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[cleanlifeaustralia]

This situation you must be clean and and hygenic. Always use hand glove.

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[harrywilliam6433]

If you are finding for Domestic Cleaning in Leckwith, then you must visit VisionClean. They endeavour to provide a friendly, helpful and efficient cleaning service. https://is.gd/VisionClean

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[mldrgrl]

I've been re-reading your old works for the Revival like Recocering Nicely and Flannel Pajamas,....I miss them being an old married couple doing domestic stuffs so much, can you write something like that again?

Friday Night by: mldrgrl Rating: PG Note: Set during season 10, erasing any season 11 from the table

Fridays are full of anticipation nowadays.  At first, when they were just starting to get back on track, more often than not he was going home alone.  But, now, he can’t remember the last time Friday rolled around and she didn’t have her weekend bag with her.  There’s nothing he looks forward to more than a Friday night.

They take one car out to the house, usually his, leaving the other in the parking garage at work until Monday.  The ride is long, but comfortable.  Scully rests her hand on his arm across the seat and they talk about mundane things that aren’t about work.  Mulder wants to cut the grass if there isn’t any frost in the morning.  He loaded the crock pot with the stuff for that stew Scully likes this morning.  Hopefully he remembered to turn it on before he left.  That new thing Scully found online to weatherproof the windows came in.  He needs to put in the order for the wood for the stove to be delivered soon.

“An hour and change,” Mulder says, stopping the car in front of their gate.  “New record.”

“You really need to think about installing the remote.”

“I like the exercise.”  He leans close to her as he unbuckles his seatbelt and gives her a peck on the cheek.  She cups his chin with a backwards hand for a moment and then unbuckles her own belt.

Scully takes over in the driver’s seat as Mulder handles the gate.  She drives down the dirt road slowly, avoiding the dips and bumps up to the front.  She’s got her overnight bag from the trunk and Mulder’s dry cleaning that they stopped to pick up weighing her down by the time he’s made it to the car.  He takes the dry cleaning from her and places a hand to the small of her back as they ascend the porch steps.

“My nose is telling me I didn’t forget to turn the crock pot on,” he says, opening the door for her.

“Gonna change first.  Looks like we’re in for a beautiful sunset.  Want to eat outside?”

“Sure.”

He puts the dry cleaning away while she puts on a pair of sweats and a long-sleeved shirt.  He turns on the radio.  It’s still on the classical channel Scully last had it on and he leaves it be, coming into what sounds like The Planets Suite.  He thinks he recognizes Jupiter.  He thinks about setting up the telescope.

While Scully dishes out the stew, he changes into jeans and a light sweater.  Noticing a bit of a chill, he brings one of the blankets from the couch with him after he grabs the bowl left for him on the counter to join her.  She tucks it around her and they eat to the strains of Holst in the background as twilight begins its takeover.

They head back inside when it turns grey and too chilly.  Scully separates the leftover stew into two containers, one to store for leftovers for the weekend and the other to freeze for later.  She washes the dishes and Mulder dries.  

“Did you bring the paper in?” he asks.

“In my bag,” she answers.

“We need under 36 minutes to beat last week.”

“36 minutes and 14 seconds.”

“Across or down?”

“Down.”

They huddle close on the couch and Mulder opens the newspaper to the crossword.  He folds it appropriately while Scully starts the timer on her phone.  Mulder starts with the clues running across and Scully starts with the clues running down.  They have a goal of beating each week’s previous time.

“Oh, they’re being cheeky,” Mulder says.  “They’ve got the question marks in here.”

“You like the cheeky ones.”

“When they’re clever.”

After ten minutes, they switch directions.  

“Life source?” Scully asks.  “Is that the cheeky one?”

“You get the answer?”

“M-I-blank-blank-blank-N-blank-R-A-”

“Milton Bradley,” he answers, before she finishes.

“Clever or not?” she asks, filling in the blanks.

“They’ve done better.  Hey, you’re supposed to fill-in all the Latin clues.”

“Mulder, do you know how many 3-letter Latin 101 words there are?”

“How many end in O?”

“Too many.”

“I think it starts with an E.”

“Ego.”

“I should’ve known that.”

“I’ll say.”

He bumps her shoulder with his and she chuckles.  They switch for a second time a few minutes later and then they’re racing against the clock.  He puts down his pen when there’s nothing but a corner left.

“You always leave the Tolkein monsters clue blank,” Scully huffs.

“I didn’t have 5 down yet, it still could be orcs or ents.”

“Ents.  5 down is Etsy.”

“What the hell is an etsy?”

“Online craft store.  You know it, it’s where I got those bath bombs you liked.”

“The eucalyptus ones?  You should get more of those.”

“I’ll see if they still have them.  Time!”

“33 and 51 seconds.  High five g-woman!”  He grabs her hand when she slaps his and laces their fingers together.  “Seriously, though, you need to go to the etsy store and get more of those bath bombs.”

“Remind me tomorrow.”

“Movie?”

“I’m thinking a shower and then bed.”  She moves to stand, but he pulls her down to his lap.  She chuckles and drapes her arms around his neck.  

“Scully, do you remember back in the day when we used to pull all-nighters like it was nothing and now we’re lucky if we make it past nine?”

“Seems we used up all our reserve energy when we were young.”

“Younger, don’t go calling us old.”

“You brought it up first.”  She gives him a brief kiss on the lips and then he lets her go.

While she showers, he takes the newspaper to the recycle bin and sets up the coffee maker for the morning.  He checks the locks on the front door and the back door and pulls the shades in the living room and kitchen.  He pulls his sweater off as he heads upstairs and tosses it on the bed before he goes into the bathroom.  Scully has finished her shower and sits on the closed toilet in a towel, massaging lotion into her legs.  The room is humid from the shower and the mirror is fogged over.

“I set the coffee for 7,” he says, pulling his toothbrush and toothpaste from the medicine cabinet. “Too early?”

“It’s fine.”   She makes a noise and he turns.  She has her hands held out to him and he puts the toothbrush and toothpaste on the side of the sink and gives her his hands so she can massage the extra lotion into his hands and arms.

“Is this new?  It smells like oranges.”

“Yeah, some vitamin C thing a salesperson at the mall talked me into.”

“You hate the mall.”  He pastes his toothbrush and starts brushing his teeth.

“I do, but sometimes the Labor Day sales are too hard to resist.  2 for 1 bras at Victoria’s Secret, I had to go.”

“What, now?”  Mulder turns towards her and pulls the toothbrush out of his mouth.  Foam coats his lips.  She laughs lightly and shakes her head.

“Kidding,” she says.  “But, good to know you’re still interested in my lingerie.”

“I might be old, but I’m not dead.”

Scully smiles and stands on tiptoes to kiss the corner of Mulder’s mouth.  She pats his chest lightly and then rubs a bit of toothpaste residue from her bottom lip.  He turns to finish brushing his teeth, wiping fog away from the mirror to watch her move comfortably around the room and get ready for bed.  He waits until she’s dropped the towel and slipped her t-shirt on to spit and rinse.

She tosses his shirt at his head when he steps into the bedroom.  He grins and hangs it up and then they turn the bed down together.  He sheds his jeans and then opens the window just a crack to let some fresh air in.

“Almost time to pull out the flannel sheets,” she says, as he gets into bed.

“I’ll keep you warm,” he answers, wrapping an arm around her under the covers and sliding her into his chest.  She laughs and wiggles out of his hold as he tickles the back of her neck and shoulder with his lips.

Briefly, Scully turns her head back and after several soft kisses, she pulls away to turn over and shut off the lamp.  Mulder rolls onto his back and she settles on her side after punching the pillow flat a few times.  Five minutes pass and then she sighs.

“Are you still awake?” she asks.

“Mmhm,” he answers.

She turns over to face him and he turns his head towards her.  “I’ve been thinking about something,” she says.  “Something I think we need to talk about.”

“Okay.”  He turns over as well and folds his arm under his head.

“The lease on my place is up at the end of October.  I don’t think I’m going to renew.”

“Oh?  So, what are you thinking?”

“The commute out here is not ideal.  Especially with winter coming.  I was wondering if you might want to find a place in the city.  Or closer to the city.  Together.”

“Get rid of the house?”

“No, never.  This is...this is our home.”

He nods in agreement.  He’s always thought of it as their home, whether she’s been in it or not.

“I was thinking just a place we can be at during the week,” she continues.  “And we’ll still come out here on the weekends.”

He mulls it over.  As much as he wants to be with her and wants to return to the life they once shared, he has some reservations.

“Mulder?” she asks.  “You’re never this quiet.  What are you thinking?”

“You know I want this more than anything,” he answers.  “But, what if this is only working because you got the space you wanted?  And we’ve never done the living and working together thing before.  It would be new.  What if we recommit and then it becomes too much?”

She contemplates the ceiling for some time and he reaches out to stroke her hair and cup her cheek.

“I thought, at the time, that leaving was the right thing to do,” she says.  “I know that I accused you of being a weight that was pulling me down into your depression and despair, but in hindsight, it was the other way around.”

“I never felt that way.”

“I know, but I did.  I thought returning to medicine would be satisfying.  I thought it was the key to happiness.  Something normal.  Instead it just made me sad.  And then I thought leaving was the only way to fix it, but I was wrong.  Really, what I missed was us.  Being with you, working with you, just you and me.  I don’t feel whole without you.”

“Hey now, that’s my line,” he whispers, running his thumb over her cheek.

“It’s true.”

“So, we’re doing this?  Full time?”

“I’m ready for it if you are.”

“Bring it on, honey.”

She chuckles and they slide closer to rest their heads together.  Their legs tangle and arms move to hold on to each other.  He’s filled with a new sense of anticipation.  He won’t ever have to wonder anymore if she’ll be coming with him Friday nights.

The End

#i wrote this #xf fanfic #msr #housetrained #old married couple #Anonymous

[mishavacado]

Even More Domestic Destiel Things I Would Like to See

I know I made a super long post about this yesterday, but I have come up with More and there are so many I decided to make a separate post.

Anyway,

Dean waking up to Cas just staring at him with this dazed, happy, look. “Knock it off, it’s creepy, Cas.”

Dean does it too except he’s good at fake sleeping so Cas never catches on.

Cas has 100% signed Dean up for those benefit beauty pageants.

“It’s for a good cause!”

“Yeah, uh-huh, you just wanna see me shirtless.”

Cas bakes bread. All different kinds. He’s getting really good at it, too.

Cas doesn’t like Easter very much because it brings back bad memories, but Dean really loves to dye eggs so they compromise by doing that.

Cas carefully dunks and dyes his eggs, choosing colors that compliment each other and using a white crayon to draw designs on the shells.

Dean just plunks his eggs in without any thought or plan and makes a huge mess but he really enjoys it so Cas doesn’t say anything.

When Sam and Eileen bring Mary and Lillian over for Easter, they always do an egg hunt in the backyard. Miracle has an excellent time.

Sometimes, when they have movie night, Cas is just too tired to watch the whole thing and falls asleep on Dean. Dean doesn’t mind, even though his arm starts to fall asleep after a while.

They fight over the radio a lot, Cas likes NPR and Dean likes classic rock.

They play Rock Paper Scissors every time they get in the car. Winner picks what they listen to.

They listen to a lot of NPR.

Dean won’t put any stickers on the Impala, but Cas has his own car that he puts stickers on.

You know he owns one of those ‘Coexist’ stickers.

His car is probably a Prius. Like Misha’s in the French Mistake.

The garage is reserved for the Impala, so Cas’ car is relegated to the driveway.

It’s a two car garage.

Cas REALLY loves to watch PBS dramas like Victoria and the Durrels in Corfu. Dean doesn’t like them much, but it’s so cute to watch Cas watch the shows that Dean sticks around anyway.

Dean usually goes grocery shopping but when he’s too busy Cas goes, only he doesn’t know what to buy so he ends up on the phone with Dean the whole time.

Cas doesn’t understand spam mail so the first time he gets one of those offers for a free car he gets really excited.

When Cas and Dean were looking for a house Dean refused to even consider one that was more than a few blocks away from a dog park.

Cas really, REALLY loves houseplants so their kitchen windowsill is full of all kinds of succulents and there are hanging plants all over the house.

Cas actually learned to macrame on top of knitting just so he could make plant hangers.

They have a LOT of plants.

Dean is one of those people that Does Not know how to use a bandaid and just superglues his cuts.

Cas absolutely hates this and makes a big deal out of cleaning whatever cut Dean has and putting a bandaid on it.

This leads to a lot of Dr. Sexy references from Dean.

Cas jumps every time the toaster pops. Dean makes fun of him relentlessly.

Dean has poker nights on Thursdays when Cas is at his knitting club. Dean doesn’t hustle his poker buddies per se, but he always ends up with more money than he started with.

Dean 100% loves T-shirts with awful slogans. He’s got quite a collection.

When they got married Sam tied cans to the back of the Impala and wrote “Just Married” on the windows.

Dean reacted as you can imagine, but he secretly thought it was super sweet and even teared up a little bit.

He took pictures before making a big show of washing the words off and throwing the cans in the recycling.

That’s it for now, but I’ll probably add more again. Anyone else that has some, please feel free to add, thinking about these makes me so happy.

#al speaks #destiel #yeah pretty much #fan artists #please #feel free to draw these

[erraticisms]

( VICTORIA PEDRETTI. TWENTY SEVEN. CISFEMALE. SHE/HER. ) in texas, CASSIOPEIA JOHNSON is known to most as CASSIE. they have been riding with the reapers for TWO YEARS. they originally from SEATTLE and the GROUPIE is known to be very ERRATIC & CARELESS but the other club members will tell you they are INTELLIGENT & LIVELY. as the years go by, they’ve gained a lot of respect in the club and around town. they rarely ever drive a car but when they do HABITS by TOVE LO is usually heard blasting. ( empty pill bottles scattered everywhere, hazy thoughts and messed up words, laddered tights paired with worn out vans, the hum of a tattoo gun, bright computer screens illuminating a dark room at 2am. ) [ beth. 24. gmt. she/her. ]

tw for death, domestic abuse and drug use!

backstory !!

✦ cassiopeia johnson was born to lynn and gerald johnson on february 7th 1993 three minutes behind her older brother cepheus. they were named after stars (and not the husband and wife duo from mythology) because gerald worked for nasa and lynn just loved them

✦ cassie and ceph had an incredibly loving and happy childhood. they wanted for very little and often took trips out hiking and camping in national parks to be under the stars. cassie and ceph were very close. they were best friends.

✦ tragedy struck when the twins were 17 and their parents died in a car crash. cassie always blamed herself as they were on their way to pick her up after an art class. 

✦ this was the beginning point for cassie’s spiral. she met her first boyfriend around about this time, but he was from a bad crowd. cassie was grieving and wanted to not feel. he brought her into a world of drugs to help her forget. 

✦ she was stuck in a cycle and a toxic relationship for about two years. in this time it caused a big rift between her and ceph. he was concerned for her future, mental well being and physical health, as her boyfriend had began to hit her.

✦ while cassie finished high school, she flunked her opportunity to go to college. ceph was disappointed in her about this as she was the brains of the family. it took their grandmother dying for cassie to change her ways and realise how important family was to her, since their was only her and her brother yet.

✦ she got cleaned and got rid of her boyfriend. she applied to college again and her and ceph moved there together. they had a decent amount of money to fall back on since ceph wasn’t using his college fund.

✦ cassie was incredibly smart and studied computer science. she had a knack for hacking, but at this point in her life didn’t really use it for any illegal means or gain.

✦ finally when cassie was 23 she graduated with a degree, while ceph had made his way up to a manager of a business. life seemed to be going well for them both. but then cassie fell back into her old ways of recreational drug use.

✦ recreational drug use turned into daily drug use. she tried to hide it from her brother at first until they were on a trip with their friends and he found her stash. she promised she would change and pretend to throw them away.

✦ but she still had some left. and when it was her time to drive, she did so high. she though she would be okay, the road quiet and it was night. but her reactions weren’t as quick as she though they were.

✦ cassie was the only survivor of the crash. her brother and two friends as well as her current girlfriend all died because of her actions. she’s not set foot inside a car again.

✦ ever since that event (about three years ago) cassie has just been moving around from town to town. mostly making money from hacking or tattooing. constantly high about 95% of the time.

✦ she joined the reapers when she met west and he helped her out of a bad spot. she’s been loyal to him and them ever since. though, you can still catch her partying with a diablo every now and again

personality !! 

✦ cassie has always been a little on the weird side. head has always been up in the clouds. she’s always lived in her own little fantasy and not wanted to knowledge reality and the world around her

✦ this has only been enhanced by her drug use. she’s frankly weird af. sometimes laughs to herself, constantly doesn’t pay attention to conversations and often ends up saying random things

✦ very adventurous. always up for some stupid shit at 2am

✦ but she does have her burn out days. days where she’s not high. they’re awful and she’s incredibly closed off on them. refuses to speak, will refuse to come out of her room

✦ she’s so smart tho??? like loves learning about random shit and will sprout unwanted facts out of nowhere 

✦ hire her to hack for u. she can p much get into anything. police records, bank accounts, medical history. u name it. she mostly does her hacking in the middle of the night

✦ also hire her to tattoo you!!!!!! she’s v good and talented and honestly could make a good living on it if she got her act together. 

that’s all i have for now pls love me 

#rideintro. #* / c. johnson ➡ introduction #/ i retconned her a bit #/ mainly bc i forgot some of her back story lmao

[aggresivelyfriendly]

~Who Names The Colors~

Chapter 24-Charge of the Lancers

Hi Guys! Is it Friday yet?? I am wiped, and this chapter....There are some really sweet moment, Come share your thoughts to cheer me up! I got my Wo-woman tattoo yesterday! As soon as its healed enough to wear a bathing suit, I’ll share a selfie! I have people to thank! -to @nocontrolforlouis for quick beta reads, to @bleedinglove4h for songs that break my heart and @dirtystyles for inspiration and indelible images!

Jo sat in her office worrying her empty right ring finger. She wondered if anything had festered in the days she was off campus. She hadn't been to her office in nearly a week by the time she made it in to her office hours this morning, the flu kept her in bed for forever, so if anyone saw them, her and Harry, in the parking lot, Jo thought that may be the only place they walked the line, she was blithely unaware still. They did well inside. She doubted she'd get hauled in by the dean anyhow.  They'd done ok, maybe got away with it, being in public together.

Except with his mother. Harry slipped multiple times there and she still hadn't put the screws to Harry to find out what Anne had said. He had been there, to her house when she was sick, had noticed that she hadn't come to her office and turned up with things to make soup. She'd been so ill, and he'd been there.

Zoe was on the mend by then and he spent a good amount of the afternoon entertaining her when he'd come to check on them mid week.

"C'mon flyaway Zoe" she had heard from the living room faintly, the door snicked and there was blessed quiet for her to sleep off her fever.

Jo was moaning a little, into the still air of her room and she felt like the whole place smelled like her body, and she needed to pee and she wanted a shower so bad. But she couldn't get up yet.

"Jo?" God, she loved his voice and that he was here. He came to her bedside and placed his hand to her forehead, then his lips.

"Don't!" she said." You'll get it!"  And pushed his hand off of her, so he just kissed her forehead.

"Then you'll take care of me." He squeezed her cheek and it hurt a little because everything ached. "You're burning up baby."

He disappeared for a moment.

When he had come back in, a minute or an hour later, she was bleary-eyed and hotter, he picked her up like the sack of sticks she was. The bathroom rang with his voice. "Jo, when was the last time you ate? You're really thin babe."

"What day is it?" Her voice skipped like a scuffed dvd.

"It's Wednesday, morning. I knew you had come down with whatever Zoe had when you weren't in your office." He pulled his t-shirt off her shoulders and picked her back up and stepped into the bath with his jeans on to put her in.

"Your jeans, you'll be uncomfortable—" It was too late, but she put up a protest. "You went to my office?"

"You didn't answer my text yesterday afternoon and I knew you told me to steer clear on Sunday because of the fever. Monday, I gave you a pass on class because I figured Zoe was still sick." He got out of the bath and onto his knees. "Can you wet your own hair?"

She dipped beneath the water and watched him pour shampoo into his hand and wanted to cry. It had been four days since she had washed up. She was too tired and then too sick.

"I hate how wonderful you are," she said as he put the shampoo into the crown of her head and massaged her scalp.

"You don't," he told her and poured water over her head with the cup on the tub sill she used to wash Zoe's hair.

"I don't. I love you." She blubbered a little.

"I missed you, and was trying to wait to talk." He seemed as tender as her with time and unspoken words like there were broken boards on the suspension bridge between them.

"I'm scared, Harry." She had let him sink into her bones, and Jo felt like their expiration date was the time stamp on that video. "Did you delete it?"

"We haven't watched it." He dodged. "Jo, after I clean you up, I need to feed you." His hand ran up her gaunt torso. "Can you try some of the soup I made, and drink some water?"

"Zoe?"

"I fed her at the pub, the one with the playground?" Jo nodded. That was a local place. Did anybody notice them out together? She was almost too tired to care.

"Was anybody there?" She asked and his brow furrow. "That you knew? Or knew Zoe?"

"Why?" He asked while he felt her ends to see if the conditioner was out. Him having long hair was paying off for her right now. She loved it cosmetically, but the knowledge was helping her out in a more immediate way in the moment.

"Harry..." he soaped her up and poured water over her body and grabbed the nearby towel after letting out the drain. "We, still, lover, don't you think someone will notice if you're always with my kid?"

"I'm her babysitter." He said off-hand and wrapped her in the towel. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah." But she was weaker than she thought and happy he stayed next to her. "We need to be careful, I think the walls are caving in." She shivered as he pulled off the towel and dried her hair.

Pj's?" He asked, then laughed at her head shake. She didn't really wear those either. Jo was afraid he was gonna sidestep her worry, ignore it. And she didn't have the hutspah to bring it up again. He got up and came back with old trackies and his t-shirt. "Baby, we are fine. Walls are still up, and I'm done with school in a month and a half. We can do whatever then."

"We can't. Not right away." She said. "We have to talk to people, too." He kept brushing her hair and started to braid it. "How do you know how to do that?"

"Big sister. I was her dolly." He kissed the side of her head and her back where the end of her hair lay. "I'm gonna cook."

"Did your mom say anything?" He tucked her in.

"I'm gonna go cook." He said and stood to go, "Check on little miss."

"Harry, your mum?" She couldn't raise her voice, he had been close enough for her whispers. He went out and she lay down exhausted from worry and flu.

"Your mum?" She said when he brought her water a minute later. "She say anything, ask about your slip?"

"Yeah." Harry kissed her head. "We'll talk about it when you're better."

And he had avoided the topic while he fed her soup and set her up. Harry had avoided any hard topics, and she had been sick and too thankful for the help.  Harry had checked in on her on Thursday too via FaceTime. Zoe had spent the day with Audrey and Jo had spent her final day in bed. Harry had slept on the couch the night before and set her up for the morning before his classes.

"Feel better! I love you. I have class until late." He kissed her forehead and leaned down to kiss her lips. "Your fever broke in the night, babe. Do you want me to change your sheets?"

Jo moved her head to the side and his kiss glanced off. "No, not yet, Harry, let me be a day clear of it before we start kissing. And I feel much better. I think I can handle the sheets, lover."

"Ok, want me to come over tomorrow, after your classes?" He was buttoning up his shirt and hoisting his messenger bag. "Spend the weekend?"

"It's Colin's weekend. I can stay with you if you want." She tried be coy and cute, but her pallid hue didn't do her much credit.

"Yeah, that would be nice!" He stopped at the door, a light bulb above his head. "What if we went out?" He caught the look on her face and dimmed, she knew her brow was furrowed. "On the far side of town, away from school."

She'd nodded. And been excited despite herself. They hadn't gone out much after Liverpool, had laid their bellies to the ground for months. It was a happy life, domestic to a fault, but clandestine. The idea of another date, a time to be his, especially after the debacle with the tape, another thing they hadn't discussed, was a relief. Maybe they should have just planned a date, that had to be safer than filming themselves fucking.

The tape worried her but the thing she lay awake over was the ring. She had to get Ethan's ring back. It had been a desperate move and now she regretted it. Jo was scared to bring it up. They had so much pressure from without, she didn't want to add it from within. She hoped Harry understood. They could talk about an alternative token of affection. Hell, maybe she would get a tattoo, long as she appeased Harry and got that ring back on her finger.

The ring and the video seems like ammunition aimed at them. Nothing had changed as far as Jo knew, but she had had fever dreams about being caught out in the rain naked.  She was tearing through the woods with hounds on her heels. Jo could hear them barking and a sharp tooth pierced her heel as she was run down. She woke up when her knees hit the packed ground of the path in her dream. But they never needed to hit the ground, so long as they deleted the evidence, or were careful about it. She stopped then, deleting it was the only way.

Some of their other issues were matters of time. They just needed to let the clock run out on school issues and Victoria's suspicion. So long as they remained careful.

After they fended off those foes, it was the hardest parts. Revealing themselves to their loved ones, Harry's mum and Ethan. Jo would use these hours to list out their issues so they could discuss them. Then she was going to get ahold of her man, and they would spend the weekend together, happy, and even go on a date. They would talk over the next month and a half and make plans to talk to the big guns. And she could finally feel like they had just avoided an iceberg. She figured two days in, and out, with Harry and she'd feel unsinkable.

Jo watched the clock as her reflection on the last week and her office hours ended. Nobody had come, which was not entirely odd this time of the semester, especially when she had been out all week.

She hoped Harry fed her. Maybe he would have cooked for her by the time she got there. "Will you make me chicken tagine?" She sent the text with a pouty picture of her, and looked up from locking her door just in time to see Ewan and Victoria going into her office.

Ewan waited outside and waved to her until Victoria gave her a curt, "Professor." which she returned before calling Ewan shrilly to follow her. Somebodies eyes followed her out, Jo didn't turn back to check who. She may be able to pull ostrich on that issue, and she intended to.

She was excited to get to Harry, but found herself fiddling with her naked finger a lot. That she wanted to remedy. She wasn't exactly sure how, but figured she would find a way. Jo navigated the streets to Harry's house and wondered why he hadn't text her back about her plans to meet him. Or the food she pouted for.

She got her answer when he came to the door.

"Baby!" He reached for her and she side stepped his public display. He was in jeans and no shirt, his fingertips were colored and she sighed at the sight of him.  The music was loud and their playlist was on.

She immediately felt better, like Atlas must have taken back his burden now that she was here. The air was even easier to breathe in his presence.

Jo pressed the door closed behind her and leaned back against it hoping he would lean back into her, or whirl around like the dervish he became when he was ecstatically creating some landscape portraiture alchemy. Normally, she'd follow him and get to watch.

Tonight, he danced with her though and she smiled when he went to kiss her. Harry stopped just short of her. Jo could smell the coffee on his breath and he had grey paint in a whisp near his hairline. She leaned up to close the distance; he pulled back just a fraction.

"We allowed to kiss again?" He let the curled edges of his pussy pink lips curl against her. "Is it safe now?"

"You're an ass!" Jo was really liking this teasing confidence. Maybe giving him the run of her and a token on affection had some effect besides her anxiety, the old cheeky Harry imbued with her reverent lover. His playfulness warmed her belly and she needed to move him along. And she needed to find a way to broach lots of subjects before the weekend was up. But now wasn't the time, they were in the middle of something.

Har-- Harry," She wasn't without her own power either.

"Yeah, that's my name!" He groaned and closed the circuit between them. She gulped when he gripped one thigh then the other to lift to his hips and carried her into his room.

It had been a while for that too.

Jo liked all his sexual moods, but worshipful was her very favorite she realized as she catalogued the way his long hair felt sliding down her chest to her belly. It tickled in the bends of her elbows and she giggled when he flicked it over his shoulders and it snaked over her upper thighs. She loved his wet lips and when he would lay his head on her hip joint to count her heartbeats for her.

She loved their velvet nights.

It got better after when he pulled her up and made sandwiches to share. It wasn't chicken tangine, but she was too hungry to care by then. They sat naked at the bar where they did months ago, and this time she fed him the remainder of her sandwich when he'd eaten his like he'd just discovered sliced bread and peanut butter.

"You are a hungry man today!" She laughed while he nipped her fingers on the way out.  She felt light as candy floss.

"Been painting for hours. Found the siren in those rocks. Come look." He stood up, naked as the day in that comfortable way he had infected her with and brought her to the studio.

He had found a lady indeed. She wondered if she should point out how much they looked like her, all his ladies. Maybe she was just projecting. But that looked a lot like her backside and her profile.

"Who's getting bashed on the rocks?" She grabbed a canvas and was wondering if they were still even there, if they went through their supplies equally. Harry had insisted it wasn't a big deal and been properly offended when she mentioned chipping in on them that one time. So she tried to bring things with her and casually leave them.

He gave her knowing glances, and when she had "accidentally" left the palette knife he always used at her house, the really good one, he had given her that look and just shook his head. "I'll pay in kisses." He'd said. And worked off some debts.

They set themselves up and Harry disappeared about thirty minutes into their session to come back with a bottle of red, the kind she preferred her pleased smile noted, and the music switched to PJ Harvey and she shared her grin with him.

"What're you painting today, who's got the beat?" He handed her the bottle and she took a sip and stared at her cowering lass.

"Dunno." Jo quirked her head to the side. "I think this time the beat has got her." She had only sketched out her own faceless lady, she was in the middle and the beat was a serious shape, lances pointed at her cowering head, surrounding her.

Harry grimaced. He kissed the top of her head and whispered, "Nobody is gonna get us. We will make it, we'll be fine." But his desperate grip made her wonder if he believed that. "Do you wanna talk about it now?"

Jo realized he had avoided it so strongly when she was ill, which was unlike her direct man. But she could very much relate at the moment. "No, I just want to paint now. Can we do the difficult stuff later?" Her head went deeper into the sand, it was nice there.

"Course!" His whole body looked relieved like taffy after a pull. "And I'll be your bubble, like in the Incredibles, the daughter?" And Jo remembered the cute movie Ethan had liked as a boy.  "Nobody is gonna poke you."

"Well, I hope somebody will poke me!" She flirted and he painted her nose with the brush she had just picked up. They wound up painting each other instead of the canvases. She pressed him against a wall and got the whole side of his face. But his size and youth won out when he took her down. Once Jo had given up the fight and lay beneath him, she'd let him paint her face in a Mondrian print and laughed when he took a shot on her phone. She'd set it as her background, since he couldn't. And then smudged the paint on his face and chest kissing him. They'd made it to the shower not long after their game of paint tag.

It was just one moment of joy from their weekend. Friday night was long and naked, and they slept in Saturday morning to compensate. Jo woke up first and made Harry tea and then the both of them smoothies and they'd curled up in his bed for hours, they watched "Peaky Blinders." And Harry got confused and jealous at her Cillian Murphy crush.

"He is so attractive!" She sighed.

"He looks like a cadaver!" Harry grumped and she laughed.

"Think he'd mind a live girl?" Harry tackled her then and made her admit he was the handsomest.

He was.

When they had turned off the show after nearly a season, they decided to go out. They made it to a pub after the street fair and botanical garden they had enjoyed the improving weather in. This was after a tense discussion over whether they should go to Home. Harry had been itching to see the gallery, but It was too risky, and Jo felt bad she had to tell him so. Harry had been very keen.

She hated to disappoint him.

They both shook it off in the name of their day out, but the clandestine requirements weren't as titillating as they once had been, it was stifling lately. With Harry pushing for more, more, more and Jo trying to rein him in like an unbroken mustang too beautiful to release but too wild to control.

The pint glass in her hand was getting warm she realized while she ignored that errant thought; she had been kicking his ass at trivia and it was more fun than drinking, so she took her time. It wasn't her last beer, but it may be her last victory. Though Harry seemed chuffed at her win. He loved when she took the piss out of him, she could tell by his grin. Didn't mind when she bested him. Later, after they had danced til she was sweaty, she stole his hair tie out of his bun.

"I have more hair." She pouted and he nodded and caught the ponytail she was gathering and held her by it to kiss her.

It was the second best date of her life.

They'd fallen into bed and his arms were warm and his laughter throaty, while she teased him about his abysmal sports knowledge. "Honestly, how have you not learned more, simply from making conversation?" She looked down to ask from his favored resting spot on her left ass cheek.

"I was to busy learning to paint from you and how to braid hair!" He nipped her cheek and flipped her over before crawling over her. "I think both are more useful skills."

"Have any other skills you'd like to show me?" she was a little breathless and bright eyed.

"Yeah." He'd breathed into her sternum where he pressed the first kiss.

It was a perfect 36 hours, but the next morning, the ring she had purchased at the street fair was burning a hole in her pocket. Harry was in the shower and she had pulled on sweats when goosebumps erupted over her skin when she got out from the covers. The apartment was colder than it had any right to be. Jo knew it was her nerves at the looming conversation/ She didn't want to do this in the bedroom, in case it went bad, and they fought, or the studio. Both were sacred spaces to her. So, she went to make tea and wait him out in the kitchen, neutral ground.

She was staring into her cup, stirring it slowly when Harry came out to her in his own loose pants and bare chest.

"You look ominous." He sidled up next to her. "Time to talk about my mum?" He was counting his fingers. That curious thing he did when he was nervous, but in control enough to not pinch his bottom lip.

Shit, his mum. She'd been so preoccupied by the ring when she woke up, since she saw the alternative really, she'd forgotten about their other obstacles.

It was as good a place to start as any.

"That and other things." Jo looked up from her cup and exhaled as many of the bats in her belfry as possible. "What did she say? Did she ask outright?"

He shook his head and sat at the place she had made for him, across from her. She should have put them side by side. Men did better that way, less adversarial.

"No, she never asks outright, or scolds me, but she did say we still seemed close, like we had been when I was younger. She emphasized that, younger not young. And she warned me, about how people might perceive it." He took a sip of his tepid tea, grimaced, maybe over it not being perfect. "But she gave me this look, one I know, where her eye contact is intense and her right brow is high and we both know she is saying more than she is saying."

Jo wondered if he knew he wore that look sometimes too. "Did she, did she say anything about me?" Jo bit at her lip and tried to remember that she and Anne were peers at least, if not friends. Never would be now.

Harry gave her his eyes then, "Just that you must be lonely without Ethan and after a divorce. How she felt for your desperate situation."

"She thinks I'm desperate?" That chafed.

"No, she's trying to tell me that if it seems you like me back, it's because you are lonely and need attention." He gripped his coffee cup. "She still thinks I get crushed by my crushes. I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling her that if you were a crush, I would get flattened under the weight if the real thing ever happens."

"I'm not lonely," that wasn't quite right. "or I was, but I didn't want it to be you." She sighed, "It just was."

"What's the plan, then?" He took her hand and coasted his ring clad pinky over her knuckles.

"We wait? More. Until school ends. Then we tell her." She gulped, he loved his mum expected a lot from her. "And we expect her to disapprove, like most people will."

He nodded, "They doubt because they don't know." He cocked his head with a sad smile. "They don't see us spending days together, that feel like minutes, that we are forever." He winked the ring at her, held his hand up.

She stared at the ring on his pinky "Harry, I hate that we have to talk about things like this, but there are lots of things we have to talk about." she gulped a breath.

"Like?" She took his hands at that.

"I want you to have something from me, and I gave you that ring," she gestured at his hand. "but." And she bit her lip.

"But Ethan gave it to you and you want it back." He looked hurt, but unsurprised.

"I'm sorry Harry. I wasn't thinking, you were so upset and angry and I didn't want to leave you empty handed." She took a big breath. "But that ring was a mistake, to give Ethan's ring was," she shook her head, she couldn't find a word. "and once I woke up from fever I had to talk to you about it."

"Jo, baby, I understand, it's not this ring, really. Though I love this one, the symbol on it. Any will do. It's not his particular thing, but what it means. I want what it means, the real symbol?" His voice had taken on a hue she didn't know, she heard it as deep purple.

"What symbol?" She was confused about his passionate segue.

"I just want to know it's forever for you too. That when you look down the line, all those titles that Colin gets are mine, because you want me to have them, think I deserve them."

Her blank face must have registered for him.

"You don't think about beyond? Like forever, Jo?"

No, she had made it a point to not think of forever. Cast those thoughts out like seeds on hard ground. "Harry..." she trailed off. This, they, had a natural end date to her, not because she wanted it, but because Harry would want things she couldn't give, naturally. "What titles do you deserve?"

"Husband. Definitely, and father." He looked down and whispered the last word, but when he looked up he was resolved and she knew one of those lances was coming to pop their bubble, but it was going to come from her, from within.

"Harry, I..." How do you tell somebody what they want was not for them, because of something as immovable as time? "You said... but you said a part of me was enough? What we have was enough for you?"

"And I meant it. I did! But you don't see more for us?" He begged. "Jo, we are so much bigger than right now, bigger than love. We're like paint on a canvas that outlives the original artist. Legacy, I see it with you." He smoothed hair behind her ear. You don't see it with me?" His desperate brow was breaking her heart.

" I do." She sighed because she did, but as a fantasy. "When I dream it's you and I with silver hair down our backs painting in a garden. But, I leave that idea in the night."

"Why? I dream that dream, too." Harry insisted and took her hands.

"Because it's, it's not fair to you, lover. I can't give you legacy." She felt her wet cheeks before she knew she was crying.

"What do you mean?" He looked like the answer was already there in his mind, but he was ignoring it, because most of the time the twenty year lap between them was less a problem than all their other hurdles, just a detail like her hazel eyes and his curly hair.

"It's not fair, giving you forever isn't. Because I can't, really. I can't have more kids." She gathered up all of her bravery like firewood to set his hopes on fire.

"What do you mean?" He cast his eyes around for a satisfactory answer. "like you think you are too old?"

"Harry, I am nearly too old." she cut herself on the words.

"But you still cycle, it can still happen." Damn he paid a lot of attention growing up among women, and to her body, probably because he never got squeamish about fucking while she bled.

"Technically, but we've only just been together four months and that's too soon." She was trying not to cut him with her truth too.

"It's not" Harry shook his head, "we aren't going anywhere Jo. I knew in my bones right away. I recognized you. Once I was grown up and looking."

She shook off his surety like shackles. "Harry, even if we started trying now." The words sparked hope in his eye. She was gonna dash it."which would be criminally stupid." she tilted her head at him, "But what I mean is, I can't. Doctors orders." The next bit she squeezed his hand over. "And Harry. I won't."

He looked up at her teary eyed. "Is it just that you don't want to have my baby? Is it me? Something lacking?"

Jo kissed his forehead, "No love, there is nothing lacking in you. It's why I don't think of forever. You deserve to have children, lots if you want, when you are ready. Older." She smoothed the lines his concentration face was trying to make permanent.

"But I want that with you. I want babies and grey hair with you." He was crying in earnest now.

It started her tears again too, "I can't Harry. It could kill me." She took a huge breath then and realized the front lines could charge all they wanted, they were about to self-destruct anyway.

Harry lay his head on the table and she stroked his hair while he wept.

"Think hard about it baby, before we tell your mum, or Ethan, or anybody. I love you, I wish I could give you this. But I can't. I've done this before, and I was told it was a bad idea for me again. My uterus was nearly see through when they cut into me for Zoe. I'm lucky to have her. I can't give you this. And somebody else can, should. And that kills me. But you should have that." She cupped his wet face and brought it up to look at her. "You will make the best dad." Then she gave him a watery smile, "You should definitely share your genes with the world, lover."

He was shaking his head and hiccuping.

"And your heart. Though I want to keep it to myself."

"No, no, that's not right. It's not what I want."

"But I love you enough to give it to you. If you still want me, for the time I can give you, and the sell-by date on our life, our love. Ok. But I'm not your forever Harry." He looked at her broken, his face cracked like a dropped porcelain doll.

He just shook his head.

"But I have something for you, to give you." she pulled her hand off him. "In exchange for forever." She pulled out the sparrow rings, one with the clear shape of the sculpted bird, the other with a more abstract flying flock, that she had picked up yesterday. Jo pulled his hand into her own and removed the infinity ring. In its place she slipped on the subtler ring she knew he would love best and started to put its mate on her own finger. Harry took it over for her, and snugged it onto her right ring finger.

   "I give you wings." she whispered over a rising sob.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles au #wntc #who names the colors #harry styles alternate universe #one direction #one direction fanfiction #painter au #art fic #ducks

[wesharehk]

2018 澳洲姊妹遊 ☀ Melbourne Day 5 : Cervo Cafe e Bar + Hosier Lane + Max Brenner + Aqua S + 8-bit + Short

完成悉尼遊記後，很快又來到墨爾本的遊記：很多愛到澳洲遊玩的朋友，紛紛表示更喜歡 Melbourne，原因包括：沒那麼多人、更有文化氣息、咖啡更加棒等。但我實在太愛大海及及陽光，所以會偏心悉尼多很多，希望字裡行筆不會給大家造成了偏見～

  昨天說過，兩姊妹是早上9:00am的飛機，所以7:00am起床，7:20am出門 check-out，拖著行李步行至 Mascot 站，然後搭一個站鐵路到 Domestic Airport，每人索價十多澳元。那麼近的路，其實搭的士應該更便宜，但早上 Mascot 一帶都沒車也沒辦法。

  Domestic Airport 也有分不同的 Terminal，我們搭的 Qantas 獨霸了 Terminal 2，十分巴閉。之後在 Melbourne 的機場，也是以 Airline 劃分 Terminal，其中 Qantas 所處航廈最大最方便，轉飛航線又多又有彈性，所以去澳洲玩都幾推介選它。

  由於內陸機不用檢查證件，去櫃台 check-in 寄存行李、取機票後，過安檢就可以搭登機了，時間比較鬆動。我們在閘外慢慢吃前一晚準備的水果／muffin 早餐，才慢慢入閘過安檢，之後也有一些時間 window shopping。

   很快就要登機了！這天與玉仔不是連坐，不過只是一小時左右的機程，不要緊啦！起飛後看看電影，派派早點（是蘋果或曲奇包，我都不太喜歡... 加上自選飲品），又差不多降落了～

  一來到墨爾本，天色已經很不對，又陰又雨，溫感與悉尼至少相差十度，最冷的一天早上只有5度！還好我也帶了一件冬褸來，雖然不是很厚，但加上 Hightech 以及甜魔媽媽非常有層次感的衣著配搭法，這幾天都沒有冷著。

  懶惰的我除了 Cafe，完全做找關於墨爾本的任何功能，下機後聽玉仔指示買了兩張 Sky Bus 車票 (AUD 19.5/位)，再向人問我們住宿的 Southbank（南岸）是幾號線，然後就上車了。後來發現，不同悉尼以地鐵貫穿交通，墨爾本主要以 Tram 維持市內交通，但不支援機場線。

  甜魔媽媽有位中同很久前移居了澳洲，之前定居悉尼，最近搬到墨爾本。早幾個月他回港時有與他見面吃飯，並提過5月會來墨爾本，可以一起見面；本來打算到埗 settle 好再聯絡，怎知在 Sky Bus 路上就收到他訊息問道是否已抵達 Melbourne，太貼心了！馬上約了一起午餐。

  Sky Bus 約花50分鐘抵達市內，剛下車時雨停了，還難得有藍天，令人非常開心，可惜美景轉瞬即逝.... 

  下車第一件事，當然是找這次住宿的 Melbourne Shortstay Apartment - Whiteman，雖然寫是 Apartment，其實更似大規模的 Airbnb，因為沒有 daily cleaning service... Check-in 也是在附近一個 office 大堂進行，對於零 Airbnb 經驗的我完全找不到也搞不懂，交給玉仔處理啦。

  Shortstay 統一要下午2時取房，我們只好先放下行李，並職員告訴我們必須8pm office 關門前抵達取匙後，我們就離開去會合舊友了。其實 Melbourne 有很多間 Shortstay Apartment，根據玉仔分享，她選訂 Whiteman 這家是因為門口就有 Tram station，感覺交通會較方便。

  與舊友也是約定好在 Tram station 等，等待期間見到很可愛的 Restaurant 餐車經過，不過玉仔沒有預約，我也不太介意，因為一見到那人多湧擠的場面，就覺得不是那麼吸引啦！

 Cervo Cafe e Bar

Address : Crown Complex (4,627.79 mi) Melbourne, Victoria, Australia 3006

FB : Cervo Cafe e Bar

  會合舊友啦！他正好在我們住的 Apartment 對面的 Crown 皇冠賭場上班，那時兩姊妹的肚子都在打鼓，於是決定乘他的 Staff 優惠，幫襯平時挺貴的賭場餐廳，當日就選了 Cervo Cafe e Bar。

   餐廳分室內外位，室外風光較好但也較冷，室內則昏暗有情調一些，我們選了中間既有自然光又不會吹風的靠窗室內位。餐廳設有午餐選項，由主餐單可選出心水意粉／薄餅（部分項品例外），加飲品轉成午餐 (AUD 25左右)，這天也點了兩份，並選了 Mocktail 及白酒一杯。

   食物方面有 Carbonara、Ravioli 及 Margherita 最後一份食物就是散點，份量不小但質素平平，然而大家也是旨在聊天聚舊（兼醫肚！）多於追求味道，OK啦！謝謝友人非常客氣地請客埋單，之後還趁下午返工前帶我們逛墨爾本市，並指教了幾個必到景點，非常感謝～

   By the way，這就是餐廳的室外位及外面景觀。如果是大晴天到訪，景色應該十分美的！

   知道我們兩姊妹都不介意漫步城方後，友人就帶我們由 Crown complex 外圍出發，慢慢過河再去市中心了，以下都是一些沿路景色！

    其實一抵達已經發覺，墨爾本有特多的街頭塗雅 Graffiti，所以接下來我們就出發去著名的 Hosier Lane --- 塗鴉街去了！

 Hosier Lane

Address : Hosier Ln, Melbourne, Victoria, Australia

FB : Hosier Lane Street Art

  墨爾本被著名的雅拉河 Yarra River 一分為二，此河流經墨爾本最精華的區域，最後會匯入大海，遇上好天氣尤其是黃昏時間，是拍照的好地方，不過這幾天都一直陰沉，只有夜景較為可取。

   穿過 Yarra River 很快就抵達 聯邦廣場 Federation Square，在這裡除了 聖保羅座堂 St Paul's Cathedral, Melbourne，也可拍到墨爾本另一地標---費蓮達火車站 Flinders Street Railway Station，也在這裡留下最後合照後，友人要回去準備上班了！謝謝他的相陪及引路！

     在這裡再拍多些照片後（很不習慣這堆灰灰沉沉的照片，好想念悉尼的陽光！），也是時間出及去不遠處的 Hosier Lane。

     著名的 Hosier Lane 塗鴉街，就在 Federation Square 上 The Atrium 的對面，一整街包括中間轉角的小巷全是塗鴉，非常易認的！據說街巷內的塗鴉會不定期更新，因此人在這裡，就是瘋狂的拍照及自拍囉～

     我比較喜歡熱及有陽光的地方（悉尼！布吉！還有接下來的峇里！峴港！萬歲～），玉仔就喜歡冷及陰暗的地方（最大目標是英國），所以她也挺享受在墨爾本的時光。由墨爾本開始，本來就不熱衷被拍的甜魔媽媽更少了上鏡，更多是���仔的照片，這也是原因之一。

       終於差不多逛完拍完了！別以為這裡很少人，其實我們都是等人群經過散去，再拍照才有這裡的效果；在墨爾本市內，這裡也算是最多人的地方之一呢。

 Max Brenner

Branch : QV Square, 25-/210 Lonsdale St, Melbourne, Victoria, Australia 3000

  由 Hosier Lane 出來，其實已經身處擁有 Free Tram 服務的 Melbourne CBD，因此我們也打消再買 Myki card（相等悉尼的 Opal card／香港的八達通）的念頭，在市中心隨上隨下吧，每晚搭到最近河的 Batman Park 後，再花5分鐘步行過河回去。

   市中心都是一些熟悉的藥房、品牌，Day 4 已經在悉尼 Manly 逛了很久，這天沒特別興致又逛同一批商店，反而朝唐人街方向走去，因為聽說這邊的旅行社報團會便宜一些。

   我們在唐人街找到懷舊美心，也找到一間由老香港人及（疑似他兒子）ABC 負責的旅行社，該位後生辦事認真但非常之慢，我們花了整整一小時來預訂翌日 Sky Diving（只是玉仔玩，我可沒這膽子）及後日出發的「尋找12使徒石 Great Ocean Road Trip」。詳情遲些再分享。

   報完團已經4時多，Cafe 全都關門了；天氣頗凍的情況下再逛多拍多一會，我們進了一處叫 QV 的 shopping centre（並遇上MC！），並在裡面找到不少想吃的，包括 Max Brenner！

   在悉尼遇過很多次 Max Brenner，不過天氣熱實在不太喝得下熱朱古力，來到冷冷的墨爾本，嘆一杯暖笠笠的熱朱古力 (AUD 6.2) 則是賞心樂事！Max Brenner 除了熱朱古力香甜濃郁，特別設計的 hugmug 杯令人享受朱古力同時，也有暖手功能，冬天到訪的朋友值得一試啊！

   Aqua S

Address : 16 Red Cape Ln, Melbourne Victoria, Australia 3004

IG : aquas_au

  喝下熱朱古力後人暖和了，又可以向 Aqua S 進發啦！早幾天悉尼 Aqua S 裝修中（出文之時已經回復營業），想不到在墨爾本也可以補中；雖然這裡的 Sea Salt 比悉尼的有點過鹹，不過西柚味都算幾清新，雙色加上碎花裝飾 (AUD 6) 都幾抵食。

   由 QV 出來，我們還趁天黑前去了 State Library Victoria 逛；這圖書館由於太大太漂亮，也成了不少遊客的景點及拍照熱點，尤其是喜愛扮文青的（不是我...），更加不能錯過。

    可能大家都估到了，這次旅行帶的正是 50mm + 14mm 的極端組合鏡頭，所以照片要不很窄，要不超 wide，請大家不要見怪啊～

    8-bit

Address : 1/360 Collins St, Melbourne, Australia 3000

FB／IG : Eat8bit／eat8bit

   甜魔媽媽絕不是偽文青的料子，還是趕快完成晚餐，然後去取房吧！我還記得8時前的約定的～由 State Library 出來，再穿過一個混雜不少亞洲美食的區分，又逛了一下這次在悉尼未遇上的 Target，最終選在一間叫 8-bit 的餐廳吃漢堡。

    相比 Ribs & Burgers，這裡實在是驚喜欠奉，尤其巨大的芝士薯條只鹹不香，純粹填肚之作... 不過埋單只是AUD 30多（價錢連一支未上鏡的清水），倒是不太貴。

   開始回程了～建議大家在 Federation Square 的 Melbourne Visitor Centre 取本地圖，就可以明白電車的行走路線；但不明白也不要緊，總之記住電車大多數都是前走，而車軌全是方方正正的路線，不難推算的。

   這晚我們在超豪的 H&M 大樓對面的【Elizabeth St/Bourke St】等到了前往 Batman Park 的列車，就搭了6個站下車，然後再過橋回 apartment 去。

 Melbourne Short Stay Apartments On Whiteman

Address : 63 Whiteman Street , Southbank, VIC 3006

FB／IG : Melbourne Short Stay Apartments／melbshortstayapts

  上圖就是 Yarra River 的夜景，拍照時間是7:45pm，天色已全黑了～如果早點來，帶點藍色的天空會美很多。穿過 Crown complex 就是我們住宿的 Melbourne Shortstay Apartment on Whiteman；我們7:50pm抵達時，職員已經準備離開，並將我們鎖匙放進了信箱... 原來8pm關門意思是8pm要鎖好office徹底離開了，所以人在澳洲真的要需要準時！

   我們住是的 1-Bedroom Studio Apartment (HK$850/晚)，房內設備周全，煮食完全不成問題；洗手間有洗衣機及乾衣機十分方便，我們馬上洗了之前悉尼穿的污衣！不過這裡並無每日專人清潔打掃（可能 request 會有，但我們沒有要求），而且全屋都找不到轉插，也沒得借...

   房間用的是百葉簾，遮光度不足（我習慣在極黑環境進睡... 還好墨爾本陽光不猛），而且超易藏污納垢，是我不喜歡的地方。看來我這個人，還是適合習慣住酒店，反正其實墨爾本非淡季的五星酒店也很便宜，如 Langham 也只HK$1,300一晚！

   其實最欣賞 Shortstay Apartment 的，是可居高臨下，眺望墨爾本市內風光。玉仔翌朝就要 Sky Diving，加上早機來其實也累了，所以這晚兩姊妹一起早早休息，下週再繼續 Day 6 遊記吧！

   延伸閱讀

2018 Sydney + Melbourne Trip ✈ 澳洲悉尼墨爾本姊妹遊 ✈ Summary

2018 澳洲姊妹遊 ☀ Sydney Day 1 : Shangri-La Hotel + The Rocks Market + Pancakes on the Rock + Sydney Opera House + Royal Botanic Garden + Ribs & Burgers

2018 澳洲姊妹遊 ☀ Sydney Day 2 : Cafe Mix 早餐 + High Tea buffet @ Blu Bar on 36 + Darling Harbour + Town Hall + Messina

2018 澳洲姊妹遊 ☀ Sydney Day 3 : Taronga Zoo + Sydney Fish Market + Black Star Pastry + Prime Steak Restaurant

2018 澳洲姊妹遊 ☀ Sydney Day 4 : Manly Beach + Coffee Edition Roasters + Doux Amour + Adina Mascot

2017 Sydney Trip Summary ❤ 悉尼8週年陶婚 x 探親之旅

 ** 想得知最新飲食情報，可追蹤 甜魔媽媽；欲得知甜魔一家消息，就追蹤 Matthew and Chloe 吧~~

作者:  甜魔媽媽Yan

原文: http://weshare.hk/GourmetYan/articles/4636098

#weshare #welove2share #travel

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[neurotribe]

Scenes from a funeral

Today's post is addressed to a specific audience.

One of the areas in which I have taught over the years is the subject of spiritual formation. In this discipline I cover the effects that family of origin has upon the shape of our spirituality. I find the best way to teach is grounding the theory in my own experience. It seems to me that this is the most helpful approach. Seeing what it looks like grounded in another person's life, students can then easily do the necessary translation. Consequently, I have shared my experiences of growing up in a home marred by domestic violence. It was always a difficult prospect because I live in a web of relationships. Not only was the perpetrator still alive, but I was still in relationship with him and there were other people involved in my story. Trying to know how best to manage the telling of my own story whilst being bound up in the stories of others is complicated.

As I shared my experiences in teaching contexts, I have been profoundly moved as students hearing me tell my story find their own voice and in turn the courage to share their story with others, often with me. In many instances I have then been utterly honoured and humbled when some time later I would be contacted by former students who would share their own formative stories of attempts at transformation, reconciliation and some kind of resolution.

I have connected with many ex students and people who have heard me speak via social media. If that is you, reading this post now, you are my audience today.

Two weeks ago, my father fell and sustained a massive brain injury. After about two weeks in ICU and then a palliative care ward, he died because of this injury and from complications associated with it.

Towards the end of his life, I spent close to three days, two of those alone, with him. During that time, I wrote. Some of the writing included some of the stories that I have shared in my teaching work. I thought that what I had written was going to be dad’s eulogy. After writing it, and then reading it to him, alone, holding his hand as he lay dying, I felt the writing had done what it needed to do for both of us. I felt that when it came time for his funeral, I no longer needed to say anything. I felt that what needed to be done was done.

As it turned out, the Catholic priest who has been a long time friend of the family had the occasion to read what I had written. After having some time to digest it, he called me the day before dad’s funeral and asked me to give dad’s eulogy. On Friday, the immediate family gathered for dad's funeral where I gave the eulogy.

For those who have found some help or hope in my story and my attempts to reconcile a difficult past, I post dad’s eulogy. May you find it helpful and hopeful.

(Please be advised that the following includes a description of family violence. If you are or have suffered family violence and are seeking help, in Victoria please contact Safe Steps Victoria at https://www.safesteps.org.au/ or 1800015188 or seek relevant local help.)

What I am going to read here is a shorter version of something I wrote as I have reflected upon my relationship with dad over the years. I actually read the longer version to dad, as I sat by his bedside, holding his hand, about a day before he died. I shared my writing and experience with Fr Vic. He encouraged me to share this shorter version on this occasion. This version is as a result of his guidance. Thankyou Fr Vic not just for your support today, but for being a gift to our family over many years. Inħobbok ħafna sabiħ.

I want to tell three stories about Charlie. The first story took place at our family home in St Albans one hot summer Saturday morning. I was probably seven or eight years of age. This morning, as was often the case in our house, dad exploded in a fit of rage. As a young child, I was terrified by the sounds, his actions, about the prospect of one of us being hurt, because in previous situations like this, and subsequent ones, getting hurt was not uncommon. I remember mum shepherding us children out of the house and onto the driveway, where we stood around the car, hesitating. It took me a few moments before I realised the reason mum was hesitating was because we had nowhere to go. Eventually mum packed us three kids into the car, and we drove around the streets of St Albans for about an hour or so, before heading back home, hoping that Charlie's rage had run its course.

I’ve come to learn that one of the most important experiences in a child's life is an experience, a knowing that they belong. If a child is to have any chance of moving into some kind of healthy adulthood, it is a vital experience. In that moment, standing on the driveway, feeling like there was nowhere I belonged, and that there was no safe place for me, a traumatic wound was inflicted upon a young child, a wound that I have carried with me through my childhood and teenage years, into adulthood, into the present.

The second story I want to tell about Charlie occurred a couple of years later. We were at home and one of mum's sisters called on the phone, obviously in significant distress. I remember dad angrily, but quietly springing into action, heading out the door, returning a little later with my three terrified cousins, all covered in the paint that was a result of the shenanigans that had reduced my aunty to tears. Dad ordered them into the bathroom and cleaned them all up. Later, we had dinner together, where my sisters and I joked about what we thought was an hilarious incident. Not long into our meal, our cousins thought so too. I vividly, distinctly remember all of us, mum, dad, my sisters and my cousins, all sitting around that same kitchen table together, sharing a meal, laughing, being together.

The final story involved my distinctive red BMX, as well as some other details that I have never shared with my wider family until today. As a 13 year old, one Saturday morning a friend and I took off on one of our epic bike riding adventures. We met two girls at a park. We started talking to them. I was pretty obnoxious and rude so the conversation ended rather quickly. My friend and I thought nothing of it and we continued on our way.

Later that afternoon, my sister and I, accompanied by one of our cousins headed on down to the local milk bar, they on foot and I on my distinctive red BMX. Whilst my sister and my cousin went inside, the weekly Saturday night Greek Orthodox church service had just finished. About a dozen well dressed Greek boys emerged from the church building. When they saw me, they raced toward me and surrounded me, trapping me against the milk bar window.

I quickly realised that these boys were friends of the two girls we had met earlier that day. The girls had told them of my appalling behaviour. That’s the bit I haven’t shared with anyone else until this day. This was all my fault. The boys recognized me by my distinctive red BMX. 

The leader of the pack, frustrated by his inability to provoke me in throwing the first punch, hit my left eye with a chunky ring, damaging my vision for a few days as well as giving me the biggest black eye of my life. I desperately willed myself not to move. It was like I was frozen in time.

And then I saw one of the most beautiful things in my life to this day. I saw Charlie's yellow Land Rover four wheel drive, dangerously screaming through the busy intersection and then bouncing wildly into the car park, horn blaring. Before the car came to a halt, dad flew out of the cabin, barefoot, dressed only in his singlet and unbuttoned shorts. He was swinging this packing hook, a brutal metal and wood hook used by dock workers on Melbourne’s waterfront. Like a terrifying bat out of hell he flew at the boys who fled the scene in abject terror. I can still see the looks of fear on some of their faces. After they had scattered, I collapsed onto the ground shaking, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

What had happened was that my sister could see the scene unfolding from the inside of the milk bar. As soon as she realised what was happening she phoned dad. Within seconds, dad was there. My dad, most likely, had literally saved my life. My father's anger rescued me.

Each of these stories have left a significant mark, a significant legacy in my life.

The first story tells of Charlie's lasting legacy of anger, and the violent ways in which he expressed it and the wounds that it inflicted, leaving scars upon my body, and my soul that I carry this day, and for the rest of my days.

The second story also leaves an enduring mark upon the shape of my life. For most of our married life, Lisa and I welcomed young people, often at risk young people, into our home. We have tried to live our lives in such a way as to give people that critical experience, an experience of what it is like to have a home, to belong.

The course that my life has charted, seemingly without any intent on my behalf, this significant part of who I am, whether I like it or not, whether it makes sense or not, is because of an unskilled, overworked, underpaid, migrant shift worker, struggling to make some kind of life. On his one day off from a gruelling job on Melbourne’s waterfront, on a day where he by rights should have been trying to simply catch his breath and catch a break, he instead opens his meagre home to his wife's children, without thought, without hesitation. Yes dad was angry, at them, at the situation, at the circumstances. His anger led him to what he concluded was simply the only appropriate response. This angry act, that led to hospitality, as dysfunctionally as it played out, has also powerfully shaped the course of my life. Because of what dad did in that moment, to me every problem looks like a problem of belonging, and I feel like the only possible response is one of hospitality and welcome. I feel like I have to be this way, not because someone told me this is what we do, or because I feel guilty or obligated, it’s because it feels right. It is because someone, my father, showed me what to do.

Over the years, I have discovered, not from dad mind you, but from others, that dad quietly invited people into their home on several occasions.

The third story is perhaps the most difficult for me. For the first time in my life, I felt his anger, aggression and power not as something to fear or flee from, but something that could make me safe. This part of who Charlie was has also powerfully shaped the man I am today. There are many who have confided in me that my commitment to them, my commitment to their safety, the lengths I am prepared to go to in order to protect them, keep them safe, the ways in which I help shepherd them through the moments where they have had to deal with the consequences of their unwise choices; these people have told me that they have been transformed as they have witnessed my anger at their injustice and my acting on their behalf.

When I hear people speak of me in this way, I know, without any doubt, that this part of who I am is due once again, not to what dad told me I should be, rather it is because of who, and how he was in this world. This kind of life is not a consequence of following his advice, it is as a result of my instinctively following his irresistible example.

Countless times, it feels like I have come close to losing my mind when I try to reconcile these three stories, these three parts of who Charlie was, and what each part represents. How can a man in one moment terrify his young son, yet in another be such a breathtaking example of care and concern? How do I reconcile these three seemingly irreconcilable stories? To say that Charlie was a collection of contradictions would be the understatement of my life.

There were times in my relationship with my father, where I was able to move beyond my own anger and bitterness and move towards him. There were moments where I actively tried to understand. I tried to ask him to tell me stories about his childhood, about what it was like in Malta, what it was like to migrate to the other side of the world, what it was like being a foreigner, trying to find work, facing the prejudice of race and class, trying to make a life?

I don’t feel as though we were ever able to connect. I don’t know if I understood him. I don’t know if he understood that I was trying to understand, that I cared.

My relationship with Charlie was a constant up and down. When I no longer feared him, his contradictions brought us into conflict for the majority of my adult life. There have been stretches where I have chosen not to be in his life, because it was simply too painful. The last time we spoke prior to his brain injury was another one of our arguments.

But I am noticing something. I’m aware that the confused look that must have adorned my face when trying to figure out my father's contradictions is mirrored back to me in the faces of those around me. I see the look upon the faces of my partner, my children, when they see me in one moment acting with great courage and nobility, and in the next when I act with selfishness and cruelty. I realise that as I move between being a beautiful human being and a terrible one, often with a speed that can be deeply disorienting to those around me, I realise something. I realise that I too am a man of contradictions. I realise that I am my father's son.

When I become aware, often too late, that I have made choices and decisions that hurt those around me, and I crave nothing more than their understanding and their forgiveness, I realise, I am my father's son. I realise, if people are ever going to accept the contradictions that exist in me, perhaps I need to accept the contradictions that existed in Charlie.

Hear me carefully, I am not saying that domestic violence is ever acceptable or excusable. Domestic violence is unacceptable, it is inexcusable. Period.

The Austrian psychologist Viktor Frankl, said:

Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom. - Viktor E. Frankl

The task at hand, my task, is to find that space between stimulus and response, to reflect in that moment, and in that moment, to make a decision to choose not to be the worst parts of Charlie, but to choose the best parts of Charlie. My task is, in that moment between stimulus and response, is to realise that one of the greatest gifts my father has bequeathed to me, is a righteous anger that, if harnessed, can be a gift to the world.

My task is not to try and reconcile the contradictions. My task, which is not too different to Charlie's task, when he made his way to Australia as a teenager with nothing and attempted to make a life, my task is to take the hand I have been dealt, and to do my best.

Dad, for the ways in which you have wounded and broken me, I forgive you.

Dad, for your examples, for the great and beautiful gifts that you have bequeathed me, I am forever indebted, and I am forever grateful.

Rest in peace dad.

#spirituality #theology #discipleship

[haidas-anxiety]

Ted Hughes's Winter Pollen Has Descended Upon The World

I omit my mother increasingly every day. Gerard says quite a few unkind matters approximately people that I don't like however possibly that is just her way. But on our wedding ceremony day she turned into my Cinderella. I became her prince. For the young making love is only for fun. I even have never study Charles Buckskin, William Faulkner, D.H. Lawrence, Nadine Gordimer, and J.M. Colette. I've by no means even heard of Salinger. They have all swept my eldest daughter away. Sometimes I suppose to myself will she ever be a bride? Will she ever fall in love? Feel what her dad felt as he checked out his new wife. With our married existence in advance people. A day vintage. Will a man ever take her in his palms and say, 'I love you pleasant?' But these are simply the thoughts of an old guy inside the autumn of his years. This morning I felt depressed. The world can do this to you while you're infirm. You think nothing will ever hurt you again. You're built like an impenetrable fort inside the mountains at the give up of the sector. Our marriage had promised us new beginnings. Wonderful beginnings. But now there's silence  Custom Made Jewellery I cry for what I have misplaced. Not real tears. Just a sob or  that wracks my frame. She's now not up to now faraway from me. The  double beds are inside the identical room. Gerda is analyzing through the light from a lamp even as I search for my prescription drugs. Swallow my pills as if they were aspirin. Curbing my enthusiasm as I watch her disrobe. Looking at her now I recognize how a good deal I still love her. Let me matter the ways. Love has a sensitive scent. It manner to provide you the rituals of sacrifice, buying a residence, transferring furniture, a wife with the aid of the name of Gerda observing her mirrored image inside the replicate while she brushes the tangles out of her hair, pats her hair down, puts a stocking on and wraps a headband round her head. She is still beautiful, however no longer simply to me, to different human beings as well. I nonetheless suppose I didn't deserve her. Is she satisfied? Have I made her happy? She stayed with me for better or for the worst. I ministered to my kids. I lectured my children when it had to be achieved. To set them instantly. To set them on their life adventure. Their pilgrimage of kinds. And I took them all, my loving, boisterous circle of relatives from hell to an eternity of hell. And of direction in the wards of hell, or the wards of Valkenburg, there isn't always a whole lot of a presence of turning into indoctrinated with the aid of religion. I failed to discover Buddha once I was in Valkenburg. I failed to turn in a Brahmin. I turned into most effective brought to that a good deal later when my children were youngster-agers. Things like meditation. I did give up smoking, however not red meat. Wiping the fat off my lips. I never drank lots. I hated the stuff. I saw what it did to my own father.

Gerda is silent. In her own world, and I marvel (it isn't always for the primary time) what is she considering? Does she nevertheless love me as a lot as I love her? What I would not do to embrace her like I did the first night of our married life? I hate this loneliness that is flowering interior of me like a lotus. I need to write about what I like, what I mesmerises my all-knowing, all-seeing eyes, approximately the difficulties of married life, the first meal my spouse cooked for me as my wife, how I watched the moves of my spouse at our wedding ceremonial dinner set out in a church corridor, packed with Johannesburg human beings, and some contributors of my circle of relatives. I ought to write approximately what makes me emotional (yes, even guys get emotional, over-excited about the annihilation of evil with the aid of properly). I have to write about what makes me misty-eyed, what cuts me deep where the depths of suicidal infection awaits, watching my youngsters in Victoria Park playing whilst I watched them from afar, sitting on a park bench that turned into as soon as reserved for Whites only in a White people's park. Over weekends the park would usually be abandoned. I'd get chocolate and packets of crisps for the kids. I'd see their smiles. Their laughter and sticky fingers might carry me. Give me a buoyant mood. Perhaps you are sensing that I am no longer telling you the whole fact. There had been days once I needed to pressure myself to get away from bed. I was a man who had lots of duties. I could not just deliver in, end existence, cease family life, lie at the couch, stop taking bloodless, clean showers that restored some power, some electricity to my mind, and readability of idea, vision and self-actualisation to my insight. I couldn't escape my youngsters, I could not no longer renowned me them (their pain turned into my pain, their emotional material in time, become my emotional material in time and area, and their moments of early life depression stopped me dead in my tracks). I could not simply stop my kid's global, divorce their mom, live with out the problems of a husband, live in a bachelor pad with relative freedom, no home duties from their world, due to the fact they wanted me. My family wished me. And as I watched my small kids looking at all of the things I could not buy for them (their picks they already knew had to in shape my pocket), such things as that could soften my heart within the Greek's keep, and as they carefully made their purchases I was endlessly thankful that I had made it through any other day. I had made it thru another manic depressive episode. No greater aspirin for me. I had placed Valkenburg at the back of me. There turned into Elizabeth Donkin, and the start of lithium remedy. There become my beautiful wearing blue denims, a comfy jersey that I had visible her in usually, and a white shirt. There became my wife getting out of the auto. I was expecting her on the steps of ward F. Waiting for her perfunctory kiss at the cheek. Waiting to take a seat down in properly-worn chairs.

'How are you?'

'I've missed you.'

'I've overlooked you too. When are you coming home?'

Well, the verbal exchange could move some thing like that.

I watched her guard her eyes, looking, searching, and seeking out me. And then her discipline of imaginative and prescient modified. Her eyes met mine. And then she become locking the auto door. Making her way towards me with that day's newspaper, a variety of magazines, bottles of juices, or a fruit basket. And the depression, with its elated highs that felt so invincible, that made me sense fantastic frustration, the faith that I had that the emotions were killing me, each day could include their turning points. My coronary heart turned into suicidal melancholy's apprentice. My brain turned into its master. I put my wife on a pedestal, however did she realize it? In the beginning earlier than I become married, I concept of all women as sex objects. Did I tell her how tons I loved her? I worshiped the ground she walked on. Before her I became now not romantic. Before I met my future wife my fashion and technique of a lover turned into dry after I changed into depressed. She made me into the man I am nowadays. Throughout it all she satisfied me to pick life, discriminate loss of life. For each season there may be a mindless tragedy. In love nothing is insignificant.

'Off to the vintage age domestic with you.' She stated the other day. It broke my heart to hear her say that. We do not make love anymore. We sleep in separate beds. There's a distance between us now that I can't describe. It has no time or area. It's like a bridge. If we stayed together or maybe for so long as we've got it's far only due to the kids. Sometimes I wonder what my spouse changed into like as a child. The grief she have to have felt as a younger child after losing a sibling, a brother. But we never spoke approximately things like that. I never yearned to invite my fiancé, or new bride anything that might make her sense uncomfortable. In her eyes, I desired to be give her simplest top recollections. I desired to make her forget about about the ache of her early life the way she made me neglect approximately my very own painful childhood. How I became bullied, terrorised at the playground, teased, called names.

As a toddler I become a watcher, a dreamer. I changed into constantly in love with books. With self-getting to know. With coaching myself new matters about the world around me. Life revel in. That's what White human beings referred to as it. White human beings had motors. White humans sold. White human beings had been business minded specialists. When I became a child I fell in love with training. Maybe that is after I became a instructor. In adolescence. I had an unquiet mind. I still do. There are a whole lot of rituals when I visit church on Sunday morning. There's the breaking of bread and Holy Communion. It's now not actual wine of course. It's simply grape juice. I'm a modified man after I go away the church (less depressed. I feel less lonely. I do not know why this is. Maybe is has to with the biochemistry of the brain, or social sports, being involved in some thing although it is as mundane as going to church). And the bread is not the thin wafers we used to get on the Union Congregational Church that the youngsters looked at so longingly of their innocent hearts with that angelic shine on their faces. My wife and I could bite into the wafers. With that one bite the body of Christ become now a part of our spirit, our soul awareness, our physical our bodies. Abigail could not take into account that she needed to be confirmed earlier than she could partake of the body of Christ and the consuming of grape juice. She advised me that we (it become always we despite the fact that I turned into the one in the back of the steerage wheel of the auto) road past Mrs Turner in the road, and that even though Mrs Turner (Abigail referred to as her Mrs Turnip at the back of her lower back after that day) saw us, need to have regarded our car she did not wave lower back. Well her body is all weirdly fashioned like a turnip was Abigail's concept and I instructed her that is what befell to people as they got older. Everything bodily modified and on occasion they commenced to forget matters too like their manners (etiquette to Abigail).

I just smiled after which I laughed and stated, 'Really? Maybe she didn't see us.'

'Daddy, really? Are you certain? She looked right at me and I waved and I waved and I waved and she nevertheless didn't wave back.'

I couldn't inform her this then. She turned into too young. An innocent. They should harm me, however I would no longer allow them to hurt my children.

The following 12 months we started out going to Pearson Congregational Church which was located in Central. Everyone who went there has been White. You love your youngsters. You without a doubt do whether they have got carried out some thing precise or horrific. You're the one individual within the international they are able to to after they want something. If they ask you for cash you bend down and you inform them to select the money off the money tree. You tell them that you love them because that is the treatment for the whole lot. When they may be sick you nurse them back to health. When it's their birthday you buy them a cake, provides wrapped in brightly coloured paper, blow up balloons, and also you give them a celebration and invite all the neighbourhood. You provide them a hug once they it the most even if they are at their most rebellious nature. Shower them with fatherly subject whilst giving recommendation. It's also your honour, and privilege to offer day by day inspiration from a verse in the Bible, to high school initiatives. But after they get depressed of course you worry for them. You have discussions in the back of a closed bed room door within the nighttime that go and cross on until the early hours of the morning and you observed back to when you had been in high faculty. I become from a distinct technology. The extra matters alternate the greater they live the same. Isn't that what the adage says? Should all of us cross and speak to someone like a family counsellor, a therapist. Gerda was usually the only who become two steps in advance of me. She didn't pop out and say it or tell me what she turned into thinking. She took Abigail when she turned into barely out of her teens to a psychiatrist who studied in Vienna. He had wild hair like Einstein. She have been prepared for an eventuality of this value. She become the one who had been organized. Not me. And there was part of me that felt like a failure. I were absolutely blindsided. I had now not seen the diagnosis coming. Not from a mile away. My beautiful, darling daughter. My darling, darling daughter was a manic depressive much like me. Bipolar. Bipolar. Bipolar. I was struck dumb. Speechless. What may want to I say? How ought to I comfort her?

She hated college. She hated each minute every 2nd of it. A monumental waste of her time it became she said. She already knew that everything she changed into being taught got here out of a textbook that supported the reason of a colonial grasp. That supported a White motive. A liberal's troubles. Not hers through a protracted shot. We needed to do a whole lot of speakme, and listening, and the having of extra conversations in the back of a closed bed room door at night time to try to persuade her to live in faculty. They were masses of tears. Everybody cried. There were arguments. There had been instances when she stayed with her aunt in Johannesburg and we'd be underneath the false impression that now the entirety could be all proper once more in her world. We had goals for me. She became brought up with norms and values. And we failed to, could not simply let her throw her lifestyles away like that. Somehow, somewhere whilst she become fifteen years old she had written away to The London Film School. 'So she wants to run away to London now.' Gerda sighed. She wore a perplexed look on her face, chewing her backside lip in pensive mode. I notion back to Abigail's last phrases of the communique the 3 folks had, mother, father, with their rebellious, fiercely clever, notably temperamental daughter. 'I hate you.' She almost spat. 'You're killing me. If I stay right here I'll die. You'll see. I'll display all of you. I'll kill myself if I do not visit film college. I want to go to London.'

Gerda had greater intuition, information and insight into how ladies thought and bonded and  at the hours of darkness she bloomed. Her face pale in the moonlight, with aquiline features that her daughter Abigail had inherited from her however no longer her tennis legs or her mom's love for that recreation. I could not make out her face but I knew it changed into shining full of affection for me, and for our daughter. All 3 of our children had been conceived in love.

'Where will she stay? Where will she sleep? What will she devour each day for breakfast, lunch, and supper? Is she drowsing now I marvel? She just sits glued in front of that tv all hours of the day and night time. Ambrose inform me, what do you watched I need to do? We? Us? She'll never be widespread. I read that tale. It's terrible. But if I say that to her it'll damage her coronary heart. She's fifteen taking place sixteen.' Back and forth my flashbacks goes. Presently we are right here. The house is quiet haunted by ghosts from the past. Stephen. Jean. Magdalene. My mother and father. Gerda's own dad and mom surpassed away while Abigail turned into nonetheless a infant. Baby Ethan is sleeping soundly among his parents on their double mattress. He is a real busybody. He best has eyes for his mom Already he has two milk teeth which has anybody in a frenzy inside the household.

I want sometimes that I had listened extra, praised her cooking skills (even though she burnt the pots more times than I should maintain track of), given extra attention to my spouse. Had no longer dealt with her like I had handled all the ladies in my lifestyles. Indentured slave women best there to make me tea, be my secretary, flirt with. Women who could stroke my ego given the danger. She had given me the entirety of herself that she may want to as a wife, but I had no longer been absolutely open with her. Only on reflection after I look again on the activities of the beyond decade and that they fashioned all 3 of our kids's futures did I see how egocentric and arrogant I had been. I had not come smooth. Pharmaceuticals can not wash away sins. With my silence I had passed down three lifestyles sentences. I want I had achieved some thing. Said anything to console my spouse it'd be twenty years until we got our daughter returned. Have I made Gerda satisfied, and what about my kids, are they satisfied? Are they successful? Have my children fulfilled all their childhood goals? People exchange from one generation to the following. That's the factor with humans, milestones and events. They are usually changing, and yet constantly staying the identical. I concept I would be my daughter's anchor in that second like my mom have been in mine.

'Fine. If you need to head then leave. We won't stand to your manner if that is going to make you glad.' I stated with my eyes assembly the floor we covered in carpet.

I failed to want her to see the dejection in my eyes. I would omit her laughter, our talks, heated discussions, and debates. Mostly I would omit her presence. But she changed into depressed. She hated school. She had carried out very badly in the tests. Magdalene become still alive then. So Swaziland it turned into then for O and A levels after which The London Film School this is if she ought to get a British Council scholarship if she become lucky.

My mom have been my anchor for the duration of my depressive episodes. The crushing highs that took me to the wuthering heights of Rhodes and London and the numbing, frustrating lows that took me to my mattress. Sometimes I could simply lay on the bed still in my fit.My body become not sore, did not experience tired, my eyes had been burning, but sleep could now not come, handiest a numb sensation starting from the top of me head that could make its way all the way down to the guidelines of my feet. Every parent desires to protect their infant, once in a while guard them from the entirety. The world isn't always all awful. Tomorrow isn't going to be all doom and gloom like today become. There are desirable human beings in this world who are simply as affected by sickness, continual contamination, cancers, diseases

Madness? Madness! What is madness? What a query! Do humans query John Nash? Do they call him mad, insane, tell him that he is weird? Do they query this genius's sanity, his intelligence, or do they just write him off as stressed out otherwise from the rest of the human race. Is he an anomaly? One nighttime my youngsters came to me. My son looked at me. Tall, darkish, and good-looking, one might be forgiven for questioning his introversion is conceitedness he stated, 'Dad. It's time in an effort to sit down down and write your tale. Write your memoir. Write your autobiography if you may.' To tell you the truth it's been  years now, almost 3. I can't sincerely don't forget if that communication ever passed off. I cannot consider who said what, when, the how I become going to head about it. I actually have written approximately depression. I actually have written about mental fitness. I have written books. South End. The aftermath of the forced removals. To be honest with you human beings didn't stand in line for me sign that book. My guess that that become a signal. A sign from God. I paid attention. I listened. And I grew to become my attentions elsewhere to committee conferences, studying the newspapers. People simply failed to like me to talk approximately apartheid. That e-book quietly disappeared, and went out of print. People simply were not into that vibe. The book wasn't giving off suitable vibrations so human beings were not turning up to buy that ebook. But out of the whole lot that I have written thus far that book is my favourite. I have written about melancholy earlier than from a victim's perspective, and that little e book grew to become out to be an tremendous little bit of loose cannon, then a diamond in the tough, after which a little gem of a book.

[lifelearningapps]

Moodzie Loves Rabbits

Moodzie loves rabbits, as they are small furry mammals with nice long ears and little fluffy tails but also strong and very fast legs. Moodzie would like to share some interesting facts about rabbits that surely will influence anyone reading to also have some love for rabbits. Firstly, Rabbits can have multiple litters or babies each year, and they are able to give birth to up to a total of 9 litters at the same time, when babies are born within the wild they only spend a little bit of time with their mother, as mother rabbits avoid spending time with them as they do not wish to draw attention from other predators, however when the babies grow up they all do continue to live together as a family. An unfortunate fact about rabbits is that far too often they are killed, and killed so for their fur, as bunnies endure terrible abuse in certain parts of the world, such as Angola’s fur farms, where are kept in small cages and killed once their fur is required. Rabbits similarly to humans however also get very grumpy, especially once you invade their space, as rabbits like humans really like certain spaces where they wish to eat and sleep especially, and they prefer to have lots of the space, thus if one invades the space they will certainly get quite grumpy. Studies also show another fact about rabbits, that usually around the hours of sunset and sunrise, rabbits tend to be at their most active and functional. Rabbits and bunnies similarly to humans also happen to get bored quite easily, as if you trap them or put them within a cage, where they cannot do anything, if you are keeping your bunnies within a cage which Moodzie would advise against, certainly make sure that it is a sizeable cage where they can roll around and do other things, and also maybe give them some toys or hay or something to play with to help ease their boredom. A tip by Moodzie to those who have pet rabbits would be to never put them outdoors, as not is there a chance that other predatory animals like cats, dogs, or others can come and harm the rabbit, but also many times the lawn or grass has certain chemicals that do not suit the rabbit and it can kill them. Moodzie also believes it is very important to be together with the rabbit or bunny if you take them outside, as other animals can easily hurt them, as rabbits happen to be prey animals and not predatorial at all, thus those are some fun facts about rabbits and why Moodzie loves them. Moodzie loves these adorable creatures. Below are facts about rabbits and what impacts them: Characteristics: Rabbits are small, furry mammals with long ears, with strong, large, hind legs and short, fluffy tails. They have two pairs of sharp, incisor, front teeth, one pair on the top and one pair on the bottom. Using their powerful hind legs, rabbits move by hopping. They have four, long webbed toes on their hind feet to keep them from spreading apart as they jump. They also have five toes each on their front paws. Rabbits vary in size and color, ranging in weight from 2 to 16 pounds (1 to 7 kilograms), depending on their breed. Pet rabbits that have been well taken care of and spayed early in life, have a life expectancy of 8 to 12 years. Behavior: Rabbits are highly intelligent, potentially loving and loyal creatures, who can become a most delightful companion. They are shy, ground-loving creatures, who feel really insecure and frightened when cuddled, held, restrained and bathed. Although some rabbits tolerate handling quite well, many do not like to be picked up and carried. Like wild rabbits, if house rabbits are mishandled, they will nip, kick and scratch to protect themselves. Rabbits use their legs to thump and express how they are feeling. Legs are escape vehicles to flee from predators, weapons to defend their territory from other rabbits, or to protect their ears from fleas. Rabbits need daily monitoring. Problems that are relatively minor in some species, differ from other rabbits. (e.g. a day or two of not eating may be threatening to a rabbit) Diet: Rabbits are herbivores that feed by grazing on grass and leafy weeds in the wild. They re-ingest their own droppings to further digest their food and extract sufficient nutrients. A house rabbit’s diet should be made up of good quality pellets, fresh grass hay, oat hay, water and fresh, dark leafy or root vegetables. They can also be fed a variety of fruits in moderation, such as: apples, melons, berries, pears, oranges, plums, pineapple, papaya and peaches. Hay is essential to a rabbit’s excellent health, by providing roughage that reduces the danger of hairballs and other blockages. Apple tree twigs also provide good roughage. Absolutely NO pasta, breakfast cereals, chocolate (poisonous!), cookies, crackers, bread, yogurt drops or other ‘human treats” should be fed to rabbits. Special Features: Rabbits are fastidious groomers and shed their hair every three months. They will constantly lick themselves to stay clean, but are prone to hairballs. They are immaculately clean and once they have matured and are spayed/neutered, they go to great lengths not to soil their living quarters and will readily use a litterbox. Rabbits can breed from a young age. Some species can breed from 4 to 5 months old. Their teeth are specifically adapted for gnawing and grow continuously throughout their lives. Some species of rabbits can reach speeds of 35 to 45 miles (55 to 70 kilometers) per hour. Rabbits can become bored and depressed from isolation. Habitat: Wild rabbits are found in underground burrows in many habitats around the world, such as meadows, deserts, woods, forests, grasslands and wetlands. As a result of their appetite and the rate at which they breed, rabbits can be a risk to agriculture. In some countries or locations, measures are in place to manage wild populations. In some locations, having rabbits as pets is illegal. In locations that allow rabbits as pets, it is recommended that house rabbits live indoors, because rabbits kept in hutches outdoors have a lower lifespan. Make sure to supervise rabbits when they are outside, as there are many risks to their health. Rabbits must be trained and the house must be bunny-proofed or they will chew electrical cords, books, rugs and furniture. Impacts: (a) Breeding and abandonment In many countries, there is an overpopulation of domestic rabbits. Millions of adorable rabbits are killed in animal shelters every year. Unwanted rabbits are often abandoned in fields, parks or on city streets to fend for themselves, where they suffer from starvation, sickness and are easy prey to other animals or traffic accidents. Many of these rabbits will be sold as snake food, or as a pet for a small child who will soon “outgrow” the rabbit. (b) Breeding and abandonment Rabbits are bred world wide for the following purposes: Rabbit fur: The fur is used to make coats, collard, ear muffs and cat toys. Meat: Millions of rabbits are being raised and slaughtered in factory-like conditions, with very little government oversight, for human consumption every year. Product testing:  There is no need to test cosmetics, tooth paste and household products on live animals, yet a large number of rabbits give their lives to such testing. Please consider avoiding products that have been tested on animals.  (c) Easter Each year, thousands of baby rabbits, chicks and ducks are purchased as Easter gifts, only to be abandoned or left at shelters in the days, weeks and months that follow Easter. Some photography studios and businesses around the world offer photo sessions using a rabbit as a prop. The little bunny ends up neglected, abandoned or as a prize for a raffle. Please join us this Easter in encouraging people to buy a “chocolate bunny” and “stuffed toy” rather than a “live” bunny. (d) Health Many factors can adversely affect the health and life-span of rabbits, such as extremes of weather, poisonous plants, bacteria, ingested hairballs and diseases spread by fleas, ticks, flies and mosquitos. Rabbits insist on being clean and tidy and will lick themselves like cats, and like cats, they can get hairballs, if they ingest too much hair. Unlike cats, rabbits cannot vomit. If hairballs are allowed to form, they can become gigantic masses of tangled hair and food. This will block the stomach exit, causing the rabbit to starve to death while his stomach appears to be very fat. (e) Hunting Wild rabbits and hares (and sometimes domestic rabbits, who have gone feral) are subject to being killed for sport. (i.e. hunting, greyhound training and hair coursing) Government efforts to control wildlife occur in some locations, when rabbits or hares have found themselves living on land to be developed, farmed or when they have moved onto already developed properties, such as retirement homes or golf courses. (f) Predators If house rabbits are left outside in rural and urban areas, there is risk of predators. Rabbits can die of heart attacks from the very approach of a predator – even if the rabbit is not attacked or bitten. Predators include; dogs, feral cats, raccoons, foxes and coyotes; and more rarely, owls, hawks, opossums and weasels. 10 interesting facts about rabbits RSPCA, Victoria, Animal, Adoption, Donate, Ambassador, rabbit, bunny, feeding, vaccination, crepuscular, grooming, desexed, bun, hare, #bunnylove, thumper, bunnies, snuggle, pet, little, small, animal lover, fluffy, animals, adorable, cuteness, furry, pet, plush, toy, new pet, easter You'll Be Checking Sweater Tags Once You Find Out What Angora Is Rabbits can have multiple litters each year, giving birth to up to nine babies, known as "kittens," each time. In the wild, they're born helpless in a shallow hole lined with grass and their mamma's fur. Mother rabbits in the wild spend only a few moments each day with their babies in order to avoid drawing attention to them from predators. 20 Fascinating Facts about Rabbits | Care2 Causes Rabbits are intelligent, social, very clean - and definitely not starter pets, as some people believe them to be. Just in time for Easter, here are some interesting facts that you may not know about these "hoppy" little creatures. 1. Rabbits are not the same species as hares, which, among other characteristics, are larger and less social. Thanks to the House Rabbit Society for providing the factual information. House Rabbit Society Buy a Bunny a Little Time

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[meg-louise-giry]

A Halloween Mask

So, I wrote a Halloween-inspired phic. Give it a read and a review if you like it :) Please.

Erik had never considered himself to be a religious man, despite having had–an admittedly sporadic—Catholic upbringing. But this year, he fervently thanked God that it was a Monday. Phantasma was closed to the public on a Monday, although his employees usually still attended the park for their rehearsals. Today, the rides, side-shows and stalls had been eerily silent. It still annoyed him that he was forced to close the park on this particular day, even after seven years of being an employer, but he staff had stood firm on this silly, American superstition.

 No one, they told him in October of 1897, performed on Halloween. If they did, they claimed, the ghost of a double-faced man named Edward Mordrake would drag them down to hell. Erik had scoffed, and told them that they would face a hell on earth if they refused to abide by their duties, but when Halloween came, almost every one of them remained in their tents and refused to perform for the public.

He had been livid, but not even the former Opera Ghost could terrify them into obedience, or afford to sack more than half his workforce. Instead, he had docked their wages, and October 31st became an unofficial, unpaid, holiday for the employees of what had grown into Phantasma.

 It was Meg Giry who had tracked Edward Mordrake down, finding him in a volume called Anomalies and Curiosities of Medicine. Goodness knew why she had been reading it in the first place; but she had knocked on the door of his Phantasma-based apartment and shown him the passage. Edward Mordrake, it seemed, had been a man with a second face on the back of his head, like some unformed Siamese twin. A real-life personification of the Roman god Janus. The face had whispered and tormented Mordrake, snarling when he was in good spirits and laughing when he wept. The unfortunate man had committed suicide by hanging, at the age of 23. He had found no references to the ghost of Mordrake attacking performers on Halloween, but the superstition was set, and no amount of threats or bribes would change it. Therefore, October 31st was an unpaid holiday in Phantasma, and the loss of revenue grated on Erik every year.

 This year, however, it was at least a Monday, and he was not losing as much. If he could only shake these people out of their superstitions, it could be an extremely profitable day, feeding into the celebrations going on all over the city. Coney Island should not be nearly so quiet on a day that appeared to celebrate and cherish things usually deemed horrific.

 Erik had spent the day in his office, high above the park, but had decided to abandon his paperwork when the sun set, spreading red and orange light through his windows. He glanced at the portrait of his lost love above his desk as he buttoned up his coat, pulled on his gloves, donned his hat, and left the office. His footsteps echoed on the twisting staircase as he descended to ground level. He liked that there was still this small barrier to those who wanted to disturb him while he was trying to work; it took something important, or at least strong legs and lungs, to climb all those stairs and reach him. Erik was more approachable now than he had ever been, coached by the Girys and his own ambitions, to reject the instincts that had kept him isolated for so many years. As an employer, he had had to learn how to talk to people, how to negotiate, how to control his temper. He owed the Girys much for that hard-learned skill.

 He crossed the park and exited, carrying the paperwork wrapped in oilcloth under his right arm, in case of rain. But the evening was dry, the clouds light. People were walking along the boardwalk of Coney Island, many of them parents holding the hands of costumed children, some his own staff. Alfred Johnson touched his hat to Erik as approached, but the mobile sheet beside him moved in a way that indicated a hand was being waved beneath the cloth.

 “Hello, Mr. Y!”

 Erik glanced at Alfred, then, understanding what was required of him, placed one hand over his heart and affected a tone of surprise.

 “Miss Johnson! You startled me! I thought you were a ghost!”

 There was a delighted giggle from under the sheet and through the cut-out holes, he could see the child’s eyes sparkling.

 “Really? Did I scare you?”

 “Indeed, Miss Johnson. My heart practically jumped from my chest.”

 “But I don’t want to be too scary,” the little American accent had taken on a tone of worry. “No one will give me candy if I am too scary.”

 “Just scary enough, I assure you.”

 “Are you going trick-or-treating tonight, Mr. Y?”

 “No, miss, I am going to settle down by my fire with a good book.”

 ���Oh. Maybe you should, you could get some treats.”

 Erik had never really been one for treats, although he did know a lot of tricks. Alfred Johnson gave him an apologetic smile.

 “Come along, Victoria. We must let Mr. Y get home.”

 “Goodnight, Mr. Y!”

 “Goodnight, Miss Johnson. Johnson.”

 He nodded to his employee and the sheet-draped child, and continued on his way. He passed several other people, some he knew and some he did not, and found that many of the adults were also costumed, not just the children. When he reached the apartment block where he lived, just under ten minutes later, he saw a ball of tabby fur unfurl itself and shake a raised tail at him in greeting.

 “There is no use mewing at me,” he explained yet again. “I don’t have food for you.”

 Nevertheless, he leaned down and ran a black-gloved hand over the cat’s head.

 “Meg is not home, hmm?”

 The cat had turned up at the apartment building six months earlier, and Meg Giry had taken to feeding her. It was a small step from there to adopting her as a pet, and Meg had named her Hazel. She was extremely small for a tabby, but affectionate, with the deepest and loudest purr he had ever heard. It seemed extraordinary that such a sound could come from a creature closer to the size of a hare than a normal domestic feline. It had become his habit to pet the cat if she was waiting outside the door when he came home, although he refused to feed her. He had learned that lesson the hard way during the summer months, when she had left Meg’s apartment through the open window and entered his own via the same route. He had not been pleased to find Hazel curled up in his favourite armchair when he got home from work.

 “I’m here!” Meg’s voice sounded from behind him at the cat totted over to her, tail held high and trembling again in welcome. Erik nodded to her.

 “Good evening, Meg.”

 “Good evening, Erik,” she replied as she reached the apartment block, holding a paper bag of groceries. “I was just out getting some candy for the trick-or-treaters, and of course some food for this little one.” She bent down and scooped up the cat with one hand. Hazel wriggled and pressed her belly to Meg’s breast, front claws firmly fastened on the shoulder of her coat, and purring like an engine. “Did you get any?”

 “Candy? No.”

 “Then what are you going to give the trick-or-treaters?”

 “A clip ‘round the ear if they come to my door. Not that they should be able to enter the apartment block anyway.”

 To demonstrate the point, he unlocked the door to the block and held it open for Meg, hampered as she was with arms full of groceries and purring feline. She nodded her thanks and stepped over the threshold.

 “You know many of these children live in our building, of course they will come knocking. You needn’t be such a grouch all the time, you know. It must be exhausting.”

 She put Hazel down and the cat climbed the stairs ahead of them, looking back every few seconds to make sure they were following.

 “I cannot understand the logic in children blackmailing and bribing their elders in equal measure.”

 “I don’t know,” Meg grinned. “I would have thought that sort of thing would be right up your street.”

 He gave her a well-practiced glare as they reached the landing, but she just shook her head, still smiling.

 “Oh, come along, Erik. Admit it. Back in the Paris Opera House, you were trick-or-treating, just on a huge scale. ‘Give me money or I will crash your chandelier’. It’s just scaling up from ‘Give me candy or I will throw eggs at your windows’.”

 “Anyone who throws eggs at my windows,” he said matter-of-factly, “will be in for a sound thrashing.” Nevertheless, he considered her comparison as she fumbled in the pocket of her coat for her door key, Hazel impatiently pawing at her skirt. “Perhaps I grew up.”

 “Perhaps you did,” she agreed, finding the key. “But Halloween is not just for children, Erik. There’s loads of adults out there as well, most of them in masks. Tonight, if on no other night, you’d blend right in.”

“An interesting thought,” he said, unlocking his own door. “Enjoy your evening, Miss Giry.”

 “You too, Erik. See you in the morning.”

 Erik could smell furniture polish. A maid had been in during the day to clean, as she did every week. He had been reluctant, and still found the notion of a near-stranger entering his home discomforting, but she was thorough in her duties and never entered the rooms he had forbidden her to. And he would know if she had.

 He took off his gloves, hat, coat and shoes, put on his slippers and set himself to preparing a meal in the apartment’s small kitchen. It had been a very deliberate decision to live away from Phantasma, even by only a few short blocks, to keep his work life and personal life separate. He knew all too well what happened when the two collided. There was a piano in the living room, of course, and he occasionally composed there when inspiration struck him, but mostly he just played for the pleasure of the music. He could hear Meg speaking to someone in a loud tone, and realised she must be talking to Madame Giry, in the apartment next to his own. The elder Giry’s hearing was failing, necessitating a rise in volume.

 The two had been inseparable for as long as he had known them, but when the apartment block had been completed, they had requested that each have an apartment of their own. It was time for Meg to have some independence from her mother, and it had struck Erik all at once, that she was no longer the child he always saw when he looked at her. Meg Giry was a young woman, with a life and ambitions of her own. How old was she now? He wondered as he browned beef in the frying pan. Twenty-four? No, her birthday was in late October, she must have just turned twenty-five. Well into spinsterhood.

 How old did that make him? Erik was never sure of his own age. He finished preparing the meal and settled down to eat it, ignoring the trio of childish voices that cried “Trick or treat!” outside his apartment door. Let them think he was not yet home; it was early still in comparison to his usual routine. He heard the summons again, fainter, at Madame Giry’s door, then Meg’s, then their neighbour’s.

 He had crafted a home here, just as the Girys had done, and in a way he had never thought possible. Among the freaks of Coney Island, he had become a respected, wealthy, and maybe even admired, businessman. He had found a place in the world that he fitted in, perhaps not entirely comfortably, but where he was accepted.

 As the evening drew on, Erik found himself restless. He tried to play, to complete the newspaper crossword, to read, but found that nothing held his attention. The words Meg had said seemed to swirl around his mind, almost taunting. There were adults out there, in masks.

 Tonight, if on no other night, you’d blend right in.

 Halloween had not been celebrated in France. It wasn’t an occasion he was familiar with at all, even from Persia and Italy, bar that it coincided with a religious festival, All Saint’s Eve. He had been quick to spot the profit potential in a holiday that the Americans so seemed to enjoy, which had of course added to his frustrations when he employees had come out with the ridiculous story of Edward Mordrake.

 But tonight was a night for monsters, for ghouls and for ghosts. And in his time, he had been all three. He stood, and looked at his reflection in the mirror over the mantelpiece. He was older now, just as Meg Giry was. How old, he could not tell, but something in his eyes still hinted of a frightened child. The man in the tailored suit still remembered who he had once been, the many personalities he had donned like cloaks throughout his life.

 Erik strode into his bedroom and dug into the back of his wardrobe for a long, brown coat, old and shabby, far from his debonair style. He pulled it on, buttoned it, and then stood back before the mirror. His fingers trembled as he reached up, and took off the mask. It was as though he stood there naked, exposed, as if there was something shameful to be concealed. It was concealed, this cosmic joke at his expense. But tonight, on this night of monsters, ghouls and ghosts, he need not hide this accursed ugliness, even from himself.

 He unlocked his door and stepped onto the landing beyond, locking up behind him. He had only gone a few steps towards the staircase when he heard the childish voices and thumping steps of those who had surely already consumed too much sugar.

 The little faces gazed up at him with trepidation when they reached the top of the stairs. A witch, a pirate and a Civil War soldier, staring at him with wide eyes. Their parents looked at him too, more in shock, and perhaps in pity. Then, at last, the pirate spoke:

 “That is an awesome mask, mister!”

 The words rang with admiration, and the other two agreed, while the parents looked at each other and offered Erik apologetic smiles.

 “Thank you, lad,” Erik replied, and pointed a gloved finger to Meg Giry’s door. “She has candy. Be quick, before she feeds it to the cat.”

 They moved passed him, and only the little witch glanced back with that strange look of admiration, as if she found him impressive. He went out into the deepening Coney Island night, and felt the salty wind on his face, a strange sensation. There were celebrations tonight, and he moved among the costumed revellers, talking and laughing and dancing.

 And for the first time in his life, no-one gasped in horror. Hardly anyone even noticed him. It was as if the deformed features of his face were nothing more than a Halloween mask.

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#Phantom #Love Never Dies #Halloween #Mask #Mr Y #Meg Giry #Phanfiction #Phic #fanfiction

[christinepagava-blog]

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[star55]

“List the first lines of your last 20 fics. See if there are any patterns. Then tag 10 of your favourite authors!” (I stole this from my dash because it looked fun)

“You really don’t have to do all of this, Harry.” (girl direction, unposted SoP part 15)

It’s a Sunday and Tyler is nervous. (Great Minds hobrien rps)

The plastic of the sheet protector crinkles under Harry’s fingers as she turns yet another page in the massive leaver arch folder sitting in her lap. (Like Me - girl direction, SoP part 14)

“Christ, your tits look huge, Soph!” Louis exclaims as Sophia opens the door to her and Liam’s home. (On The Dance Floor, girl direction, SoP part 13)

“I’m so late,” Louis grumbles to herself as she hunts under the bed for her second shoe. (Lipstick Stains, girl direction)

“Are you really Googling what is a princess plug?” (You Should Know, girl direction, SoP part 12)

The soft knock that raps against the door to the empty meeting room Louis is using makes her tip precariously on the chair she’s standing on. (Like This Beat, girl direction, SoP part 11)

From the moment Zayn first saw her, she was a little bit in love. (Girl Code, girl direction)

As a child, bath time had never been fun for Louis. (Gentle, girl direction)

“I really like this one,” Niall says as she fastens the piece of material at the back of Zayn’s head. (It’s Taking Over Me, girl direction)

“My parents aren’t going to be home this weekend.” (A Trace of Innocence, girl direction)

Bitch. Fake. Attention whore. Slut. (Cautiously, Lightly, girl direction)

There’s a glint in Sophia’s eye as she glances at Liam across the table – one that Liam recognises as her subtle tell that they’re about to clean house. (Queen of Hearts, girl direction)

“No, that has to be Zayn! Look at those eyes!” Louis yells, looking back over her shoulder at Zayn before turning her attention forwards again. (Baby Love, girl direction)

“Zayn!” Louis whines, tugging on the back of Zayn’s shirt where Zayn is standing, trying to make herself some breakfast. “You said you’d go with me!” (Puppy Love, girl direction) 

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” Niall says cheerily to her friends. (Little Lost Mitten, girl direction)

The clock has just ticked over to half past nine when Zayn parks her car. (Just A Little Moment, girl direction)

The back room of the Victoria’s Secrets London Fashion Show was the busiest Harry has ever experienced in her entire time being a model. (Red Lip Classic, girl direction)

“Tomorrow’s the day!” (Any Great Love, girl direction)

As Zayn writes on the grocery list stuck on the refrigerator with a magnet, she realises that it’s bloody long and that there are definitely less things in the flat than there should be. (Domestic With You, girl direction)

That one mlm fic in a sea of wlw fics is bugging the fuck out of me. I guess the pattern I have is I either start with a piece of dialogue, or I start with narrative. Nothing unusual for me there, then. 

God these fics are so old now. 

#lol remember when i used to write? me either #star makes personal posts #ish