SCP-1513 or as I’ve been seeing it ‘Creepy flower covered skeleton sculpture’ is a real cat skeleton covered in fake flowers. Created by a dutch artist known as Cedric Laquieze. This artist has also covered other animals with these fake flowers (I think I saw a dog one!)
It’s creepy, morbid but at the same time it’s freaking beautiful. You can find the artist over here along with more pictures!
Crowley didn’t like cages. In fact, he very well hated them. Oh he resented them with a passion that burned brighter than the hottest volcano the earth had ever seen.
They were tight, even tighter as he wasn’t exactly in good shape even with everything he’d been through, he couldn’t move properly and the worst was he was vulnerable.
Everybody could see. They didn’t see him. They saw what he was. There weren’t many of Crowley’s kind left, not anymore. Most were killed, raped to death, served until their last breath. Why? Because they were different. Shifters, just like Crowley was. He? He was a Hellhound. Fiery and beasty creatures. Once, long long time ago.
Now? He was broken, damaged and beyond repair. A pet. While he should be grateful to have been taken away from that place, he doubted he’d come to a better one, ever. He’d hoped for freedom, but that wish was feeble. There was no freedom for someone like him, especially not since he couldn’t hide anymore. He was used goods, so damaged he couldn’t even do the only thing that actually made him different. Shift. Not fully. While he could hide all of his pet-like attributes in the past, he was now always walking around as an abomination. His mighty tail and ears always in sight, fiery red eyes that had no fire left in them and a set of canines hidden behind his chapped lips.
His old collar had eaten into the skin of his throat, leaving the skin angry and red – cheap quality for a cheap pet.
Crowley didn’t care anymore. Here he was saved, yet still in a cage waiting for someone to actually like what they saw… an old man, so broken there were only few inches of his skin that actually held their normal colour anymore. Everything else covered in scars and bruises that were only slowly fading.
Hungry for a super-cute dog video? Check out this time-lapse video of two puppies running for dinner. The video covers about nine months in the supper-chasing lives of golden retrievers Colby and Bleu. Watching those two slip and slide on the floor is the best kind of happy meal.
Headcanon: the progression of Stan’s pet names for Mabel never stops, they just get increasingly ridiculous, until she’s sixteen and he regularly calls her things like “my sweet little chickadee” and “sugarplum honey muffin.”
made this about a year or so ago for an artshow at the kingston museum of contemporary arts in NY. she got sold on opening night and i wonder where she is now. i love painting orange trees and brown girls (like my mom and me) being gentle and strong and making things grow!
I remember us going to the beach together, in the summer, with my brother and my father, I remember when she taught me how to ride a bike. When people ask me what my first memory of her was before, it’s always difficult to answer because when you are a child, you are not aware that your mother is special for so many people, so you don’t start recording your memories carefully. I remember the simple things, like walking the dogs together with her. She gave a great importance to having children and pets together in the house because she thought that a child must feel that empathy of growing up with a pet. It’s a great lesson of life, to have this connection with creatures which are weaker than us, which cannot express themselves through words, but which can offer so much affection.
She never considered herself as a star, nor as a good actress. She was always very cautious and she used to say: I don’t know why they are picking me for roles, I’m not that talented.She always said: I was so lucky to be the right person, at the right spot, at the right time. She didn’t have this star attitude; this is the main reason why people still relate to her. On the rare occasions that paparazzi came to take a snap of her walking on the street, I was quite surprised. I was asking myself why they were so aggressive with their cameras, but my mother was always very kind on that aspect. She used to say to me they were doing their job. She would say: Let’s smile and take a nice photo, and then we go on with our lives. They are writing stories, there aren't so many stories about me, so they have to do something to create one. Just smile and don’t worry!
The Hollywood career didn’t affect her at all. The thing that it brought to her – she would say – was that it offered her the possibility to help her children study and have a good education. This was important for her: having the chance to offer her family what they needed. She didn’t think about earning money and shopping for expensive jewelry or clothes. There is this story I always remember; one day a friend of her came to our house, and he had a Jaguar. My mother was very excited and she wanted to have a ride with the Jaguar. And then I told her: I never knew you were so excited about cars! And she replied: I’m not, but the Jaguar has always been my dream! …So why don’t you buy one?, I asked. And she answered: Oh, but I don’t need one. In a Jaguar the dogs don’t fit, the groceries don’t fit, the children don’t fit, so I’m perfectly happy just having this desire.
She wasn’t an angel, she wasn’t a saint, she wasn’t perfect. But she was a very warm and real person. Audrey Hepburn’s son, Luca Dotti
teacher’s pet, pt. 3 | ao3 a/n: from here on it may be a lot more shorter snippets of chapters, glimpses at the relationship development and stuff, with the occasional more-so chapters.
Clarke sat at the table, her son leaning forward with his hands in his palms, elbows propped on the table as he squinted at her. “You’re dating Mr. Blake.” Clarke nodded, cheeks flooded with warmth. “My teacher, Mr. Blake,” Lex reiterated.
Clarke reached up a scratched at her eyebrow nervously.
“And he’s here. At the house?” Lex frowned.
Swallowing hard, she nodded again, “Yes, Lex. Bell– Mr. Blake, is, uh, back in my bedroom at the moment.”
The seven-year-old stared at her with an almost unreadable expression.
“I don’t understand,” he said finally.
Clarke sighed, rubbing her hands over her face in frustration. “Mr. Blake, Bellamy, and I met at my pottery class over the summer,” she said slowly. “I did not know he was your teacher until I came to class the first day to pick you up.”
“Huh,” Lex grunted.
They sat in stony silence for a few more minutes as Clarke studied the expression on her sons face.
Lex broke the staring contest with a request, “Can I still have pancakes?”
Clarke exhaled sharply, “Of course, baby. How about you watch TV until they’re ready?”
The chair screeched as he pushed away from the table and ran to the living room. Clarke groaned and stood, hurrying back down the hall to Bellamy waiting in her bedroom.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his hair was in a disarray and he was wearing a grey v-neck and dark wash jeans and damn it if she wished his clothes were on the floor instead.
“Hey,” he turned his head as she closed the door quietly behind her.
She slumped a little against the handle and Bellamy rose to his feet and closed the distance between them. Cupping her face, he covered her mouth with his own. It was slow and gentle, and his lips were soft as Clarke nearly melted on the spot.
Bellamy pulled away and Clarke offered a small pout before speaking again, “Okay, so he knows you’re here.”
“And he still wants his pancakes.”
Bellamy laughed, and Clarke’s heart ached at the sound and they way his eyes crinkled when his face lit up. “Smart boy, focused on the food.”
Clarke fell forward, dropping her forehead on Bellamy’s chest as he wrapped his arms around her in a firm embrace. His chest rumbled with gentle laughter and Clarke drew her eyes upward again. “Well, we should go out there.”
“I’ve got a hungry seven-year-old to feed,” she sighed.
Hands entangled, they made their way back to the kitchen.