nowhere limited

anonymous asked:

do you know any welsh myths? i feel like it would be fitting to have one of those!

I haven’t done anything Welsh yet, which I feel is basically just taunting my ancestors at this point, so I will grant your request. However, I’ve done it in a really arse about face kind of way, and instead of choosing one of Wales’ myriad beautiful and bizarre myths, I’ve given you a culturally appropriated folklore turned piece of false history. I hope this satisfies your Welsh craving. 

There are lots of Welsh names as well as historical information and comparative lore under the Read More, if that helps at all. If you don’t want to read the poorly retold tale of a trusty hound, a legally useless baby and an improbable wolf, then press J on your keyboard to skip it as this is a long post!

Dogs are Shit at Babysitting

A long long time ago, in a time when Wales is an actual place which isn’t just ruled by the apathetic heir to the English throne, there dwells a guy named Llywelyn. Actually, there are about 6,000 guys named Llywelyn because it is a confusingly popular name, but this Llywelyn is the main Llywelyn, because his name is Llywelyn Fawr, which means Llywelyn the Great, and there is no Llywelyn the Best, or even a Llywelyn the Slightly Better. He is also basically the ruler of all of Wales, which sounds really impressive until you remember that Wales is about the size of a thimble and is mostly just fields. Anyway, at the time of this story, Llywelyn has recently become the father to an absolutely incredible baby boy, whose mother was really inconsiderate and died in childbirth. Now, this kid must be literally the best baby ever, because even though he’s illegitimate and therefore can’t be Llywelyn’s heir, making him about as useful as a Human Rights charter at a UKIP convention, Llywelyn doesn’t just fuck off. Instead, he decides to be a thoroughly modern man and take care of the baby himself. He really goes all out with it, too. Like, he moves himself into this shitty castle in the arse end of nowhere, presumably telling his wife that he’s, you know, communing with nature or working on his aura or something, and he becomes the great dad that he has no interest in being to any of his other litters of illegitimate offspring.

He’s not alone, however, because living in a huge castle with just an infant would get kind of boring, once the novelty of cleaning up sick and washing nappies wore off. No, Llywelyn takes his best bro with him: the one friend who’s stuck with him through thick and thin; the pal who’d never judge him for leaving his wife and heir to shack up with a technically useless illegitimate baby. The name of this astonishingly faithful friend is Gelert, and also he has four legs. Not because he’s some sort of mystical sprite, but because he is a dog, and dogs quite often have four legs. As far as dogs go, Gelert is definitely in the uppermost percentile. He’s probably in the top ten. He’s just an all-round A+ canine companion. He was given to Llywelyn as a wedding gift by his father-in-law, King John ‘if I kick my illegitimate daughter Joan out to marry Llywelyn and live in Wales, is that a good enough excuse to ransack the place and raze it to the goddamn ground, leaving it as nothing but a heap of charred remains next to the glorious rolling hills’ of England, which means that of all the things that Llywelyn’s father-in-law gave him on his special day, Llywelyn valued the dog over his wife. Which is fine actually, because they got married when Llywelyn was 31 and Joan was 12, so they probably didn’t have that much in common anyway.

Anyway, Llywelyn and Gelert are totally inseparable. There’s probably entire montages of the two of them just being adorable best friends, with them running down hills in slow motion and sniffing flowers, and Llywelyn sitting in front of a roaring fire and nursing his baby with a plastic teat while Gelert rests faithfully at his slipper-clad feet, and Gelert baring his teeth and snarling as he loyally rips the throat out of the bunny that Llywelyn is hunting, and it’s all lovely and very Lassie-esque. The two of them live with Llywelyn’s pointless illegitimate offspring in their empty castle surrounded by woodland and emptiness, and it’s all just excellent.

One day, Llywelyn is invited to go out on a lads’ hunting trip (basically the equivalent of a boys only trip to Magaluf in those days) with some visiting noblemen and, being a single dad, he naturally leaps at the chance to wear a fancy coat and maybe show off his abs a bit and just fucking kill some shit for fun. However, there’s one slight flaw in the plan, and that’s the fact that living in a castle on a hill in the middle of nowhere does rather limit his babysitting options. There’s no convenient teenage girl called Carly who just wants to make enough money to go to Coachella this year and also prove to her mother that she’s responsible. Not even one. So, Llywelyn improvises, and he decides that the best thing to do would be to just get his best friend to cover for him. But it’s fine, because he doesn’t do anything bizarre like ask Gelert to babysit or anything. That would be weird. He’s just like “look, I’m going on a hunt with the lads, and of course you’re invited because you’re an absolutely stellar hunting hound, but I need you to just check that the castle is safe from, like, random wolves. I have a very real fear of wolves in my castle. I would not like that at all. This castle has historically been a wolf-free zone, and I really plan on keeping it that way. I don’t want to tarnish my perfect track record of zero wolf-related incidents within these walls. Can you do that for me?” and Gelert probably does that thing that dogs do when they silently commune with your soul to convey a wordless message of complete obedience, and Llywelyn beams and says “great, I’ll just go and set some stuff up with the lads and I’ll call you once you’ve had a chance to completely safeguard the life of my defenceless newborn son against improbable wolves,” and Gelert barks and wags his tail and Llywelyn goes off to sharpen his sword in preparation for manly violent japes, then joins his group of hunt-ready friends in the woods.

After a little while, Llywelyn decides that it’s probably been long enough for Gelert to perform all his rigorous security checks, and besides, the lads are getting restless with slaughter cravings, so Llywelyn blows on his super rad hunting horn and waits for a few minutes for Gelert to appear, but much to Llywelyn’s chagrin, Gelert remains about as absent as Llywelyn’s paternal skills. All of Llywelyn’s manly hunting companions sigh, and they’re like “look, Llywelyn, he’s not coming, can we just go already? We came here to metaphorically shoot the shit and literally kill tiny animals, and we’ve all shot about as much shit as we can handle.” Llywelyn just sort of looks worriedly over his shoulder at the castle in the distance, and he says “can we just wait a few minutes, guys? Maybe his alarm didn’t go off or something, he’s probably just getting ready. Let me blow my phallic horn again,” and so he blows his hunting horn again and waits for his trusty hound, all expectant and wide-eyed, but Gelert still doesn’t appear. At this point, his slaughter-hungry menfolk are just groaning and tutting and making their horses trot around in bored circles and talking about how they could totally be piercing the flesh of some innocent animals right now, and eventually Llywelyn just gives up and says “OK, fine, we’ll have to go without him, but we’re not going to have a good time, and we’re all going to feel really guilty about it, so I hope you’re happy,” and his fellow hunters just nod briskly and they’re all “we’re 100% happier at the promise of dead rabbits, now let’s go and establish man as one of the dominant ruinous forces of nature!” and off they go to, like, slaughter badgers and shit. I don’t know what animals are native to Welsh woodland. Maybe a red squirrel or two. Possibly a heron.

When they’ve finished their testosterone-fueled bout of merciless animal slaughter, Llywelyn and the lads trail back to the castle to drink alcohol and talk about how rad the whole thing was. However, when they get to the castle, the first thing Llywelyn notices is that all the furniture has been thrown everywhere, and there’s blood all over the walls. It basically looks like there’s been a horrific incident at IKEA, with entrails splattered all up the ceiling and bits of things that should definitely be on the inside, but are now very much on the outside of who or whatever they once belonged to. Immediately, Llywelyn draws his sword and he’s like “something has gone very amiss here, I suspect wolves,” and one of his companions whispers “it would be a very good idea to try and find your son, because I have a sneaking suspicion that he probably couldn’t take a wolf in a fight, mano a mano” and Llywelyn nods sagely and is about to give some orders when another one of his companions pipes up “no, it’s cool, I’ve found your son, he’s not here” and Llywelyn is like “how have you found him if he’s not here?” and the man points at the corner of the room, where Llywelyn’s son’s crib is overturned in a pool of blood, and next to it lies the sleeping Gelert, whose jaws are covered in blood and guts, and Llywelyn’s heart just sinks.

He turns to his hunting lads and says “lads, you don’t want to see this,” and they’re like “ooh, are you going to mercilessly slaughter your dog, because we absolutely live for that shit and we totally want to see that,” and Llywelyn just fixes them with a stern glare and they all scarper, and he closes the door behind them and turns back to Gelert, who’s woken up at this point and is sitting up, wagging his tail. Llywelyn just lets rip at him, all “I trusted you! I appointed you royal babysitter, and this is how you repay me? By murdering my baby? This is not what I didn’t pay you for! All those times we frolicked in the woods around the bodies of our fresh kills – did all that mean nothing to you? I can’t believe this, you’re the worst friend ever, and one of my bros once boned my wife in our marital bed, so that’s really saying something,” and Gelert just sits there, because he is a dog and doesn’t really know what the fuck is going on. Then, Llywelyn fixes his old friend with a remorseful look and says “it’s really partly my own fault, I should have got a registered babysitter and also probably a human one, but you did eat my son, so I feel like you should also take some of the responsibility here,” and Gelert wags his tail a bit and Llywelyn is like “I thought I’d finished my ceaseless rampage of animal murder for the day, but clearly I was wrong,” and he just plunges his sword right into Gelert’s body, and Gelert makes a noise that can only be described as a death yelp, and dies.

Almost immediately this really high pitched wailing starts up, and Llywelyn looks around in fright, then makes the somewhat belated decision to pick up the upturned crib, and there, absolutely pristine despite the pool of blood around the crib, is his baby son, still alive and pink and healthy and other things that babies generally should be when they haven’t been eaten by dogs. Then Llywelyn notices that there’s also a massive dead wolf in the corner of the room, and it’s almost certainly been there the entire time because dead wolves tend to have difficulty with locomotion, and he realises that he clearly has the observational skills of a mushroom because the blood is clearly the wolf’s and not his son’s, and he drops his sword and it clatters to the floor, mixing Gelert’s blood with what he now knows to be the blood of the improbable wolf, and he falls to the floor in a heap of anguish and probably embarrassment and starts crying in a really manly fashion, because he’s just killed his absolute best bro for nothing.

When he’s finished weeping for the time being, he picks up the body of Gelert and starts whispering to it, like “I misjudged you so hard, you were the best babysitter ever, I’ve never had a babysitter rip a wolf’s throat apart with their teeth to protect my baby son before, I would have given you some Pedigree Chum instead of a cruel and untimely death if I’d realised,” and then has a brilliant idea as to how he can pay tribute to his late canine companion. He carries Gelert outside, burying him at the top of a high mound so that everyone who comes by – statistically, likely no-one ever – will know about the bravery of Gelert and the perils of freelance babysitting without a written contract.

My other retellings can be found here; my dedicated mythology blog is here; and my Mythology Mondays Facebook page is here. The latter two links also allow you to follow my progress in writing a whole actual book. Thrilling.

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A Date With Death

[WARNING: Instance of animal death, mild gore.]

Phillip Toomey could see a man just in the peripheral of his vision. This man was tall and wore a finely tailored suit, the kind you see wealthy businessmen wear because they’re the only ones that can afford such a luxury.

The man stood out in this part of the city where those with money didn’t dare to venture, especially at night; for fear that they might get robbed whether that be by pickpocketing or a mugging at gunpoint.

Knowing this, Phillip couldn’t help but think maybe he was FBI but that’d be ridiculous, the FBI knew how to blend in and then there was this man, so out in the open and not even trying to go unnoticed. Though it seemed as if no one was sparing even a moment’s glance at him and Phillip thought it strange.

With a shake of his head, Phillip grabbed a newspaper off the stand, threw a one onto the counter, and made his way to the nearby coffee shop to grab some breakfast and a latte as he always did before going about the rest of his day.

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Getting lost was something Brooklyn was exceptionally good at, but it was also something she really loved. There was nothing better than wandering to her, especially at Hogwarts. It seemed as if every day there was a new place for her to read or look up at the stars. Of course, it had gotten her in trouble a time or two, and today seemed to be one of those days. She’d had her nose buried deep in her charms book as she walked, the sudden voice of someone telling her she was going to be in the Forbidden Forest if she kept walking the only thing pulling her from the book. As she looked up, she smiled. “There’s a whole lot of forbidden here, isn’t there?”

my favourite thing about cars as a franchise is that if you try to think about the logistics of the cars universe as it is presented in the films, logically, for about…i don’t know, a second? the entire concept collapses

like, for example, there’s a sequence in the first cars film, in which lightning mcqueen shortly after arriving in radiator springs and causing all the damage, is effectively put on trial, and they do this in a courtroom

i want you to look at this image and try and think about how anything in this scene should conceivably exist in this universe. how did cars make the hardwood floor? why are they on a hardwood floor in the first place, wouldn’t their tires be making a complete mess on the floor? how did they carve those ornate pillars and door designs? how did they make the ceiling fans? why would cars need ceiling fans? how the fuck did they paint those pictures in the background? and design the detailed frames for the pictures? or even make the canvas on which the pictures were to be painted in the first place? how did cars make that sculpture and lettering above the door? how the fuck? the absolute limit of the cars fine motor skills control is their wheels which are woefully inadequate for doing anything, and even the little forklifts abilities are limited, with nowhere near the precise amount of control required for any of this shit to occur. how did any of this happen? the entire reality of the film falls apart with the slightest poking and it’s incredible

Fic: “Seven Little Queens”

Summary: After Trixie and Adore come up with the idea to drag their closest friends with them to spend a vacation in an isolated cabin, no one could have expected the danger that lurked in the surrounding forest. What will happen to these seven little drag queens? That is up to you, the reader, to decide as fatal choices will be given to you to vote upon that will affect the outcome of this story. 
Trigger Warnings: Anything and everything horror related may or may not appear in this story which includes: monsters, character death, gore, blood

A/N: So, this is a little horror fic that has been plaguing me for a while but has only just now decided to be written. This will be similar to a “Choose your own adventure” story, except that I’m not writing 50+ potential chapters, haha! For each chapter, you will be given two options to choose from, and each choice has a 50% chance of being fatal for any of the surviving characters. Each and every character has the potential to be killed. No character is safe (including my Violet whom I will be very upset about if you get killed). 
To vote, just leave a message in my ask box (anon is on) with your choice. Spam voting is not only allowed but encouraged if you really want to see your choice play out. 
Good luck, and I hope the characters you want to live will and those you wish to kill off do as well (though I may rage if you get my Violet killed). 


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Catalyst - Chapter One

The Return

Cowritten and Proofread by @aoimikans

Five hundred meters.

The fall morning was bright, crisp, and quiet. Wind whipped through Izuku Midoriya’s hair, cool but not cold enough to sting his lungs as he picked up speed. His feet pounded against the track and arms pumped at his sides. His muscles burned but nowhere near their limit. Izuku grinned.

Four hundred meters.

The spark in his chest flared, and he activated One for All: Full Cowl. Power darted across his skin and warmed him from the inside out. He felt lighter, the ground softer, the distance shorter, his mind at ease. He ran.  

Two hundred meters.

Izuku pushed himself. Seven percent. Eight percent. Nine -

He hissed at the pull at his tendons. One for All fizzled out as he slowed to a jog, then a walk. His legs throbbed, just on the edge of strain. Nothing he couldn’t shake off.

Not quite sturdy enough for nine percent yet, Izuku thought with a thoughtful frown. He shook his head, One hundred meters cool down. Then stretch. Maybe tomorrow…

Izuku walked the rest of the loop. The pounding of his heart and breathing slowed as he turned along the last curve toward his belongings. He glanced up and halted midstep.

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B*tch doesn't like to wait, has to wait a bit longer.

This happened a few years back at Clearwater Beach, Florida.
I’d gone mistakenly during Ironman week, and parking spaces were scarce, but luckily I’d gotten one right on the front, paid for an hour and went for a run with my two dogs.

On the way back I cross over the road to go back to the car park. In Clearwater they have a lot of these crosswalks that the traffic has to yield to. Start crossing, half way accross when black Lexus suv roars up out of nowhere, clearly breaking speed limit, blasts on horn, middle aged bitch within car starts yelling obscenities, I point to sign of person crossing, more obscenities before bitch queen speeds off.

Get to my car, get the dogs in the back and start to give them a drink while sitting in the open trunk, notice b*tch queen in her Lexus waiting about 20 feet from me(I’m in a really good space, right near the beach) she’s obviously waiting for me to move, and I would have taken about a minute to water my mutts and drive away to give up the space, but one minute is too long for b*tch queen.

I close the trunk, and start to head back to the car and I hear a voice, a whiny “I’m not used to people telling me no” voice:
“Hey, HEY! I’m waiting here, are you going to be much longer?”
Okay you c*nt, I was going, but now…check my ticket, 10 minutes left…
“I’ll be gone in a few…” I say….
“well are you going to the beach or what, what are you doing?” is the reply…
“I’ll be done….when I’m done”… I say back.

B*tch queen speeds off with tires screeching round the car park, to the attendant, and starts b*tching to him, arms waving out of the window, the works, clearly upset. He just shrugs his shoulders as if ‘nothing I can do’. B*tch drives out of car park.

In meantime another car has pulled in behind me, I signal to say I’m leaving and they can have my spot, and drive away, and the sweet part is I see b*tch drive back around into the lot only to see a fresh car parked where I was.
I hope her head exploded.

Petty Revenge: Your daily dose of the best petty revenge stories. | source

[Fic] All That I Knead (1/1)

Rating: PG-13/T
Pairing: Eren/Levi
Tags: Modern AU, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Bad Puns, Cake Shop AU

Levi works at a cake shop with Hanji and Mike. When subtlety fails to work on the every-busy Levi, his new regular customer has to step up his game. And what better way to get someone’s attention than with bad pick up lines.

One-shot on Ao3

Heartbeats - Chapter 13

Hey! Hi. Sorry I’m a bit late… anyway, here’s the last chapter of Heartbeats - there will be a short epilogue next Monday and then we can move on! As usual, this has been brought to you by passing-time-creatively​ proofreading service. Thanks bro! 

SFW, (N)SFF, 1,899 words

“Does anybody know?” Rachel whispers, still excited.

“No” Hannah says, simply, “nobody knows yet.”

“Not even Mamrie?” Rachel squints her eyes, investigating.

“Not even-” Hannah pauses, and frowns, then continues “not even Mamrie.”

“So, how was it?” Hannah asks while they wait for a taxi. They got Rachel’s address to send her copies of their books, and made her promise once again that she’ll keep quiet until they are ready to share the news with the world.

“How was what?” Grace asks, kicking a pebble, distracted.

“Your first coming out.”

“Oh. Technically… it wasn’t the first. Nor the second, for that matter.”

“Wait, what?”

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Looked back at recent pics. Now I look back, it’s been a long journey and the glo-up season was real.
But it’s nowhere near my limit and my potential. My true glo-up is coming y'all.

I accept myself. I love and hate myself the most. And I’ve always took what others said into consideration. But the time has come for me to do me more than ever. Cause when I think about it, can’t nobody EVER do me, like I do me.

anonymous asked:

Cullen/dorian modern au. Cullen recently comes out as gay and dorian being the good friend he is, makes it his personal mission to take cullen to gay bars and hook him up with strangers. All the while being oblivious to cullen's obvious crush on him.

Dorian’s known, for as long as he can recall, that he was gay. He’s never lied to himself about that aspect of himself. To his family and acquaintances? Of course! Who doesn’t lie to their parents about sex? Though Dorian hadn’t expected that he’d have a damn good reason to lie until he overheard them discussing conversion camps and had actually taken the time to look up what that meant.

Amazing how much the threat of brainwashing could straighten a gay boy up. At least until Dorian could legally declare himself an adult and run the fuck away.

His wonderful familial experiences aside, Dorian’s never doubted his own inclinations. In the time since he’s been on his own he’s had the chance to meet a good number of people who weren’t always that lucky. He’s helped those he could and watched far too many good men and women suffer when he couldn’t. Which isn’t the point of the night, and he turns his thoughts away from that depressing thought before he ends up in a very black mood.

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Summary: Contrary to popular belief, Q doesn’t give James everything.

“Q, I need you to do me a favor.”

“My answer is no, double-oh seven, as past experience tells me that you will inevitably find trouble, get into the thick of it, I will have to bail you out, and then we will both end up in front of the review board for a suspected lack of professionalism in the workplace,” Q said, not bothering to look up from the quarterly budget reports as James’s shadow crossed the papers, fully blocking Q’s light now. “As Eve is now running pools on when we next end up in front of said review board, I’d rather not chance the risk of a double insult by letting her actually win anything,” he added, shifting the papers to the left so he could keep checking the numbers. He’d found a potential way to circumvent the Treasury’s new budgeting rules and the destructive tendencies of nine Double-Os out on the field, but he still needed to confirm his theory before putting it to practice.

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