OMG THE ART! IT'S GORGEOUS!

The way her dress flows. Almost hypnotizing | source

I have seen this post on Pinterest so many times but never found it on Tumblr.

Glad I found this.

I would be the worst spy of all time because on one hand I overshare like hell, but on the other hand I also have THE shittiest memory so it’s really a lose/lose scenario for everyone involved.

date a selkie, but don’t hide her cloak. let her go home and visit her family now and then, knowing that she’ll come back and hang her seal cloak in the closet like she always does. trust is important.

You gotta reblog this!

Magical animals!

Animals With Unusual Color Mutations ❤️

ʙɪᴄᴏʟᴏʀᴇᴅ ᴘᴇᴀᴄᴏᴄᴋ

ᴋɪɴɢ ᴄʜᴇᴇᴛᴀʜ

sᴘᴏᴛʟᴇss ᴄʜᴇᴇᴛᴀʜ

ᴘɪᴇʙᴀʟᴅ ᴄʀᴏᴡ

ʙʀᴏᴡɴ ᴢᴇʙʀᴀ

sᴘᴏᴛᴛᴇᴅ ᴢᴇʙʀᴀ

ɢᴏʟᴅᴇɴ ᴢᴇʙʀᴀ

ɢᴏʟᴅᴇɴ ᴛᴀʙʙʏ ᴛɪɢᴇʀ (sᴛʀᴀᴡʙᴇʀʀʏ ᴛɪɢᴇʀ)

ʙɪᴄᴏʟᴏʀᴇᴅ ᴄᴀʀᴅɪɴᴀʟ

ʙʀᴏᴡɴ ᴘᴀɴᴅᴀ

ʙʟᴏɴᴅᴇ ᴇʟᴋ

ɢᴏʟᴅᴇɴ ᴍᴏɴɢᴏᴏsᴇ

ᴇʀʏᴛʜʀɪsᴛɪᴄ ʙᴀᴅɢᴇʀ

ᴇʀʏᴛʜʀɪsᴛɪᴄ ʀᴀᴄᴏᴏɴ

ᴏʀᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀʟɪɢᴀᴛᴏʀ

ᴘɪᴇʙᴀʟᴅ ᴍᴏᴏsᴇ

ᴘɪɴᴋ ᴅᴏʟᴘʜɪɴ

ᴘɪᴇʙᴀʟᴅ sǫᴜɪʀʀᴇʟ

ᴘɪᴇʙᴀʟᴅ ᴅᴇᴇʀ

sᴛʀᴀᴡʙᴇʀʀʏ ʟᴇᴏᴘᴀʀᴅ

ᴇʀʏᴛʜʀɪsᴛɪᴄ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ʙᴀᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴊᴀᴄᴋᴀʟ

I always reblog this post!

I threw a dog on the ground today 😭😭😭

Runaway

Agnes was a practical girl through and through. So she paid no mind to the wild rumors circulating around the strange new tenant of Widow Amberley’s cottage, other than to note the slow spread of neglect and disrepair across the garden, then the house itself, as the month marched on.

Until the day Agnes was walking by on her way to market and heard the unmistakable sound of sobbing from the back of the house.

It was always better not to get involved in other people’s business, Agnes believed. You could never regret things you never did.

But then the unseen sobber’s breath caught in an absolute moan of despair that would break even the hardest heart. Agnes found herself lifting the gate latch and kicking her way through the weeds around the side of the house.

“Hello?” she called out, uncertainly.

The girl - the new tenant - sprung up to her feet with a surprised gasp. She had the kind of face made to inspire rumors, love poetry, maybe madness too; wide eyes brimming with tears, full lips parted ever so slightly. And her hands too, long and elegant as they wound through the Widow Amberley’s prize tomato vines - 

Agnes cleared her throat sharply. “You were, um. I heard… crying.”

The girl let out a shuddering breath that was half misery, half miserable laugh. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb. It’s just…” she gestured helplessly down. Agnes tried not to let her eyes linger anywhere as she followed the girl’s gesture down to the sad-looking tomato patch. “I killed. It was the one thing she asked me to keep alive, all her precious tomatoes, and I killed it because I’m too stupid to grow a plant apparently.” The girl took another gasping breath and swiped her sleeve across her eyes in a gesture that somehow looked dainty. “I’m so sorry,” she said with heartfelt sincerity to the Widow Amberley’s kitchen garden. “You deserved better.”

It was the apology that did it. Agnes dropped her market basket to the side, started shucking off her good jacket. “Come on, now,” she said. “It’s not dead, it just needs less water and a good retying. See, it’s come down off its trellis.”

The girl sniffled again but cast hopeful eyes on Agnes. Agnes swallowed. She definitely should’ve kept going. But it was too late now. She looked around, taking of stock what needed to be done right away and what could be done later.

“All right,” Agnes said. “Show me what you’ve been doing so far.”

Rose, as Agnes suspected, was not stupid, just utterly unprepared for country life. It took Agnes a week to start reversing the cottage’s decline and whip Rose into sufficient shape as a newly minted domestic goddess. 

“Those are all the things I have to do every week?” Rose had wailed as Agnes wrote out a chore list.

“No,” Agnes said mercilessly. “These are your dailies. We haven’t even started on once-a-week tasks. And after that we’ll talk monthlies and seasonals.”

Rose let out a moan, clasping a hand to her heart, but Agnes knew her well enough by now to tell when Rose was being serious and when Rose was being theatrical. When Agnes wasn’t at Rose’s cottage, Rose had started showing up at Agnes’. “Learning how it’s done,” she would insist, “And paying you back in chores.” Agnes couldn’t object to the company. Even if Rose didn’t speed the chores along, the time did seem to pass more pleasantly.

“You’re getting to know the new tenant quite well,” said the grocer sweetly, handing Agnes two baskets of groceries instead of Agnes’ typical one. 

The deliveries boy was more direct. “Is it true she’s some vanished princess?”

Agnes took the baskets back without a smile. “She’s not familiar with our climate. Wanted some gardening advice. And of course she’s not some vanished fairy tale, she’s trying to grow cucumbers.” And that was all Agnes would say to anyone.

If they did not bother getting to know Rose themselves, Agnes saw no reason her neighbors should get to hear all about Rose who hated to get up early but made herself do it for the sake of her chickens. Who had whooped for joy the first time she got her bread to rise. Who chattered non-stop as they worked; stories about balls and gowns and society gossip that skirted right up to some terrible indiscretion that could land a girl in a country exile. 

Once, Agnes grumbled about a stain on her best blouse, the only embroidered one she had. The next day half her shirts had disappeared, only to turn up a few days later covered in laurel leaves, roses on vines, cherry blossoms, and oranges. Agnes added four nails in her closet to hang each one carefully. Often times, at night, she’d find herself looking in that direction.

And then one morning, Agnes awoke to the sound of soldiers in the street, banging on doors, crying out the neighbors. “The Princess, the Royal Princess! We know she’s here. Have you seen this woman?”

Agnes didn’t think. She ran, ran to Rose’s cottage and burst into the henhouse where Rose was scattering seed. The chickens squawked. Rose shrieked.

“Please,” Agnes said, stretching out a hand to only person she trusted, her only friend. “Please help me. They’ve found me.”

Wakey wakey

(via)