walled cemetery

Dr. Destiny #1

“Is this the place?” Dr. Destiny asked, sidestepping the roots of a tree and navigating between several shattered tombstones.

The graveyard around them was a very desolate and ancient place. The woods around them carved a path past the cemetery walls and onto the burial grounds, with lone trees growing between the gravestones, which were themselves covered in moss and upturned by burrowing roots.

“Yep, this is it.” her current patient looked at one of the gravestones, it was surprisingly whole, though very time worn.

Dr. Destiny glanced at him, he was surprisingly cheerful for somebody staring at his own grave. You could tell he’s been undead for a very long time.

Her current patient was Gerard Clemens, a former skeleton soldier in the armies of the Enchantress, he was tired of unlife and wished to return to the other side after his summoner’s defeat.

That’s where Dr. Destiny came in. She was the reverse necromancer. Her job was putting undead corpses, zombies, ghouls, vampires, golems and everything else undead back in the ground.

Usually she just performed her surgeries, as she liked to call them, in her family’s old graveyard near her office. Most patients didn’t mind. But Gerald proved very difficult to work with. He had some unfinished business.

“Just so you know, you’re not making this is easy on me, Mr. Clemens.” she explained before moving to the grave next to Gerald’s empty one. The tombstone read Darius Clemens, 1553-1604. 

“I’m sorry, doctor. I just need to tie some loose ends before I go back.” he crouched over Darius’ grave. His cracked skeletal face looked downright silly in the jeans and t-shirt she gave him. “He told me he couldn’t stand to be a day without me. That bastard outlived me 20 years. What a dickhead.” he grabbed onto the tombstone with his skeletal fingers. “He kept the name too.”

“If you don’t mind.” Dr. Destiny gestured for him to stay back. She touched her hands to the cold ground, the full moon reflected onto her black-rimmed glasses as she began to chant. Her eyes sparkled neon green and her tattoos began to glow the same color as a wave of energy coursed through her arms and into the ground.

“Darius Clemens, I summon thee. Rise.” she walked back as the ground beneath them began to rumble. Soon, a skeletal hand popped out, and following was the rest of the body.

“Oh hey, is it time for another one of Carey’s halloween parties-” the skeletal man looked up. “Oh…” he rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “Hey, Gerald.”

“Hey, ‘babe’.” Gerald stomped his foot and crossed his arms over his t-shirt.

“You look upset.” Darius crawled out of the dirt. “Is this about the ring? Because I didn’t pawn it, it was grave robbers, I promise.”

Gerald raised his arms, his voice sarcastic. “Not before Gildroy the butcher put his greasy fingers through it I’m sure!”

“Hey, leave him out of this!”

“Oh sorry, I wouldn’t want to get your new husband involved in our post-mortal drama. His soul is only bound to your for eternity.” Gerald spouted sarcastically.

Dr. Destiny raised an eyebrow as the two skeletons started what seemed like a lovers spat several centuries overdue.

“Hey, listen Gerald, you were dead.” Darius was defensive.

“For like a year!” Gerald’s bones clacked angrily. “You didn’t even wait til half-mourning to start cheating on me!”

“I was gonna get back to you once me, Gildroy and the kids all died!”

“Like I’d believe that! You’ve been ignoring my calls since the telephone was invented!”

Dr. Destiny sighed. She sat down on the roots of the ancient tree and stared at her phone, with the list of all the other patients she had to attend.

It was gonna be a long night.

Part of the British Telecom complex on Friar’s Street, Inverness. 

This building is pink. It is, I would guess, inspired by the castle, which is further along the river; It has a round tower, it has horizontal bands and portrait orientation windows, it has chunky protrusions that are vaguely reminiscent of castellations. I guess this is the mid 20thC interpretation of the castle.

Is it Brutalist? Or is it only Brutalist if it’s “béton brut” concrete, and not pink sandstone? -Although I’d wager that’s just cladding or an outer skin, and that at least the top is pink concrete. It’s geometric, repetitive, massive in both size and in looking weighty, and a little bit sculptural with the form, but I am certainly no expert on 20thC architecture and am better at telling my Perpendicular from my Rayonnant and my Doric from Ionic… Anyone who wishes to enlighten me on some more recent architectural history than I am generally familiar with can feel free to educate me; learning things is good!

Something genuinely Gothic is the wall beside it - that dark grey wall encloses Inverness’ oldest cemetery, and the ruins of the Dominican Friary from 1223. That will get its own post, and interestingly has a bridge over it connecting two parts of the BT complex. 

“Louis is going with you?”
There was a great deal more to the question than any casual listener might have supposed. Louis and Armand were the pillars of the New York household at Trinity Gate. Louis and Armand had been together for almost a century long before that.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m taking him back with me as soon as we wake.” I waited.
I stood on the flagstone sidewalk looking at the distant white wall of the old cemetery. It was quiet and beautiful on this Garden District street with its giant black-barked oaks, and the dark silent multistory houses on either side. “I need Louis,” I said.
—  Lestat - Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis

A/N: I wrote this for @tamsininmypants for Christmas. 

Title: Familiarity 

Fandom: Overwatch

Pairing: Mercymaker

Rating: Teen

Warnings: None, unless you count a little angst? 

Word Count: 2,167 

Summary: Mercy goes out for a walk, a tad nostalgic, when she runs into someone familiar. 

The rest is under the cut. 

The holidays were always a bittersweet time for Angela Ziegler. She remembered her family she had lost in Switzerland and the family she had gained in Overwatch. The family she had found had its ups and its downs and it certainly wasn’t perfect, but she loved them regardless. Angela was not related to them by blood and they say blood was thicker than water, but water runs deeper.

Tonight as she walked through the quiet French town by herself, her boots crunching through the freshly fallen snow, she thought about both of her families. It was just her and the night, quiet and silent with a dark grey sky promising more snow. Though it was cold, Angela had always felt rather warm and cozy on these nights. Perhaps it was her love for the snow and the cold, or really, those she surrounded herself with.

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Since you’ve been gone I see ghosts from the corners of my eyes (and in mirrors). Looking myself in the face is like looking at a cemetery: crumbling walls, kept looking nice but still dead. You still live under my bed and at night you tell me I could’ve done things differently. When it’s time to sleep I climb under the covers and pretend I’m not afraid of the monster in the closet – or of the monster in the mirror. Or of you.
—  quit haunting me // abby, day 208
Hunters on the Hellmouth

For @fangirlfolio. Thank you for helping me find my voice again.


Chapter 1: Meet Me at the Cemetery

“I didn’t know demons could hot wire cars!” Dean shouted as he punched the gas.

Their most recent desperate attempt to fight Lucifer had resulted in Cas bleeding in the backseat of the Impala while Meg in a souped up Mustang lead a host of demons in pursuit.

One vehicle in the fleet held Lucifer. He knew where the Winchesters were. He could easily pop into their car as they drove, but he didn’t. He wanted to play with them first.

“Drive faster!” Sam yelled. Dean pressed the old car as fast as she could go, but Sam couldn’t shake the blistered face of Lucifer burned into his brain.

Dean jerked the wheel, and they skidded off the rain-soaked highway onto a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it country road. The sudden turn threw off a couple of the demon drivers, Meg included. Not all of the stolen cars matched Baby, and a little distance formed. Maybe twenty more feet. It wasn’t enough and they knew it. The narrow road they were on couldn’t be too long.

“Little help here, Cas!” Dean shouted.

“He’s fading,” said Sam. Cas, pale and sweaty, had used all of his energy keeping them alive leaving none to heal himself.

Suddenly, a pale blue light consumed everything. Dean shielded his eyes. The light grew so bright, Sam couldn’t see his brother sitting next to him. He would have been sure this light was them dying, but Sam doubted approaching Hell would be so beautiful.

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[RusAme] Unknown Spirit- Part 4

Originally posted by dinsintegration

Part One  ||  Part Two  ||   Part Three

Canada ended up taking nearly all of the kitchen knives despite Russia and England reminding him that weapons wouldn’t do them any good. “I would take America’s guns, if he had them here,” he complained, looping a bright blue ceramic knife and its cover onto his belt. When England looked like he was going to complain to him again, Canada turned around, brow furrowed in anger. “Until you can prove whatever this is doesn’t bleed, I’m taking a weapon.”

“It is not bad to be prepared,” Russia said as England sighed, handing over Ziploc bags full of salt to each of them.

“This will do more damage,” England said, eyes darting around the kitchen, looking for more things to arm themselves. “If you have silver, that’d be best to wear.”

“I don’t know about silver, but I know there’s iron around here,” Canada muttered and pulled out a cast iron pan from a lower cabinet. He fished around a cutlery drawer and pulled out a spoon and pie server. “These are silver, at least.”

“Great,” England said eyeing the items. “You can make it a great omelet,”

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Outlander Book Quotes (x) | Voyager, Chapter 40

The grave was set in the small cemetery reserved for the convent, under the buttresses of the nearby cathedral. Even though the air from the Seine was damp and cold, and the day cloudy, the walled cemetery held a soft light, reflected from the blocks of pale limestone that sheltered the small plot from wind. In the winter, there were no shrubs or flowers growing, but leafless aspens and larches spread a delicate tracery against the sky, and a deep green moss cradled the stones, thriving despite the cold.

It was a small stone, made of a soft white marble. A pair of cherub’s wings spread out across the top, sheltering the single word that was the stone’s only other decoration. “Faith,” it read.

I stood looking down at it until my vision blurred. I had brought a flower; a pink tulip—not the easiest thing to find in Paris in December, but Jared kept a conservatory. I knelt down and laid it on the stone, stroking the soft curve of the petal with a finger, as though it were a baby’s cheek.

“I thought I wouldn’t cry,” I said a little later.

I felt the weight of Mother Hildegarde’s hand on my head.

“Le Bon Dieu orders things as He thinks best,” she said softly. “But He seldom tells us why.”


                                                midwinter night

                                                all yesterdays hushed

                                                under falling snow

On new snowshoes, not quite atop the snowfield, but close.  My first steps are tentative but a rhythm is quickly established.  I move on, following the trudged trail of a few deer, but not in their tracks, beside them.  I make my own trail, but in the same general direction as others before me.

I know this piece of land well; the field gently rises then slopes down to a dense pine cove, and then to a natural trail leading to an old family cemetery.  That’s where I’m heading.  The deer trail leads the way.

                                           one carefree leaf

                                           bounces and tumbles

                                           across the snowfield

In the pine cove, I can see a few spots where they bedded for the night, under snow laden branches  of a hemlock or two.  Their trail ends here, but I can see the winding path they made before the snows.  Many summers of going this way has prevented any significant brush growth, and it’s quite obvious  with this much snow cover.

The stone walls surrounding the small cemetery are snow covered, but still form a distinct boundary between two worlds.  There are only five stone markers, and their tops peek up through the snow at varied angles.  They all bear the same family name and have dates between 1860 and 1875.

                                   Saben and Maria  

                                   Joshua (only nine years ) 

                                   Rebecca and John                                                       

A wind is picking up and snow is blown from the branches of a massive oak tree.   It comes down as powder and whips across my face and down the back of my neck.  It chills me enough so that I feel it’s time to leave.

I will follow my own trail home.

                                    first star…

                                    what wind

                                    has blown me here?

Red-ice for Yami-san, written on a lazy Saturday because I don’t have to go for part-time work todaaaay! This is an uncontrollable dash/hyphen galore, please forgive me. And it’s a little messy as well. And it’s also obvious I took a scene from SnK, but it fits terribly well with your red-ice AU, so I couldn’t stop myself. Forgive me!

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