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servin-up-surveys · 9 months

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survey #183

Do you own a pocketknife, or any other kind of multi-tool? No.

What did your mother study at university? Social work. She graduated at ~60 and I'm so proud of her determination. Shatters my heart that she hasn't been able to use her degree though; due to Covid and her cancer, she never really got the chance to intern anywhere and she hates it so much.

What was the last thing you took a video of? That's a good question.

What are some of your least favorite foods? Brussel sprouts, asparagus, pulled pork & general southern barbecue (this does not include burgers and hot dogs, those I love), beans, fried chicken, carrots, celery, and A LOT more, I am so picky it's not even fucking funny. It's mostly texture stuff. The list would probably be the vast majority of food.

How old were you when you learned how to drive? Somewhere around 17? At least, that's when I took driver's ed. I never got my license and even my permit is expired by years.

Have you ever used a public pay phone? I don't believe so.

Do you know what the most common bird is in your area? Not really, no, but crows, robins, sparrows, bluejays, cardinals, and doves are a few that come to mind immediately.

How many teeth have you had extracted? Two wisdom teeth, both within the past year. They're thankfully the only ones I have.

What's a Halloween movie that you enjoy? Hocus Pocus is my favorite.

Would you ever walk a runway if given the opportunity? No, I don't want people focusing on me.

Would you say you're in a good place mentally? No; I am absolutely in a dip lately. I'm quite sure my body has stopped responding to my key mood stabilizer so I'm in the process of finding something else that works...

What's a popular candy that you do not like? Snickers, Tootsie Rolls, Mounds, Almond Joys, and Swedish Fish to name a few.

Do you bite your nails, cut them, or keep them long? So I actually have a habit of tearing them instead of either of these?? I really need to stop, because doing it often makes a tear too deep and will sometimes bleed, but it's a looooong-going habit.

Do you ever have to babysit? Not really, like I often go with my mom on Fridays to watch my niece (and other niece and nephew when school isn't going on), but I'm not the one taking care of her needs and stuff. I'm just there to interact.

Do you sing when alone? No, I barely sing at all.

Favorite pastel color? PINK!!!!!!!!!!!!

Favorite thing cats do? THE HEART EYES. If you've got an affectionate cat, you know what I mean: it's just this way they look at you, eyes mostly closed, and it's the most loving expression I've ever seen from any animal. I am also a massive sucker for affectionate headbutts, like I just love how expressive they are of bonds.

Butterflies, or dragonflies? I love both, but I'm fonder of butterflies.

Favorite kind of candy bar? It's a specific kind of Reese's that I don't see often; think of a Hershey's bar, but turn the squares into Reese's. It is fucking divine.

Favorite childhood store? oh I was a TOTAL Toys-R-Us kid. I was so mad when our local one got replaced with another store lol

Do you dream a lot? Do you remember your dreams? More like I have nightmares a lot. It's rare that I remember details long after awakening, but the general gist is basically always me being in danger but unable to physically defend myself; I usually wake up screaming at somebody. I say fucking awful things in my sleep, things I've never even said irl and never WOULD say, and it's extremely, extremely upsetting.

Have you ever lucid dreamed? I have once and only once and that shit between me and god lmfao

Have you ever intentionally killed an animal for fun? hi no I hope there's a special place in hell for a person like this

Did the person you lost your virginity to appreciate it? Well I haven't yet, but whenever it does happen I'm sure he'll cherish that I trust him enough for that. He knows I was abstinent most of my life.

What character trait are you most ashamed of? I am VERY impulsive, especially when upset. I've gotten better about it, but I've certainly said shit in the heat of the moment I wish I hadn't.

Do you prefer waffles or pancakes? Most of my life I strongly preferred pancakes, but I'm actually more into waffles now.

Are you craving anything right now? Yes, it's been a hot damn minute since I've had a soda and I am SUFFERING, like it's pathetic.

Are you content just blending in with the crowd? Yeah. I like to have some individuality about me, but I certainly don't want to stand out starkly.

Who is your celebrity crush? Richard Kruspe, yes he's very nearly my parents' age, and

If you had to choose a random color to dye your hair, what would you choose? Pastel pink. Hopefully one day... but my hair is so fucking reluctant to take color, especially pastels, apparently.

Do you like the color orange? Yeah, it's fine. I particularly like creamsicle-esque tints.

Have you ever shunned a family member or vice-versa? Yes, both ways.

Favorite shade of blue? Turquoise, probably.

Favorite soup? I haven't really had a soup I liked since I was a child.

Do you like mangoes? So I was pretty dumbfounded to discover I hate REAL mangoes, like they're so soft and mushy and it's disgusting, but I adore the flavor of mangoes, like it's my favorite type of juice.

What do you want most? A life where I'm truly happy. No real life will ever be without some sorrow, but I've got way too much in mine.

How is your mental health? Pretty damn poor. I'm absolutely back in a depression dip.

What are you thankful for currently? In this exact moment, notably my mom. I don't know what the fuck I'm going to do whenever her life's up, and it's a fear I have daily, knowing that her cancer will eventually re-emerge and almost certainly be her cause of death.

What’s an unpopular opinion you have politically? I am not pure ACAB; I support reform, and much of it, however I just don't believe cops are inherently bad. A gross amount are, but I do believe good cops with good intentions exist.

Name a song that’s fun to sing along to. lmfao I enjoy "Bartender Song" by Rehab a lot for this

Who is tallest in your family? Uhhh... probably my brother Bobby?

Do you currently have a headache? No, thankfully. One thing not wrong.

What's the first thing you usually do when you get off work or school? When I used to be in school, I immediately did homework because I wanted it out of the way.

If you could be famous for anything, what would you choose to be famous for? Taking a really iconic photograph with a very obvious, strong message.

Who is your favorite YouTuber? Of all-time, Markiplier, but these days I've been most actively into Game Grumps and John Wolfe.

Who is the nicest person you’ve ever met? I dunno; I know a good deal of very nice people.

How about the meanest? That *I* personally know, my old friend Colleen. She was so fucking hateful and just generally unpleasant, and the kind of asshole who was a garbage individual to people in customer service, and over NO good reasons. The only reason I ever stayed friends with her so long was my own loneliness; at a time she was the only person outside family I ever, ever saw/did things with. That and I give people way too many damn chances, like our friendship broke apart many times prior to the final "okay I'm done."

What was the last thing you spoke to your mom about? I asked her what she went to Food Lion for.

When is the last time you felt appreciated for something you did? Ummm, I'm not totally sure at this very moment. Well actually probably yesterday; Girt came by after work and he had food ordered and I got it in for him, I know he appreciated that, even if it's just a small thing.

Are you the type of person who gets straight to the point? HAHAHA NO, I ramble like a MOTHERfucker, even when I totally don't intend it.

Do you enjoy playing board games? I actually really don't, they're just not very fun to me. Like some are okay, but I'm not having a great time. Way back when when Girt and I were just friends and he'd visit occasionally, we had a routine of generally playing board games, and honestly I don't miss that lmfao. I do enjoy Battleship though, and that's one we'd play a good amount.

Are there any movies you are wanting to see? THE FUCKING BARBIE MOVIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 😭 ugh no one wants to go with me and it sucks SO hard, I am absofuckinglutely seeing it when it comes to televisions, though.

Do you feel uncomfortable when people you hardly know confide in you? Honestly not at all, I'm very open to anyone confiding in me if they feel safe to; you never know if that person has really been holding shit in, and they see something in you they haven't in others.

What’s something you’re proud of yourself for? Coming as far as I have in healing my legs.

Have you ever gone over 3 months without shaving/waxing your legs? It's been like... three years, dude. I keep them covered always though, just because of societal expectations; my hair is extremely dark and anyone getting even a glimpse of them mortifies me. I stopped as my body got so unhealthy that shaving them became so exhausting and challenging that I just. Couldn't keep up with maintaining them. I want laser hair removal on my legs one day.

Have you ever swam in a saltwater pool? Yes, the pool for physical therapy was saltwater.

Do you think anyone has given up on you? At least three people, probably more.

Have you ever been pregnant? No.

Have you taken anyone’s virginity? Obviously not, given an earlier question.

Have you ever made your boy/girlfriend choose between you and someone else? No.

Do you remember when some of the Walmarts had a McDonald’s in them? Well yes, our local one has exactly that.

What is one recipe that you would like to learn how to make? This upcoming Thanksgiving, I want Mom to teach me how to make the fresh bread she did last year; it was the best bread I'd ever tasted in my entire fucking life and I want to know it for my own future. I need to learn way, way more basic cooking, though...

Do you believe that Jesus will come back in your lifetime? He never is.

Were you afraid of heights as a child? No, but I am as an adult.

Have you ever had a lead role in a play? No. Well, I super faintly remember being Mary in a Sunday school thing, but it was just an in-class little thing. Gotta love teaching little girls about a mystically impregnated virgin pre-teen.

Do you have a chandelier in your home? No.

Are you a Jeffree Star fan? Or no? Yes, he's a public figure that to me has exhibited more growth than any other human I've been exposed to. There are behaviors I disagree with, but no person is all white or all black when it comes to being a moral or bad person.

Do you own a guitar? Specify. Which brand of guitar do you own? I no longer do; I had an electric guitar from a brand I can't recall (nothing impressive, very basic), but I sold it to a parts shop when I was trying to scrounge up money to afford my newest tattoo.

Are you a monogamous person? Or do you hate commitment? I personally am, but I have no problem with polygamous individuals, so long as they're open about this with their partners.

Who was the last person who was rude to you? My mom; a few days ago, something she did/said made me cry for a while.

Have you ever met someone in person that you first met online? Sara, yes. There are a number of other long-time online friends I want to physically meet one day.

Who do you know who is dyslexic? I feel like I remember hearing that my niece Aubree is? She's autistic and I at LEAST know Mom has said she exhibits traits of it.

Is weed legal in your state? No, NC is behind in the times in MANY regards.

What is something that you used to be ashamed of, but now you’re not? As a child, I became very embarrassed by my obsession with Pokemon because I was a girl and it was "weird;" it's because of this I never asked my mom for games and I never wanted anyone to see me explore the Pokemon website. As an adult though, I'm totally open about my love for the franchise, I know partially BECAUSE it's so loved nowadays. Even as a pre-k kid, my embarrassment reaction was SO insanely strong and I never, ever wanted people to see me as a weird girl. I still carry that behavior today, just with different stuff.

Have you ever held a newborn baby? Yes, when my youngest niece was born. I was seated though, I was way too scared to hold her otherwise.

Out of all your usernames for websites, which one is your favorite? Do you use it for more than one site? Ozzkat, it's the classic and what I use for the majority of places.

Have you ever spent the whole day (or multiple days) just looking up one thing on the internet (e.g., videos of your favorite band, how-to videos, quizzes, etc.)? hi i hyperfixate and do this shit regularly

Have you ever been in a situation where you had to be around your ex everyday? No. Well I mean, when Sara and I were still in contact, daily RP posts normally happened, but that was just a website.

Which condiment (ketchup, mustard, etc.) do you use the most of? Probably ketchup. It's funny, I hated ketchup as a kid.

Would you ever flirt with somebody in front of your parents? With my significant other, yes, so long as it wasn't too suggestive, 'cuz then it's just weird.

Have your parents ever questioned your virginity? I know my mom has. Dad probably assumes I'm not, but idk, I certainly don't talk about this with him.

How many of your friends play World of Warcraft? I have no idea; I have friends I know through the game, so obviously them, but I'm not sure if I have any "in my real life" friends who currently play. I know numerous people who have.

Is there a certain song you like to headbang to? No; surprisingly, headbanging has never been and probably never will be my thing. I don't like headaches.

Is there a garage or carport attached to your house? No.

#survey #surveys #random questions #personal questions #personal survey

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raedear · 3 years

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Ok I (hesnotmy) know I already got one but you asked for prompts! Joe trying to cook something for Nicky for an anniversary/birthday/special occasion of some sort? 🥰

I did indeed ask for prompts! Thank you very much @hesnotmy :D

Right okay this got away from me a bit, ngl. The working title was ‘do not cook this lasagne. it will be disgusting.’

For ease of reading, it’s also here on ao3

Joe’s got this. It’s going to be romantic as anything, and he can absolutely, one hundred percent, no question at all, do it.

He’s going to cook Nicky dinner, with no help whatsoever. Better yet, it’s going to be a surprise. He’s going to surprise his boyfriend (lover? partner? He hasn’t found a name for them yet that he actually likes, but he’ll keep trying) with a delicious home-cooked meal, the way Nicky always does for him, and it’s going to remind Nicky of exactly why he’s spent a year of his life with Joe. And, why he should spend many, many more with him.

Now, in the year that he’s known Nicky, he’s learned many things about him. For example, Nicky can watch even the scariest horror films without flinching, but comedies with second hand embarrassment make him cover his face with stress. Also, he claims he’ll eat anything, but secretly thinks onions are disgusting and doesn’t understand why people put them in everything. It took Joe catching him picking onions out of his food three different times for him to admit that, and even then he still goes to cook with them sometimes before Joe can reassure him it’s fine, and he doesn’t miss eating onions at all. He’s too precious, his Nicky.

Joe’s getting off topic.

He’s learned, in their year together, that Nicky will always pick rich, comforting meals over fancy elaborate food any day. His risotto was just the start — Nicky has made him stews, tagines, any number of different pastas and sauces, all of it delicious, all of it made with love and plenty of butter. Joe has gone from doing vanity push ups to impress Nicky to doing actual push ups to work off Nicky’s cooking. He’s incredibly happy.

In the theme of comfort food, he’s onto a winner, he knows. The obvious thing would have been to make Nicky’s risotto for him. It was the meal that brought them together after all, and he’s watched Nicky make it often enough that he’s pretty sure he could do it now; Nicky even let him sauté a batch of the mushrooms last time when he had to take an urgent call from his sister. Joe could do it, regardless of how much Booker laughed at him when he brought it up.

But that would be too obvious. He wants to impress Nicky, and that means something new.

Thus: lasagne. He’s going to make lasagne, and it’s going to be glorious.

Nicky’s made it for him now and again, and when Joe’s watched him cook it he’s seemed more to make it up as he goes along than anything else, so it clearly can’t be that difficult. He’s never made it the same way twice, although he always puts the layers together in the same order. Joe thinks he’s adorable. It always ends up delicious though, and Nicky clearly loves it; he always clears his plate when he makes it, and there’s rarely leftovers. It’s the perfect plan. Their anniversary dinner is going to be fantastic.

—

Joe has three hours till Nicky’s due home, and he is filled with regrets.

Nicky, before he cooks, lays out all his ingredients and tools, and does his prep neatly and in the order he plans on using the ingredients. He chops all his vegetables and dries and preps his meats and any number of other impressive things, and Joe has watched him do them all with avid fascination and not a little awe.

It turns out, Nicky’s cooking skills have not transferred to him by sheer proximity. Joe can’t quite remember all that goes in Nicky’s lasagne exactly, but he’s sure it’ll come to him as he cooks. The garlic sticks to his fingers when he tries to peel and crush it. The carrot and celery prove difficult to chop neatly into the tiny squares Nicky always manages, and in fact look more like they’ve gone two rounds with a wood chipper and lost than they do well-prepared ingredients. He carries on though, he’s got this far and he’s running out of time.

Another thing Joe has noticed about Nicky, and has been continuously and immensely impressed by, is how Nicky just seems to know when things are supposed to happen. He rarely sets timers when he’s cooking on the hob, and he always seems to know on sight whether something is ready or not.

Joe does not have the same skillset.

His mama didn’t raise a quitter though, so on he goes. He adds the carrot and the celery to the heavy bottomed pan Nicky always uses with a splash of oil, and pokes at the resulting mess with a wooden spoon, waiting for some material change to tell him what to do next. The oil starts to sparkle around the edges of the vegetable bits, and a savoury smell starts to rise from the pan. Is that what he’s waiting for?

The next thing Nicky always does at this point in the proceedings is squeeze some tomato paste into the pan. Joe isn’t sure why, given he’s got a lot of passata to add later too, but he does it anyway, squeezing half a tube of tomato concentrate into the pot. He stirs it again and stares hopefully. It bubbles sluggishly at him. Now. Somewhere around this point the kitchen usually starts to smell of garlic too, so Joe slides the small mound of crushed garlic from his chopping board into the pan. He didn’t quite manage to get all the skins off, but he’s sure it’ll cook down just fine. The pan is starting to hiss at him, and he stirs everything around quickly, hoping the increasingly brown bottom of the pan is supposed to be that way.

Admittedly by this point in the proceedings, Joe is usually sketching Nicky and listening to him as he talks about his day, so he’s never been the most focussed, but so far so good, right?

Right.

He crumbles the minced beef into the pan and gives it a particularly vigorous stir. The vegetables and garlic are very brown now, but surely they’re supposed to be that way? He’s sure Nicky’s talked to him about aroma before. That’s a thing, right? Nicky usually pours wine into the pan and shakes it about a bit and then the whole house smells amazing. He wasn’t going to add wine, but surely it can’t hurt?

(He’s also starting to feel a little stressed and a glass of red might help him chill, whatever. Pour for the pan, pour for Yusuf. That’s a chef’s prerogative.)

The mince is starting to look brown too, that, at least, he knows for sure is supposed to happen. He pours in a generous glug of wine and stirs, scraping the bottom of the pan as he goes. The wine hisses wildly, and splashes up onto his apron, but that’s fine. He lets it boil for a bit while he fusses with opening the jar of passata, the way Nicky always does. It doesn’t smell quite the same as when Nicky cooks the sauce, it’s a bit more acrid than it is deliciously savoury, but maybe that’s just because he’s standing directly above the pan? The smell doesn’t have a chance to dissipate.

The wine has settled into the meat-and-veg mess a little, and the mince is browned through. Joe dumps the jar of passata on top and mixes it all together.

Something is missing. He’s definitely forgotten something. He stares blankly at the bubbling pan for a moment, ticking through all the things he’s ever seen Nicky do at the hob in his mind, before looking around the kitchen for inspiration when that fails. What does he do— Joe’s eyes catch on the spice rack. Nicky adds herbs. Of course he does. What was Joe thinking, food needs seasoned.

Joe turns the heat down on the cooker (Nicky always does when he has to walk away from it, Joe’s never thought to ask why, and now doesn’t seem like the moment to start) and crosses the room. Before Nicky moved in, all Joe had by way of herbs and spices was salt and pepper. Now, Nicky has a vast array of little jars and pots taking up half of one of their kitchen counters. He can still hear the sauce spitting on the other side of the room, so he picks the four jars that look most well used from the front of the rack, and the salt and pepper shakers for good measure.

In all his time watching Nicky cook, he’s never seen him measure a spice. If he’s not pouring directly into whatever he’s cooking, he’s pouring into the palm of his hand and sprinkling from there. With blind optimism and a lot of love, Joe does the same, tipping basil, oregano, cinnamon and turmeric into the sauce one after the other. It takes on a slightly odd colour when he stirs it all together, but that’ll be fine — it’ll all balance out when it’s layered with the pasta.

Happy that he’s used all the ingredients he was supposed to in the order they were intended, Joe turns the heat down a little further and pops a lid on the pot. It has to bubble away to itself for a while, and he has other things to do.

One of the many reasons Joe loves to watch Nicky cook is he loves to sneak little tastes from the pots and pans when he can. Especially white sauce. Nicky does something with flour and butter and milk and it drives Joe insane, he could eat it with a spoon. He can’t wait to see how impressed Nicky will be that he managed to make a whole pot himself.

Into a different pot Joe cuts a thick slice of butter and follows it up with a generous scoop of flour. He whisks them together quickly, and the resulting paste catches itself up in the balloon of his whisk. With entirely undeserved confidence, he starts pouring in milk, whisking all the while.

Gradually, the butter/flour mixture loosens from the whisk and melts into the milk. It stays thin and watery though, just lumps of buttery flour in a milky bath. Joe squints at it, and whisks a little faster, wondering what the trick is.

The saucepan rattles next to his elbow, and Joe curses as the lid starts to wobble. He drops the whisk to rest against the side of the pan in favour of scooping up his wooden spoon again, mixing the sauce quickly where it’s starting to bubble over. He turns the heat down further and puts the lid back on. Before he can fetch his whisk he remembers that Nicky always puts nutmeg in his white sauce, so he goes back to the spice rack. When he gets back to his white sauce, it’s thick and congealed in the pan, and he curses again, grabbing quickly for the whisk.

It turns out, resting a metal whisk against the side of a metal pan while it’s on the flame wasn’t his best plan. He drops the whisk again with a yelp, managing to bang his wrist against the pot as he does so, knocking the entire thing to the floor with a decisive and jarring bang.

To add insult to injury, his white sauce is so thick it doesn’t pour out of the pot so much as ooze. The saucepan rattles ominously again, and Joe blinks at the ceiling, praying for patience and holding back tears.

‘... Joe?’

Joe jumps at the sound of Nicky’s voice, and whips round to face him, trying to hide the cooker behind himself as he does so.

‘Nicky! You’re home early, my love.’ Joe’s voice is weak and wavering, and he can’t quite manage to keep his smile on his face. Nicky peers at him curiously, head tilted to the side the way he does when he’s trying to figure out a puzzle.

‘What are you doing, tesoro?’ he asks, trying to look around Joe’s side. Joe leans in the same direction, fruitlessly trying to hide his surprise, when the saucepan behind him gives a particularly ominous rumble and the lid starts to bounce in place with the force of the boiling ragu. Nicky’s eyes get very wide, and Joe hangs his head with a sigh and a sniffle.

‘I wanted to make you lasagne, for our anniversary,’ he says to his feet, before he reaches behind himself and turns the cooker off. There’s a distinctly burnt smell to the kitchen now. ‘It didn’t work out quite as I planned.’

Nicky gives a little huff of a laugh, and Joe sniffles again. So quietly Joe almost misses it, Nicky coos a small noise at him, and crosses the room to wrap him in his arms.

Joe is grateful every day for Nicky’s broad shoulders and graceful neck, but never moreso than when he needs a little comfort. His nose just seems to fit perfectly against the curve of Nicky’s jaw, and Nicky’s big warm hands are always so comforting on his back. He collapses into Nicky’s embrace, not even pretending to care about the mess on his apron.

‘If you wanted lasagne, beloved, I could have made it for you.’ Nicky strokes his hair as he speaks, and Joe feels warm all the way down his spine.

‘I wanted to surprise you.’

‘Yes, I can see that,’ Joe appreciates Nicky not laughing outright at him, for all he can hear him hiding a laugh in his throat. ‘What did my good saucepan ever do to you?’

Joe nips at Nicky’s neck in response, and Nicky loses his grip on his laughter. He squeezes Joe around the middle and rocks him gently from side to side as he laughs against Joe’s hair. Disappointed as he is in himself, Joe can never help but laugh when Nicky does, though he hides it in Nicky’s shoulder, just for the dignity of it all.

‘Go have a shower, tesoro,’ says Nicky, once he’s calmed down, pressing a kiss to Joe’s cheek as he speaks. ‘I’ll tidy up here, and we’ll go out for a nice meal together after.’

Joe leans back in Nicky’s arms, peering at him.

‘Counterpoint,’ says Joe, blinking as slowly and deliberately as he can. Nicky, as always, goes a little pink around the edges at the sight. ‘You could shower with me, and we can order something in later?’

Nicky kisses the tip of his nose, then his upper lip, then the corner of his mouth. Joe’s breath comes a little quicker.

‘Sounds perfect, my love. You have all the best ideas.’

Joe growls playfully at him and pulls him into a real kiss, quick and wet and dirty. Nicky’s comforting hands on his back start to wander, and Joe spares a final thought for how grateful he is, before he gives in to Nicky completely, pulling at his waist and shoulders to guide him out of the kitchen and into the rest of their night together.

#joe x nicky #nicky x joe #tog #the old guard #kaysanova #immortal husbands #joenicky #i can't explain so don't ask

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atths--twice · 4 years

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Hey hey hey! Hope you’re having fun with this series, I know I did and I am.

Here is a little happy moment in their lives, in between the seventh and eighth month of pregnancy. Happy reading!

Peaceful Relaxation 4/6

Mulder and a pregnant Scully, relaxing in a hammock, content in this moment of their lives.

August 2018

Mulder stepped into the backyard, a glass of sparkling grape juice in his hand, and walked towards Scully. She was lying in the hammock he had surprised her with a couple of days ago.

She had been sleeping on the couch recently, her ever expanding belly causing aches in her hips and back. Their bed was comfortable, but for right now, she claimed the couch felt better on her aching bones.

Two nights of her sleeping downstairs, and he did some searching online, finding that a hammock could be beneficial to alleviate some of her pain. Driving out to the store, he had purchased the best one he could find, after many questions to the salesperson.

He had brought it home, determined to put it together on his own before she came home from her shift at the hospital. The amount of pieces and work involved was daunting, but glancing at the clothesline he and Mrs. Scully had installed a couple of years ago, he knew he could do it.

And he had. Meeting her at the door with a grin, he had taken her bag and set it down before grasping her hand and bringing her to the backyard to present it to her. Her smile and happiness was worth the two small cuts he received from being inept when it came to using tools.

Her shoes had come off and he helped her to lie down as she sighed deeply, her head on the pillow he had also purchased. He watched her smile, her eyes closed, the warm wind blowing her hair, her hands clasped above her stomach.

“This is perfect, Mulder. Lay down with me,” she had said softly, moving her hand to pat the spot beside her, eyes remaining closed. He smiled and went to do her bidding, lying beside her and listening to her breathing contentedly, happy he could do something to help.

Stepping over to her now, he stopped short, seeing her eyes closed and hearing her breathing slow and steady. Not wanting to wake her, he turned to leave, when her hand shot out and stopped him.

“If that’s my grape juice, don’t even think about walking away,” she said, opening one eye to look at him. He grinned and squatted beside her, handing her the glass and pushing the straw toward her lips. She took a long drink and moaned as she swallowed. “God, that’s so good. I don’t think I can adequately describe to you the desire I have for it. It’s so strong and when I finally get it, it’s just… mmm.” She took another long drink and the glass was empty except for the ice tinkling at the bottom.

“Would you like some more? I could get you some. Quench that desire for you,” he said, her words carrying a double meaning for him and causing his mind to race. “I do enjoy you being thoroughly satisfied.” She laughed and closed her eyes as she shook her head.

“I’m good for now.”

“Well, if you need anything, I mean anything, you let me know. I’m here for all your needs,” he assured her as he stood up to take the glass back inside.

“You take that glass inside and then come lay beside me, that’s what I need.”

“I’ll be right back.”

He walked towards the house, glancing back to see her running her hands over her stomach, and he smiled. Opening the back door, he decided to bring out some snacks and the bottle of grape juice so he would not need to get up again.

Packing the bottle of juice and lemonade for himself into an insulated bag, he dumped in some ice. Placing disposable cups, straws, crackers and chips into a bag, he opened the door and stepped back into the warm afternoon.

He set the items down and slipped off his shoes, sitting down carefully and then lying beside her. As he did, she turned onto her side, put her head on his shoulder, and reached for his left hand.

“Feel right here.” She smiled and put his hand on the side of her stomach. He waited and was soon rewarded with a swift kick under his hand. Smiling, he gently rubbed his thumb across her stomach, hoping to feel it again.

“Does it hurt?”

“Hmm, not too bad. But even if it did, I would welcome it,” she said softly and he nodded, knowing that of course she would. He watched her face as he waited and when he felt it again, she smiled happily.

“I love you,” he said quietly. She pulled back and looked at him, scrunching her chin with a smile, her eyes so blue.

“I love you too.” She held his gaze and he nodded, smiling at her as the hammock moved gently in the breeze. Holding onto his right arm, she put her head back on his shoulder.

He kept his hand on her stomach, moving it as he felt the baby moving around inside of her. “Moving a lot today,” he said, in awe of the life they had created.

“Mm-hmm,” she breathed and he smiled, knowing she was nearly asleep. She was tired more easily these days, napping often and always apologizing for it, though he repeatedly told her to stop.

He closed his eyes, moving his hand to his own stomach, and took a deep breath. It was warm in the shade of the late afternoon, the wind blowing just enough to keep it from being unbearable.

A soft snore caused him to open his eyes and smile. She would deny it, had in fact done so in the past when he teased her about snoring, but he knew she did when she was very tired. Moaning, she moved slightly and breathed deeply again. He smiled and closed his eyes again, feeling in need of a nap of his own.

The grass was taller and smelled sweet as spring began to make way for summer. He heard Scully call to him and he turned around, seeing her on the porch swing and pointing to his left with a smile. He nodded and headed in the direction she had pointed.

“Fe fi fo fum,” he growled, stomping his feet as he stepped deeper into the grass. “I will catch you, so you better not run.” Hearing a giggle to his left, he kept walking, knowing she was out there somewhere.

“I will find you little girl. I will find you and tickle you.”

“You have to catch me first, Daddy!” she called and he saw the grass moving ahead of him to the right. Quickening his steps, he saw the back of her before the grass swallowed her again.

“Oh… I was so close, but now I’m on your tail. It won’t be long until I find you.” She giggled louder and he stomped toward her and parted the grass. Finding her crouched down with her hand on her mouth to quiet her laughter, he bent down and stared at her, her blue eyes shining.

She moved her hand and jumped into his arms. “You found me, Daddy. You did such a great job!” He grinned as he held her tightly and stood up, rocking her as her legs dangled down, swinging from side to side.

“I will always find you, my sweet girl. Always.” He turned around and started back to the house.

“Even if I was far away? Or hiding somewhere you’ve never been?”

“Always. No matter what.”

She held him tighter and he heard her sigh with happiness. Smiling, he looked up to see Scully standing at the top of the stairs, her arms crossed, and a smile on her face.

“Well, it looks like you’ve been found, little one. Did you have fun?” Scully asked as they walked up the steps and he set her down.

“I did. Daddy founded me. He’s a good finder.”

“That he is,” Scully agreed and smiled at him, her eyes shining; like mother like daughter. “How about a snack? Something yummy?”

“Yeah! Carrots and celery, please,” she said, pushing one of her long dark braids over her shoulder, opening the screen door, and stepping inside the house.

“Ugh, how is she my child when she asks for stuff like that?” he asked and Scully laughed, patting him on the chest.

“Can I have a cookie too?” They both turned and saw her face pressed into the screen with a hopeful grin.

“See, now that’s more like it! My girl! Yes, you may have a cookie.” He clapped in excitement and they both laughed.

“Mulder…” Scully warned and he looked at her. “Mulder…”

“Mulder! You’re snoring.”

His eyes flew open and he exhaled a breath. Expecting them to be on the porch, he was surprised to find that they were lying on the hammock, the sun just beginning to set. He looked at her, one hand on her belly, the other holding his own and he exhaled again.

“You okay?” she mumbled, squeezing his fingers.

“Yeah… just having a dream. Sorry about the snoring.”

“No need to apologize.”

He shook his head, his dream lingering still, leaving behind a feeling of deja vu. He was sure he had dreamt something similar many years ago.

A little girl running through the grass, the way it felt when she wrapped her arms around his neck, the happiness it brought him. Those blue eyes staring at him, so full of love.

“Hmm, we should probably head inside soon,” Scully breathed and he was brought back to the present. Moving his hand, he placed it gently on her stomach. “I think she’s sleeping. Looks like we all took a nap.”

He heard the smile in her voice and he smiled too, leaving his hand there and thinking of that little blue-eyed girl. If his dream was a premonition, if he was somehow seeing what would be, he could not wait.

“A few more minutes, Scully. Let’s see what colors the setting sun has in store for us today,” he said, rubbing his hand slowly across her belly, happy and content in the moment.

“No complaints on my end,” she agreed, covering his hand with hers and sighing.

Red, orange, and pink filled the sky before they rose carefully from the hammock. He brought the food and drinks they did not eat back into the house, as Scully walked ahead of him and stretched by the table.

He grinned as her shirt rose up a little and her belly was exposed. So beautiful, she was so beautiful. She caught him grinning and he shook his head, causing her to smile back as she lowered her arms.

“Dinner?” she asked and he nodded, turning on the oven to reheat last night’s leftovers. “I’m going to take a bath. I’ll be down in a few.” He nodded and she walked upstairs.

Crossing the room, he opened the front door and then the screen. How odd it would have been to step through and find dream Scully on the porch, that little face pressed to the screen asking for cookies.

He looked around the porch, shaking his head at the realness of it all. His gaze landing to his left, he decided right then to find a porch swing and hang it, providing a place for them to relax. How had they not done so yet? The space was perfect.

Nodding, he added it to the list of things he needed to finish before the baby was born. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, the night air warm as the crickets began to sing. He smiled, the memories of the dream taking away any fear or worry he may have had.

They were going to be okay; all of them. This was the life they had always been meant to have, it had just taken them a few tries to finally get it right.

“You found me, Daddy. You did such a great job!”

He opened his eyes and breathed deeply once more. “Yes, I will always find you.” He nodded and stepped back inside, leaving the door open, allowing the breeze to blow softly through the screen and into the house.

Putting the dinner in the oven, he smiled again. “And I will give all the cookies you could ever want. Just don’t tell your Mommy,” he whispered, glancing up, knowing Scully would not have been able to hear him. “I can’t wait to meet you, but you take your time.”

He remembered the sound of her happy giggle in the sea of the tall green grass, the feel of her in his arms, and the sweetness of her little voice. His girl.

“Take your time, Sweetie. I’m not going anywhere.”

#The X Files #XF Fanfic #Post MSIV #Fluff and Happiness #So much fluff #Relaxation and rest #Dreams of the future #Domestic Fluff #Domestic Life

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tracybirds · 4 years

Text

Crosspost for Love Languages: Gordon

[Alan] | [John] | [Virgil] | [Scott]

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John was so rarely on Earth these days and Gordon could feel a grin threatening to crack his face as he raced towards his brother. He reached out to grab his brother’s arm, to drag him down to his level and show John how he’d been missed. John wasn’t prepared for Gordon’s weight, fresh out of orbit and peering blearily around the room, so instead they crash to the ground together. Gordon didn’t mind and he laughed at the squawk he managed to pull from John on the journey down.

“Get off me,” said John irritably and he pushed Gordon away.

Scott reached down and hoisted John up with an easy-going laugh and an outstretched hand. Virgil clasped John’s shoulder in friendly greeting and Gordon felt a twinge of jealousy from the floor as John reach out and ruffle Alan’s hair.

When John had stumbled his way towards his room and his siblings wandered off to other areas of the house, Scott sat down next to Gordon who hadn’t moved.

“Come on squid,” he said with a sigh. “You know not to crowd John like that on his first day.”

Gordon could feel a pout start to form and swallowed his indignation. His jaw jutted out and he carefully avoided Scott’s gaze.

“Yeah, my bad,” he muttered, trying not to play back that moment when John was willing to tolerate everyone’s touch but his own.

Later, John will creep into Gordon’s room with a Celery Crunch Bar and an unformed apology on his lips, and Gordon will accept them both. John will sidestep the proffered hug and neither of them will speak, each as bewildered as the other by the actions they observe.

***

Gordon might have accepted John’s apology, but he hadn’t let the matter go just yet. He was well aware of the differences between himself and his older brother, the two polar opposites of personality on their family’s spectrum. He knew it shouldn’t irk him that John had now brushed off contact with him twenty-seven times in the last week. But Gordon had also been watching him closely and he’s seen John tolerate, if not outright welcome Virgil and Brains’ intrusion into his personal space. When Scott sat on top of John’s long limbs, dangling off the end of the couch, John had merely rolled his eyes, pulled out his legs and casually propped his feet up on Scott’s shoulder. He’d flicked the page of his book and continued reading, unaware of Gordon’s mounting envy. And when Alan had fallen asleep in the middle of breakfast after a long rescue, it had been John who had volunteered to put him to bed. Gordon had snuck up and watched, as John serenely stroked his little brother’s hair through the tossing and turning, with a melancholy ache in his gut. When Alan shot up with a gasp and instinctually clung to John, Gordon found himself having to turn from the unbearable intimacy of John holding Alan close.

So, Gordon had plenty of evidence the despite everyone’s belief, John didn’t actually have an invisible bubble surrounding him to deflect all forms of physical contact. Gordon flipped over in the pool and floated gently in the water. He sighed and closed his eyes. Just a problem with me then, he thought gloomily to himself. It would be typical that his siblings wouldn’t even recognise that he’d been shut out without any hope of entry in their brother’s life.

“What are you moping about out here?” asked a voice from the pool side.

Gordon opened his eyes to see Virgil silhouetted by the bright sunlight above him. “Nothing,” he said as he manoeuvred himself into an upright position, treading water casually.

Virgil snorted. “Don’t give me that, I’ve been watching you floating and sighing for the last fifteen minutes.”

“That’s a little weird Virg,” said Gordon.

“Got it,” said Virgil. “Classic avoidance technique, do not engage, not my problem.” He splashed water at Gordon as he sat down at the pool’s edge, hoping for a rise.

Gordon swam to the other side of the pool.

“Real mature,” called Virgil. “Get your ass over here before I haul Scott into this.”

Gordon groaned and propelled himself back towards Virgil. “Low blow bro,” he said, hauling himself out of the pool and staring moodily at the water.

Virgil waited, humming a little as he watched the gulls soaring overhead.

“It’s John, okay?” said Gordon.

“Mm hmm,” said Virgil. “What did he do?”

“He,” Gordon began before pulling himself up short. He knew John hadn’t actually done anything, that was half the problem. “He’s just being John I s’pose.”

Virgil looked at Gordon strangely. “I thought you were both getting on pretty well actually. You’re mad that you’re not arguing?”

Gordon shook his head. “Well, no, obviously not, I like that we’ve been getting on better. Or at least I thought we were.” He sighed again, well aware that his bout of self-pity would not garner any sympathy from Virgil. “He barely even gives me the time of the day. It’s like he’s decided he can’t be bothered to deal with me and I’ve been relegated to a problem for a future John to puzzle out.” He kicked at the water suddenly. “It just feels like he’d be having a better holiday if I weren’t around.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Virgil. “It’s John. It’s a mandatory holiday and I know for a fact that as much as John loves us, he’d rather be back up on Thunderbird Five. He’s always antsy down here, he’s never been one to sit back idly while we head off to do rescues.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Gordon. “At least he can stand to touch you.”

A great chasm stretched between them in the silence, its immensity weighing on Gordon until it felt like he couldn’t breathe. Virgil reached across it like the gap wasn’t even there to pull Gordon in close. Gordon closed his eyes and breathed in the certainty of a brother who stood with him and knew what he needed.

“You need to talk to John,” said Virgil quietly. “I know its not your instinct, and it’s not his either. But he’ll listen to you if you tell him what you need.”

***

In the end it’s John who finds Gordon, wandering down to the hangar to see if he needed any help with the maintenance checks of Thunderbird Four. Gordon gives him a running list of tools and to his surprise, John doesn’t argue. They work in companionable silence for a time, Gordon calling out a name and John handing him the corresponding tool.

Gordon breaks first as John must have known he would.

“Are you here for a particular reason John?” he asks, straightening up and stretching.

John shrugged and avoided his gaze. “Not really. Just thought you could use a hand.”

Gordon waited expectantly.

“And we haven’t hung out much and I’m heading back into to orbit soon,” said John. “And contrary to popular belief, I do actually miss being around you guys when I’m up there.”

Gordon’s mouth thinned. “Virgil put you up to this,” he said flatly.

“What?” said John, looking genuinely startled. “Not at all.”

“Yeah, that’s really funny John,” Gordon said, a bitter tone creeping into his voice. “That bastard is such a meddler.” Gordon shook his head and turned to stomp towards the door only for a hand to reach out and grab his sleeve.

Gordon and John both looked at John’s hand in surprise and then at each other. John lightened his grip and gestured to a couch, nestled in the corner of the hangar.

“Let’s talk,” he said before flopping onto the couch.

Gordon followed him hesitantly and perched on the arm by John’s head.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” said John without preamble. “You’re normally a lot more you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Gordon. “You’re the one avoiding me!”

“On every other visit home, you’ve planned out my entire holiday and been in my space virtually all day every day,” said John. “This time, I’m lucky to see you once a day. Avoidance.”

Gordon kicked his leg along the side of the couch. “You’ve been busy,” he said.

John suppressed a laugh. “Yeah, real busy,” he said with a familiar note of sarcasm. “Did you know Scott won’t even let me listen to mission comms during rescues? And no one will let me do anything because ‘I’m on holiday’. Virgil actually locked me out of the workshop because I was apparently getting underfoot.” John looked over at Gordon. “It’s been a nightmare.”

Gordon cracked a smile, but it was fleeting.

John nudged his knee. “And then there’s that.” He said. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re not very happy.”

“It’s stupid,” said Gordon automatically.

“But it is something,” said John quietly. “I know I’m not the first choice of brothers, but you can talk to me.” He gave a wry grin. “And with my access to virtually everything of interest revoked, you even have a decent shot of having my full attention.”

Gordon deliberated for a few minutes, and John lay still and quiet.

“Everyone says you don’t do physical contact,” Gordon says. “You definitely don’t with me. But I’ve been watching and that’s just not true so it feels like I’ve upset you in some way. Have I?”

John is silent for a few seconds. Gordon knows his brother, knows he will be carefully planning his next few words.

“I don’t do physical contact like you do Gords,” he says slowly. “But I would have thought you were the first to understand that not everyone does things the way you do.”

“Well, yeah,” says Gordon. “But you’ve not touched me at all, and I’ve seen you with the others. Virgil is in and out of your space constantly, Alan after that rescue. It just makes me feel,”

“Lonely,” finished John. He sighed and tilted his head up to look at Gordon. “Do you know what Earth feels like after an extended period in space? Do you know what it feels like on your skin?”

Gordon shook his head. Oh, he’s gone into space, but not for the sort of time that John is talking about.

“When your skin doesn’t have to resist against anything, not even your clothes, it weakens,” said John. “Part of the reason, I don’t like coming back is because even with all our technology, we can’t beat the fact that humans are not designed for space. I have rashes all over just from wearing clothes, and every unexpected touch makes my skin feel like it’s on fire because my nerves have forgotten how to react properly.”

“That’s horrible,” said Gordon. He reaches out for John and then freezes.

John looked at his outstretched arms with a sad smile. “And look at your instincts,” he said. “No wonder you think I’m upset with you.”

He reached up an arm and gently pulled Gordon’s hand down to rest lightly on his shoulder.

“I’m not upset with you Gords,” he said quietly. “It’s just that you’re like the sun, never do anything by half, and I can’t always handle that. But you and I can teach each other about what we need, right?”

Gordon nodded and slid down to the floor. He rested his head against John’s arm and exhaled slowly. “Is this alright Johnny?”

John said nothing and smiled.

“Good,” said Gordon. “Because I don’t want you flinching away from me for the rest of your holiday.”

John yawned. “Just give me a heads up and listen if I say to back off. That’s what the others do.”

“Even Scotty?”

John swatted at him in response as Gordon laughed.

***

Gordon looked up at the sound of the siren indicating the approach of the space elevator.

“John’s home,” called Alan as he raced past the door.

Gordon grinned and followed him to meet their tall, tired brother.

“Hey guys,” he says, allowing Scott to shake his hand and reaching out to ruffle Alan’s hair. He spots Gordon hovering in the doorway and strides over to him. Gordon stands perfectly still as John reaches out to lightly touch his shoulders and grin affectionately at him. “Good holiday planned out for me?”

“You bet,” said Gordon with a grin.

#gordon tracy #john tracy #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #sometimes i fic

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bisexualmindcabin · 4 years

Text

A Small Guide to Reducing Your Footprint While Broke

Most efforts to reducing our waste and being more green are usually not that affordable. While they mostly will save you money in the long run, they are expensive items to first buy, and when you’re struggling to make rent you don’t feel like going for the most expensive item - no matter if it’ll end up saving you 20 dollars by next year.

So here are a compilation of things that are cheap or free that will help the enviroment and your wallet!

Web Stuff:

- Put Ecosia as your default search engine on your laptop, phone or tablet (and grab your friend’s phones when they aren’t looking and put it there too). They are a Chromium based search engine that plants trees with the revenue from your searches! They plant a tree after roughly 46 searches, all their energy comes from solar panels, and also they don’t sell your data to third parties.

- Go into GreaterGood.com and into their Click to Give campaings! It’s free to you, and you can click once a day. Just don’t give to their Autism Campaing - they’re sponsored by Autism Speaks, an ableist organization that wants to “cure” autism.

- Not a green tip, but a money saving one: if you shop online, join Honey, its a crome extension that finds you coupons on every purchase you do. Then maybe you can, y’know, plant a tree with the money you saved or something.

- Follow @brokestminimalist on here, they are better at adulting than me, and they have some very good posts on how to save money and time in usually very green ways.

Out and About Stuff:

- You must’ve read this one before, but refuse panphlets and freebies. And also bags, straws, lids, and basically anything you don’t need, or anything you are able to go without and would end up throwing away rapidly. These things add up.

- Shop locally and in small businesses whenever possible It activates local economy and reduces de chances that your food had to travel long spaces or was sprayed with toxic chemicals that affect the earth around it.

- Always carry around your own bags. You don’t need a fancy bag, just use our backpack, or an old bag from a gift you recieved, or some of the plastic bags from that one bag of bags you got under your sink. (And if you ever forget, save those new bags to reuse later at least).

- Try, to the best of your abilities, to use public transit, walk, or cycle the most you can. Also try to look up which of the public transit options you have (if you have more than one) is the greener one. And for the love of god, unless you have a good reason, don’t take a bus for just 6 blocks.

- If you have no choice but to use a car, then carpool, and make sure your car is as efficient as possible: remove extra weight where possible, make sure your tires are properly inflated and have the right air pressure, and slow down your travel speed by 10 km/h (6mph). All of this will both make you have a smaller enviromental impact and also save you gas money and maintenence costs.

- Carry your own water bottle and snacks/lunch to avoid buying things out of hunger while outside.

Food stuff:

- Honestly, go dumpster diving near closing times. It’s less gross than you think, will save you money, and will save perfectly good food from being sent to landfill and creating methane gas.

- Make your own apple cider vinegar out of apple scraps, like cores and skins. it’s as simple and putting the scraps on a jar, filling the jar with water and one or two tsp of sugar, covering the jar with some cloth and leaving the jar in a dark, warm place, stirring once or twice a day.

- Grow your own herbs and medicinal plants. Grow stuff like aloe in a pot (wich you can grow from a piece of a leaf), green onions, celery and leek (you can grow them in a windowsill by simply putting the ends on water!), and really anything else that you can grow easily that you use frecuently. Look at what your needs are, what you buy the most, and try to grow something that satisfies THAT.

- Make your own veggie stock with your scraps. Use skins, ends and leaves from carrots, potatoes, sweet potatoes, onions, pumpkins, celery, zuchinnis, tomatoes, and really any vegetable you use that has a soup named after it (I wouldn’t put lettuce there, for example). I have also started to put the water that comes on canned veggies, after all its just salt and veggie juice, which is all this stock is gonna be about. Set your chickpea water apart, tho. It’s called aquafaba and its an excellent egg replacement.

- Go vegan, if you can. It’s the most impactful individual action you can have for the enviroment, and it can be made unexpesively (its just easier or harder to do depending on where you live). If you can’t, then try to reduce your meat, eggs and dairy consumption. Remember you don’t have to do it perfectly to make a difference.

- Cook more at home. You know this one. Also, turn off your heating for 20 minutes before and just warm your house with the excess heat from cooking. If you did something in a pot with water, allow the water to cool before throwing it fro that sweet sweet heat.

Trash and Treasure:

- Look up your local recycling plant, and see what you can recycle on the curbside and what you can’t, and also what days are reserved por picking up recycling. Make sure the things you put there are clean and dry. (yep, you gotta wash your trash if you wanna recycle it). There’s even a chance you can make a profit off of recyclables, but if you figure out how to let me know.

- Compost at home. It’s fairly simple, and it can be done in apartments too. Research your different choices and how to properly take care of it for cheap, flea-less, rat-less, and odor-less compost.

- Im not gonna tell you to buy second hand clothes, because you probably already do, but buy second hand everything. You can get furniture, home appliances and cookware secondhand. Look around for garage sales and pawn shops.

- Mend the things you already own. Learn embroidery and some basic sewing skills for your clothes. Glue the sole of your shoes together when they start to fall apart. Teach yourself how to fix your things, youtube is right there.

- Use your public library! For gods sake! Many tumblr posts have tackled this issue better than I ever could. Use your public library. They might even have some tools or cookware you can borrow just like books instead of having to buy them yourself.

- Bulk shop. It can really be cheaper than buying in package, and you can just avoid that plastic and also avoid buying more than you need.

But the most important thing you can do is protest. None of these things, as good as they are, are enough to stop climate change. We need systematic change, and it has to come from our goverments. So donate, join activism groups, or protest.

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blogenana · 5 years

Conversation

Doctor Who - Earthshock Live Review

So I have my crisps and lemonade and im ready to continue my journey through classic who - idk why I just started live blogging it...

• People are climbing

• So they've found something- an alien I'm assuming- why do humans always tamper with things we shouldn't

• Oh they haven't found something theyre looking for people

• I hate how classic who drags on so slowly

• Sinister music

• 'probably nothing" foreshadowing...

• Okay get to the killing already

• YES FINALLY HELLO DOCTOR

• Wow I forget they must have their own rooms in the Tardis

• Lots of books in Adrics room

• "why should that interest me" ooh okay Adric getting a bit sassy

• Why's he fed up

• looool "I'm tired of being considered a joke" "why am I being constantly teased" maybe because you're annoying and you make sexist remarks?

• oh chill

• The doctor don't have time to deal with this

• aww okay Adric being jealous that Nyssa and Tegan get more attention from the doctor than him is kinda cute

• 'I give you my word' 'just as you gave your word to Tegan" okaaaaay go off (spoiler alert) ik Adric dies in this because I saw a spoiler so this is very sad foreshadowing that the doctor will break his word to Adric about making time for him- kinda sad

• I hate the celery stick

• okay Adric kick off

• Doctor can't take criticism which is interesting because the last time he was probably ever blamed for something was One with Barbara and Ian. I don't remember any companion ever criticizing him like this before

• 'Well it can wait' you'll regret that

• "I'm tired of being an outsider" this would make sense if we had seen him being an outsider before - in my opinion Tegan is the outsider as she's new and not as mathematically advanced as the others. also I would say that Adric is the closest to the doctor out of all 3 so his point isn't really valid

• I guess this is the writers way of making adrics death more tragic

• ooh Adrics theme

• I swear he was an outsider amongst his own people too

• 'the tools would go missing" why do these people never take the hint

• forgot Adric was from e space- tbh what was the doctors plan when he did demand to go home eventually- did he wanna travel with him till he died?

• "e space is another universe, there isn't a taxi service that goes back and forth"

• Romana mention!

• "im not waiting around while you plot the course to your own destruction" the doctor has never experienced a companion death before - also foreshadowing

• "you know I think since his regeneration he's become decidedly immature" this is funny also like 4 was soooo mature

• I like Adric and Five's relationship

• the actor who plays Adric has gone better

• Nyssa is the most mature out of this entire group

• "breathe deeply and relax" why is Tegan a meditation instructer out of nowhere

• the doctor didn't take much convincing

• lol the doctor bopping Tegans nose was cute

• Ooh Dinosaur bones

• let me guess - the asteroid that killed the dinosaurs was an alien spaceship or aliens killed them

• Someone screamed

• Ooh yeah she be dead

• Okay the villains look like they're wearing gimp costumes

• Reminds me of American Horror Story Murder House & the leather monster

• Aah doctor who giving a lesson on how the dinosaurs were killed. We love a show that educates

• Did I mention how much I hate the celery stick because I hate it honestly whose idea was it

• Bro chill why is this man grabbing the doctor like that what he do

• Calm the fuck down mate

• Gimp people be shooting

• Okay they may be androids but they'll always be gimp people to me

• Android vision

• CYBERMEN!!!! DAMN

• Why they gotta hit us with the plot twist like that i wasn't ready

• The Cybermen looks sad

• Hehehe the face is funny

• Gimps be strong

• Why do the Cybermen sound muffled

• I find it more creepy when they have human voices than Robots because it makes It more real that these machines have humans in them

• hHaven't seen them in some time

• I love Tegans sarcasm

• I'm cracking up at the Cybermen voice

• 1 gimp down 1 to go

• tThe gimps be dead

• 'prepare to activate the devise" dun dun DUN

• Damn the Cybermen be skinny

• I'm bored i want doctor/cybeman action

• Okay it's getting intense

• Cybermen be SHOOK

• "cyber technology is too advanced for earthlings" figure it out then mate

• He's recognised the Tardis

• THE BEST DIALOGUE "TIME LORDS, BUT THEYRE FORBIDDEN TO INTERFERE"

• THIS ONE CALLS HIMSELF THE DOCTOR, AND DOES NOTHING BUT INTERFERE

• YESS PREVIOUS DOCTORS VS CYBERMEN

• I'm geeking out

• Imma watch this bit a few times hang on

• Aah I loved that it was so cool bloody hell I'm a nerd

• The 2nd Cybermen looked shocked while he was watching

• "have you no emotions sir" classic

• "Adric do you have a moment" "I'm hungry" Okay I like him in this one he's a mood. Why is he suddenly likeable the ep he dies

• "all part of the daily routine" see what I mean

• Well your daily routine Is gonna end soon

• He doesn't wanna go home!!

• Doctor is relieved it's cute

• Ah this is sad

• It would be easier if i didn't know he was gonna die

• Cos I do like their relationship

• Okay we're being introduced to new people

• "you're beginning to bore me" the writers knew

• I'm trying really hard to concentrate I've zoned out

• Ah the doctor has got my attention "I want to announce my presence, see what the reaction is" course

• aaaand the doctor is caught and he's being accused for murder again

• Don't they have cctv just check it

• "apprehended why can't he just say caught" me in English classes

• 'even under the threat of death he has the arrogance of a time lord"

• I thought Cybermen had no emotions but this Cybermen just said he wants the doctor to suffer for their past defeats - revenge is an emotion which is v ironic

• Hh SHIT the Cybermen are walking

• lol tegan " im just a mouth and legs" she's such a mood

• The Cybermen music is cool

• The doctors face when he sees them

• Aah the soldier has betrayed them

• Why is it that whenever there's a women in charge the men who is second can't handle it and goes rogue

• iIt's such a typical trope

• The dialogue for the doctor is great

• "you know them"

• "oh yes, we go back a long way"

• Haha "I'm surprised they didn't mention me" 'well perhaps you overestimate your importance" "oh I doubt it" doctor is and will always be that bitch

• The doctor is doing doctory things

• "that's very clever" "oh it is" the doctor bragging about how clever he is starts here

• Damn tegan she just shot a Cyberman

• Flashback to "the doctor makes people into weapons"

• Finally the doctor vs Cybermen showdown

• Lol I knew they would kill the betrayer

• "our records indicate that you have a fondness for earth" (especially earth girls)

• "this time we shall succeed in destroying the earth" no you won't mate

• Ah the Cybermen coming out of plastic Wrap is a throwback to the 2nd Doctor Cybermen story

• Tegan looks like a badass with the gun

• So they're destroying the leaders of various planets before they destroy the Cybermen

• Tegan has no idea what she's doing

• I love how Five says the most savage lines with the most polite tone

• He could tear you down and look like he's complimenting you

• Tegan has been caught

• Cyberman in the Tardis is weird

• 'who is this woman' - 'no-one of consequence' - 'thanks a lot - gotta love Tegan

• Okay wow that scene between the doctor and the Cyberman about emotions gave me goose bumps what a thrilling scene

• The Cybermen has a point- he can control the doctor because he has emotions

• I'll never get tired of the debate about emotions between them because it genuinely feels like the Cyberman defend the concept of having no emotions to defend their existence

• Five looks hot when he's defending emotions

• Fuck they need to leave Adric behind

• Shit I'm getting nervous

• His theme is playing!

• The Doctor looks conflicted

• Adric leaving his hand out after the doctor let go...

• "I'll see you soon" this is the actors best performance because you can see in his eyes he knows he won't

• The Doctor has never had a companion die before so he walks away without looking back

• "it will once you start getting rusty" Tegan is funny

• Adric is plotting

• The Cybermen say they have no emotions but forcing Tegan watch her own planet getting destroyed is extremely sadistic

• Clever Adric

• The Earth looks different

• Okay so Adric's cleverness is what gets him killed because he knows he can crack the code

• The Dinosaurs! I knew it!

• Oh crap Earth is safe but Adric doesn't know that

• I think this comes down to Adric wanting the doctors attention and wanting to be the best to have his attention

• The Doctor has his pin!

• Five suffocating and shooting a Cyberman is shocking to see

• Adric whyyyyyy

• This Cyberman walking towards him is bloody persistent

• "Now I'll never know if i was right" such Adric last words

• Id like to believe he was

• Damn.

• The Doctors face. The fact that it could have been avoided if he just left the ship

• Adric is the first companion that died on the Doctor's watch

• Adric died thinking the Earth was going to be destroyed and he could have stopped it

• The credits!! his gold star! the silence! this must have been a shock to the viewers. If i didn't know beforehand through spoilers I would be going crazy

• Earthshock had it's ups and downs, the downs in regards to the pace of the plot however the story was good and the Cybermen were fantastic especially their interactions against the doctor. Tegan and Adric were great. Nyssa didn't really have much to do. Davison was amazing. I liked the writing.

• Also I liked the structural shift of the story to the cave androids to the bomb to the spaceship to dealing with The Cybermen to saving Earth and then to Adrics death

#Doctor Who #Earthshock #Fifth Doctor #5th Doctor #Adric

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rumowrites · 5 years

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I just want more cute tinker and runaan one shots tbh. could you write about their first date or their proposal? thank you for being amazing

Hello There! (pun intended) I will write one of a first date and one of their proposal later:) Though here is one of a first-meeting!

Runaan pushed through the door of a smith’s workshop one of his soldiers had recommended only to promptly collide with a basket of horseshoes that was placed next to the entry, halfway obstructing the passage. With a low curse he wiggled himself around it very much less graceful than he cared to admit. The crammed shop that opened before him once he successfully passed the threshold was bathed in a golden light and empty. A faint clanging noise from the back alerted him of a doorway halfway hidden behind a set of heavy shelves.

Cautiously, he took a few steps further into the room until he stood in front of the doorway, the rhythmic clanging intensifying. “Hello?” he tried, leaning into the hallway that followed. “Come on in!” a melodic voice shouted “I’m in the forge, second door to the right.”

The heat got more troubling for his cold-accustomed moonshadow elf body as he placed a hand on the warm door handle. This one had been made of stone and took more effort to open than the front door. The reason of that was presented to him as soon as he slipped in the workshop, the heat almost overwhelming him.

Behind a blazing forge that was powered by what he recognized as an ever-burning-flame, stood a broad shouldered sunfire elf who was just placing a glinting sword into a bucket of water. The hissing sound effectively droned out the other’s steps as the smith walked towards him, hand outstretched as a greeting.

Despite his well-known and widely-feared poker face, he couldn’t within but stare. The other elf was shirtless and now that he had shed the thick leather apron protecting him from the flames, Runaan could openly admire his abs and astonishing shoulder muscles.

“Hi, I’m Tinker.” The sunfire elf said while shaking his hand seemingly oblivious to his state of clothing “Runaan” he managed in a rather calm voice that luckily didn’t betray him. “What can I do for you?” there was spark of something as he let his hazel eyes wander across the Assassins body and gestured for the door. “We should talk about that in the shop though. It will get even warmer the longer you stay here.” Just now, Runaan noticed the thin layer of sweat that had coated his bare forearms. His kind really wasn’t made for heat. Tinker though seemed very comfortable standing right next to the raging fire, handling the metal without gloves as he had done before.

“I came looking for a set of blades.” He started once they were back in the crammed shop “One of my subordinates recommended you.”

“I’m happy to hear that. I guess you would prefer something with sheaths that are easy to conceal and fast to reach preferably not obstructing you while running and climbing?” astonished, Runaan nodded “Exactly. How did you figure?”

The smith only shrugged and began to shift some cartons around. “Your uniform marks you as high ranking general of the Assassin squadron. And also: everybody around here knows you Runaan, celeri umbra.” The draconic sounded a little mocking though in a friendly way. He hated that by name. ‘Swift shadow’ he was but it still bothered him that people gave him glorifying names like the heroes of his kin had. There was nothing heroic in sneaking around and killing, even if you did it to protect your country.

“Don’t call me that.” He asked in a stern voice, still watching the smith sort through several more boxes and pulling out fabric wrapped bundles every once in a while. “Sorry” he chirped finally stepping forward, his strong arms carrying a dozen heavy looking bundles. He dumped them on the only free table in the shop before turning back to Runaan. “Would you stretch your arms out, palms upwards?” Tinker asked and seemed to calculate something in his head as the other obeyed. He then placed some of the bundles to the side, opening the first 2 of the remaining ones. Inside were each 2 long narrow blades just a little longer than his arms. One pair was straight, the other curved. “Go on try them.” The smith encouraged and Runaan very carefully did a few test twirls with the first set to not accidentally knock something over in the crammed shop. “Which one do you prefer?” immediately, the Assassin held up the curved blade. The straight ones just didn’t match his fighting style. “Alright” he was then handed two other sets that both had a curved blade but were entirely different otherwise. “I need more space to test them, otherwise I will probably break something.” Runaan stated as the tip of one blade just barley passed in front of the others nose. The sunfire elf nodded and recollected the pile of weaponry before motioning for him to follow. They passed the forge and reached a door that opened to a fairly large backyard, lined with Targets and practise dummies. “Try them. I will be right back.” The other said and vanished back in the house. Runaan could have sworn he was shivering a little as they left the unnatural warmth of the workshop. His observation had been correct, he concluded, as the smith returned shortly after, now clad in a long-sleeved linen shirt and dark brown vest. He even pulled gloves on as soon as he stepped in the yard. Runaan presented him the pair he liked better, it was the heavier one but he preferred a little more weight in the handles to balance his strokes. He told Tinker as much who seemed to contemplate for awhile and searched through the pile of swords until he found another pair. They continued this game until he had tested every single blade the smith gave him and found the design he was most comfortable with.

For the last few try-outs, he did some more complicated moves than he had before, showing off a little to the handsome smith. Runaan even added some unnecessary backflips that rewarded him with a melodic laugh from the other. Tinker seemed to enjoythe show even though the Assassin could see him shivering slightly. It must be a sunfire elf thing since he himself was only clad in his light summer uniform and found it rather warm. “Let’s go back inside, you’re shivering.” The smith blushed in an adorable orange on his dark skin before shaking his head. “It’s fine.” Runaan stepped a little closer towards him and just now noticed the heat that was radiating off his skin. “I insist.” He stated with a smile and collected a few of the swords to help carry them inside. Again, he was slightly overwhelmed by the dry heat that welcomed them but tried to blank it out in favour of the shop owner. He could stand a little heat.

“Okay so now I need you to tell me what you want to have changed with the last blade you tried, I made some notes but I would like to hear your opinion, too.” Dutifully, Runaan rattled down the list of things that he thought could still be improved, more weight to the handle, smaller hand guards and possibility of a reversed grip. Tinker nodded, dotting down a few notes before returning the blades to their respective places. “I can have it done by tonight or tomorrow.” He said, making his way towards the forge. Not willing to leave just yet, the Assassin followed him again, curiously watching Tinker align tools and a pair of raw blades that looked like the one he’s tested last.

“It’s going to get really warm in here soon. You can watch if you like but be aware that the temperatures can be quite unbearable for any other than a sunfire elf.”

“It’s not that bad.” Runaan replied coolly even though he already felt the urge to remove his sleeveless over-coat. There was no way he would pass upon the opportunity to see a real ever lasting flame in action, especially not when a handsome stranger was involved. Tinker shrugged and turned a few levers on the forge. “Suit yourself. You can always step out if it gets too warm.” He then stripped off his shirt and vest again before tying the leather apron around his waist. As stealthily as he could, Runaan removed his coat and dark blue vest and placed them on a hook by the door leaving him in his teal undershirt. He prayed the other wouldn’t notice that he was already losing to the heat.

Curiously, the Assassin stepped a little closer to the forge, attentively tracking every movement and committing it to his memory. Every once in a while Tinker would point out what he was doing and why or Runaan would ask something, either concerning the material or technique. When the smith placed one of the blades in the water bucket for the second time, he turned towards him, a concerned look on his face. “Are you alright? Maybe you should go outside and cool off some.”

“I’m fine.” He heard himself say just as his vision somehow narrowed until everything was pitch black. Runaan didn’t feel the collision with the hot stone floor anymore.

A burning headache spread across his temples as his eyes fluttered open. The world around him was still blurry but he could make out movement and sound? in front of him. Instinctively his right hand wandered to the dagger on his hip, drawing it in one swift motion at the shadow moving above him. Something strong grabbed his arm and held it in place. A melodic voice seemed to repeat his Name over and over though he couldn’t pin down its source.

Slowly, his vision cleared and he was faced with a sunfire elf kneeling above him with a concerned expression. He also seemed to be the source of the voice. “Runaan?” it asked “Can you hear me?” the Assassin nodded, eyes wandering to where his right with the dagger was enclosed in an iron grip. He felt light wind on his bare? chest and somehow his face and torso felt wet. “What?” he asked, gradually willing his arm to relax and stop struggling against the grip. “You passed out in the forge.” Tinker supplied, slowly letting go of his wrist. “I think it was because of the heat. I carried you out to cool down.” He looked around to ensure they were alone in the backyard without any curious eyes. His left wandered to shield his eyes from the sun, the bright light only intensified his headache. “How long have I been out?” after a moment he felt the slight trace of something wet pooling beneath him. “And why am I wet and shirtless?” he asked slightly confused, his brain had still trouble processing all the information. “About ten minutes?” the other elf guessed, looking kinda lost “and uh when you wouldn’t wake up at first I, um, I panicked and threw a bucket of water on you. You know, to help you cool back down, like-like my steel?” his expression turned to embarrassment, causing the adorable blush to reappear.

“Like your steel?” Runaan asked doubtfully in an attempt to sit up only to loose his grip in the damp soil beneath him. With a splash, he landed back in the little puddle. “Great” that had not exactly been the first impression he had hoped for.

Tinker immediately offered him a hand and pulled the Assassin to his feet with ease as the other took it reluctantly. “Thank you” he said sincerely “I didn’t think it would get that warm in there. Guess we are not made for the warmth after all.” The smith chuckled at that before walking back to the door with quick steps. Runaan noticed his body heat being considerably less vibrant than before what had probably to do with the time he spent outside. Although he had heard sunfire elves also changed heat with their emotions. He hoped he didn’t make the other dislike him. As they passed a mirror in the hallway and he could properly see his state of dress, Runaancouldn’t within but muttering a curse under his breath. How was he supposed to get back to his house without anyone seeing his dishevelled state? Mud was clinging to his bare back where he had been lying on the ground and his usually silky white hair was equally tainted. Behind him, the smith came back to stand beside him while wrapping a thick blanket around his shoulders. “You can’t possibly go out like that.” He stated looking him up and down in their reflection. “You don’t say.” Runaan couldn’t within to roll his eyes. “The gossip would be overwhelming. It’s worse enough already as it is. I don’t need to add speculations of possible mud-fights to the list.”

“What do you mean?” Tinker seemed to be heating up again since the warmth slipped through the blanket and warmed his back. The sensation was oddly comforting even though it should have been far too warm. “People talk a lot. Especially when they don’t know anything about you. The less they know the wilder the speculations get.” In that particular part, his people were no better than humans. Unless humans though, they had a stronger sense of honour and would never dare to talk about another elf in their presence. Somehow he wasn’t entirely sure if that was better. The Assassin preferred to take his opponents head on, no matter the battlefield.

“That can’t be entirely true.“ The other elf looked a little sad “The people respect you.” A small laugh escaped him at that comment “No, they fear me. Though it doesn’t make a difference really. Tell me, what have you heard about me personally before I set foot in your shop?” Tinker startled for a moment, his slight frown deepening at recognizing the truth in Runaan’s words. “I guess nobody is perfect.” They stared into their reflection for a moment before the smith straightened and pointed to a staircase at the end of the hall. “Come on I will show you to my bath so you can clean yourself before going back out.”

“There is no need for that. I have imposed enough already.” He would take the jab at his pride only to make less of a fool of himself in front of the other. However,Tinker was having none of it, already climbing up the stairs. “Nonsense, it was me who dumped a bucket of water on you in the first place.”

The upper level wasn’t as hot as the workshop but still way warmer than he kept his own quarters. The difference in both their races was more evident than ever as Tinker opened a door to his right and a bath chamber completely made of stone came into view. A little fire burned in one corner that emitted considerably more warmth than should be possible. He even thought it got a little larger when the sunfire elf stepped into the room. His kind preferred wooden houses and furniture because it resembled the woods. He knew of Earthsong elves who lived in dome-shaped homes half covered by earth. Apparently sunfire elves preferred stone and fire. A combination he found interesting and strange at the same time. “The water is over there,” Tinker pointed to a lever placed next to the smooth granite bathtub. “I hope it’s not too warm but the coldest setting should work. Towels are over there.” Runaan nodded, eying the large basin with scepticism. He was used to wash himself in the stream next to his house. “Thank you.” It was very uncommon among moonshadow elves to show such hospitality. His people were far more private than the smith seemed to be. Before he could apologize again for intruding, the other elf vanished through the door, taking a little of the warmth with him. “I will get the rest of your clothes.”

Runaan used the time until the other’s return to untie his hair and try and detangle it a little from where it was braided at the back of his head. Not an easy task seeing all the mud that had glued the fine strands together but once Tinker came back, carrying a pile of green-blue fabric in his arms, he had the worst knots out. His by now hip long hair fell freely down his back in a cascade of white and brown. “I will be downstairs. Should you need anything feel free to ask.” The smith carefully closed the door behind him, making sure it would stay shut.

He looked around the room before finally stepping over to the bathtub, running a hand over the smooth granite surface. It felt oddly unfamiliar in comparison to the ones at the Academy that were crafted form heavy oak wood. The water on the coldest setting possible was still considerably warmer than he would have preferred but it didn’t hurt his skin so he slowly began to undress while the basin filled itself. He washed his pants first under the running water and placed them in front of the little fire that would dry them in no time. The rest of his garments had luckily survived so he carefully placed one foot in the water before settling down. It was a little uncomfortable at first but his body quickly adapted to the warmth. Soon, the heat was rather comforting, loosening the knots in his tense muscles bit by bit. The mud on his back vanished without much further ado however the stained parts of his hair took a little longer to clean. It was a lot of hair after all.

Once he was done, he drained the tub, making sure no remnants of mud were left behind as the water twirled down the drain. An interesting construction really. He wondered if the smith had built it himself. Probably. The towel he found Tinker had placed next to his clothes was strangely soft and enclosed him in a pocket of warmth as soon as he wrapped it around his shoulders. It turned out to be very effective in drying him though since the thick fluffy fabric took hold of a lot of water. Runaan even managed to almost completely dry his hair with it. Carefully, he re-braided the strands and added the little metal clasps he used to hold it in place. After re-dressing and placing the used towel on a rack in front of the fire, he checked his reflection in the mirror next to the door. Satisfied with what he saw, he stepped out again, returning to the workshop downstairs.

Tinker was still working in the forge and regarded him with a greeting motion of his head as he shaped one of the blades he recognized as his order. After a few minutes, the sunfire elf placed the blazing metal in a bucket of water and motioned for him to follow him back into the shop. “Better not stay here too long. I don’t want to have to almost drown you again.” He chuckled as they stepped back into the hallway, heavy door closing behind him. “I tend to forget how hot the forge gets. It’s hard to calculate the effect on others when you don’t really feel it yourself.” Again, Runaan could feel his body heat filling the space around them. Candles in their immediate surrounding grew a little brighter, the nearer he got to them, emitting more light and warmth. “No, you are not to blame. I underestimated the effect. Thank you for helping me though. How can I repay you?”

“There really is no need for that. You don’t owe me anything.” There was no way he would let it go that easily. For one, his honour demanded that Runaan did something for the other elf in return and secondly this was the perfect opportunity to ask the other out while still staying on relatively safe ground. “Please, I insist. Let me treat you to dinner some time?” immediately, he felt the air around him heat up a little more as the other blushed furiously. A tleast the attraction seemed to go both ways. “If you really want to.” Tinker finally agreed tentatively. “Your swords should be ready by tomorrow. Do you want any decorative engravings on the hilt?”

A small smile crept on Runaan’s face “Surprise me. Tomorrow it is. And dinner afterwards.” He quickly left the shop after that, careful to not trip over anything. The day had turned out alright after all.

Send me more prompts as I desperately try to finish the next chapter of Talents:) Maybe I will some of them for the story instead of only one-shots. Inspiration is always welcome!

#runaan #tinker #prompts #rumo writes #one shot #the dragon prince #tdp fanfic #tdp fic #fanfiction #writer #ask #prompt

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loneberry · 5 years

Text

Flowers for Eternity

What is the alphabet of funeral flowers that appears everywhere in my work?

Below the cut is “Flowers for Eternity”—my favorite chapter from Stephen Buchmann’s book The Reason for Flowers—on the relationship between flowers and death, and the use of flowers for funerary and religious rituals.

Flowers as the enshrinement of wayward souls

Flowers as an olfactory mask for decomposing corpses

Flowers as memorialization

Flowers as emotional salve in the face of loss

Who knows why, when a life is snuffed out, a bouquet sprouts in the void.

In the end, we all will become flowers

Ruderals in the cemetery of lost dreams

Flowers for Eternity They are love’s last gift—bring ye flowers, pale flowers! —Felicia Hermans It’s a cold February morning in Orange County, California. My family, and our relatives and friends, gather on a green lawn, in the Garden of Contentment, an older area within the sprawling Rose Hills Memorial Park in Whittier, California, the largest cemetery in the United States. A friend has given the eulogy for my father, Stanley, who has died at age fifty-seven. Our family walks to the open grave hand in hand. My father’s sister carries a bouquet of flowers. One by one, we come forward, adding colorful bouquets atop the metal coffin. Floral wreaths rest next to the gravesite on tall stands. Earlier that morning, several hundred friends, family, and relatives paid their final respects during a funeral service in the flower-filled First Congregational Church of Buena Park. Now, our family and a few others remain graveside among the floral tributes before the casket is lowered. Such earthen burials in cemeteries are repeated about six thousand times each day in the United States and many more times around the world. Much of the florist industry is based on these services and other floral tributes. With their beauty, flowers comfort us; they make us smile and ease our grief. They help us to heal and recover from losses and emotional wounds. This has always been true. Our ancestors used cut flowers as grave offerings since the time spiritual beliefs first stirred in humans. Archaeological excavations of ancient burial sites in Iraq and Israel, along with tombs of Egyptian pharaohs, such as Tutankhamen, provide us with glimpses into the burial customs of these ancient mourners, and flowers for eternity. Buried with Flowers Deep within the Zagros Mountains of northern Iraq is the famed Shanidar Cave. Early humans, Neanderthals, lived here seventy thousand years ago and buried their dead. Excavations in the 1950s by a Columbia University archaeological team unearthed ten Neanderthal skeletons buried along with an assortment of stone tools. At least one individual may have been laid upon a bed of stems of joint pine (Ephedra, shrubs that make no flowers) and also adorned with bouquets of flowers. Pollen from twenty-eight flowering species was identified from the gravesite soils. Pollen-grain concentrations were higher within the grave than in the surrounding areas of Shanidar Cave. This sensational discovery was widely reported in the media and sparked debate. Did the family group of Neanderthals have ritualized burials? Was this the first evidence of floral grave offerings? Or, as has recently been suggested, was it merely interred pollen brought into the cave by generations of gerbil-like rodents hoarding grasses and wildflowers? For now, the story is unclear. Not as old, but far more scientifically convincing, is a twelve-millennia-old gravesite inside Raqefet Cave on Israel’s Mt. Carmel studied by archaeologists at the University of Haifa. Here, four graves from the Natufian culture (radiocarbon-dated to be 13,700 to 11,700 years old) were lined with flowers at the time of burial. In one grave, an adult male and an adolescent were buried together atop a thick bier of floral offerings. Judaean sage (Salvia judaica), along with other unidentified mints (Lamiaceae) and members of the snapdragon family (Plantaginaceae), were used. Interestingly, Judaean sage has been a ritual plant since ancient times. It has commonly followed Mediterranean peoples from cradle to grave, like rosemary (Rosmarinus officinalis) and true myrtle (Myrtus communis). Myrtle remains entwined and is used with one Jewish holiday, Sukkoth, the Feast of Tabernacles, still celebrated each autumn. Archaeologist Dr. Dani Nadel spoke with me about the Raqefet Cave ancient graveyard, explaining that the inner grave surfaces were plastered with mud, capturing imprints of the delicate stems and finest floral impressions at the time of inhumation. Based upon the types of local wildflowers used, these may have been spring burials. Perhaps flowers were offered as grave goods not only for their beauty but also for their intense scents, which would have masked the odors of decomposition. Sages, along with mint stems and leaves, are especially fragrant, used to this day in cooking and burned as incense. A visitor to the Mt. Carmel hillside today walks among Judaean sage, a plant as common there now as it likely was millennia ago. The Natufians were possibly the first people to transition from a nomadic hunter-gatherer lifestyle to permanent settlements with agriculture, animal husbandry, and true graveyards. Honoring the Dead or Appeasing the Gods? From the earliest times, humans have displayed two interrelated behaviors using flowers. We have buried them with our dead, but we have also adorned statues of deities with garlands or left blooms on sacred altars to propitiate the deities. Why is it that something as ephemeral and delicate as a flower took on this new role in the theologies of so many divergent cultures? How could a flower provide comfort for grieving mourners if we evolved from fruit-eating ancestors? Why not use something else? Shouldn’t we be decorating sarcophagi and coffins with fruit, luscious red ripe grapes, apples, or figs? Perhaps it happened because the blooming of flowers around the world proceeds in a predictable, seasonal pattern. Flowers of the dry season are replaced by flowers of the rainy season in the tropics. In cooler-milder zones, three or four seasons offer a diverse but revolving carousel of buds that open and wilt at appointed times. Catastrophic destruction by unexpected droughts, wildfires, or floods interrupts annual climate cycles but not forever. Given time, the flowers return. Early humans certainly noticed that when their kin were buried in shallow graves, these sites were later colonized by blooming, opportunistic, short-lived wildflowers ecologists call ruderals. This mode of natural renewal had been noted by most generations of poets, regardless of era. In Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Laertes offers the then-widespread belief that good flowers spring from the grave of a good person. He hopes that violets will spring from his sister Ophelia’s grave, although her death was a suicide. Thus, Mt. Carmel hides more than one ruined necropolis in plain sight. On warm days in January a trained botanist can show cyclamens, red anemones, winter narcissi, and mandrakes poking out between the tips of the half-buried ossuaries. Bouquets, Mummy Garlands, and Floral Collars On a far grander scale, death rites and religious worship were intertwined in the Egypt of the pharaohs. Flower arrangements were used in festivals and for special occasions. Most popular were the spike-topped papyrus reeds, and flowers of sacred blue and white water lilies. Bouquets were presented to deceased relatives at the time of burial and on various festive occasions and anniversaries at the necropolis and mortuary temples. Beautifully designed fresh-flower arrangements were also worn as broad neck collars (wide necklaces) by participants at Egyptian funerary rites and their associated feasts. Bouquets were brought to burials, and papyrus stems played an integral part since these abundant, aquatic reeds symbolized the resurrection of the deceased. Bouquets and persea (Mimusops laurifolia) branches were found inside King Tutankhamun’s multiroomed royal tomb in the Valley of the Kings (ancient Thebes) when it was first opened by Howard Carter in 1922. Ancient flower collars and dried-but-once-fresh flowers are found on mummies and draped on statues placed within tombs. When nineteen-year-old pharaoh Tutankhamun was buried in 1323 BC, many floral garlands were placed as offerings on his three nested, gilded coffins. A small wreath of olive leaves, blue water-lily petals, and blue cornflowers (Centaurea) surrounded the symbol of office, the vulture-and-serpent motif above the king’s brow. The floral decorations on Tut’s innermost coffins were especially elaborate. Here, layers of wrapped linen were crisscrossed by four bands of long floral garlands. The plants used in the garlands have been identified as olive leaves, cornflower, willow, lotus (Nelumbo), and celery leaves. A one-foot-wide floral collar encircled the king’s sculpted, solid gold funerary mask. When fresh, before the sarcophagus was sealed, this brilliant floral collar resting on the golden innermost coffin lid must have been a lovely sight. Unlike the previous garlands, this collar contained blue glass beads, lotus petals, more cornflowers, the scarlet berries of deadly nightshade, along with yellow mandrake fruits and the yellow-flowering heads of yellow hawkweeds (Picris). The royal mummy of Rameses II (1290 - 1224 BC) had thirteen rows of floral garlands, along with single blue flowers of water lilies under the bands sealing the mummy wrappings. This king, along with others, was found in a “mummy cache,” likely placed there a century later (c. 1087 BC) by Egyptians to avoid the rampant tomb robbing of that time. The garlands of persea leaves and blue and white lotus on the mummy wrappings of Rameses II might have been placed there reverentially during his hasty reburial. Northwest from Egypt, on islands of the Aegean, the Minoan peoples traded with the Egyptians, who coveted Minoan saffron (Crocus sativus) as a spice and a dye. These people also enjoyed an elaborate vision of death, flowers, and deities, but it seems more cheerful. Amateur botanist and historian Hellmut Baumann has addressed the relicts of this civilization, and its Greek invaders. The Cretans, for example, decorated their sarcophagi with motifs depicting the flowering stems of native dragon arums (Dracunculus vulgaris) and related members of the philodendron family (Araceae). They also painted the glorious white and wonderfully scented sea daffodils (Pancratium maritimum) on these baked clays as it was a favorite of their goddesses. These deities were believed to favor wild lilies, including the white-flowered species we today call the Madonna (Lilium candidum), and the Cretans protected the mauve flowers of the saffron crocus. One sculpted goddess wore a crown made of the fat round fruits of opium poppies. The Minoan Empire came to a violent end around 1570 BC when volcanic eruptions and tsunamis devastated their islands and left the survivors vulnerable to waves of invasion from the Greek mainland. The invaders brought in a new, male-dominated pantheon. The mighty Minoan goddess became Crete’s nymph under the name of Britomartis or Dictynna. She was a dutiful daughter of Zeus and a virgin. Classical Greek religion believed in gods who loved flowers. As they were immortals, their worshippers decorated their temples with “immortal” arrangements of everlasting daisies (Helichrysum), as they hold their shiny yellow color and sun shapes when dried. Sacrificial oxen were adorned with flowers of wild carnations (Dianthus) and rose campions (Lychnis). Greek priests and poets insisted that their gods had sacred plants, and some of these bore beautiful flowers. The first Olympian gods invented floral wreaths at the wedding of Zeus and Hera, weaving together wildflowers such as primroses, candytuft (Iberis), leopard’s-bane (Doronicum), and mouse-ears (Cerastium). Pindar (522 - 443 BC) wrote odes associating Apollo and Aphrodite with sweetly scented violets of the field. Flowers followed a Greek woman through the most important rituals of her life. Virgins wore garlands of wild, white-flowered species at their weddings, typically incorporating crocuses, white snowflakes (Leucojum), white storax (Styrax), and snowdrops (Galanthus), according to season. The modern fashion of the pure white bride’s bouquet derives from these sweetly scented garlands and wreaths. But the wedding bouquet of classical Greece was more likely to contain garlic and other pungent herbs to drive off jealous wandering spirits! The citizens of ancient Rome picked up many Greek wedding customs but seemed to prefer colorful, scented flowers including violets, wallflowers (Cheiranthus), and stocks (Matthiola). The Greeks also favored roses (sacred to Aphrodite), but the Romans so expanded the wedding fashions that they may have used the flowers of four or five different Rosa species. Wealthier Romans also tried to turn their wedding nuptial chambers into a fertile garden of flowers and greenery. As a matron, the mature Greek woman celebrated the summer rites (Thesmophoria) sacred to the grain goddess, Demeter. This included sleeping on makeshift beds sprinkled with the blue-purple flowers of the chaste tree (Vitex), to keep them faithful to their husbands and to increase their fertility. These flowers were sacred to Demeter, Hera (goddess of marriage), Aphrodite (goddess of love and fertility), and even Asclepius (god of medicine). At a woman’s death, a purple iris might be planted on her grave, and funerals in ancient Greece were elaborate rituals lasting several days. At the moment of death, the soul (Psyche, portrayed as a winged deity or butterfly) was believed to leave the body through the mouth as a puff of wind. By law, the decedent’s body was prepared at home (the prothesis), usually by elderly female relatives. The corpse was washed, anointed with fragrant oils, and dressed. Then it was placed on a bed of wooden planks and adorned with a crown of tree branches and flowers. Romans adored their floral crowns but also decorated the funerary couch with many fresh flowers. Once burial was complete, both Greeks and Romans scattered flowers on the grave (violets were popular tributes), and both cultures believed that planting herbs and sweet flowers around the burial site purified the earth. Urns containing the remains of the deceased could also be cleansed using offerings of cut flowers. A Passion for Lotuses

Even as the peoples of Crete, Greece, and Italy abandoned their old pantheons less than two thousand years ago, flowers continue to play a living role in the cultures and countries embracing the various branches of Hinduism. Indians still celebrate rites wearing garlands of flowers, and they give them away as gifts. Their use of flowers is associated with sexuality, one of the aphorisms of love, for example, in the Kama Sutra by Vatsyayana. The ancient Indian text is not just about erotic love and sexual positions; it also contains information on the sixty-four arts, including flowers, especially fashioning flower carriages and artificial flowers, the adorning of idols with rice and flowers, decorating couches or beds with flowers, stringing necklaces, making garlands or wreaths, and the simple pleasures of gardening. In their worship and portrayals of deities, Hindus are infatuated with flowers. The name of the Hindu worship ritual puja is translated as the “flower act.” Among Hindus, the Indian lotus flower (Nelumbo nucifera) is their foremost symbol of beauty, fertility, and prosperity. According to Hinduism, within everyone resides the spirit of the sacred lotus flower. The lotus symbolizes purity, divinity, and eternity, widely used in ceremonies, where it denotes life, especially feminine beauty and renewed youth. In the Bhagavad Gita, a Hindu text, humans are admonished to be like the lotus, holding high above the water, like the flower itself. In hatha yoga, the familiar lotus sitting position is used by practitioners as a way of striving for a higher level of consciousness. In Hinduism, the lotus also represents beauty and nonattachment. The aquatic plant produces a large, beautiful, pinkish blossom, but it is rooted fast in the mud of a shallow pond or lake. Its stiff leaves rise above the water’s surface, neither wetted nor muddy. Hindus view this as an admonition for how we should live our lives, without attachment to our surroundings. Several Hindu deities are likened to the lotus blossom. Krishna is described as the Lotus-Eyed One in reference to his supposed divine beauty. Deities including Brahma, Lakshmi, Vishnu, and Saraswati are also associated with the lotus blossom. The “wooing” of Hindu gods is normally done with adorning clothing, jewels, dances and music, perfumes, betel nuts, coconuts, and other foods, but especially with vermilion dusts and many flowers. During Holi, the festival of colors during the spring, worshippers paint their faces with brilliant vermilion powders. Flowers are everywhere on display for Holi and Diwali (the festival of lights, celebrated in India and Nepal). Colorful floral displays called rangoli are created for indoor or outdoor use by the celebrants. The Diwali holiday marks the victory of good over evil (Lord Rama’s victory over the demon-king Ravana). Villagers commonly paint the faces of sacred cattle with vermilion and drape their necks with long floral garlands, using marigolds, and red-purple makhmali (flowering heads of long-lasting amaranths) in Nepal. In an interesting form of what may be considered cultural diffusion with flowers, Hindus prefer the fat, hybrid heads of marigolds (Tagetes), apparently unaware of their earlier association with bloody human sacrifices performed by Aztec high priests. In India, yatra are the pilgrimage festivals celebrated at Hindu temples. Idols are carried aloft in a special procession on a palki (sedan chair). These ceremonial platforms are highly decorated, festooned in colorful live flowers including marigolds and makhmali. Cremation is mandatory for most Hindus. In India, after the elaborate cremation ceremonies performed by male family members, the deceased’s ashes are gathered and usually scattered on the waters of the sacred Ganges River (especially at Allahabad), or at sea. Mourners often place floating bowls containing the ash remains and flowers in the river. They also scatter flower petals and whole flowers on the waters as part of this ritual. Buddhism originated in northern India. Although often considered a spiritual path or way of life, rather than a formal religion, its many followers use and admire flowers in their rituals and daily lives. The lotus is often stated to represent the most exalted state of man and is the symbol of knowledge and the Buddha. Legend has it that wherever the Buddha paced to and fro in meditation, lotus flowers sprang up in his footsteps. In most Buddhist art, the lotus flower symbolizes the Buddha and transcendence to a higher state. The lotus is also thought to represent in Buddhism four human virtues: scent, purity, softness, and beauty. In contrast, some Hindus and Hindu offshoots, such as Jainism, eschew flowers. Orthodox Brahmans and Jains oppose using flowers because, although no blood is spilled, a “sacrifice” is made by cutting the stem of the plant, which kills the flower. Allowances are often made and flowers are used by these groups in worship. However, the very best flowers, as offerings, are those that fall naturally to the ground so their lives were not taken by picking. India’s Mahatma Gandhi (1869 - 1948), made famous by inspiring nonviolent acts of civil disobedience among his followers, avoided the use of floral garlands. Gandhi preferred garlands made of cotton or necklaces of plain sandalwood beads. Flowers of Bali The Hindu use of flowers is most vibrant and lavish on the island of Bali, in the Indonesian archipelago. The ancient Sanskrit word bali means “tribute” or “gift,” especially surrounding temple ceremonies and the use of flowers. Wandering the streets of Ubud, you see minipalettes, three-by-three-inch woven-palm-leaf trays filled with colorful flowers of frangipani (Plumeria; a relative of our milkweeds), ylang-ylang (Cananga odorata; related to custard apples), and Impatiens (the same tropical weeds we grow as summer shade-garden annuals). These offerings are called banten in Balinese. Incense tops the vibrant offerings, adding its wisps of fragrant smoke to appease nature spirits, and the numerous gods and demons of Balinese Hinduism. These miniature offerings in Bali take on many different forms. They always contain flowers, but may include cookies, cigarettes, rice, or money. The offerings are not always contained in the plaited-palm trays. Often, they are merely small piles of colorful flower petals. The items used in the offerings seem to be less important than the act of creating these tributes. Balinese women spend a large part of each day creating and placing these ritualistic offerings along roadways and paths, often perched where you least expect them. The offerings are everywhere, sitting atop walls, planters, and stair steps. Individual flowers and garlands adorn stone statues, such as those of Ganesha. This beloved elephant-headed god of wisdom and art is often depicted holding—you guessed it—a lotus blossom. In Bali, the sweet floral scent of frangipani and ylang-ylang perfumes the air of courtyards, homes, and temples. Early every morning, before most tourists have risen from their guesthouse beds, the Balinese are out on the streets. They sweep away the previous day’s now-wilted floral offerings and wash down the streets and gutters. The offerings are daily devotional gifts, repeated acts of faith, cornerstones of their belief system. The slightly darker side of the practices is that the offerings are meant to appease and disperse demon spirits who might be hanging around one’s home or a nearby street corner. These are far more than simple street decorations for foreign tourists, which I’m sure most foreign visitors believe they are. Many of the country’s religious ceremonies are conducted within Hindu temples. Odalans are temple ceremonies lasting three or more days. During these observances, the temple walls are covered in colorful golden thread fabrics. Offerings of bright fruits, flowers, and rice cakes are carried balanced on women’s heads, then placed around the temples. The Hindu gods are believed to take the essence (sari) from these food offerings, which are later brought home and consumed by the worshipping families. On Bali, flowers play as important a role in death as they do in life. The dead, inside their coffins, are placed inside large, elaborate, gilded sarcophagi made of papier-mache. These often take the form of bulls or the demonic Bhoma guardian with a fearsome, openmouthed head, staring down at the onlookers. They are impressive works of art accompanied by flowers. The black and gold sarcophagi are highly decorated with real and paper flowers. Floral garlands (chrysanthemums) adorn the necks of the impressive mythical beasts. During the funeral ceremonies, everyone wears bright costumes, and village women prepare food offerings to be eaten by the mourners during the festivities. The distinctive ringing tones of gamelan music are an integral part of Balinese culture and their funeral traditions. Finally, the ornate funeral pyres with their garlanded animals are set ablaze with added gasoline for good measure. After the flames have done their work, the family separates the ashes and bones of the deceased from the remaining residue. The cremains are tenderly placed inside folded white and yellow cloths along with flowers and buried twelve days later, after a final purification rite, again augmented with flowers. The “Conversion” of Flowers When trade brought the lotus to Egypt around 500 BC, it displaced the blue and white water lilies used in worship. Favorite flowers find new religions, and it’s a never-ending circle, with Mexican marigolds and frangipani used extensively by Hindus in India and on Bali. Therefore, it should not surprise us that the goddesses of the Mediterranean basin gave their grandest white flower to Christianity, recognizable to most as the white Madonna lily (Lilium candidum). In the United States, this is the omnipresent potted Easter lily. In early Christian liturgy, Mary’s tomb was filled with these white lilies after her assumption into heaven. The Madonna lily also figures in Renaissance paintings of the Annunciation. Its white color represents her presumed virginity and immaculate conception. Today, flowers taking on similar Christian symbolism include the lily of the valley, the snowflake, and the snowdrop, once worn by Greek brides. White, the color of purity and innocence, and red, Christ’s sacrificial blood, represented by roses, have been emblems of the Virgin Mary. They were also sacred to Venus and Aphrodite in earlier times. Ironically, the earliest practices of the Christian church largely avoided ceremonial uses of flowers as they were associated with former but often appropriated pagan rites. These restrictions were modified over time, so now Christian services and funerals seem incomplete without flowers. For Catholic services, floral arrangements are usually placed on shelves, the gradines, behind the main altar. Although white flowers are most often used, even red flowers are allowed, along with ferns and other greenery. Often an attempt is made to match flower colors with those of the clerical vestments. In the Catholic Church flowers are used in moderation during Advent but are often “given up” for Lent. Historically, rosary beads used in Catholic prayers were formed from dried and compressed rose petals instead of the wooden, glass, or plastic ones commonly used. In Europe during the Middle Ages and the Renaissance certain flowers were associated with Christian saints and used during the saint’s day and other celebrations. Saint Valentine was associated with crocuses or violets. The tradition of giving violets on Saint Valentine’s Day was common in the United States, persisting in New York City at least until the early 1960s. Christianity, though, is both messianic and missionary. As the Spaniards introduced it to our American Southwest and Mesoamerica, the use of flowers in the old religions mixed with the new. Anthropologists studying these hybridized beliefs note that the worshippers often speak of a Flower World, a spiritual place where humans might contact spirits or ancestors through rituals or by ingesting hallucinogenic plants. The belief in a spirit Flower World is common throughout Mexico, other Latin American countries, and the pre-Hispanic southwestern United States. These flower beliefs seem to have been widespread among ancient Amerindians speaking a common language (e.g., Uto-Aztecan). In an earlier chapter we were introduced to Aztec rituals utilizing flowers. Flowers for the Aztecs, especially true marigolds, signified a spiritual-afterlife paradise world, but also universal creation and the blood of human sacrifices. Knowledge of the Flower World was traditionally passed to each succeeding generation in song. We also find exquisite depictions of flowers on Mayan textiles, the pottery of the modern Hopi, and in the ancestral groups of the Mogollon, Hohokam, and Anasazi (ancient Pueblo) cultures of Arizona, New Mexico, and Sonora, Mexico. In their minds, the Huichol people of west-central Mexico “visited” the colorful Flower World in their peyote-cactus pilgrimage ceremonies. In the northern Mexican villages of the Mayo and Yoeme (Yaqui) tribes, leading up to and during Easter week children throw flowers at dancers dressed as evil spirits, the fariseos and chapayekas, who symbolically attack the Catholic Church. Flowers, real and paper ones, and colorful confetti are used as adornments. Altars, churches, village buildings, and homes are decorated profusely with colorful paper flowers. The Yoeme concept of flowers (sewam) has been treasured in legends and songs for many generations. Today, flowers are associated with the Virgin Mary, and flowers are believed to have miraculously sprung from the spilled blood of Christ at his crucifixion. Prior to their religious conversion, flowers were spiritual blessings, important in the native religious beliefs of the Mayo and Yoeme. I have attended the elaborate Yoeme deer dances of the Pascua Yaqui tribe in my home city of Tucson, Arizona. Flowers are important symbols in these rituals. Masked pascola deer dancers, dressed in white, wear wide belts with jangling deer hooves or brass bullet cartridges. Their ankles are festooned with tenevoim, pebble-filled cocoons of giant silk moths (Rothschildia cincta). Their stomping feet sound like alarmed rattlesnakes sounding their warnings. Atop their heads the dancers wear a large real or paper flower, usually red. Yoeme and Mayo funerals are mixtures of Catholicism and traditional cultural beliefs. For the Yoeme, their world concept is a mix of five worlds; the desert world, a mystical world, the dream world, the night world, and the flower world. Flowers are also viewed as the souls of departed family or tribal members. Sometimes older Yoeme men may greet one another with the phrase Haisa sewa? (How is the flower?). These ancient Aztec-speaking groups not only traded goods north and south but also their religious ideas and beliefs. Thus, we have clues that the Flower World concepts traveled north out of Mexico, to Chaco Canyon in the eleventh century, and to the Hopi mesas in Arizona by the 1400s. In the Mimbres Classic period (1000 - 1130), mortuary rituals, using symbolic flowers, eased the passage of individuals into the spirit world. Caches from archaeological excavations reveal the presence of painted wooden and leather flowers, likely worn by performers, just as modern katsina (kachina) dancers wear flowers, later left as grave goods. Flower worlds are depicted in fifteenth-century murals inside sacred kivas. Hopi, and other Southwestern, pottery show symbolic representations of flowers. According to Hopi traditions, butterflies are “flying flowers” and in various forms are associated with the underworld, with spring and renewal, and with the direction south. There is strong evidence that modern pueblo and ancient Mesoamerican iconographies are intertwined, historically related via trade routes and intercultural exchanges. Flowers, either real or depicted in art, formed a large part of the myths, legends, and daily life of these Southwestern indigenous cultures. Christian and native flower cultures merge vibrantly but positively during Mexico’s Day of the Dead celebrations. In the final days of October, before the American holiday of All Hallows’ Eve (Halloween), Mexicans prepare for their own traditional holiday for the dead, but in a different way from the commercialized trick-or-treating holiday Americans know. As the days grow shorter and the nights grow colder, villages and towns all over Mexico come alive with renewed energy and anticipation for the coming festivities. On November 1 and 2, Mexicanos come together to celebrate DÃa de los Muertos, their traditional Day of the Dead celebration. Across the country, families honor the memories of deceased loved ones around family burial plots gaily decorated with real and paper flowers, lively paper streamers, glowing candles, and offerings of the decedents’ favorite foods. To appreciate the modern Day of the Dead celebrations, we recall Aztec beliefs. Aztecs didn’t fear death, or Mictlantecuhtli, their god of death, as much as they dreaded the uncertainty of their brutally short lives. Mictlantecuhtli would not punish the dead. A dead person’s role in heaven was determined not by how he lived, but by how he died. Exalted warriors were believed to fly around the sun in the form of butterflies and hummingbirds, as were women who died in childbirth. Dead infants fed at the milk-giving tree. Everyone else just faded away to Mictlan, like a quiescent dream on their road toward final death and nonexistence. The ferocious Aztec sun god, Huitzilopochtli, demanded the most precious fluid of all, red human blood, spilled in sacrifice, amid garlands of golden marigolds, to slake his never-ending thirst. The beating hearts and blood of human victims were exchanged for abundant crops. Death paid for life in the Aztec world. An Aztec “war of flowers” ensued, tournaments in which neighboring tribes were forced to compete to the death, adding their bodies to the ever-growing demand for sacrificial victims. Flowers have always played a crucial and significant role in the Mexican Day of the Dead. On All Hallows’ Eve, the spirits of dead children return home, but must leave by midday on November 1. Bells ring out all afternoon on this day from churches, announcing the arrival of adults, the “faithful dead,” returning to their scattered villages. Candles burn on flower-filled home shrines and altars chock-full of marigolds, other flowers, candy skulls, and family photographs. The sweet fragrance of burning copal incense (from ancient Mayan and Aztec traditions) fills the air inside the homes. Often, trails of scattered marigold petals lead to doorways, meant to show wandering spirits of the dead their way back home. You can also witness many of these same customs on the streets and cemeteries of mountain villages in northern Guatemala. Marigolds are the foremost flower among these ceremonies and are native plants of Mexico. However, in Oaxacan and Cuernavacan markets as elsewhere, celebrants also buy the cloudlike floral sprays of baby’s breath (Gypsophila paniculata), a domesticated plant that grows wild in its native Russian steppes. Mexicans also use the brilliant flamelike heads of cockscomb (Celosia) to decorate their shrines, church altars, and graves. Once a religion includes flowers in its worship or mourning, the original distribution and mythology of an attractive bloom is no barrier to its acceptance among new rites in other distant locations. The Flowering of Roadside Memorials Whenever I drive the roadways of Sonora, Mexico, or those in southern Arizona, spots of color vie for my attention. Are they flowers in the desert, even during the winter when all the grasses are withered and brown, when nothing should be blooming? No, these little gardens of grief are roadside memorials, shrines honoring the dead, called descansos in Mexico. They mark places where someone died in an automobile crash. The memorials usually have a white cross, and often a saint’s figure and a votive candle, but invariably flowers, plastic ones, or fresh flowers refreshed on anniversary dates and holidays. Occasionally, I stop out of curiosity to read their names, or to admire the decorative floral arrangements. I’m reminded of the sidewalk and roadside floral tribute gardens that stretched for miles following the September 6, 1997, funeral of Diana, Princess of Wales. Whether permanent roadside shrines or a single flower left in an open jar, they are omnipresent reminders of the immensely powerful social customs and values of flowers as memorial tributes. Victorian Funeral Customs In contrast, the use of flowers in contemporary American funerals seems a bit restrained. To understand our relation to flowers and death we need to cross the Atlantic and study our Victorian forebears as they established the funerary customs we still use or prefer to avoid. In particular, before twentieth-century embalming practices took hold in the funeral industry, stately, large wreaths and immense bouquets of flowers composed of strongly fragrant white lilies and hybrids of the so-called Oriental lilies (derived from Lilium speciosum) masked the odors of bodily decomposition. Along with burning candles, flowers served the role of air-fresheners. English Victorian-era funeral processions were grandiose and expensive social events. A prominent English family planned and arranged for a stylish processional costing twenty to fifty British pounds sterling, equivalent to the purchasing power today of about $5,000 (I chose the year 1850). For most of the Victorian era, a pound sterling might buy $100 worth of goods today. The processions were led by foot attendants, pallbearers with batons, a featherman holding tall ostrich plumes, pages, and mutes who dressed in gowns and carried wands. Stylish carriages transported family members, and relatives followed behind. The glass-sided hearse had elaborate black with silver and gold decorations. It was covered with an ornate canopy of black ostrich feathers and pulled by six black Belgian horses, each with its own black-plumed headdress. The ornate, draped coffin inside was clearly visible, and the interior of the hearse was jammed with a wide variety of flowers. Several hundred mourners might attend such a lavish funeral. After the services, most of the flowers were returned home and became part of elaborate home-parlor memorial shrines. Queen Victoria sent primroses to the funeral of her favorite prime minister, Benjamin Disraeli. Large floral arrangements surrounded photographs of the deceased, and the room was often decorated with one or more stuffed white doves, holding a red rose in their beaks. The British, during Queen Victoria’s sixty-three-year reign (1837 - 1901), were the last society to truly celebrate death with great pomp and circumstance, as had the ancient Egyptians. In the Victorian age, people welcomed the dead, continued to bring their dead, in open coffins, into their parlors and homes (the origin of the modern funeral parlor). In death flowers led the way. Victorians had their own flower superstitions, gleaned from older traditions in British folklore. For example, if the deceased had lived a good and proper life, then colorful flowers would supposedly grow and bloom on his or her grave. If people had lived otherwise and were deemed evil, then weeds would assuredly grow unattended and bloom profusely above them. If anyone noticed a roselike scent in the home, and no roses were nearby, then someone was about to die. A single snowdrop (Galanthus) plant found growing in a garden also foretold a death in the family. It was considered extremely bad luck to mix red and white flowers in a vase, especially inside a hospital, as a death would surely follow. Proper mourning etiquette was essential. Widows grieved for two years and wore solid black clothing with no trim, and bonnets with long, black face veils. No flowers were used. Their veils were shortened during the second year, and white or purple flowers were then permissible as decorative adornments to their plain black bonnets. The Modern American Way of Death: Flowers and Dying Today, Victorian practices have evolved further into an immense, nearly $21 billion US funeral industry, whose customs vary widely depending upon ethnic background, religious beliefs, region of the country, and socioeconomic stratum. Some people will not grow or bring scented narcissus (Narcissus tazetta) into their homes because their fragrance reminds them of embalming fluid. However, a little-known change in the treatment of the dead—the use of formaldehyde and other embalming fluids to prolong “viewing life” (the time available for an open-casket ceremony during a funeral or memorial service)—has occurred. Unknown to most, unless you are a mortician or are employed in a modern funeral home, is another surprising use for floral fragrances: dead bodies are being perfumed like real flowers. The new practice is not altogether unlike those of nineteenth-century America, when home parlors were jammed with large and fragrant floral wreaths, of white lilies and other flowers, to mask death’s telltale scent. Today, the unmistakable nose- and eye-stinging scent of formalin (aqueous formaldehyde) has changed. New, milder-scented embalming fluids are used, and even the Civil War - era formalin has been modified to assuage modern sensibilities. Now, embalmers typically add strong floral-based scents to their embalming fluids. The sweet fragrance of white lilies has been chemically synthesized and is sold to funeral parlors as an additive for their embalming solutions. Flowers have come to our rescue. To paraphrase the famous marketing phrase of a modern chemical-manufacturing giant, perhaps now we also have “better dying through chemistry.” It’s my impression that flowers now used at funerals are less fragrant than previously. Those pale gladioli, now in vogue, have no scent at all. Is it a coincidence that the beautiful, large, white, durable, and waxy white blooms of the nearly odorless calla lily (Zantedeschia aethiopica) from southern Africa seem perfect for placing in the hands of a corpse during an open-casket memorial? I don’t think so, but it’s perhaps ironic that these blooms belong to the same family of arum lilies the Minoans used to decorate their sarcophagi. While fresh flowers seem such ever-important elements of modern US funerals, their use dwindles as their costs rise. In the United States today, floral arrangements might comprise roughly 10 to 20 percent of the total cost of a modern funeral averaging $8,000. We want and expect to see flowers during our times of grief. Flowers lift our spirits. Even with the recent “in lieu of flowers” practice where friends and family are asked to make cash donations in the memory of the deceased to a favorite charity, flowers and flower-giving have not gone out of fashion. A significant portion of the $34.3 billion (in 2012) florist-industry revenues are spent on cut flowers, potted plants, and wreaths supplied for funerals, memorial services, and placement on graves. The more than twenty-two thousand funeral homes in the United States stage more than 2 million funerals annually, about six thousand each day. Returning to that February day of my father’s funeral, I have vivid memories of honey bees alighting to drink nectar from the sprays of white flowers draping his silver-blue casket. It was a chilly Southern California day with a few cumulus clouds. The sixty-degree morning temperature was barely warm enough to get bees out of their hives, up and flying, in their continual quest for flowers. My eyes watched as those softly buzzing bees visited every blossom, drinking their sweet nectar. At the time, I was a twenty-two-year-old graduate-school student. Throughout my career as an entomologist, I’ve studied bees (melittology), along with their biology, and floral interactions, the science of pollination ecology. I don’t believe the bees were any kind of spiritual omen, but seeing them visiting my father’s graveside flowers reminded me of happier boyhood times spent together. The flowers and their bee visitors helped ease my grief on that somber California morning four decades ago. Now, we leave the rituals of death and dying behind and move to the showiest of them all, flowers (dahlias, roses, lilies, sunflowers, and more) bred for their spectacularly vivid colors and sex appeal. Gardeners enter flower shows hopeful that their prize blooms will win a coveted Best of Show ribbon, along with accolades from their gardening peers. We enter the high-stakes world of technology-dependent, commercial plant breeding—the creation of unnatural blue or brown roses, and black petunias, in the laboratory and field. Gardeners are cautioned that modern flower breeding, especially its newest hybrid creations, may reduce pollinator-attracting floral scents, along with pollen and sweet nectar—essential foods for bees and other pollinating animals. Pollinator gardens may appear bountiful, yet can in reality be unrewarding nutritional deserts. The pomp and circumstance of London’s one and only Chelsea Flower Show is revealed with its phantasmagorical artificial environments, new floral introductions, dream merchants, and fanciful exhibits. Step into the verdant exhibit booths. On with the show.

#flowers #death #mysticism

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jixiani · 5 years

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I’m Fat and that’s OK.

Several years ago I restricted my caloric intake to a point that I gave myself gallstones. I’ve had disordered eating since I was young, as happens when you grow up fat. I remember dieting when I was in middle school, joining gyms with my mom and aunt in sixth grade, eating nothing but a glass of milk and an apple until dinner in an attempt to be acceptable to the kids that teased me. I’ve dieted, tried exercise routines that I took too far because I’m super competitive and obsessive, counted calories and ended up memorizing caloric content of certain foods. I got helpful advice from people that cared about me: drink a glass of water before every meal (which turned into only drinking a glass of water instead of eating a meal), eat less, substitute celery for a snack, dance while standing in line to burn extra calories...I spent a good year as a middle schooler doing the Slimfast thing, or using the same concept but with milk when we couldn’t afford actual diet drinks. I spent my entire high school career never eating lunch, only occasionally snatching fries from my friends or skipping lunch to go to an elective with them followed by a few times a year staying after school for stage crew and conveniently not eating dinner either. I was always fat. I was nicknamed Miss Piggy in grade school, tormented by bullies, left out, beaten up a few times. Once one of the boys threw a bottle of glue at me so hard that I had a bruise the size of a melon on my hip for a month, coincidentally on the same side I get ovarian cysts, I’m sure it has nothing to do with that...When I almost died of Salmonella at ten I was happy not that I had survived but that I had lost thirty pounds. I alternated not eating anything with binging on junk food. Still to this day if I can’t bring myself to eat anything else I know I can eat ice cream or some sort of fried potato or chocolate. The summer before my senior year of high school I rode my bike eight miles every day it wasn’t raining. Sometimes I rode twice that. I rarely brought water with me, it was summer but I figured that it just meant I would lose weight faster. I did lose weight, I dropped five or six dress sizes and suddenly I was acceptable, I was cool, I was desirable. I was also terribly damaged and needy and threw myself into a series of really bad decisions and relationships because I had zero self esteem. I eventually gained all the weight back. In college I almost fainted during a theater rehearsal and was forced to eat a bag of pretzels, it was the only thing I had eaten that day because I had been busy. I learned that I could replace a meal with a candy bar, something to keep my sugar up. I can’t stand people seeing me eat, I would buy things out of the vending machines and hide in little used spaces and eat my candy bar or poptart. Under the stairs, in the garden, in the basement break room...I knew where all the vending machines were and would avoid them if there was someone else there. I kept dieting, I downloaded apps to help track calories and exercises. The machines at the gym gave read outs of how many calories burned. I was congratulated on every bit I lost, every hour spent at the gym, I fed on praise instead of food. My app said I could have 3000 calories, I barely ate 1200 on a regular basis and that was when I was actively trying. But then I’d look at that 1200 and think, I can do better. The hours of exercise built up and I competed with myself to see how little calories I could log. Each teaspoon of sugar is 15 calories (I didn’t have to look that up, I’ll probably remember it when I’ve forgotten my own name), milk is 125 but black coffee is almost nothing, celery is also almost nothing. 1000, 900, 800...the human body burns something like 800 calories just to keep you alive, so if I eat less than that I’m bound to lose weight, right? Well, yes, I did. After a few months of that I had lost a lot of muscle, my body burning itself up to keep me moving, out of breath walking up stairs, obviously I was out of shape despite the diet and exercise…See, when you’re skinny and you do this, people worry about you and you have an eating disorder, but when you’re fat every pound and inch lost is a victory. According to a doctor I was seeing around that time “Fat people don’t have eating disorders.” I was seeing them because I started having gallstone attacks, I had no insurance and couldn’t afford the surgery, they suggested that I “Just stop eating McDonalds” I insisted that I didn’t eat McDonalds, that I didn’t actually eat much of anything, that I had cut out junk food, that I was dieting, that I thought that maybe I was dieting too much and had a problem. This was met with skepticism and I was told that if that was true then I should keep up the good work. For the first time in all my turbulent history with food I was actually afraid of eating. The wrong food or food at the wrong time resulted in pain. Not eating had also resulted in pain. I had done this to myself, I gave myself permission to eat but I was terrified of putting food in my mouth. Finally after twenty one attacks, some lasting over 9 hours I went to the ER. I was developing jaundice, they gave me the option of surgery. It was elective, they were very clear on that, I could go home, of course I might need a new liver, but it was my choice.

After that I stopped dieting. I eat junk food, I eat good food, I eat because I enjoy it, I walk, again because I enjoy it. I gain weight, I lose weight, I have stretch marks, I still remember calories and I despise that everything has calories on the label now. I’ve gone to therapy, I found out why I am obsessive and restrictive (obsessive compulsive personality disorder) and have tools to help. I still sometimes survive on poptarts although that’s being poor/convenience/I genuinely like them not because I’m afraid that people will see me eat real food. I eat salad because I like vegetables almost as much as chocolate not because I’m supposed to in order to be seen as a “good” fat person. I eat fast food and chips and give zero fucks what someone might say about it and know that I’m allowed to eat what I want, just not to over do it. I am still self conscious, I still worry about whether someone will find me attractive, I still have days where nothing fits right and even my own skin feels wrong and I probably always will. To be fair, I had those days when I was a size 12 too. I found doctors that don’t harp on my BMI (which is a bullshit measure, how could I have the same BMI when I was a size 18 as when I was a size 12 and you could count every rib and take out an eye with my hip bone?), I’m not looking forward to finding new ones but hopefully I can find one that won’t try to make me lose weight before treating my strep throat (totally something that happened).

But the thing is, I work with a lot of women and they are always comparing diets. They eat their salads and talk about how much they hurt from the gym and how no, they can’t have that bread it’s all carbs. And I have a few girls (it’s always the girls) who come through my lunch line and ask for sandwiches without bread because they’re trying to lose weight (although I would have sold both my arms to be as skinny as them when I was their age) and I just want to shake them. I want to tell them about how I starved myself for most of my life, how I hid in my bedroom to eat and hated every moment that I ate with other people and never wanted to be the first in line for food, how I made myself sick and how I’m probably heavier because my body wants to hold on to every calorie I begrudgingly gave it. How those “Recommended daily calorie intake” things are low balled and growing kids should be getting more like 3000-3500 calories a day and the unknown damage I’ve done to myself by only getting half that for most of my life. I want to tear down the whole system that makes money off making us feel bad about ourselves and assure them that none of it matters, that you only have one body and one life and you can’t put off living until you reach some unattainable and unsustainable goal. I want to rip those little signs off everything that says how many calories are in things because it has taken me YEARS of purposefully ignoring them before I can eat things without thinking of how many hours I’d have to be on an elliptical to justify eating something. Because there are little girls looking at themselves in mirrors and hating themselves, because there are women that are painfully aware of how many calories are in those things and don’t need a little sign to remind them, because there are women that are still waiting to be thin enough to love themselves and do all the things they want to do but don’t think they can because they’re too fat. Because there are doctors that would rather we die while they treat our fat instead of our illness. Because fat is the worst thing you can be when there are so many worse things. Because you can’t hate yourself into someone you can love. Because the things we pick up from the world around us and the scars that are left from cruel classmates and behaviors that we develop are insidious and last a lifetime and I’m still self conscious about the way I look. No assurances that “a few hundred years ago, yours was the ideal body type” or “boys may not want to date you now, but someday men will want to marry you” or “Real girls have curves” (which excuse me, but all girls are real girls, curves or lack thereof notwithstanding), or encouraging words from lovers will ever change or erase that damage. I still have bad days. I read something in a story the other day about a chubby, older woman from the male character’s point of view and how he liked the way she looked and I realized that I had never considered that someone could be attracted to me. I always figured that people liked me despite my weight, or that they might like it but in a probably creepy, chubby chaser sort of way. It hadn’t occurred to me that my weight might not even be a factor, or that I might be beautiful (I’ve been told I was, but figured that people are just being nice or just saying that because they wanted something) I had honestly thought that everyone I have ever interacted with just put up with my weight or were willing to overlook it. I had to close my kindle app for a while, I couldn’t process anymore of the story because I had been struck momentarily dumb but the realization that people may well find me attractive. It’s incredibly hard to get past those hang ups but I’m getting better and I want everyone else to get better too.

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ask-the-good-creeps · 6 years

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I adore your writing! Can we have a short story about the proxies getting a chance to relax??

//Thanks! I gotchu, fam.//

Masky yawned from his place on the sofa next to Hoodie. They and Toby had been watching movies all day, complete with popcorn and candy, until the sky started turning dark. It had been then that the youngest proxy decided to start making dinner.

As he chopped vegetables for the stir-fry he was making, he heard the movie end and Hoodie snoring. Masky stood up and stretched, then joined him in the kitchen.

“Anything I can help with?” he asked.

“The b-beef needs to be cut int-to slices and seasoned with th-those spices.” Toby gestured to the steak meat sitting on the counter next to a small bowl with the knife in his hand, then went back to chopping the onion he was working on. Masky nodded and washed his hands in the sink before setting to work. He noticed that the spice mix seemed to contain oregano, parsley, celery salt, black pepper, and a relatively small amount of cilantro. A pretty good mix for the meat in this dish, in his opinion; Toby had learned well.

Once everything was chopped up that needed to be and all the ingredients had been measured out, Toby put a skillet on the stovetop and added a bit of olive oil. He threw the minced garlic and chopped onion into the pan and waited for it to heat up as he started stirring it around a little bit with a spatula.

“You’re unusually quiet today. Is there something on your mind?” Masky asked him. Toby shrugged and gave a small grunt of acknowledgement, but didn’t say anything. Masky knew there was going to be something up with him today - whenever they didn’t have a mission, Toby started thinking about things, and those thoughts would always take a dark turn eventually.

“C’mon, man - what’s eating ya?” Masky nudged him. Toby sighed as the oil started simmering around the garlic and onion, and he added in the sliced and seasoned meat that Masky had dealt with earlier. As the heavenly scent of the food started to permeate the cabin, Toby thought of how to say what was on his mind.

“What h-happens if we d-die?” he finally settled on asking the older proxy. Masky frowned as he thought.

“Well, nobody really knows what happens after death, but-”

“That’s n-not what I’m talk-king about,” Toby interrupted him. “I mean, what-t happens if one of us d-dies? On a m-mission? What will the other-s do?” Masky thought for a moment, trying to rack his brain for a good answer. This wasn’t something he thought about very often, but it was clearly bothering the younger man for a while. He watched Toby flip the beef slices in the pan and remove them when they were presumably cooked rare. He put them on a plate and covered them, then put all the chopped broccoli, carrots, peppers, and baby corn cobs into the pan with a cup of water. He covered the pan with a lid so the vegetables could cook properly and turned back to Masky, waiting for an answer.

“Y’know what b-bothers me most?” Toby asked. “W-what would Slenderman d-do if one of us died? He w-wouldn’t care, would he? He’d j-just replace the one we lost like it-t was nothing.” The coldness in his tone almost caught Masky off guard.

“He would have to replace the one who died,” Masky agreed. “I don’t know if he would care or not, though.”

“Oh, come on! Y-you know as w-well as I do that we’re j-just tools t-to him!” Toby growled. Masky sighed. He couldn’t argue with it.

“That may be true, but there’s no point in stressing over it. It isn’t something we can do anything about. And if one of does die,” Masky paused, “At least the other two will be there to remember them.” Toby scoffed and turned back to the food. They stood in silence for a while, and eventually Toby pulled the lid off the vegetables and threw the meat back in. He poured in the last ingredient: a homemade teriyaki sauce, and put the lid back on with the skillet now on low heat.

“S-shit,” he cursed.

“What?” Maksy asked.

“I f-forgot to start the rice.” Toby hung his head in defeat and Masky chuckled, glad to have a change of topic.

“That’s alright, it won’t take that long to cook.”

“What won’t take long to cook?” Hoodie walked into the kitchen with a yawn, clearly having just woken up. The other two looked at him and burst out laughing. “What?” he frowned. “Is there something on my face?” That just made them laugh harder. Little did he know, Toby and Masky had found a permanent marker in one of the drawers and decided to ‘decorate’ his face with it while he slept earlier. Hoodie’s frowning face only made the fake moustache and unibrow look more hilarious, and the other two couldn’t stop laughing at him. He rolled his eyes and left the kitchen.

“I wonder how long it’s gonna take him to find out?” Masky asked.

“Since w-we don’t have any mirror-rs in here? Probably a w-while.” Toby laughed.

“We should probably start that rice now.”

“Yeah.”

#ask the good creeps #ask creepypasta #creepypasta #masky #hoodie #ticci toby #tim wright #brian thomas #toby rogers #slenderverse #anonymous #anon #ask

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mhrichardli · 3 years

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Day 10

Today was a really busy day, but the blog is more about consumptions. I did use illustrator and a website called Figma for my homework. They were digital consumptions. The society do need more people to get education, so that designing website was free for everyone It is a better way for the world to have more educated people by having more free tools to study.

I ordered a fried celery with pork, it was 14.99 dollars. Like i mentioned before, i really like dishes that have both meat and vegies at the same time. This way is more healthy and balance. And also a 4.99 dollars strawberry fruit tea. I love all fruity drinks. They are have a more natural and healthy taste for me. Talking about healthy, i also drank another Vc drink at night. I feel like the straw came with the tea was a little bit wasteful, and not good for the environment. It was a huge and super long plastic straw. I think a simple smaller straw could work too, and it would be a bit less wasteful, or even just paper straw. We all know the incredib amount of straws human use everyday, it is a really tough problem.

And I bought a space heater from Amazon, it was 38 dollars. Since my roommates and i kept having problems with the heater, we always feel differently about the temperature, we both decided to get space heaters for our own rooms. It works nicely and keep my room really warm really quick (since my room is pretty small).

My daily fun events, league of legends, and Netflix. I am watching gilmore Girls from Netflix now! It's a pretty funny show as i can already tell.

That is all for today! Goodnight.

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atths--twice · 4 years

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Peaceful Relaxation

Mulder and a pregnant Scully, relaxing in a hammock, content in this moment of their lives.

August 2018

Mulder stepped into the backyard, a glass of sparkling grape juice in his hand, and walked towards Scully. She was lying in the hammock he had surprised her with a couple of days ago.

Stepping over to her now, he stopped short, seeing her eyes closed and hearing her breathing slow and steady. Not wanting to wake her, he turned to leave, when her hand shot out and stopped him.

“I’m good for now.”

“Well, if you need anything, I mean anything, you let me know. I’m here for all your needs,” he assured her as he stood up to take the glass back inside.

“You take that glass inside and then come lay beside me, that’s what I need.”

“I’ll be right back.”

He set the items down and slipped off his shoes, sitting down carefully and then lying beside her. As he did, she turned onto her side, put her head on his shoulder, and reached for his left hand.

“Feel right here,” she smiled and put his hand on the side of her stomach. He waited and was soon rewarded with a swift kick under his hand. Smiling, he gently rubbed his thumb across her stomach, hoping to feel it again.