fit-for-a-funeral

in cold forests alone , to the dark 
bell-toll of pine-icicles clanging

the spectre comes in her
black sharp shape           , unlit

from the underworld reigning
in its irrevocable luminescence

infinite mouths beneath her hand
reaching, hungering

sweet attar bound to each wrist
in a fit of vanity or funeral

like a Druid in his fox-fur collar

together, we are woven into
descriptionless waters

lupine and arrowheads line our
riverside in their ill omens

briefly, I feel
this wordless world of sorrow
depart with the wind

quivering
gold with aspens           

luster tastes cold to the mouth,

she comes up against the faceless
wave                               passes
through the womb of her
darkworld’s lathe

winnows the last of light in the
night’s final lacy hour

and leaves

the river Suffering takes the
last of me

and fluxes onwards

Aspects To Beware Of When Looking At Bae's Natal Chart

Sun Square/Opposition Moon: Bae is moody with a capitol M! He/she won’t begin trusting until they’ve known you for like 5 years. Defensive too.

Sun Square Mars: Bae doesn’t care about your feelings. Yeah they’ll be dynamic in pursuing your love, but once they get you they’ll leave you. And if they like you enough to keep you they’ll abuse you.

Sun Square Neptune: Bae loves their bottle of Jack Daniels more than they love you.

Moon Square Ascendant: What you see is NOT you get! Bae doesn’t know what they need in a relationship to make them happy, so they’ll just blame you.

Moon Square Neptune: You will never be able to fulfill bae’s emotional needs.

Moon Square Pluto: Bae needs a therapist more than they need a relationship.

Mercury Aspects Mars: You cry, Bae laughs

Mercury Square Neptune: Bae lies even when theirs no reason to

Venus Square Neptune: Bae has daddy issues

Venus: Square Uranus: Bae is unpredictable in love. The impending breakup can occur at anytime. WITHOUT WARNING

Venus Square/Opposition Pluto: Bae is afraid of you because you make bae is afraid of you because you unleash their inner turmoil (but bae will never admit this, they’ll just break up with you)

Mars Square Pluto: Dangerous feelings. Stupendous sexual experiences. Frightening fits of temper. Plan your funeral?

Funeral Rewards?

Hi everyone!  It was going to be a surprise, but…I’m working on the funeral mod again!  I’m at the point where I’m making rewards, and I really can’t think of anything appropriate for a funeral.  

One thing I will do for sure is give random money as a reward, in the context that the deceased Sim left you $xxx of money in their will.  But what other ideas do you guys have?  Or should money be the only reward?  Since it’s not a “typical” party, I can’t think of much that would be fitting…

Little Bird - Part 3 - Smut

Originally posted by gabalecki

Author: @dumbass-stilinski
Rating: NSFW 18+
Pairing: Stiles Stilinski/Reader (Mention of Void/Reader)
Words: 2,289
A/N: Here it is! The 3rd and final part of Little Bird. Hope you like it! xoxoxox


Part 1
Part 2
Part 4
Part 5



The rain was coming down in sheets, which you thought was rather fitting for a funeral. You stood under an umbrella, pressed close against Stiles, his arm around your shoulders. His other hand was gripping the umbrella handle so tightly his knuckles were white. You leaned your head on his shoulder, teeth chattering as you listened to the priest drone on about Heaven and Angels and Allison looking down on all of you for the rest of your lives. You wanted to believe it, that your friend would watch out for you. It would be the type of thing she would do anyway. Allison, always trying to protect, to do what was right. That’s why her and Scott had been meant for each other.

Keep reading

My advice to anyone starting the new year out with weight loss goals:

Don’t be so hard on yourself. There will be set backs. There will be plateaus. There will be times where you won’t have the motivation.
But hating yourself and being miserable while trying to get healthy will only make it harder. Don’t let the number on the scale determine your happiness. Love your body now. Be happy now but keep striving for the changes you want to see.
Attitude affects everything.

-95 lbs (so far)

Happy then. Happy AND Healthy now.

Kid Cudi’s will 😢

“My casket needs to be 100% rose gold plated
I wanna be in my ripped Levi’s jeans and my Incesticide Nirvana
T shirt with my Converse
Don’t cut my hair
No matter what keep the casket closed
Send my body to space to be buried on the moon or
Sent through a wormhole with all my music
and my story on a jump drive, if possible.
Upon my death, all rivalries are deaded.
Dance and celebrate, no sadness
Let my fans have a separate funeral for me so my
family can mourn privately
Cremation if there’s barely anything left of me,
or else dig up my dad’s body and bury us together
wherever my mom sees fit. funeral must be”

Missed You

Request- Hey could you do a Dean fic where he’s standing at the readers grave in a middle of a woods and he has a flash back of her death, where she was killed by hellhounds and he could stop them. And as he put flowers on the ground, her hand shoots out and grabs him. He stands there shocked as she crawls out of the grave. Then Cas appears saying that he saved her from hell because he couldn’t watch Dean being so sad and not talking. Could you make the end really cute just like Dean being speechless!😍    

A/N- I really liked writing this one even if it didn’t come out all that great :P I almost forgot to put in the fluffy ending and well it’s not all that fluffy Oops  I had a hard time thinking up a title haha Any who… Tell me what you think! x)

Dean x Reader

Word Count-1479


Dean’s POV

I was sitting on a chair, beer in my hand. I raised the bottle to my lips and chugged half of it. Something I’ve been doing a lot of lately. Not only do I have this painful gaping hole in my chest but also have a brother who is starting to annoy me. Does he think I can’t see him looking up toward me every now and then, looking at me like I’m some kind of lost puppy? That I can break at any moment. Well it’s too late for that. I’m already broken.

Then there’s Cas. He’s here more often than not. The both of them together decided we should hold off on hunts. That I should take my time to recover. That’s a load of bull! I need to go out. I need to hunt things. Rip their heads off. What do they want me to do here? All I can do is drink. At first I thought it would work. Drinking. I thought it’d numb my pain. Help me stop thinking of you. How wrong I was. It only made it worse. I can picture you perfectly in my head, drunk or not. That’s only a painful reminder that you aren’t here anymore. I don’t know what to do Y/N. I seriously don’t. You would know. You would help. You were always there…

I threw the bottle across the room in frustration. Sam and Cas turned toward me and I stared from one to the other, “I need some air.” I told them before grabbing my keys and leaving.

I didn’t really have a destination in mind. As I was passing the streets, I saw an older lady selling flowers on a street corner. So I bought some, hoping you’d like them. I parked baby just outside these woods. I leaned against the door just staring out towards the trees. After a couple of minutes I just walked into the woods. Walked towards you. It wasn’t long until I found you.

The giant rock I put to mark your grave. The dead flowers in front of it. I looked around and found it all fitting. You never wanted a hunter’s funeral. Made me promise that if you kicked the bucket before me, that I’d give you a proper burial. In the woods somewhere where it’s quiet. In the woods were no people would be. That’s what I did. The only people that have been here were Sam, Cas, and me. It was mostly me though.

“Y/N” I call, though I know you wouldn’t answer. “I miss you. I know you made me promise not to stay hung up on you if you ever-” I let the words fall. It hurt too much to finish. I needed to hear your voice. I needed to have you here… with me.

I had to settle for your voice. I pulled out my phone and dialed your number. It rang and rang until it was your voicemail. “Hey! You know who this is. If it’s an emergency send me a message or call again. If this is Dean um sorry I missed your call babe. Love you!”

“I love you too.” I whisper shutting off my phone. Gritting my teeth and clenching my fist, I couldn’t fight against the surge of tears that forced their way out. I close my eyes and couldn’t help being taken back to that day.

-Flash Back-

“You and Sam go around back. I’ll go through the front. The house is big so split up. It’s only one demon so let’s send its ass back to hell.” I whispered.

You and Sam nodded and were on their way, sneaking towards the back. I waited a little, waiting for them to get to the back of the house. The front door was unlocked so I just walked in. It was dark and the only source of light was the little bits moon light that poured through the windows. It was quiet. It didn’t last long though. Once I reached the hallway I saw Sammy fly from one room and crash in another. I heard you scream out Sam’s name and I ran towards your voice. I was so close. I was almost there but the demon appeared in from of me and pinned me to the wall.

“Can’t have you messin with my fun now can I?” the son of a bitch said.

I was about to yell back but I heard them. The barking. “Hellhounds” I muttered.

The demon laughed and turned toward the door. I could see Sam on the floor, unconscious. You were next to him, probably checking if he was alive. Once you heard the hellhounds, once you saw them try to have away at my little brother’s body, you got on top of him. You covered most of his body and the hellhounds were biting you, but you didn’t move a muscle.

“You son a bitch!” I yelled trying to break from his grip but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do a damn thing. The only thing I could do was watch. “Y/N!” I shouted.

You turned her head slightly, her eyes found mine. “It’s okay” you said, “Sam is safe.”

“No!” I yelled, thrashing about, but I couldn’t break free.

The demon laughed. The hellhounds barked and bit. You didn’t cry or scream from the pain.

Then it was silent, for only a second and even then it was only the sound of your body dropping to the floor. The demon was gone. The hellhounds were gone. I knew it in my heart, you were gone too. I knew but I still ran to your side. “Y/N…” I whispered as I knelt to the ground and lifted your limp body with my shaking hands. “Y/N” I say again expecting you to open your eyes. My eyes were full of tears. I hugged you closer to me and cradle you in my arms for hours, until Sam woke up. Even after that. It took Sam an hour to get me to stand up and take you to the car. I sat in the back seat with you in my arms and Sam drove. He didn’t say a word. I told him my plan in burying you. No hunter funeral.

Sam called Cas who appeared right after. Not that I paid attention. I still had you in my arms, rocking your body back and forth, the way you liked it when you couldn’t sleep. I hoped this was all it was. I hope I was sleeping. That I was having a nightmare and that at any moment you’d wake me up. But no. That wasn’t going to happen. My life wouldn’t have that kind of story. It was you that was sleeping.

______
I opened my eyes and looked at the sky. It was such a beautiful day. ‘I wish you were here’ I thought. I sighed at the thought and how foolish it was. I looked back down to the flowers I bought you and back to your grave. “As cheesy as it sounds, I got you some flowers.” I said while walking to her grave. I removed the old ones and was placing the new one when a hand shot out of the ground and grabbed my hand. My eyes widened I shook off the hand and took a few steps back.

The hand, your hand, was making its way out of the ground. You came out of the ground. I couldn’t believe what was happening. You were standing right in front of me, dusting off the dirt on your clothes. When you finally looked up and saw me standing there, “What the? Babe what did you do?” you questioned.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I-I just stared at you.

“Cas?” you say, looking passed me. I turn and sure enough Cas was there.

“Hello Y/N.” he said.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“I brought you back from hell.” he stated.

“What? I was…” you stared mumbling.

“I brought you back because I could not bear seeing Dean sad. He didn’t talk much. He drank all day. I didn’t like seeing him like that.” said Cas.

You walked up to me, “He’s still not talking.” you said.

I couldn’t restrain myself any longer. I wrapped my arms around you, hugging you real tight. “Y/N” I whispered. “Y/N” I say again. “God I missed you.”

“I missed you too” you say, hugging me back. We hugged each other for a long time. Not needing to say anymore words to understand each other’s feelings. Then your stomach rumbled, “Uh… I think I’m hungry” you chuckle. “Can we grab a burger… and some pie?”

I smiled and nod “Yeah.” I take your hand in mine and lead you back to baby. Cas had left without us noticing. I’d have to thank him later.

Hope you like it! x)

Creepypasta #341: No Child Left Behind

Hi everyone. I’m a teacher, and I’ve spent my summer vacation staying up late and reading many of the stories here. I thought you guys would enjoy hearing about something that happened to me when I was just starting my career.

After I graduated college, I had trouble finding an opening, and just when I started to give up hope, landed a spot at a little school about 20 miles outside of town. I wasn’t really familiar with the rural lifestyle, but I figured, “kids are kids” and full of confidence, I jumped into the year, eager to make an impression. After a couple of years, it felt comfortable and, though the kids weren’t all the best and brightest, you could count on them to show up every day, and there was always a parent to talk to if there was an issue, academic or otherwise. The parents weren’t necessarily warm, but you could usually count on them to listen and they were around, if nothing else.

It was August… back to school night, the whole place smelled like cleaning solution as the odor of stale urine from the boys’ room had yet to infiltrate the hallway. My classroom wasn’t exactly state of the art; it was a portable building at the end of a row of portable buildings set away from the main school. Daylight was visible through the edges of the doors and windows. There was a wall furnace for heat and window unit for a/c, and it always smelled a little like mildew, but it was mine. I decorated my little tin can and tried to make it as shiny and happy a learning environment as I could. I covered up the spots on the floor with cute rugs, made a cozy library nook, stuck colorful posters on the walls, and hung some border around the top of the wall to hide the water stains.

I met with the parents and students that night, smiling and shaking hands with 22 families, but there wasn’t much mobility in the student body since we were the only elementary school in our little district, so I knew most of the kids and parents already. Still, those little motions are important to go through and it’s in carrying them out that the year has its structure and this night we’d inaugurated another.

I know that every parent thinks their child is a special, unique snowflake, but the truth is that 5th graders, (age 10 to 11), rich and poor, rural and urban, all fall into predictable subgroups: the ones who’ve reached puberty – the boys focused on athletics, the girls on romance – are bigger and more mature, imitating teenagers as best they can; then you’ve got the quiet, hard-working type, trying hard to plan for middle school and high school success and even their adult career, often in the footsteps of a family success story or lack thereof; next are the ones who’ve spent most of their school years in trouble and developed their identity as “the bad kids,” who can sometimes be convinced to change their ways before middle school. The final group is the babies – it’s hard to imagine sending these ones off to middle school in a matter of months. These are the kids that still hold their hands in front of their faces to tell left from right; years away from puberty, they’re still watching “kid” shows and movies, are gullible, naive, and sweet, and can be found at recess playing younger kids’ games like “house” and “ninjas.”

Cody was one of the last group – the babies. He was a just below average student with a year-round buzzcut and a charming smile. I’m sure he was trying his best, but his best placed him just left of the bell curve average. Even when his work was excellent, he usually forgot to put his name on his paper and had to claim it from the no-name papers I taped to the dry erase board. He was friendly and sweet; at least once a week he came to school with a tightly clenched fist of flowers and various pretty weeds he happened across in peoples’ yards on the way to school, grinning, “Ms. Williams, these are for you.” His mind tended to wander in class, and he had a habit of passing the time whittling at his pencils with a pair of scissors, which left a daily mess. I used to feel sorry for the custodian and tried to remind Cody to clean up his mess before leaving each day.

Despite perfect attendance, those missing assignments coupled with his usual C papers left him just above failing as Thanksgiving approached. At parent-teacher conferences, his father warned, “Boy, you don’t get your butt in gear and turn this around, you’re going to be sitting here next year, repeating 5th grade all over again.” He assured me that Cody’s 4-wheelin’ privileges were on the line now and I’d really see an improvement; his mother nodded sternly in reinforcing silence. I was a little skeptical, but Cody was a decent kid and I sort of expected him to finish about where he was, with me letting him squeak by at the end of the year. Retention was actually very rare, but it was still common to hear parents and older teachers use the idea as an idle threat.

The next day, I saw Cody, lips pressed tightly together, taking notes during the math lesson and double checking that his name was on his paper. “Hey, buddy, I noticed that you were really working hard in school today,” I told him that afternoon, “Keep it up!” He nodded. “That’s right, Ms. Williams. I don’t wanna get held back and I’m gonna work real hard from now on.” He quickly added, “I mean, I like you and everything, but I don’t wanna be stuck in 5th grade forever.” I smiled, gave him a pat on the shoulder, and wondered if his new habits would last.

I went to my parents’ for Thanksgiving and woke up from a nap to watch the news with mom and dad. I was still rubbing sleep from my eyes when the lead-in story snapped me to attention. Cody’s school picture was up on the screen with a caption reading “Thanksgiving Tragedy.” The reporter explained that Cody and an older cousin had taken their ATVs out after dinner and there’d been an accident. It was surreal to see the news reporter, the local sheriff, and Cody’s relatives being interviewed as if he were some stranger in another city – this was my Cody, not just some dramatic news story on an otherwise slow day. I grabbed my phone to text my principal when I saw twelve missed calls; I didn’t bother checking voicemail. When I reached my principal, all I could sputter was, “Is he okay?” “It looks bad,” he told me. The hospital was only a few miles from my folks’, so I got in the car and hurried over.

I walked into the ER and saw his family in the waiting room; the looks on their faces said what words couldn’t. I scanned the room for Cody’s mother and sheepishly waded through a crowd of relatives, who probably wondered who I was and what business I had there. I squatted down next to his mother, who was sitting in the waiting room, her head in her hands. “Krista, I just heard,” I managed.

“Ms. Williams,” she whispered, “He's…he didn’t…” She didn’t have to finish the sentence; it was clear that the accident had been fatal. I expressed my sympathies, cried for a bit, then walked heavily back to my car and called my principal. “He’s gone,” I said.

He told me to take my time, offered to arrange a sub for the coming week if I wanted, and asked me to let him know if I found out when the service had been scheduled. I drove back to my parents’ in a daze and told them what had happened, then went home and crawled into bed.

I decided not to get a sub for the coming week; the other students needed me to be there. The Monday after Thanksgiving, the school had hired a grief counselor to “be available” for my class. The woman who showed up was obviously not used to dealing with children and only a few of my students asked to speak with her. I had a long talk with the kids and tried to reinforce that, though we miss Cody very much, we’d always have the happy memories upon which to reflect and from which we could draw comfort and the strength to move forward. We cried, we made cards for Cody’s family, and we discussed what might be a fitting memorial.

Cody’s funeral was on a Saturday – it felt like the whole little town was in attendance. It was strange to see all my students together with morose faces, when I was so used to seeing them carefree and happy, playing four square or Math Blasters. I was in the difficult position of having to carry on and offer support without much of my own from which to draw. There was a real outpouring of help and support for Krista and the rest of Cody’s family, and I was ashamed for feeling sorry for myself when I received no flowers or cards. I spent eight hours a day with the kid and, even though I wasn’t his mother, he was still partially mine. My little flock wouldn’t be the same again.

After the funeral, I stopped by my classroom and cleaned out Cody’s desk. I smiled when a cascade of pencil shavings fell to the floor. I packed away his textbooks, added his pencils to the classroom supply, and prepared a manila envelope to give his mother containing the rest of his desk’s contents, leaving it at the office so she could collect it when she stopped by.

We spent the next couple of weeks slowly getting back to normal; the buildup to Christmas was a convenient distraction. The last week before Christmas break, I’d decided to come in early one morning. It was mid-December and the sun was not yet out. I grabbed my rolling crate and left my car alone in the parking lot as I trudged down the sidewalk to my portable building. Any teacher will tell you that arriving to school early and leaving school late can be a little creepy. It’s not well-lit, and there are joggers, dog walkers, teenagers sneaking around, wild animals, and the general sense that something unpredictable might be around the corner. It didn’t help that today was especially foggy and I could hardly see where I was going. As I walked up the wheelchair ramp towards my portable’s door, I fumbled for the room keys on my lanyard then heard the familiar click of the deadbolt as I turned the lock and shuffled inside. I turned on the furnace, my breath visible in the crisp morning air, and powered on my laptop to answer e-mail.

Riley’s mom had e-mailed about the upcoming biography presentations. Was Riley really supposed to dress up as Benjamin Franklin, or would it be enough if Riley brought a picture of Benjamin Franklin? Katie’s mom asked if I could send the homework she would miss that week, as her family was leaving early for a ski resort. As I started my replies, I heard a familiar noise from across the room.

“You got it!”

The tinny, condescendingly enthusiastic exclamation had come out of a handheld multiplication practice game I kept for the slower students. It had always been Cody’s favorite, probably because he felt proud to have mastered it, but he tended to leave it lying on the floor, rather than putting it back in the basket.

“What the hell?” I thought, as I clicked on the next e-mail, a district memo, stating that our semester grades were due the week Christmas break began – I had three days left to get them all entered.

“You got it!” squawked the game.

Annoyed, I walked across the classroom and picked it up from the floor. “Level Three!“ it shrieked as I flipped the switch to the off position and tossed it in the basket where it belonged.

As is usual the week before Christmas break, not a great deal of learning was taking place, and on Thursday afternoon I set the kids up to watch a video about the lifecycle of the frog and went to finish up my semester grades – besides, nothing we did between now and Christmas would affect their grades. With a sense of accomplishment, I clicked "Finalize,” only to be greeted with a red asterisk, demanding I complete the entry for “Student: Cody _______.” With a sigh, I entered “I - Incomplete,” a little sad at the realization he’d never raise his average, but I reminded myself it wouldn’t matter because he wasn’t going to receive a report card.

Christmas break came and went too quickly, as it does every year. About a week after we returned, I was asked to cover cafeteria duty for an aide who had to leave unexpectedly. I didn’t usually get stuck with cafeteria duty, but I didn’t mind filling in now and then. I looked around and saw Cody’s usual seat was empty. Cody’s peer group, the “baby” boys, had never filled it, their own tribute to their absent friend. The senior cafeteria worker standing nearby saw me staring and said softly, “Those boys always leave a seat for Cody. Most precious thing I ever saw.” I smiled grimly and said, “They grieve in their own way.”

At recess, I kept an eye on the baby boys. As usual, they were playing ninjas, which mostly involved running around and falling dramatically. “Aagh, I’m hit!” moaned Dalton as he carefully collapsed to the dirt. “Ninja One got you!” taunted Shawn as he ran past. Dalton miraculously recovered and chased after Shawn.

“Ninja Four, Power of Water, BLAST!” cried Dalton as he shoved his palms toward Ricky. Ricky wobbled backwards, shouting, “Ninja Two, Power of Rock,” which appeared to provide him some defense. I let my mind wander as I watched the three of them dash through the clover, narrating Ninja One through Fours’ actions. I jumped when my fellow teacher blew the recess whistle.

“Alright, ninjas, time to line up,” I called to the group. They briefly huddled before joining the class in line at the playground gate. We stopped for a water and bathroom break before we headed back to our room. As they stood in line at the water fountain, I noticed a Ninja One-sized gap between Ricky and the boy ahead of him in line. If anyone was likely to linger in the denial stage of grieving a little too long, it was the babies. I gave Ricky a light squeeze, smiling as I walked towards the end of the line. There was a sort of saccharine charm in their tribute, even though I knew I was probably reading too much into it.

In a general sense, things were very much returning to normal; most of the kids seemed to take Cody’s death as well as could be expected, but of course, kids are pretty resilient. I had spent some time on community-building and class discussions to try to help reconfigure my flock into a new shape that was one person short.

The only issue was the unclaimed papers. Without daily prodding to check through the nameless papers at the board, kids don’t tend to keep very good track of what they’re missing. As a consequence, the papers tend to linger a bit – the ones with poor grades lingering the longest. Still, they’re usually claimed eventually, and I couldn’t help but notice some fairly old assignments taped to the board, and new ones were added every week. On the other hand, this group was doing pretty well, grades-wise, and it wasn’t a pressing issue.

Our school’s focus had returned to the urgent push forward through the textbooks, the sprint towards the yearly tests, with plenty of time-squandering evaluations to gauge their progress. The second half of the year is always a blur of interruptions, activities, ceremonies, and celebrations, not to mention the weekly practices leading up to each. Amidst the juggle is an effort to keep them engaged academically and to help them prepare for the increased accountability they’ll face in middle school.

By February, the entire school was devoted to the upcoming tests; there were practice exams, multiple choice strategy guides, flash cards, and PowerPoint Jeopardy games as we teachers tried to keep our mounting stress under control. Our school’s prior year’s test scores were below the state average, and we needed to show a certain percentage of growth to avoid sanctions. There were weekly “Target Student” identification meetings, where the grade level teachers meet with the principal to discuss which students to focus instruction on, open threats of our test scores following us for the remainder of our teaching careers, and data aggregation galore. It was, and still is, the only thing I hate about my job. During these early years, testing time would turn me into a mental and physical wreck, to the point that my coworker caught me vomiting behind the library when the superintendent stopped in to observe the new teachers.

“You can’t let it get to you like this.” I looked up, wiped my mouth, and saw Julie, the other 5th grade teacher. “Well, how am I supposed to be a good teacher when all of this bullshit is being crammed onto my kids?” “I know,” she said gently, “but you have to realize that the test scores are never going to be as important to the kids as they are to the administration. You just have to stay positive and know that they’ll do their best. All the kids care about is passing fifth grade and going to middle school. It’s the only thing that matters to them, their only goal. Besides, they’ll pick up on your stress.”

She was right. I’m certain the kids were feeling my frustration. I had lost my temper the day before when no one would confess to leaving a daily mess of pencil shavings. “But Ms. Williams,” they whined, “we all have mechanical pencils.” “Well, you’d better get some regular number twos before the test,” I snapped. They snickered and giggled, “Number twos.” I stormed off and rolled my eyes.

Testing came and went, and I had a month left to teach the way I wanted. We had a science lesson at a local pond, did art twice a week, and spent a day making kites while we watched NASA videos. The yearbook had a nice page dedicated to Cody, and our class pitched in to buy a bench in his name at the front of the school.

The week after school ended, I saw Cody’s mom downtown. We spoke about the bench, about what Cody would have liked in middle school, and her son, Kyle, who was entering third grade. “I’d like him to be in your class someday,” she said, “Cody always liked you so much. You know, he said even if he had to repeat fifth grade, he wanted to stay in your class forever.”

I spent the summer, like a lot of young teachers, slightly drunk while planning the next year. What worked? What didn’t? What might be fun to try? Should I paint the math cabinet?

The weekend before school started, I walked through the humid morning air to my portable to prepare it for a new group of doe-eyed fifth graders. As I pushed open the door, a cyclone of pretty weeds and flowers swirled and fell around my desk. In the middle of it stood a folded index card. It read: “To the best teacher ever. I’ll never give up.” Of course, there was no name.

Credits to: Ms_Williams

Progress

Well, wow. I’m down another 7lbs, which means I only have 14lbs to lose to reach my 100lbs weight loss goal by May 23. This is amazing, and I never could have imagined my life to be anything like this a year ago. I hope this gives someone the motivation they need to keep going. It’s gonna be hard, discouraging, and disappointing at times, but I PROMISE, it’s going to be worth it. Keep going. Keep going.

Left: At the zoo in Atlanta in the heat of summer. I remember I was burning up and wishing I had a drink.

•3 years and >100lbs later•

Right: This past Thanksgiving drunk hanging out with my family.

Follow your dreams 😂

Happy then. Happy AND Healthy now.

5

A 21-year-old Royal Marine was buried in Holland with full military honours – a fitting funeral denied him more than 70 years ago by war and circumstance.

For over six decades, the last resting place of Marine David Williams from Colwyn Bay in North Wales lay unmarked and forgotten by the banks of the River Maas.

But in 2010, the green beret’s remains were found – prompting a five-year investigation to discover his identity, by tracing his family, so he could finally be interred alongside comrades from the Corps in the village of Waspik, 50 miles south of Amsterdam.

On February 5 1945, 41 Commando planned a raid across the River Maas to snatch a prisoner of war from behind German lines.

Bad weather forced the mission to be abandoned – but the collapsible canvas boat used was left behind on the far bank. 41’s leaders ordered the boat retrieved and Williams was sent across the river with comrades.

On the way back, the boat capsized, and three marines were swept down the cold waters of the Maas – here 650ft wide – by the strong current.

Wearing combat boots, battle dress and leather jerkins, the three men struggled – Williams especially as he could not swim – and eventually drowned.

The bodies of Mnes Charles Brandon and Kenneth Ratcliffe were subsequently washed up downstream and buried, while Williams’ corpse was eventually recovered from the water and laid to rest in a shallow grave by the river.

And there the 21-year-old’s body remained for 65 years, until work was conducted on the site – and the marine’s remains uncovered, plus his boots and gaiters. 

DNA testing was needed to identify the body – made trickier by the fact that Williams was given up for adoption shortly after birth.

Eventually, the marine’s half-sister was located in Colwyn Bay.

Now 72 and unaware she had a half-brother – their mother had never spoken of him – she was confirmed as a relative thanks to DNA testing earlier this year and attended today’s service.

Present-day Royal Marines acted as bearers of Mne Williams’ coffin, a Royal Marines bugler sounded The Last Post and Reveille, and a party from the Dutch marines fired volleys in salute of the fallen green beret.

According to his service record, David Williams was well thought of by his superiors who were impressed both by his character and his actions on the field of battle.

Having volunteered for service aged 17 in the autumn of 1940, he served in Sicily, Normandy and finally the Netherlands.

8

OUTFIT: How To Wear All Black

Cancel The Funeral

I’m not saying my love for bright colors is dead, but lately I feel like my wardrobe has been experiencing a case of seasonal affective disorder.  I mean with this poloar vortex and all, the shift to a darker monochromatic color palette seems almost mathematical. Snow + Cold = Dark slash Miserable, therefore black all day long. You follow? Well, let’s just pretend that makes sense to anyone other than me.

But really, who cares what you look like when you can’t feel your face (or hands, or feet, literally anything…) and black just happens to be an easy and stylish default. Now I’m not saying you have to go all street goth or banish all color from your closet but if you want to pull off the All-Black look, here’s two *tips* to remember.

1. Break up your black with hints of white and gray. A layered t-shirt, a white shoe, a beanie - keep the color palette neutral and you’ll still get that monochromatic look.

2. Keep your outfit from being too boring by mixing in different fabrics. Try black denim with a cable knit sweater or layering flannels and wool.

And there you have it. An out fit that says FASHUN not FUNERAL!

Wearing:

H&M Jacket ($12.50 salesies LIKE OMFG you guys!)//  Calvin Klein shirt (a fancy way of saying I shopped at Macy’s)  //  H&M Pants //  Public School x Generic Man shoes (and here’s the “High-Low” ya bish)  
//  Original Penguin Jacket

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