All the right regrets

“Maybe all one can do is hope to end up with the right regrets.” - Arthur Miller

[antiwaradvocates]

New Year's Eve in the dormitory, Leningrad, 1983 (photo by Yuri Belinsky)

[writing-prompt-s]

The Chosen One is dead, killed while facing the Dark Lord. Grief and hatred together give rise to an unlikely pair of heroes who come together to defeat the evil now taking over the world unchecked. The Chosen One’s parents are out for revenge, and there is no room for mercy anymore.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

The days bleed together, time warping strangely around the rising and setting of the sun, colors leeching out of the fields you and your husband tend together.

You know it’s been three whole days since the messenger came to the door. It doesn’t feel like it though. It’s as if you’ve only blinked and your husband has gone from catching you as your knees gave out to standing beside you.

Phil’s hand is wrapped tightly around yours, colder than the shadows slowly growing all around you. His eyes are fixed on the mound of earth lying under the orchard’s oldest tree. Neither of you have spoken a word since that damned messenger left, but you didn’t need words to decide where to bury the medals they returned instead of her body. Antonia spent almost her entire childhood in the embrace of this apple tree. When she wasn’t in the tree, she was in your arms.

And now she’s gone.

She’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone and somewhere far away her blood has dried on hands that never had the right to touch her.

You look up at your husband. Already his face is turning gaunt from grief, shadows pooling in the hollows of his cheeks and slipping down from his heavy brow. You will never see him smile like he did with your daughter. You will never know the pleasurecontenmentpridejoy that flooded through you each time you saw them together again. You will never have so many things all because your daughter was Chosen and you believed the King when he claimed she would not fight alone.

You let that bubble within you, that helpless rage, as you wait for your husband to look at you. Maybe he can feel the weight of your gaze, maybe he can feel the heat returning to the hand clutched in his, maybe he just knows you, knows you like you know him because he turns.

Meets your eyes.

And nods.

Keep reading

[modelsof-color]

Symone Challenger by Navarro Aydemir for Schön Magazine , July 2021

[writing-prompt-s]

You are on the run from a dragon. Not because it wants to kill you, quite the opposite in fact. This dragon hoards powerful adventurers and unfortunately your skills caught its eye. Now it will stop at nothing until you are a part of its guild.

[sometimes-me]

Dragon: I’m having a child

Adventurer: oh, congrat-

Dragon: *slaps adoption papers on the table* it’s you, sign here

[dragonsrequiem]

She sighed. “You know, my mother might have an issue with that…”

“Mother? What is mother?”

“Um… Dam? Sire and Dam? Is that your parental terminology?” She’d never expected to get into a discussion of this nature, or she’d’ve had the correct terms at the ready.

The dragon pondered this, one weathered, gold beringed claw absently scratching their crimson chin scales. “Do you like your dam? Because you emitted an unhappy breath.”

She thought back to her parents scolding her. In childhood it had been over her fondness for needlecrafts, which they felt to be unsuitable for a son. Then, after the merciful wizard had given her the body she’d dreamed of, it was because someone so delicate shouldn’t aspire to knighthood.

“Not really, no. Nothing I do is right. I’m just never good enough,” she confessed quietly.

“Nonsense. You picked my lock faster than any previous prisoner. You have MAGNIFICENT dexterity, and I shall not tolerate you belonging to someone who cannot appreciate you. Sign please, and then if you would like I will raze your shell guardians’- er, I mean parents, home.”

She chuckled at the logic. “You know, I’m a legal adult; you don’t have to legally adopt me.”

“Yesss,” Smirgog hissed as annoyed steam rose from her nostrils, “but it keeps the nearby fae from absconding with one of my precious souls.”

The logic of this made her chuckle, and the knight pulled the parchment closer to read before signing it. “No razing mom and dad’s farm. The sheep didn’t do anything to deserve it.”

The dragon remorsefully agreed. “But I do so love mutton,” she said wistfully.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

“A debt to the fae must always be paid,” the old man said. His eyes glistened with tears as he looked to the full moon overhead. “And the cost is always severe.”

There were murmurs from the others around the fire. Men and women who gathered to hear the wise man speak knew the reality of what he said intimately.

“I owe all my gold,” one man said.

“Then you must remove the gold from your vaults and strip every filigree from your home,” the wise one said.

“I owe my blood,” one woman said.

“Then your blood must be spilled within a fairy ring,” the wise one said.

“My debt is to be paid in flesh,” another attendee cried.

“Then your flesh you must divest—“

“Bullshit. Propaganda!” a woman called from the tree line. She pointed a finger at each person in turn. “You’re buying into it by even entertaining the idea of paying them back.”

“I have lived many years,” the wise old man said, “and every debt I attempted to evade came back many time worse.”

“Sounds like you weren’t fast enough,” the woman said, stepping out into the light. The sweat on her forehead glimmered in the moonlight like morning dew. She jerked a thumb towards her chest. “Me? I’m fast as fuck. I’ve been outrunning my debts for years.”

The wise one gaped. “That’s not— you can’t—“ he turned to his audience. “She is speaking lies.”

His audience hesitated.

“I would personally like to avoid being divested of my flesh,” one attendee offered hesitantly.

There were murmurs of agreement.

“Then stretch up, bud,” the woman said over the wise one’s protests. “We’re running tonight.”

The wise one stared as his audience fled into the night. “Y-you’ll all die!”

“Not me,” the woman howled from deep within the woods. “I’m fast as fuck, boiiiiiii!”

[writing-prompt-s]

You are a supervillain who has just captured your rival’s child. Rather than being afraid, they’re begging you to let them stay.

[wingedcat13]

Frankly, you’d known those idiots had had a kid for years now. You’d pretended not to, because while you’d committed a lot of atrocities in your life, you weren’t willing to face the moral quandary of whether you would knowingly kill a child just to spite its parents.

They probably thought they were being clever though, what with the blaming you for an injury you knew damn well you’d never given keeping one of them out of commission for a few months, then references to what they would ‘leave behind’ or ‘could not follow’ when in the latest death trap. One of them had accidentally pulled a pacifier out of their utility belt once, and tried to pass it off as being prepared for any young children they came across while rescuing.

Idiots.

Still, you had standards. Standards that fell somewhere past war crimes and before common decency, but they were standards.

Keep reading

[writing-prompt-s]

The Chosen One is dead, killed while facing the Dark Lord. Grief and hatred together give rise to an unlikely pair of heroes who come together to defeat the evil now taking over the world unchecked. The Chosen One’s parents are out for revenge, and there is no room for mercy anymore.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

The days bleed together, time warping strangely around the rising and setting of the sun, colors leeching out of the fields you and your husband tend together.

You know it’s been three whole days since the messenger came to the door. It doesn’t feel like it though. It’s as if you’ve only blinked and your husband has gone from catching you as your knees gave out to standing beside you.

Phil’s hand is wrapped tightly around yours, colder than the shadows slowly growing all around you. His eyes are fixed on the mound of earth lying under the orchard’s oldest tree. Neither of you have spoken a word since that damned messenger left, but you didn’t need words to decide where to bury the medals they returned instead of her body. Antonia spent almost her entire childhood in the embrace of this apple tree. When she wasn’t in the tree, she was in your arms.

And now she’s gone.

She’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone and somewhere far away her blood has dried on hands that never had the right to touch her.

You look up at your husband. Already his face is turning gaunt from grief, shadows pooling in the hollows of his cheeks and slipping down from his heavy brow. You will never see him smile like he did with your daughter. You will never know the pleasurecontenmentpridejoy that flooded through you each time you saw them together again. You will never have so many things all because your daughter was Chosen and you believed the King when he claimed she would not fight alone.

You let that bubble within you, that helpless rage, as you wait for your husband to look at you. Maybe he can feel the weight of your gaze, maybe he can feel the heat returning to the hand clutched in his, maybe he just knows you, knows you like you know him because he turns.

Meets your eyes.

And nods.

Keep reading

[babyanimalgifs]

[higherstatesof]

Are you kidding me this is the best video I’ve ever seen

[luidilovins]

those are wood ducks! they tend to lay their eggs inside tree hollows away from predators and when their ducklings hatch they sort of plop down. The parents usually only nest about as high as their young can handle which can be up to 50 feet up!

this momma had the misfortune of making her nest over concrete so it sgood that she had assistance.

[mapleandgingeroatmeal]

@is-the-owl-vid-cute, I’m curious about your take here. Is this guy genuinely saving their lives, or would touching the babies be more help than harm in this situation?

[is-the-owl-vid-cute]

Touching them does not do any harm. Unless the thing touching them is concrete at a high velocity. That would do harm.

[all-the-right-regrets]

Vilde Vidunderlige Danmark // DR1

Nogle gange tager andemor og ællingerne elevatoren, når de skal ud i verden. Og andre gange må man tage de store spring ud over altanen 🐥

Unfortunately I can only find this clip on facebook, but everyone in this thread needs to see this 🦆🦆

[myfashionburden]

heaven gaia spring/summer 2021 couture

[omgthatdress]

Modess sanitary napkin advertisement, 1950s

[cullensmidnight]

i am not black, but i see you.

i am not black, but i hear you.

i am not black, but i mourn with you.

i am not black, but i see the injustice that you face.

i am not black, but i see the fear for your sons and your daughters. your brothers and sisters.

i am not black, but i will stand with you.

inaction is also an action. and i will not stay silent.

i don’t see your color. i appreciate and honor your color and your roots and experiences. you are valued and respected.

✊✊🏻✊🏼✊🏽✊🏾✊🏿

[evermore-fashion]

Hassidriss ‘Oblivion’ Spring 2020 Haute Couture Collection

[aerialsquid]

How to Bury a Gentile

I wrote a short vaguely historical vaguely spooky ghost story about Jews and burial rites and I have to justify it existing so here it is.

“Are you the leader of the Jews?”

There was no good that ever came from that question. Rabbi Jacob stood in the doorway, one hand on the knob and the other on the frame, ready to yank it closed at a moment’s notice.

“Well, not all of the Jews.”

The man at the door made a frustrated little grunt. He was clad almost completely in dark grey clothing that seemed to fade into the shadows of the darkened street behind him. The collar of his coat was pulled up so high that it was impossible to make out more than a pair of sharp grey eyes beneath the brim of his hat, and the cloak he wore over the top of it concealed most of his body. There could be any number of guns, knives, or angry mobs hidden under there.

“But the ones in this town, yes? You are their priest, you lead prayers and weddings and so on?” the man said impatiently.

“Rabbi. Yes. I’m the rabbi, that’s correct.” Jacob said, stiffening his posture and assuming the most neutral expression he could manage. Being completely ignorant didn’t exclude someone from being completely dangerous–if anything, that heightened the risk. “What can I do for you?”

“Rabbi,” the man repeated, as if to seal it into his memory properly. One gloved hand squeezed the pommel of his walking stick. “And you preside over the funerals of your people, and perform the rites to send them to the next world?”

“Yyyyyes?” Jacob shifted his weight to his back foot, poised to slam the door in his face. This sounded unpleasantly like an opening for a death threat.

“To any of them, regardless of the sins they carried in life?” An eagerness entered the man’s voice.

“Of course. Though sin as a Jewish concept differs from the Christian…mm. Yes, of course.” The scholars of old might have debated the nature of the evil in men’s souls until the crack of dawn but Jacob had no intention of doing so at half-past midnight with a complete stranger.

The shadowed man took a half step forward and Jacob leaned back to maintain the distance between him. “What about a gentile?” the man pressed. “Would you tend to his corpse too?”

“Huh?”

“There is a man needing to be buried tonight who requires absolution. He is not a Jew, but a Jew’s prayers may be close enough for what is needed.”

“Um. It’s not usually a request I get.” Jacob tried to keep his voice calm and soothing. There was some kind of entrapment lingering in the conversation, he just knew it. That or a giant box of crazy that had managed to dress itself stylishly. Gentiles asking Jews intrusive but urgent questions never turned out well for their target–a day-long case of irritation was the best outcome the target could hope for.

The man’s hands pressed together as he completed the full step forward, making Jacob back up into the doorframe. Desperation was in his tone and Jacob was forced back over the threshold just to stay out of his grip “All I need is someone to accompany me to the cemetery to consecrate the body and pray for its soul. Barely an hour of your time. I cannot pay you with anything but my gratitude, but you will have it eternally.”

“And you came to me?”

The man sighed. Even the top hat seemed to slouch slightly as his body slumped. “I have asked every holy man in the city, Catholic and Protestant alike, and they have refused to come to the cemetery,“ he bemoaned. "The last one told me to visit you. Likely a ploy to make me leave faster, but you are all I have left.”

“What did this man do, that so many people refused him? Who was he?”

The man at the door hesitated. The sharp eyes vanished as his eyelids slid down, and then appeared a few moments later.

“Must you ask?” he said quietly. “Is it not enough that it is a corpse which can do no man harm any longer, and you will lose nothing but a half-night of sleep?”

The inside of Jacob’s head was ringing with warning bells like the frantic clanging of gongs announcing a fire. He swallowed and tried to ignore them.

“You say he wasn’t Jewish?”

“He was not…much of anything. He felt God had no interest in him, and returned a lack of interest in kind. Perhaps if he had been more attentive he wouldn’t lie in a pauper’s grave…or perhaps he would have not changed a whit.” The man’s voice was bitter and the sharp eyes briefly looked away from Jacob, to Jacob’s deep relief.

“Who was this man, to you?” he asked.

“Close. I would prefer to say no more. Please, rabbi. It must be done, and it must be tonight.”

Seminary did not prepare me for this, Jacob thought, and then thought again. There is absolutely something in the Talmud about this and I’ve just forgotten it, because I’m an idiot and I’m half asleep and there is a goy on my doorstep asking me to go out to the cemetery with him at midnight to bury a man whose name he won’t tell me.

“Look, I’ll need someone to help dig the grave.”

“Of course.”

“And a coffin. A plain pine box. And I’ll need to get my supplies from the–”

“But you’ll do it?” said the man excitedly, standing up even taller. “And do it tonight, before the cock crows?”

Jacob held up his hands to keep the man from getting even further into his personal space. “Fine. Yes. Give me half an hour and a lazy rooster.”

The cloak almost seem to inflate as the man gasped for joy. He grabbed Jacob’s hands and shook both with enthusiasm, sending Jacob stumbling. “Thank God for you, my good rabbit! Whatever God there is, thank God for you!”

The man ran off into the shadowed streets and was out of sight almost immediately.

Jacob’s hands slowly fell back to his side as he mumbled, “Rabbi,” to the darkness.

My wife is going to kill me if whatever’s at the cemetery doesn’t.

Keep reading

[petslifeworld]

Ferret shows the owner her babies.

[styleskiszka12-deactivated20211]

I’m straight up CRYING

[phototoartguy]

[nmpositive]

moist bois

[dr-falcon-fox-and-coyote]

OMG I’ve never seen wet lion manes. I never imagined this. OMG this is so much. I have so many feels. I love them all.

[1000hp]

Lions when it rains:

[inkskinned]

Actually life is beautiful because the sound I make while trying to breathe around hot food sounds like my dog trying to eat an apple. When I yawn my cat tries to put his face in my mouth like a little dentist man and when he yawns I put my finger in his obligate-carnivore trapzone and we both know he will not hurt me. When I do not fold my clothes, they do not hold it against me.

I am demonstrably sad, and lonely, and full of fear. But there are other people who will hold my hand, who will point out the hawk overhead, who will give you That Look in a public place. The other day at a coffee shop a child said "look! It's snowing!" so all of us strangers went to go look out the windows. It wasn't the first snow and it won't be the last but wasn't it lovely, like that?

How wonderful to live in a world where birds and frogs both say beep! How wonderful to have an ocean of beautiful sharks with their dinosaur teeth! How wonderful the moon and her changing face, how wonderful the bees and their dancing to communicate, how wonderful shrimp and their forbidden layers of vision! How wonderful, you, and what you will give the world! The way we love things enough to spend entire blogs devoted to them? How people will let me explain my Pokemon team to them? How we will both jump at the scare in the movie, how we laugh so loudly, how it feels to give someone your baking? How wonderful to be alive. I am sorry for forgetting.

This is the process of getting better. With wonderful people and wonderful strangers and wonderful friends: I am getting better, slowly. Thank you, whoever you are. In some way, you've been wonderful, and left a wonderful place in the world to ripple out to me. In some small way - isn't it beautiful - I promise, you've been helping.

[adarkerbeamoflight]

"How wonderful to be alive. I am sorry for forgetting."

[catchymemes]