#ruby is the loveliest dog | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bulletballetarchive1 · 3 years

Text

💍 Rings 💍

SO, this started off as something I wrote in third person. Then, because I was showing it to English Professors I rewrote it in 1st person. Which was my first time writing anything in this narrative. The only other thing I want to point out is that rather than New York, I placed The Littlejohn Family in the Midwest because I hoped the locality would better resonate with the audience. And with that said here we go!!

. . . . . . . . . . . . I have found that with my increasing age, those around me expect me to be a walking contradiction. Of course, they would never say this out loud, but I have watched as young women wait with bated breath anticipating for words of wisdom to emerge from my lips. I have also watched as some of these very same women then expressed surprise - astonishment even, that I am capable of recalling years long behind me.

The ability to recall my days spent within the walls of Julienne have brought on many gazes of wonder. But nothing brings forth an abundance of questions more than the fact that I can recall my grandfather with the same clarity.

Even as I keep to myself, the sight of menthol cigarettes neatly packaged and placed atop shelves reminds me of billowing smoke drifting through his dining room. A place I spent much of my childhood studying in.

Then, there are times when my heart swells with warmth when I see men like my husband conceal his silver locks with a flat, rounded cap. Unless Granddaddy was working in the barbershop or, if he was within the sanctity of his own home, a hat would always stay perched on his head. Yes, it was his trademark.

But, even among the woolen flat caps, the menthols, and the strong Southern twang revealing his Alabama roots, one of the things that I will always closely associate with my grandfather would be his rings. Grandaddy possessed so many rings, but I was not given permission to do anything except look on. Once, great admiration had been tied to my yearnful gazes. However when Ms. Bedel moved in, my days of secretly caressing thick, metallic gold ended. Like granddaddy, she too, is a person I will never forget.

In our early days together, my grandfather’s lover told me that she was not my mother and in that very same breath, her eyes narrowed as she further asserted she would never be my mother. Despite this, she fulfilled the needs my seven year old counterpart required when it came to maternal care.

Ms. Bedel, in my eyes, was a woman who was never truly appreciated by those around her. I know that she certainly wouldn't have been by today’s standards, either. Because even in my time as a child in 1961, there were whispers of how she was too strict. Too reflective of the period that cultivated her.

Her full name was “Lucille Tallulah Masters-Bedel.” At the time, I did not know how a person could have two last names, but later I would find that ‘Bedel’ came from her deceased husband. This was not necessary for me to know at the age of seven.

During my adolescence, a child was to stay in a child’s place: seen, not heard. Boundaries that children manage to cross today were intolerable in my time.

Being the ever obedient child I was, I never thought of doing anything other than what I was told. Appreciation factored into my blind ignorance and how could it not? Ms. Bedel was the one who bathed me at the end of each day. De-tangled my hair. Ensured I clasped my hands together and told God of my utmost gratitude each night. But even with this said, I have no doubt in my mind that each day I spent with Ms. Bedel, the more she came to love me.

My belief would be silently proven in how she provided me with the loveliest dresses. She made sure Granddaddy would use his hard-earned money so that I remained a well-groomed girl, decent for both neighbors and distant cousins to lay their eyes upon if they happened to see me run errands. I can even remember believing Ms. Bedel once purchased me the dress of my dreams.

It was all white with a delicately laced-collar. Lilac flowers in bloom decorated the fabric gorgeously. With my anklet socks and patent leather shoes, the pious women of the community would coo over me, sweetening my self-image by calling me names such as baby doll.

There came a point in which I had the honor of being among Ms. Bedel’s jewelry. That evening I was almost trembling in her lap. Watching intently as Ms. Bedel clutched onto a small key and inserted it into the jewelry box slot I could feel my heart pounding. With a turn the box was open and treasures were revealed right before my eyes.

As I had mentioned, I was an obedient child. If someone said, “don’t do that,” I would not engage in whatever was before me. If somebody said, “don’t speak,” I would never open my mouth. So being given permission to trace rings and necklaces and earrings with my little fingertips filled me with the utmost delight.

While basking in this privilege, I realized there existed differences between a man’s ring and a woman’s.

Granddaddy’s rings were thick accessories of solid colors, more often than not the dimmest shades of silver and gold. It was almost as if they were old decorations that lost what could once make them shine. There were a few bumps and prongs, but frankly, there is nothing else I can say that compares them to the mesmerizing jewels in Ms. Bedel’s prized jewelry box.

“Where do these come from?” I couldn’t help but ask. “Child, everything you see before you has a story.” I thought I would learn about the source of the beautiful little rocks in Ms. Bedel’s necklace, or where on earth the little diamonds in her rings came from. I was too ignorant to recognize the wistfulness that hung in my elder’s voice. “During the Harlem Renaissance, I held a man named Aliki Eliopoulos in the palm of my hand. He was bronze, Greek, and we thought we could make it through the odds.” The brief huff that blew from Ms. Bedel’s nostrils was strong: “one night, he found me after the curtains closed and he presented this. This necklace is dear to me…I suppose because I never quite knew where Aliki went.” Pointing out another piece of jewelry was not needed as Ms. Bedel rose whatever called to her the most.

“This engagement ring - not a wedding ring - engagement, was given to me by my first husband. To accept it would mean I would make a vow for him. He knew of my past, and knew that even if I couldn’t right my wrongs, I could try to start over with his name.”

Again, she expanded her chest with her second mighty huff. During that moment I wondered, how can this woman seem so disillusioned yet keep each belonging? Belongings that provide her with such unpleasant memories? Where does the hatred end and the sentiment begin?

“True love is a concept,” Ms. Bedel said, the resentment never leaving her tongue. “The idea of that sort of thing existing is new, too. People don’t realize that...but Delores.”

“Ma’am?” I replied. For no particular reason, I was stricken with fear in how she said my name. All I had known was that she said it with such sharpness that surely my own faults were on the verge of being mentioned - whatever those faults may have been.

“Do not follow in my footsteps.”

I believe Ms. Bedel was sixty-six at this time. The same age I am now. Ironically

enough, I feel I can understand her without even having the full pieces of her story. My grandfather was a lover of women who were respectable and clean. Women who would not taint his image by being well-known throughout the city for scandalous tales.

I will never say that Ms. Bedel was not a woman who presented herself with high caliber. She sang opera long before becoming involved with my grandfather. She possessed clothes in her closet that continued bearing their tags. Perhaps it was loneliness that brought my grandfather to her, but that I do not know for certain. All I know is that at the end of the day, Granddaddy felt Ms. Bedel would be the most appropriate woman to guide me through my adolescence.

Still, to think back on the many statements - the way her eyes fixed on me, lets me know she was not a pinnacle of virtuous deeds throughout her life.

However, at that particular moment as a child, all I knew was that I disliked the heavy silence her statement brought. It became my intention to steer away from talk of vows and purity so as I refocused on the piled riches, I noticed an emerald glistening among gold and rubies. The longer I stared into it, the more I noticed that it had lighter streaks. Appearing and disappearing depending on my movement. It was like thunder and lightning had been coursing within it. “Ms. Bedel...where did that ring come from?” I asked. “This -” she lifted it, studied it. “This belonged to my mother.” “Did her husband give it to her, too?”

“My mother was never married.” With that unpleasant remark came another pause that I felt lasted forever. When Ms. Bedel spoke again: it was clear and amazingly without strain, “she hailed from a place in the South that was so unimportant that it can’t even be defined by a name.” She paused, asking me: “Do you know what slave labor is?”

Even in my discomfort, I nodded. “What is it then?” Ms. Bedel did not believe I had a wealth of knowledge. I knew it just from the strength of her gaze. Timid, my fingers slid against the hardwood of her dresser. Not knowing any better, I began recalling how at the age of five Granddaddy decided it was time I learn how Africans - not even colored people, but Africans - were chained like dogs and brought to America. After that, they were bound to pick cotton all day under the sun. That was slave labor, my young mind decided.

“What Africans had to do...” I answered, just barely connecting my gaze with her own. “No.” My idea was correct, but wrong. “My mother may not have been picking cotton, but she did live under those horrid conditions. After I was born, my mother bundled me up and took me with her as she journeyed North. Of course, being a colored woman, she didn’t have the luxury of driving or possessing a fortune to get her there in an instant. She worked as a maid here and there until she reached New York...and there was one woman before that.” She paused, “We were in Kentucky…” Ms. Bedel refrained from speaking yet again, hissing: “I hate Kentucky...and I will never forget that woman as long as I live...she,” Ms. Bedel’s lips were curling, “she was downright nasty. “That woman sat so high on her horse, that she had my mother feeding her baby through her teat.” My face was surely pulling in disgust. I did not understand what was said just the right amount to be puzzled, but I understood enough to be both bewildered and uncomfortable. “From time to time, my mother would take little things from her house. Sugar, flour. Things that wouldn’t be missed. But before we left Kentucky and never looked back, my mother thought she deserved something more in return, and this ring was it. And after my mother passed on, this has been with me ever since…” Suddenly Ms. Bedel took on a soft and tender tone, it was as if she placed her past behind her. “Try it on.” Not only was I soothed by a far more preferable tone, but I was also elated. Yes, it felt as though I was ascending to new heights. My high emotions would soon leave as the ring was placed on my finger, limp. “Oh…” Ms. Bedel’s lips pushed out, sympathetic. “It’s too big for you…” “My fingers are too little…” I felt like I was an infant, helpless and insignificant. “Maybe.” Ms. Bedel took my hand into her own, covering it in love. “One day you’ll grow into it.” It was not shortly after this, but in gradual due time that when preparing me for an outing, Ms. Bedel would retrieve one of the necklaces from her sacred box and fasten it around my neck. In some cases, it was to enhance my church dress, or to simply show I was a colored girl of high esteem as she and I walked to a show downtown. Each time this was to occur Granddaddy would part his lips, sneering that Ms. Bedel was making me into a ‘fast’ girl. Originally, his disdain was ignorable. As the sole man in the house, if Ms. Bedel disagreed - and I, as a result, found a voice to also disagree: I could exit the house, beautiful.

Unfortunately, the days of the feminine rule Ms. Bedel and I shared left when cousin

Winston moved in. Although Winston and Granddaddy were separated by generations, their “masculinity” gave them a higher sort of power. If Granddaddy thought I was fast and if Winston thought I was fast, then it was so. From that point on, shiny gems would never again be around my neck.

I did not like this change. Prior to my aunt placing Winston in Granddaddy’s custody, I would receive comments from adults of how “lonesome” I must have been as an only child. I never thought I could be lonely, not when I had Granddaddy and Ms. Bedel’s company. In addition, I was also quite aware of the luck I possessed, because never did there come a time when I argued about what belonged to who. While the alterations that occurred in my childhood home were minimal at best with Winston’s arrival, they were quite jarring all the same. Breakfast was smaller, lunch and dinner too. I also had to be tolerant - patient - when Winston sat by my side, giving his own outlandish variations to the personalities of my beloved dolls. His rough housing even led to the tearing of Marilyn! And even though tears fell on my pillow that night by sunrise, I forgave him. One of the most noticeable changes was in how Ms. Bedel began to seldom speak to me. I thought it would be wise if I did not speak to her, as I acknowledged not just her body language but the dryness of her voice. The change that occurred was not my fault. Ms. Bedel simply detested my cousin.

In her eyes however, I was different. Different in the sense that when she met my grandfather, she met me too, and therefore knew what would come if she decided to move in. Winston was unlike me, not just due to gender or behavior, but because she never agreed to provide for him. Still, I did not know this. Instead, there were many days where I wondered if I had done something to evoke her coldness, but in truth I just didn't know of the hostile conversations taking place between the adults of the household. Some of my days were better than others, but the moment I made my greatest mistake came from one of my worst. I returned home with low spirits after school. It did not matter that it was Friday as the memory of Lucinda Carter’s wrongdoing remained fresh in my heart and mind. I will admit that in my childhood I more often than not felt an intense desire to be accepted by my peers. I was well-aware I had been viewed as the perfect, ideal child by my elders, but to those in my classroom I was thought of as little more than an old woman, masquerading as a child. During the occasional moments they were willing to overlook my small, shifting eyes and unusual silence, I was filled with jubilance. With the little friends I had, I joyously followed to play Duck, Duck, Goose. With Lucinda circling us, I could feel the tension build. Each moment was thrilling. No one knew who the Goose would be, and I even speculated that it may be Thomas or Claude who would chase us around the courtyard. I did not expect Lucinda’s palm to fling into my face as she declared I was the wild goose. And what a fool I was, trying to rationalize the assault. I understood it was a part of the game. But I knew that with the way Lucinda usually treated me, it could not have been a giddy mistake. Still, I did not say anything to the teachers. Tears no longer slid down my cheeks by the time I climbed the concrete steps of my home. At that point, I began to think of the things that made me happy, and in that moment it occurred to me the last time I felt at peace was when I was among Ms. Bedel’s treasures. This is what brought me to her side, rather than confiding to my grandfather of the humiliation that occurred to me on this day. “Ms. Bedel,” I began meek and soft, “can I see your diamonds?" My first crime of that day was not realizing how Winston was among her. I was not aware Winston’s eye size doubled at the sound of diamonds. “Yes you may.” All I knew was that Ms. Bedel looked greatly unhappy that I approached her, “but put everything back as found. Do you hear me? Everything, Delores." “Yes ma’am.” And with that, I was on my way, embarking on my second sin. After retrieving the jewelry box I navigated to the private sanctuary of my bedroom, shutting the door. Any other time I would not have done this, but it felt relieving to know that I was keeping to myself. Alone. Laid out on my wooden panels, I observed every pearl, opal, and amber gem. In this solace, I could not wait until I had my own collection of jewels to possess when womanhood approached, for surely everyday would be spent in happiness. “Delores!” The sound of Ms. Bedel’s voice ripped me from my adult fantasies. Before I could rise to my feet and ask ‘ma’am?’ she opened my door, scolding me once more: “you better keep this door open, young lady. I don’t know who you think you are, secluding yourself away from the world! You are seven years old!” She did not have to curse at me as I hear some mothers do their children. She did not have to strike me as a reminder that she and my grandfather’s words were the law. I already felt the harsh sting of shame and humiliation coursing through me, and so although she did not keep watch on me with a critical gaze after ensuring I kept my door open: when she told me to put everything back, I did so - with the belief I had gathered everything. It was my fear of further disappointing her that ruined my judgment.

Saturday was fine, Sunday was as well as we attended church like a prim and proper family. It is horrible to reflect on the change that came a mere few hours after our worship.

“Ever since you took that boy in he’s been nothin’ but trouble! He wasn’t even sick on Tuesday, he was connin’ you!” This was not an argument that could be ignored. It was clear as the siren of an ambulance: both Winston and I could hear the clashing of our guardians echo through the walls. Ms. Bedel’s fury summoned Winston to crouch outside our elder’s bedroom. I was tempted to steer him away and convince him to mind his business until all was calm, but I was also taken by the enragement. “I didn’t know you was a doctor!” “I was with him that entire day!” Ms. Bedel shouted, “I could see him running and jumping and just actin’ a fool! Maybe if you weren’t trying to keep up with these young men out here-” “Woman!” I jumped at Granddaddy’s raised voice, “You don’t know a THING you talkin’ ‘bout!”

Hearing the heavy thud of Ms. Bedel’s feet, I wondered what if the door swung open and the nosiness of Winston and I would be displayed before her eyes. Surely we could never live it down.

“Look -- damn you Amos, look!” However, she did not open the door. Ms. Bedel was elsewhere in the bedroom, and I could only assume she took a stance by the dresser. “My ring is gone! I know that he took it and he sold it to some...some-”

“Some what?” Grandaddy snapped.

“Some hustler!”

My knowledge of the streets were limited, but I knew the title she used for Winston was not right. “You should have seen him - the way he was looking when Didi had mentioned I had diamonds. I could just about read his mind!”

“He’s nine years old, who does he know? If he took it, he prolly gave it to some lil’ girl!”

“Amos! Why are you defending that heathenistic-”

“Shut up!”

“No good-”

“Dammit woman, I said shut your mouth!”

“Ungodly grandson of yours!”

There came a sharp sound. The sound of skin hitting skin. It was stronger than how Lucinda hit me, that I knew.

However, this was not a new sound for Winston. In contrast to his excited face, I was cringing as if I personally witnessed Granddaddy’s powerful strike.

“You hard headed woman.” He hissed, “y’ain’t gonna keep standing here and keep callin’ my grandson outta his name. Y’got one more time t’do that and I’ma drag you outta here. Keep on talkin’ about some itty bitty ring. Keep on.”

“It was my mother’s.” “Your mama was the thief you’re makin’ my grandson out to be. Your mama wasn’t nobody.”

At that point, Winston was stretching his legs and placing his palm against the door knob. I decided that if Winston would get himself in trouble for getting into the adult’s business, so be it, but I personally would have no part in it. But the truth of the matter is, by not prying I spared myself from the sight of my grandfather - a man who was more commonly stern whilst simultaneously doting, in a state far different than what I was accustomed to. I knew he was in the wrong - he was terrifying me, just to overhear him in this private moment. But what would I do if I looked at him? Caught him in whatever dominant position he stood in? Then, I heard Ms. Bedel weep.

“I hate you.” As she continued to weep, my heart broke. “You old bastard - what makes you think that I have to be with you? I don’t have to be with you. I accepted your granddaughter, willingly, I never had to do that for you. Then you put that grandson on me, and...and I’m too damn old to be going through burdens like you! Get away from me! Go on!” Don’t go… I can recall thinking, I can recall wanting to act out: to cry and scream, but instead I was biting at my bottom lip, thinking: Don’t go. I felt shame at that point, too. Incredibly small, irrelevant. A burden. Now, I was willing to peep through the door like Winston, treated to the sight of Ms. Bedel moving faster than I had ever seen her. Apathetic and rough, she tossed the jewelry box on the bed, grasped at her coats, blouses, and furs.

“Where do you think you’re goin’?” Granddaddy had the audacity to ask, as if he had not personally told her to remove herself.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?!” I did not know where the ring of Ms. Bedel’s mother had been. Truly, I thought it was in the box as it needed to be. The truth of the matter was that it was under my bed, somehow knocked there by my little feet as I spent my Friday evening admiring it all. But never would I have stolen from a woman I respected. At this moment, I did not think of my own potential mistakes, but I did think about letting my tears fall and what it would have been like if I rushed into Granddaddy’s bedroom, asking him if she could stay. “Move, move!” My surely disastrous idea never came to be as Winston grabbed my shoulders the same time Ms. Bedel’s feet came our way. Before I knew it, we were scurrying like small, brown mice to my bedroom. It was very likely Ms. Bedel saw it, but hadn’t possessed enough care to say anything.

“When y’find that damn thing,” Granddaddy followed her, not caring about our wide eyes. “You can’t never come back here. Never!”

“I don’t plan on it, Amos!”

Ms. Bedel would only return to Granddaddy in the pursuit of her fine china. Shortly afterwards, I believe she left Dayton to return to New York.

This would be the first memory that brought me pain and discomfort: something I could not dwell on because it was too harsh. At some point, my grandfather realized that the woman he loved was forever gone, because he would issue cold gazes to Winston. Asserting that if he took her ring, he should speak up. Each time, Winston claimed innocence.

As the months came and went, so did the severity of the emotional wounds of that day. Never would we forget the disaster, but we had to shoulder it and proceed on with our life. Though, one day, I would find something shiny below my bed. Like a calling, the light green streaks requested for my attention in an abyss of darkness. As I cupped it and brought it to light: that fateful day would hit me all over again.

Needless to say, as a teenager I spent many of my days wishing to turn back time. I wished that I could have considered that maybe it was I who made a mistake. Then, I would run to my bedroom, I would search up and down until I found that emerald ring and both of my guardians would enter a state of calmness. This was my fantasy. But silent, I would keep this ring. Though I would never wear it. Not even as eleven became thirteen. Or thirteen became sixteen. Or sixteen became eighteen.

Always, this ring was to be hidden. Forever my secret.

Even now, it is in my own jewelry box. And though Ms. Bedel’s mother stole it - and I in a way inherited this ring through the tradition of ‘stealing’ it, have never worn it. It has always felt taboo. Instead, what I do is keep it safe.

I am blessed to remember things as well as I do, yet precise memory can be a curse.

#long post tw #stories.#memories.

3 notes · View notes

deloresisout · 4 years

Text

I wrote this story for a creative writing contest at my college - then shit hit the fan after the deadline [social distancing] so I don’t even know if I’ll hear back from faculty anytime soon. This was my first time writing in 1st Person (or rather converting a story into 1st person) and I was proud enough to show some people close to me in real life. So, I’m going to post this excerpt here.

I have found that with my increasing age, those around me expect me to be a walking contradiction. Of course, they would never say this out loud, but I have watched as young women wait with bated breath: anticipating for words of wisdom to emerge from my lips. I have also watched as some of these very same women then expressed surprise - astonishment even, that I am capable of recalling years long behind me.

But, even among the woolen flat caps, the menthols, and the strong Southern twang revealing his Alabama roots, one of the things that I will always closely associate with my grandfather would be his rings. Grandaddy possessed so many rings, but I was not given permission to do anything except look on. Once, great admiration had been tied to my yearnful gazes. However, when Ms. Bedel moved in, my days of secretly caressing thick, metallic gold ended. Like granddaddy, she too, is a person I will never forget.

In our early days together, Granddaddy’s rotund lover told me that she was not my mother. In that very same breath, her eyes narrowed as she further asserted she would never be my mother. Despite this, she fulfilled the needs my seven-year-old counterpart required when it came to maternal care.

Ms. Bedel, in my eyes, was a woman who was never truly appreciated by those around her. I know that she certainly wouldn't have been by today’s standards, either. Because even in my time as a wide-eyed, meek child in 1961, there were whispers of how she was too strict. Too reflective of the period that cultivated her.

During my adolescence, a child was to stay in a child’s place. Seen, not heard. Boundaries that children manage to cross today were intolerable in my time.

Being ever obedient, I never thought of doing anything other than what I was told. Appreciation factored into my blind ignorance and how could it not? Ms. Bedel was the one who bathed me at the end of each day. De-tangled my hair. Ensured I clasped my hands together and told God of my utmost gratitude each night. I have no doubt in my mind that each day I spent with Ms. Bedel, the more she came to love me.

This belief was proven in how she provided me with the loveliest dresses. She made sure Granddaddy would use his hard-earned money so that I remained a well-groomed girl, decent for both neighbors and distant cousins to lay their eyes upon if they happened to see me. I can even remember believing that Ms. Bedel once purchased me the dress of my dreams.

It was all white, its collar delicately laced. Lilac flowers in bloom decorated the fabric gorgeously. With my anklet socks and patent leather shoes, the pious women of the community would coo over me, sweetening my self-image by calling me names such as baby doll.

There even came a point in which I had the honor of being among Ms. Bedel’s jewelry, that evening I was almost trembling in her lap. Watching intently as Ms. Bedel clutched onto a small key and inserted it into the jewelry box slot, I could feel my heart pounding. With a turn the box was open, and treasures were revealed right before my eyes.

While basking in this privilege, I realized there existed differences between a man’s ring and a woman’s own.

“Where do these come from?” I couldn’t help but ask. “Child, everything you see before you has a story.” With this answer, I thought I would learn about the source of the beautiful pearls of Ms. Bedel’s necklace, or where on earth the little diamonds in her rings came from. I was too ignorant to recognize the wistfulness that hung in my elder’s voice. “During the Harlem Renaissance, I held a man named Aliki Eliopoulos in the palm of my hand. He was bronze, Greek, and we thought we could make it through the odds.” The brief huff that blew from Ms. Bedel’s nostrils was strong: “one night, he found me after the curtains closed and he presented this. This necklace is dear to me…I suppose because I never quite knew where Aliki went.” Pointing out another piece of jewelry was not needed as Ms. Bedel rose whatever called to her the most.

“This engagement ring - not a wedding ring - engagement, was given to me by my first husband. To accept it would mean I would make a vow for him. He knew of my past and knew that even if I couldn’t right my wrongs, I could try to start over with his name.”

Again, she expanded her chest with her second mighty huff. During that moment I wondered, how can this woman seem so disillusioned yet keep each belonging? Belongings that provide her with such unpleasant memories. Where did the hatred end and the sentiment begin?

“True love is a concept,” Ms. Bedel said, the resentment never leaving her tongue. “The idea of that sort of thing existing is new, too. People don’t realize that...but Delores.”

“Ma’am?” I replied. For no reason, I was stricken with fear in how she said my name. All I had known was that she said it with such sharpness that surely my own faults were on the verge of being mentioned - whatever those faults may have been.

“Do not follow in my footsteps.”

I believe Ms. Bedel was sixty-six at this time. The same age as I am now. Ironically

Still, to think back on the many statements - the way her eyes fixed on me, lets me know she was not a pinnacle of virtuous deeds throughout her life.

However, at that particular moment, all I knew was that I disliked the heavy silence her statement brought. It became my intention to steer away from talk of vows and purity so as I refocused on the piled riches, I noticed an emerald glistening among gold and rubies. The longer I stared into it, the more I noticed that it had lighter streaks. Appearing and disappearing depending on my movement. It was like thunder and lightning had been coursing within it. “Ms. Bedel...where did that ring come from?” I asked. “This -” Ms. Bedel lifted it, studied it. “This belonged to my mother.” “Did her husband give it to her, too?”

“What Africans had to do...” I answered, just barely connecting my gaze with her own.

“No.” My idea was correct, but wrong.

“My mother may not have been picking cotton, but she did live under those horrid conditions. After I was born, my mother bundled me up and took me with her as she journeyed North. Of course, being a colored woman, she didn’t have the luxury of driving or possessing a fortune to get her there in an instant. She worked as a maid here and there until she reached New York...and there was one woman before that.” She paused.

“We were in Kentucky…” Ms. Bedel refrained from speaking yet again, hissing: “I hate Kentucky...and I will never forget that woman as long as I live...she,” Ms. Bedel’s lips were curling, “she was downright nasty. That woman sat so high on her horse, that she had my mother feeding her baby through her teat.”

My face was surely pulling in disgust. I did not understand what was said just the right amount to be puzzled, but I understood enough to be both bewildered and uncomfortable.

“From time to time, my mother would take little things from her house. Sugar, flour. Things that wouldn’t be missed. But before we left Kentucky and never looked back, my mother thought she deserved something more in return, and this ring was it. After my mother passed on, I received it. This beauty has been with me ever since…” Suddenly Ms. Bedel took on a soft and tender tone, it was as if she placed her past behind her. “Try it on.”

Not only was I soothed by a far preferable tone, but I was also elated. Yes, it felt as though I was ascending to new heights. My high emotions would soon leave as the ring was placed on my finger, limp. “Oh…” Ms. Bedel’s lips pushed out, sympathetic. “It’s too big for you…”

“My fingers are too little…” I felt like I was an infant, helpless and insignificant.

“Maybe.” Ms. Bedel took my hand into her own, covering it in love. “One day you’ll grow into it.”

#PAST. / SHAPED BY EVERY MOMENT.#THE LITTLEJOHN FAMILY. / A LOST LEGACY.

13 notes · View notes

wistfulcynic · 5 years

Text

The Parquet Man

Not long ago, on a Discord not far away, @thisonesatellite posed a simple question. “What is Captain Floor?” she asked. The answer... spiralled. And turned into crack fic ideas. One of which she wrote. And I DIED LAUGHING.

When I came back to life it was as one inspired... to write the same story, from a different point of view. The result... well, Stephanie and I have always known we share a brain, but this may be the reason why the two halves were separated in the first place.

@mariakov81 and @stahlop bear some responsibility as well. Particularly Maria, for EGGING THIS ON.

I am going to tag @kmomof4 for REASONS and @darkcolinodonorgasm because I know you love Captain Floor. Also @snidgetsafan for helping me think of puns on perfect/parquet. And @teamhook and @thejollyroger-writer and @shireness-says and @resident-of-storybrooke JUST BECAUSE.

AO3

Rating: T

Words: <3k

Part One, By @thisonesatellite

I am a gorgeous hardwood floor. People say that all the time. It’s the first thing I hear when people enter the apartment in which i make up the walking surface. Seriously. Everyone who comes in says, “Oh, what a gorgeous hardwood floor!” I’ve tried not to let it go to my head, especially since I technically do not have a head, but what’s a floor to do? When all you can do is lie there and be gorgeous. I mean, I’m not bad. I’m just laid that way. In intricate parquet inlays, thank you very much. I was a lot of work.

So anyway. The last family who occupied the apartment had two small children and a dog, and now some of my blocks are loose. It’s really no state for a decent floor to be in. I’m very happy they finally moved out. If the agent weren’t showing the apartment all day every day. And I really don’t mind hearing “Oh, what a gorgeous hardwood floor!” every hour on the hour, but seriously people, can you take your shoes off? It’s snowing outside! You are tracking slush across my beautiful finish, and I---

Oh. My. God. Wait a minute. Wait a goddamn minute. Who is this gorgeous specimen of a human male? AND WHY IS HE NOT COMMENTING ON MY BEAUTY?

I’m calm, I’m calm. I’m perfectly calm. But really, you would lose your varnish, too, if you had seen this dish of a man. Do people still say ‘dish’? I was laid 60 years ago, I don’t know from vernacular. Stop laughing.

That man is gorgeous. And not looking at me at all. He is flirting with the real estate agent in the loveliest accent, and now he’s all “Oh, lovely space, lots of light”-- yes, we have windows, it’s not the Eighth Wonder of the Ancient World! -- and admiring the wainscoting. Seriously? I’m right here in all my honey-colored hardwood glory! And now he’s walking around looking at the paneled ceiling and ---OOOF.

WOW. Hello there. He slipped in one of the puddles people have been tracking in here all day and has fallen face-first on top of me, and I think that counts as a genuine kiss. His lips touched my blocks.

I will never be the same.

Oh god - his eyes are so blue. He’s just so beautiful. And now he’s looking at me. I can hear the agent sputtering apologies in the background-- could you please shut it and give us a moment? “That’s a very nice floor.” Finally, he notices me. I just love his voice. Could you please stay--- oh, he’s getting up. Oh, the feeling of loss. I really hope he--- yes, that’s him saying he’ll take the apartment.

I’m in heaven.

-/-

His name is Killian and he’s been walking all over me for several months now. He takes his shoes off like a gentleman, although he did not put enough padding under the couch when he moved in, and I now have three scratches in the upper left hand corner. But that’s OK. They’re practically love bites. He wears nice soft socks, and sometimes he slides across me on his way to the couch, and let me tell you, that does things to a floor. Lovely things. I love him so much. Especially when he gets into the rum. Twice now he’s gotten drunk and slipped off the sofa and slept the night on top of me. I rearranged my blocks both times so he wouldn’t get edge imprints on his gorgeous face. I do have some mobility after all.

But recently a woman has been stopping by. Ugh. The first time seemed innocent enough - it seems she needed a screwdriver. Apparently she lives across the hall and had a loose cabinet. Or something. He went to help her - didn’t I tell you he was a gentleman? - and I thought that was the end of it.

But now she’s been coming over. And I don’t like the way he looks at her. I mean - he looks at her the way he looked at the stupid wainscoting. Anyone can be a panel! It’s a wall covering, people! It takes skill and intricacy and craftsmanship to be a parquet floor!

So anyway, this woman. Emma. The way he says her name makes my glossy finish go dull in places. It’s revolting. And he’s taken a break from the rum. He hasn’t slept on me in weeks. As a matter of fact, he hasn’t slept in his apartment in weeks. He must be spending his nights at her place, and from what I hear, she has carpet. CARPET! It’s a travesty. And a tragedy. He’s just leaving me here to dwell on my thoughts, all alone. While he goes somewhere with carpet. I’ve got two different kinds of wood! I guess men are not that familiar with wood. I miss him.

So next time she comes by, I take action. What’s a floor to do? I shift my inlay and make her stumble into the wall. With a lovely, loud thump. Immensely satisfying. And Peter lets me know that the impact was sizeable. (Peter’s the side wall. We have a good rapport. He gives me all the gossip. He borders the window, so I know everything that goes on outside.) And Killian gushes all over her. Asks if she’s all right, and can he get her anything, and will she please sit down, when I’m the one with the dislocated block! I SEE, IT’S ALL ABOUT THE BLONDE NOW!

I am fuming. That’s not a good look on hardwood, let me tell you. But then he comes up and shoves my block back into place and---- oh, honey! That was a little rough. I like it. OK - that almost makes up for the fact that he’s still fussing over her. I’m just going to have to--- OOOMPH. A kiss! He kissed me again! Now, that was not my fault. He just stumbled over the coffee table, but really, I’ll take him any way I can get him. His scruff scratched all along my varnish, and oh, baby. OH BABY.

OK, OK, I’m good now.

Wait. I just caught a snippet of their conversation and they are talking about moving in together. INTO HER PLACE. NOOOOOO!!!!! Apparently, Emma doesn’t feel safe here. I CAN’T IMAGINE WHY. Come over here, strumpet, and I’ll re-introduce you to Peter, the wall. You could be very happy, banging together on a regular basis. Do people still say ‘strumpet’? I told you I don’t know from vernacular. Oh god, my life is ending. He’s going to LEAVE ME. I am floorboardbroken. Be still my beating inlay! How will I survive? I’ll just warp and buckle, you’ll see. Not a day will go by when I won’t think of you……

-/-

It’s been two long, long months since Killian left. I miss him so much. I miss his socks, and the way he just slid over me. No one will ever be able to take his place--- WHOA.

The real estate agent just brought in the next prospective tenant, and hellooooooooooo gorgeous. WOW. Wait, wait - what’s your name, I didn’t quite catch… ah. Ruby.

Well, honey. You have curves in ALL the right places. And your stilettos - you know, I’m usually a stickler for people taking their shoes off, but your heels are doing amazing things to my pieces. Ooooh - they’re like pressure massages.

OK. I like you. Please take this apartment. We are going to have an epic time, I can already tell. You’ll just have to wax me on occasion.

_________________________________________

Part Two, by @profdanglaisstuff

Killian Jones considers himself pretty damn knowledgeable about floors.

Not in a professional capacity, of course —he’s a librarian, not a builder— but as someone who routinely finds himself face down on a variety of flooring surfaces he’s quite certain he counts as an amateur of Olympic standing.

He falls down a lot, okay?

His mind has always worked much faster than his body, specifically his feet, and the results… well, they haven’t always been pretty. There was that time in the woods for example, with the patch of poison ivy, and— yeah, he’s never gone hiking since.

So when he chooses flats he tends to go for ones with wall-to-wall carpeting. Or at least some area rugs. Which is a shame because he’s also a man who appreciates an older house with some good wainscoting and the carpeted places tend to be newer. They’ve got no style. And whatever Killian Jones does —even falling on his face— he does it with style.

He likes this flat immediately— it’s got great natural light and the wainscoting is fabulous— but he’s concerned about the parquet floor. It’s beautiful of course, but it looks like it might leave marks on his face and he’s pretty sure he spotted a few loose boards. That’s just asking for trouble. Regretfully, he decides not to take the flat but as he turns to ask the agent what else is available he slips in a puddle of slush and falls…

Onto the gentlest floor he’s ever encountered. He’d swear it caught him, cushioned him, and when his lips press against the varnished wood he’s not sure if the floor kisses him back or if he’s just losing his mind. It might not matter.

“This is a nice floor,” he says, staring at it.

“Yep,” the agent agrees. “It’s original.”

Killian stands, feeling a small pang of loss when the floor is merely under his feet again.

“I’ll take it,” he says.

-/-

The first few months in the new flat are rough. He’s drinking a lot, still trying to get over Milah. He moved to a new continent to forget her but she’s still in his dreams unless he drinks her out of them, and when he does the floor is there for him.

Literally. He wakes up sprawled out on it more times than he cares to count. But never, he notices, with parquet marks on his face.

He’s glad of that. His face is a damn good one, if he says so himself. And he does. Often.

The floor takes care of him and in return he tries to take care of it. He takes his shoes off at the door —he is a gentleman, after all— and sometimes he slides across it to get to the sofa, Risky Business-style. This is the first floor he’s been able to do that on without falling on his arse. He appreciates that.

He buys new socks to wear on it. Soft ones. Cashmere. It’s the least he can do. He may be a leetle bit in love with this floor.

But everything changes when he meets her. Emma. The goddess from across the hall. He’s been trying for weeks to work up the nerve to talk to her and then she just knocks on his door like it’s no thing, asking for a screwdriver.

He barely manages to stop himself from making a seriously offensive remark, something about if she needs a good screwing he’s happy to help.

Sometimes his mouth is as awkward as his feet.

Instead he fetches the screwdriver, watches in awe as she fixes her cabinet with a few deft twists of her wrist, and for the first time since Milah died thinks he might be able to move on.

Thank fuck he didn’t say the thing about the screwing.

Emma keeps stopping by; there are a remarkable number of things she’s ‘lost’ or ‘forgotten to buy’ and needs to borrow, and Killian’s been out of the game for a long time but he’s still able to recognise a thinly-veiled excuse when he hears one, and so after the third time she shows up asking for a cup of sugar he takes the plunge and kisses her.

And falls hopelessly in love.

He knows he’s got a stupidly besotted expression on his face when he looks at her and longing in his voice when he says her name but he doesn’t care. He’s completely gone for her and by some monumental stroke of luck she seems to feel the same.

Killian has never been happier. He stops drinking and spending nights passed out on the floor, spending them much more enjoyably in bed with Emma instead, and everything is just about perfect.

That is, until the day Emma trips over one of those damned loose boards in his floor and falls face first into the wall with a resounding thud, and though she tries to brush off his concern he makes her sit down and gets her a drink and when he pushes the loose board back into place he does so hard. That’ll show the bloody floor not to mess with his woman.

He stalks back to the sofa, determined to teach the floor a lesson, and so of course he trips over the coffee table and face-plants on it. Again.

And the floor is just as soft and gentle as it ever was. Damn. He just can’t stay mad at her.

It. He can’t stay mad at it.

He rubs his chin against the grain of the wood to say sorry and gives the boards a little pat as he stands up.

He goes to sit on the sofa next to Emma who gives him a Look and tells him they need to talk.

Killian braces for the worst. He’s found that when a woman says that he’s rarely in for a pleasant conversation.

He hopes she hasn’t noticed about him and Floor…

But Emma surprises him. They’ve been spending more and more nights at her place of late, she says —she’s got the same nice wainscoting he does but her floors are carpeted. Soft, thick carpet, of which Killian strongly approves— and every time she comes over to his one or the other of them stumbles over something. She feels unsafe, she says, and also it’s getting annoying. So why doesn’t he just move in and they can live at her place together?

Killian can’t think of a single reason to object. In fact, he kisses her so hard to say ‘yes’ that she has to push him away before he makes her headache worse. By way of apology, he insists on carrying her home, over the threshold of her flat which is now theirs. He carries her all the way to the bed where he makes love to her until she forgets all about her headache. And he forgets all about his floor.

He moves in officially the next day. He doesn’t have many things, so it only takes a few hours. He doesn’t think about the floor, even once.

-/-

Living with Emma is a dream come true. Their lives mesh perfectly and they are deeply in love, incandescently happy. Their floor is softly carpeted but he falls down less, with her there to catch him. She doesn’t fall at all.

A few months after the move he gets a glimpse of his old floor when Ruby leaves the door open on her way out, running back to grab the purse she forgot, her sky-high stilettos clicking smartly across the parquet. The loose boards seem to have been fixed, he notices, and the surface is waxed to a high gloss.

“You settled in, then?” he asks Ruby. “Everything going all right?”

“Yeah,” Ruby replies. “Though I seem to be falling down a lot. It’s a bit weird. But the floor is really nice so I kinda don’t mind. You know what I mean?”

Killian smiles. “I know exactly what you mean,” he says.

#cs ff #cs ff au #cs fic #cs crack #captain floor #captain swan #parquet/perfect puns #VERY SILLY NONSENSE INDEED #WHAT HAPPENS WHEN THISONESATELLITE AND PROFDANGLAISSTUFF PUT THEIR HEADS TOGETHER?#THIS. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS

49 notes · View notes

blimey-said-ron · 5 years

Text

hufflepuff common room

home of the cuddlemuffins,, watch as i blatantly ignore canon

- contrary to popular belief, the hufflepuffs do not live directly across from the kitchens

- at least, the main entrance isn't;; turn left right before the kitchens and then a right and another right and a strangely modified piano with steampunk looking pipes on top sits along that wall;; non hufflepuffs walk by,, the ones in on the secret play hot cross buns in the key of b major (no sound to give away the passcode, but little rainbow puffs of smoke emit from the top in accordance to the keys)

- a quarter of the common room is partially underground, letting in natural light through little circular windows near the top of the wall; each one has a little potted muggle plant charmed to stay small and a mini calendar beneath it displaying which days they need to be watered and whether someone has already done the job that day; none of the plants are the same and none of the pots match;; they also get names:: ruby is the little marigold in the glazed purple pot, lolo is the spiny looking cactus with the glass container filled with sand

- if you stand on the round wooden stools beneath each window, you can peer around the hogwarts grounds,, unlike ravenclaw's magic window, however, no one else can see in

- a second wall (there are four) directly across from the first is just,, lined with couches and sofas and mismatched cozy furniture (and a random mattress??); there's a patchwork quilt on the biggest couch that the Quilt Qlub (aka every hufflepuff ever) has been working on since 1947,, each year designs a new square to add,, the battle of hogwarts year is just all the deaths stitched in thread the color of their hogwarts house (it's littered with bright red, acid green, warm yellow, and sapphire blue)

- third wall is actual normal windows

- fourth leads to dormitories and a secret passage to the kitchens, the quidditch pitch (the hufflepuff quidditch team is infamous for disappearing immediately after rainy day quidditch), and the greenhouses (hey, hufflepuffs don't get wet if they don't need to)

- community puzzle!!! there's a big table off to the side with a puzzle of hogwarts atm, but changes with a spell whenever it's been completed,, a chalkboard keeps track of how many times the puzzle has been solved (9,452 and counting)

- many, many pets,, lol screw the cat OR toad OR owl,, hannah has a dog and that's that,, ofc, there are other animals-- a grey tabby cat draped over the top of a squishy old couch, a fat old cat named richard (watch me push my own fantasies) soaking up sun at the base of a large normal window, really just cats everywhere,, there are little dishes for water and a schedule with everyone's turn to clear out the litter trays,, dog toys scattered everywhere,, about 60 pygmy puffs

- land of the temporary tattoos:: drunk hufflepuffs raid the kitchens for cakes and have eating contests, then proceed to fake tattoo themselves with images of their best friends faces labeled with their pets' names

- the floor is a honey golden colored wooden one,, it's covered in a variety of rugs

- spin! the! bottle! not creepy tho :) if the age difference is more than two years or they're not comfortable, they can kiss each other's cheeks, hug, high five, or just finger gun,, typically, people end up making out tho

- house of hardcore shippers -- instead of betting on gryffindor vs slytherin like the ravenclaws, they bet on which couple will get together next (susan bones collected 23 galleons from fourteen people when romione got together)

- lovebug hug club (they call themselves the Hufflefluffies) -- lgbtq+ pride club!!! (i apologize if ive written anything incorrect, pls correct me if i'm wrong) not rlly specifically lgbtq pride but the idea is to spread love and joy and happy and warm cuddles :)) day of silence they pass around chalkboards to hang around necks and magically rainbow color changing chalk,, national coming out day is like a second valentine's day, every day of pride month until school ends (so they do the last few days of june right at the beginning in may instead), they give sad people chocolates and you can pay them to give people singing valentines or fancy bouquets (cedric diggory is mildly famous for his ability to arrange flowers)

- the hufflepuff common room is a mismatched, homey, lovely place for the mismatched, welcoming, loveliest family and i'd cut off my right arm (granted, i'm left handed) to join them

#harry potter #i want a fat old cat named richard #hufflepuff #hufflepride #hufflefluff #hufflepuff house #hogwarts #hogwarts dorms #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #common room #hogwarts common room #hufflepuff common room #cedric diggory #hannah abbott #pride #susan bones #blimeysaidron

58 notes · View notes

nessa-is-bored · 5 years

Text

Taeyong is truly one of God's most perfect creations. I'm not just saying this as his fan, I truly believe he's one of the loveliest people in the world. He's not just a pretty face, Taeyong is so much more beautiful on the inside than the outside. Taeyong is a caring and selfless person. He is passionate about his music and he is a great leader to his members. Taeyong genuinely puts other people before himself and that's one of the things I love the most about him. Not only is he constantly taking care of his members, checking up on them and being someone who they can come and talk to, he also worries about his fan's well being, health, and safety. Taeyong is a person who, as soon as he debuted, set up a scholarship at a multicultural school in order for four students to get an education. Idols don't make much when they first start out in the industry, and yet, Taeyong went ahead and decided to fund these scholarships anyways. Taeyong didnt do this as a photo up opportunity, he did this because he genuinely wanted to. The only reason why we know this is because the principal of the school wanted to let people know that Taeyong is a kind hearted person. The principal wanted to let people know that, despite his busy schedule, Taeyong will still take time to visit the students at the school and spend time with them. Taeyong is a person who, his fellow member and friend, Yuta, can come to and discuss his concerns with. He's a person who, NCT's youngest member, Jisung, has said he wants to be like. He's a person who practices multiple languages in order to talk to all of his fans. He's a person who loves his dog, Ruby, and really, all animals. He's a person who lights up when discussing his music, and even more so when talking about his nephew. He is someone who took a lot of crap in the beginning of his career, and felt a lot of guilt, thinking that he was bringing his memebers down. Taeyong is so much more than a pretry face, he's someone who works hard to perfect his performances and write songs. He's someone who wants to, and should be, recognized for more than his looks. I'm so proud to be his fan.

And with all this being said, can SM please release Taeyong and Kun's collaboration (a true masterpiece), Switch Off, please?

#can yall tell i adore lee taeyong?#because i do!#i really adore that man!#taeyong #nct #switch off

42 notes · View notes

jin0uga · 6 years

Text

Dance the night away

More whiterose because I need more of this otp.

Whiterose, Married!AU, inspired by that video of a sweet dad who danced with his daughter on-stage. Second part of my A Rose in Bloom series.

Tonight was the night. Ruby dithered behind the curtains, anxiously watching her daughter get ready. It was Dia's first recital and her little girl was a bundle of nerves, constantly nibbling on her nails and jumping as stage hands flitted back and forth. Dia nervously smoothed the ruffles of her adorable, pink tutu and looked at her mother.

"I don't wanna dance," Dia pleaded, paling as the mutter of the crowd drifted backstage. In contrast to her daughter's pallor and skittish behaviour the other girls buzzed in excitement and floated towards the curtains, alternating between peeking out of it and grinning at each other like overly excited rabbits.

Ruby gave her a reassuring smile before her attention was stolen by Zwei wriggling in her grasp. He whined, pawing at her shirt. She sighed and gently pecked the top of his head, briefly putting a stop to his struggles. Ruby hadn't wanted to take him along, but Weiss insisted he would be terribly lonely them. It was complete rubbish since Ruby knew the maids and servants always entertained Zwei more than was strictly necessary, but her wife's pleading eyes were too powerful a weapon to resist.

Dia tugged at her shirt – Ruby couldn't help think it was like another puppy clamouring for her attention – and mumbled something incoherent.

"You're going to be great out there. Remember how you showed the entire dance to Grandpa Tai?" Ruby stroked her daughter's head, smoothing the cowlick that sprung up despite the thorough gelling Weiss put it through an hour earlier. "We even watched the recording afterwards, you danced so beautifully!"

Her daughter hesitated. She met Ruby's gaze after seconds of quiet contemplation, eyes blazing with renewed determination. "Did Mommy come to watch me dance?" For the first time that night, she looked in the direction of the stage. Ruby beamed. "Your Mommy's here, along with Aunt Yang and Blake. Even Winter– I mean, Auntie Win, is here to watch you steal the spotlight."

Dia drew in a deep breath, and looked at her Mom. "Are you gonna be here once I finish?"

"Of course." Ruby wound her hand around hers, squeezing gently. "I'll be here no matter what."

The instructor's assistant finally appeared backstage, calling for the girls to assemble. Ruby looked on in amusement as the group of tiny girls rushed past her feet to get into formation. Dia stared after them with a hint of apprehension, but covered it up with a expression Ruby recognized. The Schnee's stoic mask was definitely hereditary.

Ruby bent forward and kissed her daughter's forehead. "Okay, my little diamond. Go out there and knock em' dead."

"Both of you, shut up. It's starting!" Weiss hit the record button as soon as she saw the first ponytail enter the stage, swishing like a tiny feather duster. Yang chortled. Blake rolled her eyes at her friend's overzealousness. Winter patted her sister's arm, laughter dancing in the normally stormy eyes.

"This is an important milestone in Dia's life." Weiss refuted their amused stares with sharp words, glowering at their lack of seriousness. It was only obvious she'd be excited her baby's first recital! She clicked her teeth. "Yang, make yourself useful and start recording."

"What? Don't you already have it covered?" Even as she said this, Yang lazily took out her scroll, doing as she was told. It was easier to go with the flow than fight against the current that was Weiss Schnee-Rose.

"One angle isn't enough to capture this moment. Besides, you have a better view of the stage from your seat." Weiss sighed in frustration when Yang nudged Blake, the two of exchange insipid grins. "I wish you three would take this seriously. I refuse to lose this memory to scroll failure or bad lighting." Her wife and father-in-law would be beside themselves if she didn't have at least three videos and a dozen pictures by the end of it.

"Weiss. If that's what you wanted you'd better… I don't know, watch it with your own eyes before whipping out your scroll?" Yang said, arching her eyebrows and jerking her chin in the direction of the stage. The girls were lined in a row, soaking in the applause and shouts raining down as the crowd peppered them with 'Good luck's' and 'break a leg!'

Winter pried the scroll from Weiss' hands, ignoring the outraged gasp. "Miss Xiao Long has a point. Enjoy the show, Weiss. I'll aid you in recording so you can watch without obsessing over angles, and how terrible the stage lighting is."

Weiss squinted. "Now that you mentioned it..."

"Just concentrate on your daughter, Weiss." Blake chided as the music started.

As the group of girls danced on stage, Weiss found herself smiling at Dia's expertly executed movements. Her daughter had obviously inherited Ruby's grace, each sweep of her leg and arms sinuous and smooth, liquid given physical form. Weiss also noted that although the girls wore identical pink outfits, Dia looked the loveliest out of all of them. A blooming rose among a field of tulips.

The tinkling music rose to a pitch. The girls circled the stage, taking turns to execute small jumps, twisting in the air like curling ribbons. Dia was the last in line. To Weiss's horror, her daughter lost her footing just as she was poised to leap. There was a crack of wood as knees met the stage floor, and the atmosphere in the recital hall plummeted into the negatives as the crowd looked on in stunned silence. Weiss took in Dia's hunched shoulders, ready to elbow people out of the way to rescue her daughter. It was Winter's vice grip, rough hands experienced in keeping order and stability even during the most tumultuous of times, that kept her pinned to her seat.

"Winter," Weiss had to fight to keep her voice steady. "Let me go."

"You know what would happen if you rushed up there." Winter watched her niece quake in embarrassment. The rest of the girls fluttered nervously in place, not daring to draw attention to themselves, leaving the poor girl stranded by herself. "It will do her no favours if you made a scene." Winter said, regretfully.

Weiss scowled. "I don't–"

Ruby barrelled onto the stage and pulled her daughter to her feet. In her other arm, Zwei swept his gaze over the crowd, tongue lolling out as he yipped in a obnoxiously adorable way only dogs could.

Dia snapped back to attention. Weiss watched their daughter regain the determined set to her jaw after taking in Ruby's patient smile. The tension in her shoulders dissolved and Weiss' heart leaped as her daughter took several steps back, before running forward. Dia did a perfect twirl in mid-air, and landed soundlessly on her feet.

From her seat, Weiss saw Ruby beam at Dia before she disappeared behind the curtains. The rest of the performers were spurred back into action when Dia returned to her spot. Everyone's movements were considerably stilted compared to before, but they continued admirably until the song's final note. The curtain fell accompanied by a smattering of applause. Murmurs rose as the audience got up from their seats, but Weiss remained rooted to hers, an unreadable expression plastered across her face.

Yang turned and said to Blake, "Wow, I'm glad we got that on video."

The parking lot was a flurry of activity, parents spilling from the recital hall after collecting their daughters. Friends and family stood near vehicles, chatting amicably about the performance as their children giggled and chased each other around the lot in a hasty game of tag.

Yang broke into brilliant grin when she spotted her sister and niece tottering towards them. "Here come the two scamps!"

"An admirable performance little diamond." Winter's expression was unusually soft as she bent down to face Dia. "How do you feel about it?"

"It stinked when I fell." Blake covered up a snort. They were spat in a distasteful, familiar tone that reminded her of Weiss in their University days, a time where the Schnee was critical of everything and did not hesitate to point it out. "But then Mom helped me out and made everything better." The tiny ball of sunshine beamed, melting the hearts of every adult in the vicinity. Winter chuckled and patted her cheek.

"It was a good performance overall, then?" Yang followed up, ruffling Dia's hair. The action made the girl more excited than embarrassed, a trait she'd definitely picked up from Ruby.

"Yep!"

"Be careful next time," Weiss chided, waiting till Winter stepped away to wrap her in a hug. Her daughter hugged back, though she sighed dramatically at the reminder. "Yes, Mommy, I promise."

Ruby watched Zwei run circles around them before gesturing at Yang to pick him up. She clapped her hands. "Okay, who's up for some victory ice cream?" Yang and Dia yelled their agreement in unison while Blake lazily waved the red flag she'd brought along.

Winter inclined her head towards her car, a speck of white in a sea of grey. "Come along, everyone. Dia will take the front seat which means you'd have to sit in the back with Blake, Yang."

"Um, aren't we going together?" Ruby interjected, sounding terribly confused, "I mean, Dia and I came in Weiss' car after all."

Dia nodded, fringe flopping up and down. "Yeah!"

Weiss rested a gentle hand on her daughter's head. "I know, darling. But like I told your Aunts earlier, I've decided to take your Mom for… cookies, first." Ruby blushed, the warmth in her cheeks reaching high enough to stain the tips of her ears. Weiss was staring at her in an awfully familiar way. It brought to mind the memory of their wedding night, icy blue eyes ablaze with predatory hunger and slivers of unblemished skin peeking from black, racy lingerie…

Dia made a face. "Mommy, why's Auntie Yang giggling like that?"

"Don't mind her, she was dropped on her head as a child." Yang pursed her lips, shooting an annoyed scowl in Weiss' direction. Blake snickered and patted the blonde's arms. "You walked into that one."

"Har har."

"Come along, Dia. We'll leave your mothers to their own celebration." Winter told her, extending a gloved hand. "They will be joining us later, yes?"

"Y-Yeah." Winter smirked at Ruby and lead her niece away. Blake and Yang followed after them, but not before Yang gave her sister an overly exaggerated wink.

Weiss trailed her hand down Ruby's shoulder, enjoying the way her wife shuddered at the touch. The small whimper Ruby made sent a thrill of excitement through her.

"Back to the car, Ruby." Weiss silently cycled through their favourite isolated dating spots. Oh, the possibilities were endless. "I think it's time we tested if my car seats are as sturdy as advertised."

#white rose #rwby #MAH OTP #ruby rose #weiss schnee #rwby fanfiction #OOF #whiterose #A rose in bloom

39 notes · View notes

absolutelyxosmittenxo · 6 years

Note

Hi, I'm the one who made the teenage parent ask, I guess never mind that one, since it doesn't fit the rules (which I discovered after making that ask) here, sorry about that. Instead, what about headcanons for what Father's Day is like for Qrow and Taiyang? ^^;;

{ notes; i wasn’t certain if it involved a significant other or not, but i came to the conclusion i did not want taiyang to be alone on father’s day ; v ; regardless of your relationship with your father or similar guardian, i hope you all have a lovely day today. hopefully this wasn’t underwhelming. but thank you for requesting, I hope you enjoy ❤ }

－ＱＲＯＷＢＲＡＮＷＥＮ ⭐

⭐ Qrow might not have been involved in conceiving an offspring of his own flesh and blood, but he has earned his fair share of celebration on Father’s Day. Since the girls could waddle up onto their two tiny feet, he has pierced the skies, watching over them. And although you haven’t taken the time to bring more of the Branwen line to being, as his significant other, you attempt to spice up the day for him.

⭐ Limitations on alcohol consumption are enforced, much to his displeasure, yet your intentions are well meaning. Why spend his time intoxicated while he can engage in the full experience without having a hangover after?

⭐ After the majority of Team RWBY could reunite, you wrangle his nieces to conspire on your plan further. You and the older Xiao Long - Rose sister decline Ruby’s offer to devise a surprise party herself, considering what mayhem has been elicited from her previous attempts.

⭐ Silly as it is, you and the girls purchase a brand new mug, and inscribe the words, “World’s Best Bird Uncle” on it. To quote Yang, it’ll be something to ruffle his feathers.

⭐ When the commemoration is complete and ready for its showcase, the younger Branwen would be very caught off guard. It isn’t often folks cone around to start a party in his honor, nor was there really much of an uproar in his tribe. But the sentiment holds great value to him.

⭐ “You three set this whole thing up?” he inquires, “Not bad.” Ruby bounces sporadically and shoots to hang from her uncle’s arm, Yang following suit to express her gratitude through a signature smirk. Approaching him, you peck his cheek, telling him thank you for taking care of all of these kids, and promising to repay him.

⭐ Later in the evening, you pay off the debt by having the drunken scythe wielder rest his head in your lap, informing despite how his semblance holds him back from staying near, that none of you would be leaving anytime soon. For that, Qrow is the happiest he has been in years.

－ＴＡＩＹＡＮＧＸＩＡＯＬＯＮＧ ⭐

⭐ Time has slipped and as has his wives; a raven who discarded her kin for ambiguous reason from his knowledge, and the loveliest rose in the flower field who was in the clutches of a fateful, unfortunate passing. The fragments Taiyang clings to are his ever growing daughters, and you, who he hopes doesn’t meet a similar fate as his past lovers.

⭐ The girls may be venturing out into the world on their own, but you decide to cherish the doting dragon man for what he is worth.

⭐ Zwei, the delightful corgi, offers to pitch into the effort, and scrounge up all the bones he’s buried in the yard. The front of the quaint and humble home is in shambles, but a least the dog means well. You try and clean it before Mr. Xiao Long can notice.

⭐ Children evolve from small joys to remarkable creations, but the memories remain intact. Flipping through a dusty photo album, you settle on the couch, and he begins edifying you on the adventures of long ago. Little things along the lines of Ruby slaying her first Grimm, Yang’s horrendous haircut as a young girl, the messes made in the kitchen after baking cookies with two toddlers. You both can’t resist the temptation to giggle at the wholesome yet bittersweet recollections.

⭐ Over the years, he’s held onto gifts his daughters have given him, consisting of cards adorned with scribbles, incorrect spelling and a heartfelt message written within. as a surprise, you scatter them across the home in all their glory, and upon seeing them, he breaks into the biggest smile that you swear burns as bright as the sun.

⭐ To top it all off, you set up a dinner for two, a vase of sunflowers decorating the table’s center. It sends a deep sense of glee Tai doesn’t have to rely on himself eating alone anymore, and thankfully your cooking was much more tasty than his.

⭐ At the end of the day, allow yourself to be enveloped in those warm arms, tattoos of dragons aligning his skin as he leans into your neck, feeling his lips curve upward. He wasn’t perfect, however, his efforts wouldn’t be forgotten, as he balanced training and tending to two children. There, you thank him for being one of the best dads to ever exist. With your contribution, Taiyang can finally rest peacefully, knowing someone was willing to help to keep their family together and make it better than before.

#rwby imagines #qrow branwen #taiyang xiao long #happy father's day

63 notes · View notes

halloweenfor · 5 years

Photo

Wonderful Wizard of Oz Costumes - Tiny Tikes Dorothy Costume

Theme Halloween Costumes

Officially Licensed Wizard of Oz Costumes

Taking a magical trip through the land of Oz is always bound to be an adventure to remember! But to have an extra special time, your little one has got to dress in a special outfit. The best way for her to head to the Emerald City is to wear this adorable Tiny Tykes Dorothy Costume along the way!Skipping down the Yellow Brick Road is just the beginning of the excitement in the wonderful world of Oz. Once your little one is all dressed up like Dorothy and is heading down the road, she’ll be sure to meet up with some magical travelling companions. Or, they might be her pals dressed up like friendly scarecrows, lions, and tin men, but they’ll still make the adventure much more fun! She’ll see all of the amazing sights in Oz while she’s wearing this cute vintage style dress, and it will look even cuter with a sparkly pair of red slippers. Ruby red shoes will also make it much easier for her to get back home when she clicks her heels together!Your little Dorothy will be the loveliest looking kid in all of Oz in this one piece gingham patterned dress. All she’ll need is a pair of pretty red slippers, and maybe a basket with a little toy dog in it to carry around on her trip, and she’ll be ready to see the Wizard!

See Details & Get More Deals at: Best Halloween Costumes 2019 :: Shop

#Emerald City #Yellow Brick RoadArray

0 notes

caracalfeather · 4 years

Text

WARNING- Cats and Birds is a mob AU fanfiction of the Arcana game, and is not meant for young audiences and is not meant to offend anyone. Some writing choices were made so characters are out of their canon way of acting and thinking. Please do not be offended by character choices made by the authors and content creators, this story was made for fun and in the way we wanted it to be. The story was not hijacked by any of the authors to make any ships or characters overshadow any other. All content contained in this story has been agreed upon and accepted by all parties in it’s creation.

TW- Cats and Birds contains scenes that may not be suitable with some readers, including themes of violence, smoking/drug use, sex, cursing and various other strong themes. Special warnings for scenes will be posted with chapters. Proceed with caution and Reader’s discretion is advised.

Ilya healed within a matter of months. He and Rose were back together, and Rose had been spending her Saturday nights in The Gray Zone. Chatting with Ly and just having fun.

Over the course of a few months Rose actually did ask Julian to marry her. Of course he said yes and the two were even trying to start a family.

Rose was extremely happy with her life, excited to live her life with ilya. She even thought that..maybe.. She was actually pregnant. But that didn't stop her from going on missions with him. One evening someone had actually tipped off the cops, causing a police chase.

The sirens and guns rang out through The Gray Zone. “What do we do now?!?” Julian shouted, drifting around a corner.

“That alleyway! Drive into it!” Rose called back, shooting at the cops, who shot their tire with a loud ‘POP!’

“FUCK!” Julian yelled, “alright I trust you!!” He pulled into the alley the cops blinded for a moment as they wizzed last. Julian stopped the car and took a moment to catch his breath.

Rose looked around, they were safe behind a cafe. She got out of the car and caught her breath, holding her stomach and laughing.

“That was fucking insane!” Julian laughed, the sounds of a dog barking erupting inside the establishment. “Are you okay?”

“Im fine darling.” She smiled and leaned against his chest, nuzzling him softly “The excitement made me a little queasy. I think it was the excitement.”

He hugged her, muffled voices were coming towards the door, the door opened and a streak of fur rushed out.

“Madeve It was just a police car no one is back here-“ the owner of the shop looked up.

She saw Rose and then

It couldn’t be.

Ly slammed the door closed, thinking she was seeing things.

Madeve forgot Rose’s existence and jumped for joy seeing Julian. Although fear was plastered on his face upon seeing the dog, he knelt down and looked for the bright red, ruby studded collar, and sure enough right there in silver embroidery, “Madeve”

“Madeve! Is it really you old boy?” Julian smiled scratching the dog, Madeve woofed at him and licked his face. “I’m glad you’ve found a new home.”

Julian clearly didn’t see the owner’s face; she was there and gone in a matter of seconds.

‘Wait.. You know this dog?” Rose stayed close to ilya “This is the boy who led me here the first time! Ilya he's such a sweetheart!”

“Oh believe me I know he is.” Julian chuckled, he stood up, and said a few commands in Russian and Madeve stood on his hind legs and gave Julian a proper hug. “He was my loyal guard dog when I was still ‘The Black Raven.’”

“That explains it all.” Rose giggled and pet madeve “His master is a sweet girl too.”

“Apparently not too sweet...it was very rude of her to just slam the door on us like that.” Julian frowned, practically all his attention was on Madeve.

“I'll go get her.” Rose went and knocked on the door “Hey L? You in?”

Ly pulled her in discreetly. “Rose do you believe in ghosts??!!” She stuttered out, her voice sounded rushed and panicky.

“Um yes?? But there's none here?” She steadied herself “”What's going on? Madeve just rushed my fiance…”

Ly was short of breath, she just started backing up. She clutched her scar, “no…..nonononono…….I….I must be going crazy……” she pressed herself against the wall.

“Whoa what's going on?” Rose gently touched her shoulder and looked at her worriedly

She pushed some of her white hair from her eyes. “Rose….the man you were with….he’s supposed to be dead…..I saw him….with my wish two eyes….no no….this can’t be happening…” she slid down the wall she was in the beginning stages of having a full on panic attack.

“Woah, woah!” Rose took her in her arms “Easy! Breathe L! Just breathe!” She looked out the door “Madeve come!”

Hearing his name, Madeve entered and nudged Ly, using him for leverage the dog guided her into the proper part of the cafe, which was closed but the lights were still on. Ly’s eyes were distant, but since Madeve took over she was starting to calm down.

“That's it. Thank you madeve.” Rose sighed and went to get ilya, mumbling to herself.

Once she had calmed down Ly got herself some water from the kitchen. Her breathing was steadied, but her phantom pain refused to settle.

“Ilya? Can you come check on my friend?” Rose went outside “She was having a panic attack…”

Julian nodded and went inside, Madeve barked. As he entered Ly’s eyes went wild and she grabbed a nearby knife and pointed it at him. “You’re not real….you’re not real…”

Julian held up his hands, but he knew those blue eyes anywhere. And instead of facing his issues, like a man. Julian ran back outside, he looked at Rose, fear in his eyes.

Rose paused “Darling? What’s happening?” Rose got close to him, taking his hands.

“Rose….it’s her.” He muttered. “She’s not dead….also she threatened me with a knife..”

“Her? Ilya you aren't making sense.” Rose looked at him then at the cafe.

“‘THE LOVELIEST FACE IN FRANCE’ ROSE!” He grabbed her shoulders, “are we connecting the dots here?!?!”

Rose paused then froze “Oh my gods….lyra.” she ran to the side, throwing up in the alley.

Julian held her hair back, “it’s ok…” he muttered.

She stayed like that for a few minutes, her eyes stinging “You..should talk to her…”

“And say what Rose?!??” He huffed, “we just got past this!!!!!”

“I don't know! But...just..go..” She shook, trying not to cry

He looked between Rose and the entrance, he threw his hands up. “You talk to her.” He got in the car and shouted in frustration.

With shaking hands, Rose went inside, finding lyra “Um...Lyra?”

Lyra pointed the knife at Rose, “Who are you?!?! Are you one of THEM?!?? Rose I thought you were my friend!!”

“I am! I had no idea you were… his ex..” Rose looked spooked. “I am your friend… but I'm also a mob queen… and ilya’s fiance.”

She dropped the knife and dropped to the floor sobbing and clutching her arm,she was starting to panic again. Madeve nuzzled her.

“Im so sorry..lyra…” Rose’s knees buckled and she crumpled to the floor, crying. It was so much, so fast….

Madeve was confused looking between the crying girls. Lyra stood up, “stay...here….keys are...in the….third drawer…..” she sniffled standing up. She left with Madeve, crashing on the couch of her flat which was on the other side of the park that her Cafè faced.

Rose didn't know what to do, shivering on the floor and clutching her arms.

#the arcane game #arcana apprentice #the arcana #the arcane julian #julian devorak #arcana #the arcane mc #the arcana julian #rose sagenea #rose the apprentice #lyra the apprentice #mob au #cats and birds

0 notes

leilaland · 7 years

Text

** This post contains referral links, however I am in no way compensated for these and all opinions are my own**

We all love to coo over adorable pictures of dogs and puppies but did you also know that dogs have been found to benefit our health, both physical and mental too? I regularly credit my black & chocolate labradors, Leonard & Nemo with saving my sanity after my family endured the toughest days a family could ever face. I actually can’t begin to imagine how differently things would be now without them. Let me explain…

In April 2012, my youngest daughter, Charlotte suffered a sudden and completely unexpected brain haemorrhage caused by a huge aneurysm on the main artery to the brain. We knew absolutely nothing about this and doctors later told me that this had to have been there since birth just ticking away, waiting for its moment to strike. Well it chose its moment wrong! Charlotte luckily was in my bed that night after having a movie & snacks night with myself and her sister and so I was able to wake up in time to call for help and just about keep her alive until the ambulance crew arrived, thankfully very quickly! She survived the trip to our local hospital, just, and following tests was quickly put on life support and transferred to a specialist hospital in Leeds some 30+ miles away. We had to travel separately as the team needed to keep her alive on her journey was so big, there was no room for Mummy. She made it to Leeds and was taken straight into 2 life saving surgeries whilst my family gathered and waited for news. One of the surgeons came and told me that Charlotte had survived the unsurvivable and that in over 20 years they had never seen a healthy child experience this and that they had never seen anybody survive this kind of haemorrhage outside of a hospital. The fact that she had made it to two hospitals was a miracle. Not content with one miracle, we don’t do things by halves around here, Charlotte spent the next couple of days coming out of her coma and beginning to recognise us but then disaster struck again when she suffered massive strokes, a complication of the initial brain haemorrhage, which left her in another coma and fighting hard to stay alive. We were told to gather the family and prepare to say goodbye, I may have threatened a surgeon and told him to not dare come back from the operating room without my baby and once again, we sat and waited. A gruelling 4 and a half hours later I got the call. She was back in intensive care, the next few hours were going to be critical but she made it this far. I never left her side, I vowed to not come home without her and so, for the next 8 weeks that is where we stayed and fought. Together. I willed every bit of strength into my clever, funny, brilliant baby girl and silently seethed at the universe for daring to hurt one of mine. A few days later as I was told that a staring, unblinking, dribbling Charlotte was the Charlotte I would eventually be taking home, I dug down further, told them, politely, that they knew nothing where my girl was concerned, got into her bed, cuddled her and sang our favourite song which had just started playing on the radio. “There’s a fire starting in my heart. Reaching a fever pitch and it’s bringing me out the dark” – what a line, ey? Something magical happened and Charlotte smiled! This child who I had just been told would never react to me, would never be able to recognise anything had just responded to me singing something that she knew. There she was!! Over the following 8 weeks, she continued to fight and to come back, bit by bit from wherever those strokes had taken her but one day in particular made our family grow. As my best friend was visiting, a ‘pets as therapy’ dog called Ruby was brought onto the ward and Charlotte, who up to this point was still learning to speak, eat, read etc. all over again, suddenly jumped up, grabbed Ruby’s lead, said “walk!” and took her for a gentle walk around her ward! This was the first real connection between memory and physical ability that she had made and with tears in our eyes, my best friend and I looked at eachother and said “We need a dog!”.

A month after Charlotte had finally come home, my best friend, my sister and I bundled both of my girls into the car and took a trip to visit a dog breeder. I grew up with a canine best friend, Wagstaff who I missed enormously throughout our trauma but as I got out of the car and smelled that familiar puppy smell, I knew she wasn’t far away. We walked into see the puppies and had a fairly concrete idea of what we were looking for. My friend, however shouted me over as apparently someone wanted to meet me. This tiny black bundle of energy was yapping insistently and jumping up at its door, looking around everyone to direct all of this energy at me. I couldn’t walk away after being greeted so excitedly by this pup and asked the lady if I could have a cuddle. She picked the pup up and passed it over for a cuddle and he instantly calmed, placing his chin on my shoulder and squeezing it down, nuzzling my neck. I wrapped both arms around him and cuddled him right back, feeling a sense of peace that I hadn’t felt in months. He never went back into his kennel and, 5 and a half years later is sat by my side as I type this.

Baby Leonard being lovingly cuddled by Megan

Baby Leonard on his way home with two excited girls

He has been my clown when I needed to laugh (he regularly appears in my YouTube videos and makes my viewers laugh too!) he has been my protector and my best friend, he has been my reason to get up and keep going sometimes and, best of all, he has made us happy. When Leonard was 9 months old, a local dog needed rehoming and a friend kindly suggested that he come to us. Within days, our furry family had grown and along came Nemo, a smiley faced 7 year old chocolate labrador who has us in hysterics every single day. Leonard and Nemo have adored each other since the moment they met and are inseparable. Even now, as Nemo gets older and slower they curl up together and play (albeit a little less energetically)

I mentioned at the beginning of this post that dogs have been found to be mentally and physically beneficial to us humans. Did you know that dogs have been found to lower blood pressure and cholesterol which equals less strain on your heart and lowers the risk of cardiovascular disease? There is just something so calming about sitting and stroking your dog, not to mention the fact that they need regular walking. All of that exercise isn’t just good for the dogs, but isn’t it funny that a lot of us would only get that exercise when we have a dog but that exercise increases our oxytocin, the feel good hormone our brains kindly pump out for us, and lowers cortisol, the ‘stress hormone’ which can cause allsorts of hormonal imbalance symptoms such as fatigue? They literally make us take better care of ourselves alongside taking good care of them! Dogs have also been found to reduce anxiety and depression and I can absolutely attest to that! Ever since Leonard came home he has slept with me and just the feel of him laid across me or sleeping with his head on my shoulder has an instant calming effect. I think of it in the same way as a weighted blanket can reduce anxiety by helping you to feel more grounded. He is basically my 7 stone, furry weighted blanket!

My eldest daughter is autistic and struggles to articulate her emotions yet with Nemo, she feels calm and happy and he is the loveliest companion to her. He will happily sit with her all day under a blanket while she draws and chats to him. All of these health benefits add up to a much healthier immune system and potentially a longer life so I would say that dogs really are our best friends!

Do any of you have dogs or have you had dogs in the past? I’d love to hear about them!

If you are thinking of bringing a dog into your family, I would heartily recommend visiting the fabulous folk at Puppy Spot where, if you live in the US, you can get help finding your furry friend. For those of us outside the US, you can also find information of different breeds of dog to help in deciding which could be the best for your family. My favourite, and I am completely biased, is this labrador retriever information page.

I really hope that you have enjoyed reading this post about my pups and why they are so important to us. If you have, please do share it with your friends and make sure you subscribe!

My dogs saved my family and how yours could too! ** This post contains referral links, however I am in no way compensated for these and all opinions are my own**

#dogs #Family #Health #Labrador #Lifestyle #Lifestyle blog #Lifestyle blogger #Lifestyle blogger UK #Lifestyle bloggers UK #New blog #New blog post #Puppy #UK Lifestyle blog #UK Lifestyle blogger #Wordpress lifestyle blogger #Wordpress lifestyle blogs

0 notes