening 

understimulated to the max!

try to rush you through the rooms

Does not like the marble statues, at all

Himiko Toga

Toga would go with you if you asked

She would try to read about each piece but would get bored quickly

Wouldnt want to stay long

She'd enjoy the marble sculptures

Find them funny and would mock their poses and expressions

The rose garden being her favorite even if it wasnt in bloom

Would steal any roses in bloom

Spinnner

Spinner also would not want to go but he'd go for you

He'd enjoy looking at the artwork

Listens to you talk to your hearts content about artists and their work

I feel like he wouldnt like the marble sculptures, makes him uncomfortable

Probably because the majority are all naked

He doesnt understand why people care so much about flowers but he enjoys how nice the rose garden is and how it would be only you two around

A nice moment to just sit on the benches and relax with each other

also would get very understimulated but wouldnt fuss

Ends up enjoying himself because of you

Jin || Twice

Jin, now Jin would love to go but he hates how quiet it is

He'd be very self conscious about his movements and what he says

But he'd enjoy having your arms linked and being close

You'd read to him about the artist and their artwork

Tell him about the sculptures and what they represent

He'd enjoy his time because he's with you

Also likes being outside more in the rose garden

He likes flowers

Likes the pretty roses and will pick one to put in your hair

and kiss you or something sweet

actually enjoys the art, will stare and admire the pieces 

[meekmedea]

⭐️ dis aliter visum (more specifically, felix x clem)

It's always a treat to revisit this fic! I previously wrote a little about them here and here, but I do have a few thoughts about these 2 :)

Dr. Dovecote vs Dr. Ravinstill / Mrs. Ravinstill

Most people think since the Ravinstill family is more powerful/well-known, she'd take his surname as her own after marriage.

For Clemmie, it was a bit more was like my parents raised me and supported me through this degree and I would honour them in this way. (We're never given explicit years when they get together/marry, but I imagine she gets her med degree before marriage.)

There's also this excerpt that I'm fond of:

Most men bought their wives pretty jewels and such. Felix did too, but he also liked to buy medical equipment and pour money into renovating the hospital. In particular, the gardens. His reasoning escapes her, but it’d been so utterly ridiculous that she couldn’t help laughing at it. 

Clemmie is pretty offhand about this, but I like to imagine Felix could get rather passionate showing his support. This turns into the fact that any hospital she works at tends to be well-funded, courtesy of Felix.

Like how can he show his support if she has to work with subpar equipment?? - Felix, justifying his purchases.

Previously, he nearly bought/built a hospital for her when she finished her degree. (His cousin talked him down to something smaller) You know how big donors get a plaque/area named after them? Felix get offered that a lot whenever he donates, but rather than getting his name shown (since in his mind, it'll take it away from Clemmie), he asks for things like gardens to be built. While he doesn't have orange blossoms grown - in case of pollen allergies and sensitivity, you can bet the flower is carved onto a bench somewhere.

Any hospital that Clemmie has worked at has some sort of mark left behind. The flower is carved onto counters, the back of benches ... and it's such a simple design that nobody thinks about it, but these 2 just know.

[foxblood]

The Threads of Memory: II In Case of Rain

Chapters: 1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23/24/25

The bronze guise of Silvanus reached an arm across the marble arch for Meilikki, and she on the other end of the pillar pulled her bowstring taut and aimed an arrow at his heart wreathed in oak leaves.  The plaque above their heads announced “University of Waterdeep Botanic Gardens”.  An old couple sat on the benches beneath the gate, shoulders close together behind the half-sodden pages of the Waterdeep Digest.  Beyond them, the manicured meadow entry and gardens beyond swayed red and gold against the mist that settled heavily over the Castle Wards as it blew in from the ocean.  Gale took his place on the vacant bench beneath the entrance and pulled his robes tighter around him as the damp worked its way through the wool.

He crossed his ankles and dug a pamphlet out of his pocket.  The pages felt thick and sluggish in the humidity when he turned them, the cover advertising the 10th release of the Journal of the Netheril Archaeological Society.  After each line of self-important text, he glanced at the entrance until Velim appeared on the path and stood up to greet them, retaining nothing from the pamphlet.

Velim looked both ways as they crossed under the entryway as though they thought someone may be lurking at the corners, then pulled off their hood and smoothed the neat braid behind their head.  A shy smile crossed their face, but they buried their hands in the pockets of their coat.  

“Sorry I’m late,” Velim nodded into the meadow so that Gale fell into step beside them, “not really my neighborhood.”

“That just puts us back on even footing,” Gale smiled back to put them at ease.

“Yes, well, it’s my own fault for leaving on time.  I should have prepared to get lost,” they pulled a gloved hand out of their pocket to run their finger over the water condensing on the arched railing of a bridge crossing a creek.

“I didn’t take you for one to lose your way.” Gale inhaled the wet autumn day as they stepped onto a path between the trees covered in the leaves falling gold from the ginkgo trees above them.

Velim’s eyes turned toward the canopy.  “I contain multitudes, including a chronic inability to read maps.”

Gale offered his hand as they climbed a steep stone staircase, but Velim kept their hands in their pockets and he pulled it away.  “You must travel with a companion, then?”

They shook their head.  “I find my way regardless.  Would you like some lunch?  My treat.”

“That’s not necessary,” Gale said.

“Nonsense, let me buy you lunch.  I just got the advance for my next publication, something to work the chill out of my hands is hardly going to break my finances, and I was late this time,” Velim insisted.

“Is that so?  Which publication?” Gale asked, “something grand?”

“Not my contribution,” their fingers brushed the fine hairs on the underside of a cherry-red leaf and read the stone with the name of the plant engraved upon it, sanddusk creeper, “but the copper etched illustrations, well, those are quite grand.  It’s a textbook documenting the physiological impacts of magic mediated illness.”

The memory of a wizard Gale once knew flashed before his eyes, the skin of his face melting due to a backfiring healing spell intended to clear his acne.  “Are you an expert in such things?”

“No,” they paused and looked over the side of the pond where bright orange fish swarmed at the banks, begging them for food, “well, perhaps I am now.  I was selected as the ghost writer, each article is informed by the true experts of the individual ailments.  The only magical ailment I’m intimately familiar with is invoked hyperplasia.”

“Because the only intervention is surgical, yes, I have no doubt you would be,” his face tightened with concern, the memory of his school friend stuck in his mind, “a terrible condition indeed.”

“People have difficulty wrapping their mind around healing invocations,” Velim began, each word considered before being voiced, “they see a wound close, and believe they’re seeing some process reverse bodily damage when the truth of the matter is that the invocation is a calling forth of cellular regeneration.  A less-than-precise use of such a spell leads the body into devouring itself to feed whatever retains a splinter of the invocation,” they sighed, “forgive me, I see it so often that I find its continued prevalence exhausting.  Were you ever a student here?”

“I spent a great deal of time as a joint researcher between the archaeology department and the Blackstaff Research Institute, but, no, I was always destined for Blackstaff’s program.  In fact, an old colleague of mine in the archaeology department was the first person to show me this,” he gestured to the turning leaves above them, catching the mist and releasing it as heavy droplets, “I’m sure she’s industrious as ever in Baldur’s Gate, but I do miss her.  She makes a brilliant collaborator.”

“Always a shame when a great researcher moves out of reach,” Velim looked above them and watched droplets slide off a dome of magic above themself and Gale.  When had he cast that spell?  Now that they were paying attention, they could feel the threads leading back to him.  Effortless.  A small voice in the back of their mind wondered if he might teach them such a thing, “you’re quite skilled.”

Gale followed their gaze to the shield above them as the rain finally reached them from the sea in a soft patter on the leaves.  “What, that trick?”

Velim couldn’t cast a shield spell with that ease -- not at all.  They had tried and splashed their apartment with acid.  “I didn’t see you cast it.”

“Are you at all familiar with the Arts?” Gale asked, admiring his own work as other walkers on the path scrambled for cover in the steadily intensifying rain.

Velim considered their answer, letting the pause drag on almost too long before responding.  “I learned only what kept me from discharging magic accidentally.”

Gale’s eyebrows rose.  “A sorcerer?”

They shoved their hands into their pockets again.  “Yes, but I couldn’t tell you from what source.”

A flush rose to Gale’s cheeks, turning them redder than the flush that cold already brought to his face.  “My apologies, I don’t mean to suggest -- well, I’ve met many sorcerers with less intellectual acumen, if you’d allow me a modicum of judgment.”

Velim smirked at him, but their hands remained firmly in their pockets.  “The best of us don’t attend arcane academies.”  Including themself in that number felt wrong, but Gale was too distracted by his own embarrassment to notice the bitterness in their expression was directed at themself.

“Neither of your parents were gifted?” Gale recovered.  The shield above them never wavered.

“I can’t say, I don’t know them.” Velim waited for Gale to press further.

Gale shuffled his feet through the fallen leaves.  “I see.  I’m sorry for your loss.  I lost my father before I could remember, myself.  Do you mind if I ask how it happened?”

The time he wasted on apologies gave Velim time to set the pieces of their story in order.  “I’m not sure if they’re dead,” they watched Gale’s face change in surprise, “I fell from the roof of a building when I was 14, took on a severe head trauma.  I can’t recall anything before waking up in a surgery in the middle of a quarantine for fever.  I couldn’t leave, and I had no way to tell anyone who I was or where I came from, so I began my apprenticeship as a surgeon as soon as I had hands that worked.”

“And they never came looking for you?” Gale pressed.

Velim shrugged, unwilling to twist any more of their past into something fit for consumption.  “When you were working on that joint committee with your colleague, were you looking to investigate that site you mentioned in the Silver Marches?  The one involved with the Ortenkus story?”

“The project was intended to map the annual travels of each known enclave in Netheril based on historical accounts and traces of weave modified by the passage of the mythallars.  No time for old Ortenkus, I’m afraid,” he turned, the grin of a teacher about to drop some semi-secret knowledge on his student forming at the corners of his mouth, “The towns that dot the Silver Marches now, you know they follow the paths of weave left by the mythallars?  The very roads of northern Faerun follow those ancient cities.”

Velim returned his smile.  “I did not know that.  Did the mythallars raise the earth out of the swamp, or is there something further at play there?  It seemed nigh-impassable to me.”

“Unfortunately not,” Gale trailed off when he noticed Velim wasn’t looking at him anymore, their gaze following a pair of arguing voices obscured by foliage, “probably just a lover’s spat.”

Velim cocked their head to one side.  “Probably,” they echoed.

“Are you worried about someone seeing us together?” Gale’s voice dropped, hoping the worry that the time they spent together may be complicated by their inescapable pasts came out as concern for their well-being.

They shook their head.  “No, not at all,” and turned to him, “just an old habit.  Few folks like seeing a Vulture in their village.  You learn to watch for people about to make a bad decision.”

Gale’s posture loosened.  “I see, and those two are about to make a poor decision, in your estimations?”

Velim glanced through the trees, trying to catch a glimpse of the arguing pair.  “Maybe.  Shall we find somewhere dry for lunch?”

“Sounds like a fine idea, this way.” Gale led them down a path that cut between the trunks of two thick maples twined together through some feat of magic or botany.

Velim hesitated at the path’s start, but jogged to catch up before Gale noticed the delay and they got caught in the rain without the shield spell for an umbrella.

“I have something to ask you, and you may feel that it’s coming on a bit strong, but I assure you that my intentions are purely platonic,” Gale waited for Velim to match his stride before continuing, “do you have plans for Liar’s Night this year?”

“None I couldn’t be persuaded to change, though I will be walking with the rest of the Vultures in the parade,” the path narrowed and Velim bumped Gale with their shoulder, “Are you in need of a plus-one for a party of preeminent citizens?”

“No -- well, yes.  Blackstaff Tower holds a Liar’s Masquerade annually.  Normally I would attend alone, but with my extended absence I thought I might benefit from some company this year.  Of course, if you aren’t comfortable with such a thing you need only say the word and I will not mention it again.”  Gale leaned into their weight, following Velim when the path widened again and they pulled away.

Velim kicked through a pile of wet leaves before responding.  “I find it difficult to believe you’ve never taken a guest.”

“Well, I was never alone, I simply arrived alone,” Gale waved the notion off, but his face grew redder, “I once had a full dance card.  It’s only that after a full year of absence, the things that once were easy are no longer.”

“I’d be happy to accompany you, of course,” Velim assured him, “you’ve never brought a date?  Truly?”

“Not for any lack of experience.” He pulled the collar of his coat up.

“Happy to be your first, then,” Velim shot him a crooked smile that sent feathers fluttering through his stomach, their teeth sharper in the expression, “I’m sure I’ll make some poor soul terribly jealous.  Should we plan to match, or let the cards fall where they may in terms of dress?”

Gale feigned a cough to keep his voice from cracking.  “No time to draft up something new, we may as well don the costumes of yesteryear.  I expected more resistance to the idea.”

“Oh, no, I adore a masked party,” Velim buried their hands deeper in their pockets, but their step skipped ahead and stretched the shield that now carried them both beneath a curtain of rain, “They make for good people watching.  I only warn you that I can’t dance.”

“I’m not exactly in the practice of it myself,” Gale ran a hand through his hair and breathed in the smell of wet earth as they approached a covered walkway with scattered food carts meant to feed the students and staff of the university, “I’ll survive a crushed toe or two, should we find ourselves in a dancing mood.  I wouldn’t have thought you the type for parties.”

“Then you thought right,” Velim admitted, walking ahead of him and into the cover of the walkway where the smell of cooking meat swelled beneath the roof, “but variety is the spice of life, is it not?  And I’ve never been to Blackstaff Tower, you might show me around.”

The rain continued falling over the botanical gardens long after both their bowls were empty and replaced in the bin of used dishes beside the noodle cart.  Velim leaned on the railing separating the walkway from the cobblestone paths of the garden and watched the rain slide off the roof in thick rivulets.  Gale leaned against the column beside them.

“Quite the day for a walk in the garden,” Velim glanced sideways at Gale, “I’m tempted to ask you to walk me home with that shield spell of yours.”

“I would be honored,” Gale said with a little bow, “shall we take the path through the trees?”

Velim watched Gale as they stepped out into the rain together, the deluge parting.  Gale glanced back at them back with a sly glint in his eye.  They didn’t notice so much as a twitch of his fingers, and realized he had never dropped his concentration.  

They came under cover of the trees, and Gale stumbled on the uneven path.  His knees buckled as the orb spasmed in his chest.  Velim caught his elbow, his weight dropping them both for a sickening second before Velim pulled him upright.  They searched his face for the ailment, noting the pinch of pain at his temples and corners of his eyes, one hand firm on his arm to hold him steady and the other bracing their shoulder against his weight.  Gale blinked hard, his mouth opening in silent apology.  Velim dragged him to a bench and sat him down.  The chilled rainwater soaking into his coat fought the tearing sensation radiating through his chest, the orb grasping frantically for Velim’s hand on his arm.  He pulled away.  

Velim sat on the bench beside him a few inches apart, hands back in their pockets.  They waited for his back to ease out of its tense arch, his hand massaging his chest as he sat back against the bench and let the chill slip over him as raindrops fell fat and heavy against his skin.  He spoke the word and circled his fingers in the air and the shield reappeared above them.

“Has this happened before?” Velim asked.

Gale took a deep breath, his lungs straining against the pressure of the orb.  “Yes, occasionally.  It’s no trouble, really, I’m sorry to bother you with it.”

“Rain check on walking me home,” Velim joked, their bedside manner slipping into place, “have you seen a doctor about it?”

“Yes,” the affirmative was always the correct answer, “nothing for it, I’m afraid.”

“How long do these episodes typically last?” Velim ran down their list of questions, filtering the ones that seemed too personal for a concerned exchange between friends, ���and do you have something to take for them?”

“Not long,” Gale’s voice wavered, “but I’m afraid I do not have the medicine on my person.”

Velim searched his face for something and Gale thought with a jolt that they knew he was lying to them until they blinked and glanced at the mosaic of leaves dotting the path.

“Very well,” they conceded, “when you’re ready, allow me to hail you a cab.”

Gale thought to deny the offer, but he knew it was a command and not a request.  He dragged the last moments out, watching the rain cascading over the shield spell and turning the world into a watery smear of red and gold.  “Shall we?”

Gale stood up before Velim could offer their hand, so they kept their hands where they were and matched his slow pace.  Their footsteps were drowned out by the rain and puddles were beginning to form in the low points of the walkways.

“My apologies for cutting our time short,” Gale said once the pressure in his chest eased down to a flutter, “I did very much enjoy it.  Don’t think my outburst is in any way related to a lack of desire to see you home safely.  Please.”

“I also enjoyed it,” Velim assured him as they entered the courtyard at the entry, the dead stalks of wildflowers giving off the aroma of sodden hay, “and I imagine I’ll enjoy the Liar’s Masquerade just as much, but promise you’ll get some rest and see your doctor again before the event.”

“I promise.” The orb pulsed hotly around a tightening in his chest.

They arrived at the street and Velim flagged down a carriage.  They pulled up their hood and saw him safely inside the covered cab, then tried to offer the driver payment.

“No, no,” Gale pushed a few nibs into the driver’s open palm, “not after you bought lunch.”

Velim put their change back in their pockets.  “I’ll see you on Lair’s Night, Gale.”

“You will.  I promise you, you will.” Gale sat back in the cab as the driver kicked the horse into gear.  He massaged his chest, the faint black lines of the mark pulsing as molten metal beneath the surface of his skin all the way up to his eye where his vision blurred with each hard beat of his heart.

The shield spell vanished with Gale, and the rain resumed falling on the oiled leather of Velim’s duster in a way that pressed the cold into their skin through the waxed seams.  They waited for the carriage to turn out of sight to begin walking, scolding themself for offering to let Gale walk them home in the first place.  A foolish idea, and something they should never have considered extending to someone who knew them not at all.

Without the shield, the cold crept into their shirt and pulled the scars on their chest taut.  They rubbed along the line of them, from sternum to clavicle on each side, smoothing the scales and soothing the prickling scar tissue beneath.  Their shoulder ached where the muscles had strained against Gale’s weight.

[tarttheart]

PRECIOUS LOVE: CHAPTER 12 (FINALE) - JAMIE TARTT x YOU

summary: you get Jamie’s help to find some closure.

word count: 1.2k

warnings: language, mention of pregnancy loss

-

chapter 12: from heaven above

Jamie found himself waiting at the address you texted him in a dull black hoodie and jeans. The audacity to try to restrict his fashion choices, he thought albeit through a smile. He could not believe he had a chance to make it right with you but also, what could it be that you two would be doing together?

“Hey, thanks for coming,” you greeted as you approached him, speeding up when you spotted him in the distance.

You were dressed pretty lowkey too and holding a little posy. You gestured for him to follow you as you stepped onto church grounds and went through a side gate. Intrigued, Jamie followed silently only to find himself in a little church garden, sitting on a bench next to you after you set the posy by a plaque in the middle.

“We’re at a church,” Jamie announced, stating the obvious.

“Yeh, yeh, we are,” you said, squinting up into the spring sun.

“I didn’t know you’re religious.”

“I’m not,” you inhaled sharply before turning to him, trying to keep a steady voice as you spoke, “it’s the anniversary of my due date.”

“Oh, fuck,” Jamie said softly.

“I’ve always spent it at home grieving in bed but, I feel like it’s time for some change and to move on. I figured it was right to say goodbye to Lemy here and with you.”

“Lemy?”

“Yea, I called it Lemy when it was in my belly,” you reminisced fondly.

“What the fuck kind of name is Lemy?”

“It was short for Lemon because I like lemon tarts,” you defended.

“Because you like lemon tarts? Why didn’t you call it chocolate cake or custard pudding?”

“God, Jamie, you can be so dense. What is your last name?”

“Oh… fuck…” Jamie swore before curiously asking, “you would’ve used my last name?”

“Eh, I hadn’t decided but maybe. Depending on how you had reacted when I told you. Maybe both our last names or just one. I don’t know.”

You cleared your throat, shifting the conversation back to the present, “so, yes, I wanted to say goodbye to Lemy and I thought it might nice for you to know about Lemy and Lemy to know you.”

“Right, so, what do we do?” Jamie asked, not having done anything remotely close to this before, “do we just talk and shit?”

“Yea, I’ll start,” you offered, “hey Lemy, it’s me, your mum.”

You paused, feeling your emotions choke up in your throat and the tears forming. Jamie reached over to hold your hand, giving it a little squeeze to serve as a reminder that he was there and you had his support.

You composed yourself and continued, “It’s been four years, hey. I think about you all the time. But, Lemy, Mum thinks she needs to start looking forward and Dr Sharon helped me understand that you would want me to too. I might not dedicate the day to you going forward, but I still love and remember you. Forever and always. Thank you for bringing me joy even if only for a little while and you’ll always be family even if we never met physically. Be healthy and happy wherever you are.”

Jamie felt his own emotions overwhelm him. This was the first time he was learning of Lemy or even really spending time thinking about Lemy. He could not even begin to imagine what it would have been like for you thinking about it so much throughout the years.

“I brought someone special to see you today, Lemy… this is Jamie, I told you about him before…”

“Uh, yeh, hi,” Jamie started, hesitating for a second before he continued, “hey Lemy. It’s me, your dad, Jamie.”

The words felt weird coming from his mouth but when he looked over at you, he knew they were right. The sad smile on your face encouraged him to continue, “sorry we haven’t spoken before but now that I know about you, I, uh, I might drop in every now and then. I appreciate you being with your mum when you did. It sounds like you made her really happy when you were with her. She really loves you and she misses you.”

“I wish we could’ve all met, yeh. Would’ve loved to see who you’d have been more like,” Jamie smiled sadly to himself, pausing as he tried to gather himself before he finished with, “uh, right, yeh. Go well.”

The air was sombre and you both sat quietly, each taking in the heaviness of the moment and what had been said.

You were first to speak, “I genuinely meant to tell you. Then, they said it was a bit small so I waited. Then, it wasn’t going to happen so I didn’t. You didn’t need to know about something that wasn’t happening.”

“But other stuff was happening, I should’ve known. You were pregnant, I should’ve known.”

“Right, imagine that call, Jamie. “Hey, I know you’re a premier league star and I’m living across the world but I was pregnant with your kid. I say was because I’ve now lost the baby. Thought you should know, bye”,” you paused for effect and Jamie sighed.

“You had so much going for you, I didn’t want to be a distraction,” you explained.

“You wouldn’t have though. You’d have made me better.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. I was a proper fucking prick at Man City and you still got in me head, you did.”

You laughed, “well, it’s all in the past now.”

“I was a bit fucked up after you stopped replying,” Jamie admitted.

“I’m sorry,” you apologised, meaning every bit of the apology.

“I fucked things up with Keeley too because a part of me was like, “what’s the fucking point if even you couldn’t see good in me? You’re a fucking Saint and you thought I was shit”.”

“I-I… I…”

“They set me back on the right path, Richmond did. Coach, Keeley, even fucking Roy. They made me better so you know, I can be here for you now without being a fucking arsehole”

“Jamie, I’m sorry you ever thought it was your fault. I’m sorry I didn’t communicate better with you then. I couldn’t catch my breath to even say the words. When it happened I was barely surviving and maybe it would’ve helped having people but, I couldn’t do that to anyone else.”

“Yeh, look, the me now wants to say I’d have been there for you then too but, I was a fucking prick so I might not have been. I’m just glad I can be here for you now. And, you know, if you need, in the future.”

You smiled. You had spent the better part of five years avoiding Jamie because of how much it reminded you of what had happened before. He was a painful memory. But, here and now, with Lemy on this pretty significant day, you almost felt like it was right.

“Yea, maybe. In the future,” you said, meaning it as you looked at how Jamie was still holding onto your hand.

Jamie smiled a little before joking, “I get final say on names, yeh?”

“What?” You snapped.

“No more naming kids after fruits, yeh? We aren’t in fucking America.”

“Deal.”

-

< chapter 11 | master list

[peeetlovers]

What should you do if your dog dies of natural causes?

Losing a beloved dog is one of the most heartbreaking experiences for any pet owner. As you navigate through this difficult time, choosing to bury your dog at home can provide a sense of closeness and allow for a personal and heartfelt farewell. However, there are several important factors to consider to ensure that the burial is conducted safely, legally, and respectfully. Here are the key points to pay attention to when burying your dog.

1. Check Local Laws and Regulations

Before proceeding with a home burial, it's crucial to verify local laws and regulations. Some municipalities have specific rules regarding pet burials, such as restrictions on home burials, required burial depths, or mandates for certain types of containers. Contact your local health department or municipal office to obtain the necessary information and ensure you comply with local ordinances.

2. Choose an Appropriate Location

Selecting the right location for your dog's final resting place is essential. Choose a peaceful and secluded spot on your property that is unlikely to be disturbed in the future. Avoid areas near water sources, gardens, or places with high foot traffic. Ensure the chosen location is not prone to flooding, which could expose the grave and cause distress.

3. Digging the Grave

The grave should be deep enough to prevent other animals from disturbing the remains. A depth of at least 3 to 4 feet is recommended. The grave should also be wide and long enough to accommodate your dog comfortably. Use a sturdy shovel, and take your time to dig the grave properly, ensuring it is secure and respectful.

4. Consider a Burial Container

Using a burial container such as a biodegradable coffin or a shroud can provide added protection and dignity. Biodegradable options are environmentally friendly and will decompose naturally over time. Make sure the container is appropriately sized for your dog and that it aligns with any local regulations.

5. Handle Your Dog with Care

Gently place your dog in the chosen burial container or directly into the grave. Handle their body with respect and love, allowing yourself time for a final goodbye. This moment can be very emotional, and it's important to approach it with care and tenderness.

6. Mark the Grave

Marking the grave is a personal choice that can help you remember the burial site. Options include a simple wooden marker, a stone, or a personalized plaque. Some pet owners choose to plant a tree or flowers at the site as a living memorial. Ensure that the marker is durable and weather-resistant if you plan to visit the site regularly.

7. Consider the Surrounding Environment

Be mindful of the surrounding environment when choosing the burial site. Avoid areas that may be developed or altered in the future. Ensure that the site is not close to any underground utilities or pipes. This foresight will help prevent future disturbances to your pet's resting place.

8. Prepare Emotionally and Practically

The process of burying your dog can be emotionally taxing. Consider enlisting the help of family members or friends for both emotional support and practical assistance. Taking the time to prepare mentally for this process can help you manage your emotions and ensure that the burial is conducted with the dignity your pet deserves.

9. Think About Future Considerations

Consider how you might want to memorialize your dog in the future. Some pet owners create a small garden around the burial site or add a bench for quiet reflection. Planning for these additions can provide ongoing comfort and a special place to remember your beloved pet.

10. Seek Professional Help if Needed

If you find the process too overwhelming or if local regulations are complex, consider seeking professional help. Pet burial services can handle the logistics and legalities, ensuring that your pet's burial is conducted appropriately. These services often provide options for memorials and can guide you through the entire process with compassion.

Burying your dog at home can be a deeply personal and meaningful way to say goodbye. By paying attention to local laws, choosing an appropriate location, handling the burial with care, and considering future memorials, you can create a respectful and lasting tribute to your beloved pet. This process, though challenging, can provide comfort and a sense of closure during a difficult time. Always remember to seek support and take care of your emotional well-being as you navigate through this profound loss.

[babyjakes]

ever green, evermore | 1. prologue.

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

series masterlist | next chapter →

summary | loving husbands jake and ari had always believed they were all each other could ever want or need. but one unusual summer, when their world is turned upside-down by an uncanny girl from down the street, they find that having someone to love, nurture, and care for together is the missing piece that finally completes their perfect family and lives.

characters | caretaker!jake jensen, daddy!ari levinson, wrenley beauchamp (original character)

warnings | mentions/depictions of domestic and sexual violence, mental health themes: anxiety/panic disorders, trauma and post-traumatic-stress, eating disorders (restrictive subtype), therapeutic methods and tools: exposure, age regression.

If asked the question, he would be lying if he denied it; in his life, Jake Jensen had everything he wanted. There was little more that he could ask for and he knew it, and he was never ungrateful. Things hadn’t always been so easy for him. He consistently felt like an outcast growing up, a loser, but his late twenties and early thirties had thankfully been kinder to him, most importantly gifting him the one thing that held everything in place in his idealistic reality: his adoring husband, Ari. Jake had never met a man so kind, so patient, so upstanding to his core. At first, he was hesitant to love; he had never let anyone see too deeply inside of him out of fear of rejection and abandonment, but the older man made it easy for him. With Ari, Jake knew his heart would always be safe. Ari was the husband of his dreams, always doting on him and caring for him, never letting him want for anything. Everything the man desired became his, and his wishes in life were simple. A stable marriage. A good, rewarding job. A house of his own to make memories in. Neither of the men particularly wanted children, so they settled on a loving housecat, affectionately named Socks after the midnight-black creature’s set of charming white paws. That’s how the couple ended up in their beautiful farmhouse on a quiet gravel road in rural New Hampshire, surrounded by beautiful fields of wildflowers and golden rolling hills. 

And when one winter morning Jake, wide-eyed and sheepish as he ever was, asked Ari for a garden, he was once more left with little time to wait for his dreams to be realized. By the time spring came, the front yard had been tranformed into the most splendid garden imaginable, the effort his husband had put into the project more than Jake could have ever expected or hoped for. Instead of any ordinary patch of dirt, Ari had taken it upon himself to build custom flower boxes by hand that were carefully lined up in rows, providing all the space his husband would need to grow any plant or flower his heart desired. Additionally, the brunette had crafted a custom shelving unit that housed rows of boxes, providing a spot for partial-sun varieties that could find shade during times of the day when their positioning would shield them from the sun. Ari made a gardening table as well, stocking it with all the tools needed to run a fruitful garden. And with the final addition of a few decorative pieces such as a vined bird bath and a lovely cast iron bench with a custom plaque reading “Jakey’s Garden,” the place truly became the younger man’s haven of safety and joy; there was nothing that made him feel more loved than spending time in his favorite place, made just for him by his favorite person. 

His job as a tech specialist assisting covert government forces was mostly remote, allowing him to complete his tasks from the comfort of his shared home office as Ari sat as his own desk just feet away, working tirelessly at his collection of theses. The older man was a renowned doctor who specialized in psychology; after achieving great success running his own practice, he had decided to put a pause on seeing patients when he and Jake moved out to the countryside, wanting to turn his focus more to research and development of the field. Spending most of their time together in their beautiful home, the pair couldn’t think of a better arrangement. Only occasionally would Jake be called away to accompany his team on important missions, a difficult though necessary part of the job that both men understood was for the greater good. During these missions, which usually lasted several weeks to even months, the man had no choice but to abandon his prized project in the front yard, entrusting Ari with following a minimum routine to at least keep the plants living. The doctor did his best to water and tend to it, but there was no denying that the state of the garden deteriorated in its owner's absence. Until one unusual summer, when to his surprise, the agent returned from a month-long assignment in Yemen to find that during his time away, the plants hadn’t seemed to suffer at all. Actually, he thought, it looked as though the garden had been graced by a touch of new life.

series masterlist | next chapter →

[simpingcowboy]

A game called "Would They Go?" where I assess Pedro boys as to whether they would go in my stupid little date ideas or not!!! First up...

A Butterfly Garden Date

Javi Gutierrez: Yes!!! He loves anything you love. I think he'd also just enjoy the general beauty of it. Would love to listen to you ramble about the different kinds of butterflies and flowers.

Dave York: Absolutely not. He fs engages in toxic masculinity and will not go do that with you. If you did manage to drag him to it he would go everything in his power to assert he is not enjoying himself.

Jack Daniels: Also engages in toxic masculinity BUT is not as threatened by butterflies as Dave York. He would go and take cute photos of you with the butterflies.

Javier Peña: He doesn't really understand the point. He'll go but will end up falling asleep on a bench. Also refuses to take his sunglasses off even though you're kinda indoors.

Din Djarin: Yes. I think he would have a nice time. I don't think the butterflies would really wanna land on him with all his beskar but him and the butterflies are generally neutral to each other's existence. He'd enjoy the scenery and seeing you have fun. Gets antsy about whether butterflies carry diseases or can hurt you. You assure him they're safe. Din will not bring Grogu. Grogu would eat them.

Max Lord: Initially doesn't really get the point, but once he settles into the idea finds it very relaxing. He may or may not purchase his own butterfly garden in the near future to escape to on stressful days. Max loves all the different colored flowers.

Oberyn Martell: Of course!!! He adores it!! Oberyn finds it endlessly entrancing. He'll take a very leisurely pace, secretly willing the butterflies to land on you. He longs to see you adorn with such beauties.

Pero Tovar: Is confused. Feels like a trapped animal. Would go out of curiosity, but then immediately leave. He fully hates it, but would just tell you to go enjoy it while he "stands guard" outside.

Marcus Moreno: He'd enjoy it. He loves learning! So he's reading all the plaques and really taking in the educational aspects. It feeds into his DILF persona. Is taking lots of blurry photos to show Missy when he gets home. He is recommending this place for a school field trip in the future!

Dieter Bravo: Yes, but he would get super high before going. Plants himself on a bench and stares open mouthed gawking at the butterflies as he lets the drugs kick in. Dieter is sitting so still the butterflies start landing on him in swarms. All he does is turn his head to look at you and say "Babe, this...this is...wow" as he silently cries. It quickly becomes one of his favorite activities to do when he's high and has time to spend with you

Max Philips: Due to the nature of it being a day time activity I think he'd have to pass. He had been to them when he was human and while he would not admit it aloud, he's a little disappointed he can't go with you. When he was able to go before as a human, he found them very peaceful.

Marcus Pike: He loves seeing you smile, so of course he would indulge. It's a bit more public than he usually likes for dates so he's constantly trying to pull you away to a less crowded area. But he considers it a good prelude to your date until he can take you to a more intimate setting.

Frankie Morales: He would definitely go!! And definitely enjoy it. Living in the city he can't always indulge in nature the way he'd like to, but a butterfly garden is a good compromise. The environment is very calming, but controlled in a way where he doesn't have to worry about any triggers. He's able to really bring all his focus in on you. It's one of the few times you see him really be at peace with himself. You'll be sure to come back here again sometime.

[classicmemorialbenches]

Is oak wood good for outdoor benches?

Oak wood is an excellent choice for crafting enduring and sturdy outdoor furniture. It possesses remarkable strength and durability, which makes it an ideal timber for creating timeless pieces. As oak ages, it develops a stunning silver-grey patina that is highly desirable to many people.

Oak wood can be a good option for outdoor benches, as it is a strong and durable hardwood that can withstand weather and outdoor conditions. Additionally, regular maintenance, such as cleaning and resealing, may be necessary to maintain the appearance and longevity of the bench.

[coffeeosims]

NAME: VON HAUNT ESTATE

NO CUSTOM CONTENT / USE CHEAT BB.MOVEOBJECTS ON WHEN PLACING THE LOT.

PLAYTESTED.

PACKS USED: GET TOGETHER + ROMANTIC GARDEN STUFF + CITY LIVING ( just 1 item)

Origin Id: Coffeeosims.

I really wanted to use this lot more, but there was nothing to do there. This lot has:

-a rose garden with chess tables, a place to paint ( if the sim is sitting on the bench you can create a portrait using "paint by reference"), a busking area, a woohoo bush.

-a wishing well and a small cemetery area for the original owners of the house

-a cherry orchard with easy access to the party area near the lot.

-a gazebo with a wedding arch, some chess tables, another easel and a piano.

-a small area for children to play.

- the inside is decorated in a similar way to the original build and the bookcases contain some skill books for your sims to read. I kept the original information plaques that tell the story of the house.

TRAY FILES: DROPBOX

Feel free to use or modify my creations however you like (personal games, public saves etc.). Credit is appreciated but not required.

[catholicism-connoiseur]

St Augustine's

Following the experience of confession in St Peter's, I was naturally curious to see how other local churches treated the sacred practice. The next church by distance was Saint Augustine's Catholic Church; colloquially "the Augustinian". A smaller church, far from the cathedral-like scale of St. Peter's, the Augustinian hosts a far cozier and homely atmosphere than the imposing stone structure that maintains a centrepiece of the town. It hosts a significantly more community-focused and welcoming mass than most that I have seen elsewhere, and includes (by comparison to most churches' narratives, quite radically) forward thinking themes and choice interpretations of scripture in its teachings. They even have gluten-free communion bread!

In matters of exterior presentation, the church features a Victorian Gothic façade established at the same time as the church itself, in the years 1859-1866. The church has no such grand spires that reach great heights as other churches in town, rather is a humble and unobtrusive structure that sits neatly on Shop Street between an antiquated bar and a local clothing store. A gift shop inhabits part of the church's entrance, providing an information desk as well as sale of religious paraphernalia.

Entering the church, one can feel a stark and noticeable contrast in the environment to that of St. Peter's, St. Mary's and many other churches. Simple changes in interior decoration make enormous difference to the ambience: for example, the carpeted floors and cushioned pews create not only a more directly comfortable and welcoming place of worship, they also aid in removing the cold air and echoes found in more barren, abstemious churches that seem to almost pride themselves on their lack of comfort. By comparison, the Augustinian's interior is akin to walking into someone's (albeit massively spacious and oddly furnished) home. The air is warm but not stale; the lower ceiling creates an easier space to heat than enormously tall cathedral-style roofs, but maintains enough height for good circulation. (A more extensive catalogue of the church’s interior and exterior architecture can be found at the National Inventory of Architectural Heritage, including specifications on the nave, roof, walling, gables, rafters and most every other facet of the building.)

One attribute that draws attention though, is the unique stained glass windows adorning the church’s front face and behind the altar. Best seen from the inside to fully appreciate the use of colour and the intricate idiosyncrasies of the craftwork, one of the church’s windows depicts an elegant visage of the titular St Augustine as well as St Monica. The Passion Window, fitted in 1928 and restored in 1994, was created by a Harry Clarke, an acclaimed Irish artist of stained glass. Before his untimely death in 1931, Clarke had crafted over 130 stained glass windows, many religious but many others secular: his expression was not solely based in Catholicism and often featured flora, fauna, commentary on social issues and macabre characters and details that even juxtaposed traditional Catholic stained glass depictions. His work featured in the Augustinian is a beautiful, complex piece and is a treasure to the parish and town alike.

Another feature that grants this church a more communal and welcoming atmosphere is the adjoined Garden of Remembrance. This secluded garden adjoining the church's southern wall is found through a (wheelchair accessible) walkway into the main patio, where stand five stone slabs surround a water feature memorial. The slabs, and a portion of the southern wall too, hold plaques bearing names of loved ones to those in the parish, be it family, friends or pets. The area can be visited as a tranquil and sacred place to honour and remember those who have passed. There are wooden benches and soft lighting that creates a cozy and comforting atmosphere. Lush foliage adorns the enclosure, including holly, juniper and some fruit trees among many other aromatic plants. The garden is also a frequent haunt of the church's resident cat, Monica (after the Saint).

Continuing to the Confessional portion of this review, though: A dark marble plaque at the entrance informs of the church's mass, vigil and confession times. Inquiring at the small shop inside the church, I was advised to arrive punctually, as confessions tended to be busy, and so the next Friday at noon, I sat quietly in line behind a half dozen or so people. As the priest approached and the line began moving, I was admittedly elated to see that the confessional booth built into the wall of the church was in fact being used! This brought into question why, despite having a booth present, the previous church, St. Peters, elected instead for a face-to-face confessional. But for the moment, my own turn had arrived, and I entered the booth.

The box was small but not too restrictively so. A short kneeling bar on the floor faced the panel through which one speaks to the priest. It was dim and slightly difficult to see, but I figured this to be largely intentional to maintain the environment of anonymity and confidentiality. I confessed my "sin" to the priest, and was met with a decidedly calm and composed response. He seemed somewhat amused at the tameness of the sin in question, and prescribed but a single Hail Mary as penance. Funnily enough, this remarkably lax repentance granted some credulity to the idea (proposed during the drunken group brainstorming session) that perhaps those who frequented confessionals would go to one church over another for a lighter penance.

To conclude, the Augustinian is a church that many could take notes from. With such a mass exodus (pun intended) from the faith in recent decades, it's become more clear than ever that in our modern social climate, staunch rigidity to dogmatic doctrine and antiquated ideologies is pathetically ineffective at maintaining a dedicated following, much less at encouraging greater numbers to join. Some churches around the town (and country) have even been repurposed into art galleries and secular community halls due to insufficient patronage. For the religion to find any kind of long-term support from this and future generations, the path to follow is that which the Augustinian seems to set out. A church that serves and uplifts the people, not the reverse.

St Augustine's Drogheda Church gets a solid 8.5/10. Hell yeah.

[kobold-sanctuary-buss-island]

BLUE MOON BALL DAY FIVE/SIX: "Fine dining"

While i was in the bathroom, i disgorged about twenty five large chunks of cobaltite, which completely demolished the (thankfully clean) bowl and tank of the toilet, and left a rivulet of greywater flowing out under the door to soak into the floorboards. I left the poisonous and dodecahedral rocks to their own business, alongside the toilet's ballcock, laying pathetically on the floor, and headed to the dining room.

I was starving after a long night with no snacks to speak of (apart from a couple of oranges and a mouthful of brass), so i sat down on a wooden chair near the end of one of the tables. Though, as soon as i sat down, my tail erupted in pain from touching the back of the chair, so i was forced to sit on the chair side-saddle, hiding my tail under the tablecloth so nobody touches it. My entire torso hurt from the fight with the automatons.

A silver call-bell was waiting for me. I rang it, and a small charcuterie board floated over to my position on the table. I consumed its minature yet vast arrangement of hard cheeses, hams, sausages, pastrami, forcemeats, mushrooms, prawns, savory pies, bread, crackers, grapes, olives, lettuce, peppers, radishes, carrots, cucumber, and celery, though i shunned the miniature pickles. Small dishes of vinaigrette, caviar, blue cheese, and honey were provided alongside the starter.

The next course of the meal was a most abhorrent combination. Which was, according to the little plaque that came with it, the meat of a lobster and a whole Kobe steak together with Pule, Stilton, Parmigiano Reggiano, Västerbotten, and Halloumi cheeses, tuna, black truffles, seaweed, jalapeño, ghost pepper, guineafowl, pheasant, alligator, quail eggs, beef tomatoes, spaghetti, onions, lettuce, banana, saffron, foie gras, vanilla, rice, fugu pufferfish, and a most unpleasant concoction of sauces i can't all remember, all stuffed between the buns of a burger, sous vide, baked into a pastry shell, deep fried, and finally bathed in a different seething mixture of liquids.

The other people near me at the table glanced with concern as i choked down the Ozymandian ex-Soviet apartment complex of the "Four Elements sandwich", one thin and inesculent slice at a time. Serbian cheese and Japanese fish waged total war upon French duck and Vietnamese shrimp paste. None of the flavours mixed well, the fillings spilled in every direction once i broke through the bomb-proof exterior with my woefully non-vorpal knife, and if i couldn't get the "horrible safari-themed barbecue inside the Deepwater Horizon" taste out of my mouth, i feared that i might have developed a fatal case of Reggae Reggae Sores. My bleeding nose was not helping the situation, and it peppered the aftertaste with a generous hint of sweaty pennies.

My face was covered in various sauces after eating that crude obelisk dedicated to the pharoh of conspicuous consumption, so i made haste and re-entered the bathroom to wash it all off. The dessert was a pleasant variety of chocolates with strawberry ice cream.

After the meal, we all walked outside into the gardens, and down the main path towards a small french-style pavilion building. Behind the building was a wonderful view, as the treeline was short, and the Blue Moon was finally visible. I took a picture on my camera, of course. We were then seated on wooden benches facing the river, and the fireworks were set off. The display went on for ten minutes, but i was in too much pain to really care about it.

Those were my fifth and sixth logs of the Blue Moon Ball. Everything hurts. I'm tired. I want to go home.

[scotianostra]

On December 8th 1980, John Lennon was gunned down and killed in New York.

Over the years  it is Paul McCartney who is the Beatle most connected with Scotland, but John Lennon has links with our country going back to his childhood.

The ex-Beatle was a regular visitor to Durness in Sutherland during his younger years after his dear Aunt Mater remarried a dentist called Bert who owned a home that overlooked Sango Bay. John, who travelled north with his cousin Stanley Parks, who lived in Edinburgh and later in Largs, would head to the coast for weeks on end, often being dragged into helping his uncle fix up the house.

“The family party roughed it in a primitive farmhouse lit by oil lamp and candles and noisy with the screeches of Mater’s pet parrot,” wrote Philip Norman in his biography John Lennon: The Life. 

The house where Lennon holidayed at Sangomore, a settlement at Durness, was demolished just a few years ago with a new property built by the owners.

Parkes also recalled:

John never forgot those times at Durness. They were among his happiest memories. He loved the wilderness. John was nine when he started coming up with my family to the croft in Durness. The croft belonged to my stepfather, Robert Sutherland, and John just loved the wildness and the openness of the place. We went fishing and hunting and John loved going up into the hills to draw or write poetry. John really loved hill walking, shooting and fishing. He used to catch salmon. He would have been quite a laird. In the last letter to me before he was killed he quoted a famous Scottish saying that says ‘It’s a braw, bricht moonlicht nicht since I last had a word’.

John later took his to Scotland, but his visit was tainted by an accident he had in his Austin Maxi car.

He, Ono and Kyoko sustained cuts to the face and Ono’s back was injured.They were taken to Golspie’s Lawson Memorial Hospital where Lennon was given facial stitches, Ono 14 in her forehead, and Kyoko four. Julian Lennon was treated for shock but was otherwise unhurt. He was taken to stay with Lennon’s Aunt Mater in Durness, around 50 miles away, before his mother Cynthia took him back to London the following day.When she arrived at the hospital to demand an explanation from Lennon he refused to see her.Lennon remained in hospital for five days and famously told reporters: 

“If you’re going to have a car crash, try to arrange for it to happen in the Highlands.“The hospital there was just great.”

Lennon was never a confident driver and gave up driving after the accident, hiring a chauffeur to take him wherever he needed to go and reportedly having the old car’s carcass mounted on a pillar at his English estate.

This 1969 crash wasn’t John’s first brush with danger on Scottish roads; Ken McNab, author of The Beatles in Scotland, revealed that the Beatles had an accident during their first tour in 1960, when they were backing up singer Johnny Gentle as the Silver Beetles.

As McNab put it, “John Lennon began the ’60s with a car crash in Scotland and managed to end the decade with another car crash in Scotland.”

There is a wee memorial garden to Lennon’s memory in Durness, other memorials in the country include a bench in Edinburgh’s Princes Street Gardens and a plaque  in Durness. 

[basiltonpitch]

“And though I can’t recall your face,

I still got love for you”

maybe this is me projecting my own life experiences lol but. au where mohan died when devi was too young to remember him, instead of when she was in high school. growing up, only knowing him through her mother, gathering little snippets of who he was in passing conversations and photo albums that have gathered dust because it hurts nalini too much to open them herself. devi loving him through nalini. devi loving him even though she doesn't really remember him. but she knows him, knows these bits and pieces she's picked up over the years and has this - admittedly idealized - version of him in her head. she dedicates little things - and big - to him. her first spelling bee trophy. her first harp solo. the messy, unintentionally abstract-looking portrait she paints in mandatory freshman year art class. her valedictorian speech. the first case she ever wins in court. the single-plot tomato garden she and ben plant in their tiny backyard in new york. the last case she ever wins in court, before she retires. does the adopt-a-bench thing in central park, has the plaque inscribed with, "for dad. from, your perfect girl."

send me a made-up fic title and i'll tell you what i would write to go with it