St. Dunstan in the East
A beautiful church in the city of London that was destroyed during WWII and reopened to the public as a garden in 1967. Trees and vines grow along the walls, nature reclaiming the concrete structure. It is a beautiful, haunting secret garden in central London!
“Inherent qualities of landscape features and phenomena account for similar meanings across time and place: flowing rivers and growing trees, wet water and solid earth, round circles and angular squares, solid walls and open gates. Humans interpret landscape signs and elaborate upon them, reading meanings in to tell stories. The closer invented meanings are to significant, inherent qualities the more they draw from embodied knowledge rather than disembodied, abstract ideas, and the more likely those meanings are to be shared broadly; the further removed the less likely that meanings will be shared. Meanings and associations experienced directly are universal among human cultures or nearly so: water and purity, path and journey. Meaning not experienced bodily, as a sensation, even when strongly suggested by inherent qualities are not universal; not all cultures regard rivers as signifying time, air and light as intangible spirit, a circle as a cycle. Invented meanings remote from experience depend entirely on the mind’s imagining: a circle as heaven, a square as earth.”
Anne Whiston Spirn, from “Survival and Imagination: Reading and Telling the Meanings of Landscape,” The Language of Landscape (Yale University Press, 1998)
The world ends on a Thursday, comes crashing down in smoke and fire and ruin. And then it keeps going, and Vox Machina figures out how to make do in the aftermath. [ a post-apocalyptic au for cr ladies week ]
Dad always said they were going to ruin the world one of these days, but Keyleth’s pretty sure this isn’t what he meant. More pollution and corporate greed, fewer unholy creatures of nightmare and shadow.
(The earthquakes and floods were probably about what he was imagining, at least. There’s a sick sense of vindication about that, that the hippies and environmentalists were right, sort of.)
Sometimes Keyleth wonders how Ashari Inc. fared, if everyone survived. If anyone survived.
On the good days, she’s sure they must have.
There aren’t too many good days, after the end of the world.
Pairing: Cain x Reader Word count: 955 Warnings: I’m sorry Written for my 400 Followers Celebration Requested by:@grace-for-sale. Prompt: Carousel / Quote: “I just want a chance to get to know you better”
you find yourself drawn to a tent as black as ink. Pulling back the curtain you find yourself in a room that time forgot. Glowing trees seem to grow out of the walls and twine around each other, making a canopy a hundred feet high. Ghosts whirl through the room in an endless waltz and sometimes vanish right into your body. You've forgotten who you are, but maybe that could be a good thing for a while.
you aren't really sure how you came to your tent. It almost looks like an opaque shower glass; no clarity is getting in or out. When you walk inside, it's so cold you can feel the tips of your hair freezing. Everything is made of snow and ice. Ice roses bloom and breathe all the around you, opening up their transparent petals before they drop off and shatter on the ground. Soon you will join them. The thought doesn't scare you.
the tent you are drawn to is the deepest shade of purple you've ever seen. A strange, perfumed pink mist seems to be coming from the entrance and when you step inside it you begin to feel as if you've stepped inside a different body. Your hair floats behind you like waves of ink in water and you feel a lightness in your mind that you've never felt before. It appears that you've entered a cave of priceless gems and they're jutting out of the walls at every angle. Light bounces off the gems and reflects on your face. You feel ethereal.
you enter a plain green tent, unsure as to why you feel so drawn to it. Once you're inside, you are greeted by a warm forest in summer. But something feels different. The air is sweeter and the fruits on the trees are the size of your head. Fairies whip through you hair and kiss your eyelashes. You are not wearing the same clothes you were wearing before but you don't really care. Mythical creatures pop out from all around you and tell you that they have missed you.
your tent is the colour of molten lava and a powerful wave of heat hits you when you step inside. For a moment it is so bright and hot that you feel as if your insides are on fire. As quick as it came, the heat is gone. And you are left floating in space, surrounded by nebulas that change colour when you touch them. You feel huge and tiny at the same time and decide you like the feeling. You have become a burning star and when you leave, nebulas and solar systems will be created in your absence.
you are drawn to your tent by the strange gurgling sound it makes. Everything goes black when you enter it and your mind seems to disappear for a while. When you wake, you have gills and a tail, and your scales change colour randomly. A city is in the distance, like a glowing underwater sun. You swim towards it and watch as a thousand lights appear. You see colours you didn't even know existed. You forget the life that you had before.
your tent is an odd colour; brown like the bark of a tree, and covered in rings and highlights. You step inside and look up, seeing that the top of the tent seems to be thousands of miles away. You are in a wooden city, surrounded tiny people wearing acorn hats and leaves for clothes. Warm lights are overhead and you realize they aren't lights at all. They're fireflies. You are the size of an ant, living in the tree of life. There are cities all around you. You keep moving, feeling the never ending need to explore.
you are drawn to a pitch black tent covered in silver stars. You are sucked into darkness when you step inside and at first, you are scared. Slowly, shimmering lights begin to appear out of thin air. Glitter pours out of the lights and begins to form trees and giant leaves. A moon turns on in the distance and someone brushes up against your arm leaving long, glowing hairs behind them. As you push through the now dense leaves, they light up. You see a house in the distance with smoke coming from the chimney. You head towards it.
you are drawn to a big golden tent that no one else seems to see. Once inside, you find that you are seated in a plush red velvet chair in a giant theatre. Looking around, you notice a crowd of excited faces all pointing at the swaying, shimmering curtains in front of you. A man appears and begins to perform feats of magic. He calls you to the front and asks you to close your eyes and think of a magical place. When you open them, you are exactly where you imagined. Adventure awaits you. A voice tells you that you can stay here forever. You hope it's right.
your feet pull you toward a shimmering peach coloured tent. As you enter, strange music begins to fill your ears. Plants grow towards you and spray you with sweet perfume. A large scrap of silver silk floats in front of you. Thousands of bottles of shining liquids rest on top of it. You pick up a bottle and uncork it, smelling deadly nightshade and and honey. You drink it and feel the environment melt away and transform into an entirely new one. This time the floating silk is covered in cakes. You stay here for days, endlessly transforming yourself and the world around you.
you are pulled into a dark blue tent embroidered with pictures of the moon. As you stumble inside you look for the person who pulled up in but see no one. Instead, you look around and see only a small silvery pool of liquid. As you approach it, it changes and reflects a planet covered in lush purple forests and impossibly beautiful people. You are mesmerized and lean closer to the water only to feel the same hand that dragged you into the tent push you into the shimmering pool. Time stops. You breath in a heavy liquid but don't drown. When you come out on the other side you see that the purple forests and beautiful people are waiting for you. You are finally at home.
your tent is the colour of the sky when it rains. You cautiously step inside, aware that you are the only one who seems to want to enter the tent. You are underground, in a tunnel system. Glowing blue mushrooms light the way and lead you to an opening. You step out into a fluorescent swamp. Plants curl up your body and nixies and mermaids come out of their pools to say hello. They ask what took you so long and offer you two necklaces. The first will turn you into a plant being, the second will turn you into a water elemental. You can only pick one.
This bodhi tree’s roots takes years to grow on to ancient wall. It is like stepping back to Ayutthaya period when this old capital of Thailand was prospered. When you have a chance to visit Ayutthaya, don’t forget to spend your time admiring simple things, it could tell long time of history.
Shift Focus to the Unique Thailand Experience…Amazing Thailand
Summary: You were 8 years old when a man with a metal arm killed your parents, and let scientists experiment on you. In 2005 you escaped their control and you’ve been running since, always looking over your shoulder for the man with the metal arm. Then one day he and the Avengers show up at your door, asking you to join the team.
A routine has been created between
you and The Avengers, they stayed out of your way and you refused to speak to
any of them. You spent most of your days in your room, talking to animals and
forming roots and branches around the cocoon you formed in your private space.
You haven’t seen The Winter Soldier since you tried to kill him and whenever
you see one of the other team members, they looked at you in annoyance and
quickly left the room.
You were sitting on your bed,
looking out the window, when the beeper on your tracking bracelet displays the
words, ‘common room, now’. With a
frustrated groan, you reluctantly get out of your bed, still wearing your
pajamas, and head for the common room. The rest of the team were buzzing around;
some were cooking in the kitchen and others were playing a board game in the
corner. They all stop what they were doing to look at you, silence fills the
room and Tony Stark clears his throat.
“Y/N, I’m glad you’re here. We’re
having a family dinner, Wanda and Sam made chicken parmesan with sweet
potatoes. Care to join us?” Tony steps forward and extends his hand to you. You
walk past him and pour yourself a glass of water.
“I’m vegetarian.” You nonchalantly
say as you walk past him again and head towards your bedroom.
“We made sweet potatoes, you can
eat those.” Wanda holds up a large bowl of sweet potatoes and shyly smiles at
you. You look at her and walk away, locking yourself in your room and not coming
out until the team calls for you again.
No one knocks on my door Only the falling leaves I’m a kite and my heart is out of touch No one listens in every scream Only the song of whirlwind I can see different people, So close to me, yet we’re not in the same sky I can talk to strangers, So distant, and some of them are in the anonymous faces Simple word, I can feel a one world The air on my skin, their cheer ups for me
No one stands up for me Only the tree keeps on growing up I’m the wall and my head overthinking Nobody tastes like a candy Knives near me, covers me into bitter things I can only bleed tears because of them So close to love, yet we’re building hatred I can find care to strangers, From afar, and some of them are just usernames With worries in every word, I can feel being found The sky on the top, the same as them
Simple vibrates on my phone is a hope A simple greeting is a call, someone remembers At night, bed sheets all over me Only the light of their hearts can be visible And my bed slowly crumbling My walls are crashing down, the door is vanishing I always feel the loneliness in my room I can only feel my presence when needed No one can whisper the meaning of life Not the neighbor, neither the person who has my blood But the people on the other side of the world
I can only find sweet words and its satisfaction We go through something confusing sometimes We purposely enter different strange and scary caves, sometimes I believe we met on purpose Here, I can only find the mirror and misery But I know somewhere, there is someone There are people with big hearts Maybe I am not the person destined to give you a better meaning of life But you, always remember no matter how short or long Your simple words can slowly heal me Only the darkness and the rain, but sincerity somewhere
Your life matters to me No one lifts me with their strong hands I can only feel the hearts making me fly higher Mystery and full of strangers Just another meaning of instruments of God’s love for me Sad moments, but gives the feeling of a hug Maybe yesterday I’ve never been a happy person Today I’m okay, but not fine at all Maybe tomorrow I can change the negativity into power Tired of thinking about being alone I’ll always remember that wherever life takes me, Friendship is not necessary to be closer Distance is just an evidence of unconditional love, Somehow right now and forever, it makes my life worth living.
Let me tell you about jasmines.
The Persian meaning of a jasmine is “a gift from God”;
a pure, white gift from God
whose scent slithers in the wind
and curls up in your heart.
The jasmine is the cousin you envy,
the one who got away from the olive tree
and grew beautiful, exotic, different.
I once asked my chemistry teacher about jasmines.
He looked at me bluntly and threw words
like carbonyl, acid, compound.
I sat perplexed,
wondering how one could crush beauty
and reduce it to numbers and chemical bonds.
I wondered if someone somewhere knew
they were bottling the scent of my home.
Let me tell you
about the jasmines of my home as I remember them.
I was born in Homs.
My mother was rushed past a jasmine tree
before I entered this world.
She stopped and reached out
to pluck that orb of white heaven
and gripped it while I was led here, crying and bare.
She held my hand and the jasmine she had plucked
pushed into the fine lines of my palms –
engrossing its scent into my skin.
My grandmother grew jasmines.
They wound up the walls of her home
and although those walls became cracked and grey,
the jasmines stitched them up like fine lace.
She would place one in my hair.
I felt radiant and until this day,
I can see her frail smile as she admired her artwork.
The stems of those jasmines have never left me
and I feel them, like angels
whispering on the tips of my ears.
(Day 679 of the besiegement of Homs)
Now, let me tell you
about the jasmines of my home as they are.
I have not seen my jasmines for a long time.
I have not felt their soothing glances
from behind the trees;
They used to grow stretched in the sun,
across the walls of Homs.
My jasmines are rotting, they are bled.
My jasmines are brown.
My jasmines cannot run away from murder,
the trod of fleeing feet.
They are there to starve as my people starve.
There to be crushed under the vultures
who used the jasmine trees
to pick my people out of their teeth.
We are not people
but statistics to the world;
The jasmines have fallen with us
and we have caused as much sound as they.
But my jasmines are what comforted me out of the womb.
And they are what keep me fighting,
keep me digging,
until all I see under the rubble of Homs
is the sunshine petals of my jasmines.
The jasmines of Homs are bleeding;
yet I continue to smell them…
I hold them with me wherever I go.
So, I got a couple reviews about this story on FF.net that kinda got me in a tangle. My response is on the chapter post there and man I could not contain myself.
I want to thank jessicamcguire3 and hannah-nobody for encouraging me to keep going with how I intended this story to go. (Why won’t tumblr let me tag certain people?)
I also played back through AC II because Natsu is not Ezio but he’s gonna have some of his moves. One final fluff chapter before the real games begin.
Chapter Seventeen:Calm before the Storm
The sounds of celebration and
merriment could be heard from outside the library window.
Lucy sighed, glancing up from one of
her many leather bound books, slipping off her red reading glasses.
Laughter and sounds of little confetti poppers echoed through the
sunny spring air, taunting her with things she could not hope to
Her research on the Pieces of the
Spirit King was moving along…at a snails pace but still moving. At
least she knew what books did not contain the information she sought.
Shoving her chair back with a loud
screech on tile, the blonde heiress strode over to the window,
peering out towards the Sakura tree that barely peeked over the coned
rooftops of nearby houses.
She could hear the bands playing from
Slumping so she rested her head on the
sill, she stared out longingly, wishing she had wings and could fly
over the festival. Just one day out there.
The house was empty, all the maids
free to celebrate the day as they saw fit since the master of the
home was away. Lucy, having put up a good ruse of being ill to fool
her father, did not outsmart her maids. They knew her ploy to escape
the yearly trip but still had meals prepared while they would be
Brown eyes drifted down to the garden
below, taking in the bees dancing over the lilacs and tulips. Spring
was bleeding into Summer soon, and with it will come greater dangers.
Everyone was suffering from the war in the East, and it was only a
matter of time before it marched straight into Magnolia.
A flash of pink caught her gaze. With
a squint, Lucy blinked and giggled, quickly turning and dashing from
the library after closing all her books and hiding her notes. The
pink roses would not be in bloom for another month, after all.
The empty house was the only thing to
bid her farewell, for the maids had the day off for the festival and
family time. No one would see her go because the guards were
forbidden entrance unless hearing a commotion. The Heartfilia manor
was rather silent when empty.
Trotting once she reached the garden,
Lucy smiled as she neared that familiar hedge, uttering a “Psst”
as she paused before the branches.
From the depths, leaves shifted and
her ‘Psst’ was answered by a male echo.
Giggling, Lucy carefully stuck her head
within the leaves, smiling brighter when coming face to face with a
pink haired man. He was in casual commoner’s attire, a black waist
length cloak draped to cover his right shoulder and arm. His scarf
was still in place, looking nice with his black vest cloak and hood.
“Natsu? What brings you here?” She
asked without thinking because really, why would he be here on the
greatest day of celebration in Magnolia.
At his devilish grin and wicked stare,
Lucy blushed even brighter when he reached out and grasped her right
hand gently, bare and rough skin brushing hers.
Memories of him, his heat and
proximity that night, flooded through her senses. That night under
the stars when he told her she fought her own way and his eyes shone
with pride, had been one that stuck with her. When he nearly kissed
her…his callous thumb brushing over her skin.
“Kidnapping a princess.” he
answered with a growl, gently tugging her into the hedge and out the
other side. Giving her a second to compose herself and free her
golden hair of leaves, together they ran down the street: hand in
hand with laughter bubbling out of their chests.
Many, many years ago, in a house not far from here, there lived a frail old lady, who filled us all with fear. She lived alone in a big old house, in a garden overgrown, with trees and hedges growing wild, behind walls of jet black stone.
She stood no more than four foot tall; the clothes she wore, would fit a doll, with hair that nearly touched the ground, and all us kids, called her Hairy Moll. At certain times she could be seen; you could see the curtains twitch, through curtains stiff with grime and age, we could spy the wicked witch.
One time we saw her out of doors; we peered through cracks in the garden wall, as she laid flowers on a bed of rocks, we could hear her eerie, witches call. As she spoke her words, the wind did rise, and in her garden the trees did groan, whipping and lashing and blowing around; we took to our heels and scampered off home.
And then one day as we played outside, two cars pulled up at Old Molls door, they carried her out in a black body bag, and of Hairy Moll, we saw no more. People were talking at their garden walls, wondering what had become of Old Moll, and two days later at her funeral mass, she lay in a coffin, that was fit for a doll.
T’was near Halloween and the nights had grown cold, as we sat on the wall around Old Molls home, we were daring each other to enter her house, but all were afraid, so we made our way home. Then Halloween night, t’was blowing a gale, as two of us scampered o’er Hairy Moll’s wall, we entered her house through a broken back door, we stood in her parlor and started to call:
We called out her name, we were teasing the dead, and the wind, it was blowing and squalling about, we climbed the old staircase with fear in our hearts, when a voice full of rage screamed at us to GET OUT. We flew down the stairs like bats out of hell, we ran down the hallway, so dark and so black, we ran through the kitchen and into the yard, screaming and shouting, HAIRY MOLL has come back.
We scaled the stone wall, as agile as cats, we collapsed and lay panting and gasping for breath, we were sure Old Moll would follow us home, and not go away ‘til she scared us to death. Our friends,they all laughed at what we had seen, they would not believe one word that we said, but me and my friend, we will never forget, the night Hairy Moll, came back from the dead.
Today it grows in my chest and blooms
Like a rose tree on a ruined wall.
I’ll have you feed me an earthquake with it;
I’ll have it sit in my belly for when the light goes out.
Today I am gripping sideways to keep up with you but
Like always, the sky is too big
And you outrun me every time.
We are thirteen years too young for this.
We are two dreary childhoods
Left hungry and pining;
Two weary hands craving for youth,
Two lonely ghosts digging for truth.
In your ocean trench body,
I am the wreckage.
The mess you ached for,
The slipshod dialect in your poetry.
There is a void where your name left me;
Crawled out of my mouth and into the quiet.
Don’t you see these arms parting like the Red Sea?
Isn’t this the welcome you asked for;
The home you’ve left to grow sour
While your anger curled and bellowed
Striking me half-dead and half-able;
Half-soaked still to the bone?
How should I turn from a fire that begs to be lighted?
How should I rest this body that prays to the sun?
All this burning hunger, and no way to dampen it.
All this longing left to fend for itself
And these hands, these sorry hands.
Look how they weep for you.
Look how they shake with the all the world’s regret.
Ever since I came back to Germany I have been dreaming of going back to Japan :3
I enjoyed being in Kita-Kamakura and it is one of those places I daydream of (so many places, people, smells, sounds and feelings :D
One thing I like about Japanese temples is that, while they are very well maintained, they still offer places for nature to take a hold :) Like moss growing on stones and walls and tree being given the freedom to stretch out their roots :) I like to imagine how the trees let out a relieved sigh when they broke through the wall like someone opening his belt after eating too much :D Here in Germany people would probably start getting out their chainsaw and pesticides to make things “natural” and “clean” again… I like how it makes for charming spaces that make you feel relaxed and happy :)
The temple consists of many buildings of various sizes and styles which I do like a lot :3 I don’t know this irregularity just feels very natural to me :D I mean we have an asymmetric heart, lungs, digestive system and most other parts of us are not 100% symmetrical either so why should we attempt to make everything the same It sound much nice to make things that fit aesthetically than to make a copy of something that is not yours :)
I like the colour of the wooden structures :3 Aged wood has a very nice feeling to it :)
Although Kita-Kamakura is right next to Tokyo it feels like you are being quite far away from it which is one of the reasons I enjoyed going there so much (^-^;) Don’t get me wrong I do like Tokyo but it can feel too crowded and cramped sometimes and this is when places like this are just right and make for a perfect half day vacation :)
I liked the tree in the last photo :D My first thought was “Oh, a drunk tree.” :D Its trunk has a fascinating shape and texture :o I also like how, despite of its crookedness and tattered outside appearance, it still has a beautiful, strong, green crown :3 It is only a small tree but it is my favourite tree in Kita-Kamakura :) I hope sometimes a tiny owl will sit on it :D
I wish everyone a great Sunday and sweet dreams of places and trees you like (^-^)/