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themuseandantarctica · 2 years

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* 𝒒𝒖𝒐𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒑𝒕. 9

change however necessary.

“Diamonds are sublimely useless. You cannot eat them or drive them home.”

“Diamonds are nothing more than chunks of coal that stuck to their jobs.”

“I never hated a man enough to give him his diamonds back.”

“Big girls need big diamonds.”

“No pressure, no diamonds.”

“It’s the good girls who keep diaries; the bad girls never have the time.”

“Keep a diary and one day it’ll keep you.”

“I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read in the train.”

“Diary, noun—a daily record of that part of one’s life, which he can relate to himself without blushing.”

“What is a diary as a rule? A document useful to the person who keeps it, dull to the contemporary who reads it, invaluable to the student, centuries afterward, who treasures it!”

“I can’t help but think some people admire totalitarian regimes not because they want to live in one, but because they want to be in charge of one.”

“Europe is nothing but a collection of unjust dictatorships. All of humanity must strike these troublemakers with an iron hand if it wishes to regain its tranquility.”

“He’s just a goddamn cannibal asshole. He’d eat his own mother. Christ! He’d eat his own grandmother!”

“I came to carry out a struggle, not to kill people. Even now, and you can look at me, am I a savage person? My conscience is clear.”

“Dictators always look good until the last minutes.”

“How long does getting thin take?”

“The one way to get thin is to reestablish a purpose in life.”

“Part of the secret of success in life is to eat what you like and let the food fight it out inside.”

“No diet will remove all the fat from your body because the brain is entirely fat. Without a brain, you might look good, but all you could do is run for public office.”

“Those magazine dieting stories always have the testimonial of a woman who wore a dress that could slipcover New Jersey in one photo and thirty days later looked like a well-dressed thermometer.”

“The second day of a diet is always easier than the first. By the second day you’re off it.”

“I learned very early the difference between knowing the name of something and knowing something.”

“The difference between art and science is that science is what we understand well enough to explain to a computer. Art is everything else.”

“The difference between a misfortune and a calamity is this: If [name] fell into the Thames, it would be a misfortune. But if someone dragged him out again, that would be a calamity.”

“The difference between fiction and reality? Fiction has to make sense.”

“The difference between sex and death is that with death you can do it alone and no one is going to make fun of you.”

“The difference between men and women is that, if given the choice between saving the life of an infant or catching a fly ball, a woman will automatically choose to save the infant, without even considering if there’s a man on base.”

“The only difference between suicide and martyrdom is press coverage.”

“The only difference between me and a madman is that I’m not mad.”

“The big difference between sex for money and sex for free is that sex for money usually costs a lot less.”

“The only difference between doctors and lawyers is that lawyers merely rob you, whereas doctors rob you and kill you, too.”

“The only difference between a rut and a grave is their dimensions.”

“The difference between tragedy and comedy: tragedy is something awful happening to somebody else, while comedy is something awful happening to somebody else.”

“All excellent things are as difficult as they are rare.”

“Clever people master life; the wise illuminate it and create fresh difficulties.”

“Man needs difficulties; they are necessary for health.”

“It is not because things are difficult that we do not dare; it is because we do not dare that they are difficult.”

“I’ve learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way they handle these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights.”

“The most difficult thing in the world is to know how to do a thing and to watch someone else do it wrong without comment.”

“A difficulty is a light. An insurmountable difficulty is a sun.”

“Out of difficulties grow miracles.”

“A fool often fails because he thinks what is difficult is easy.”

“The crisis is not out there in the world; it is in our own consciousness.”

“A diplomat is a man who always remembers a woman’s birthday but never remembers her age.”

“To say nothing, especially when speaking, is half the art of diplomacy.”

“Diplomacy is the art of saying ‘Nice doggie’ until you can find a rock.”

“There are few ironclad rules of diplomacy but to one there is no exception. When an official reports that talks were useful, it can safely be concluded that nothing was accomplished.”

“Sincere diplomacy is no more possible than dry water or wooden iron.”

“The more original the discovery, the more obvious it seems afterward.”

“The most important of my discoveries have been suggested to me by my failures.”

“There’s two possible outcomes: if the result confirms the hypothesis, then you’ve made a discovery. If the result is contrary to the hypothesis, then you’ve made a discovery.”

“One doesn’t discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time.”

“Discovery consists of seeing what everybody has seen and thinking what nobody has thought.”

“The intellect has little to do on the road to discovery. There comes a leap in consciousness, call it intuition or what you will, and the solution comes to you and you don’t know how or why.”

“You must be satisfied with making discoveries. Take care never to offer explanations.”

“You never really know a man until you have divorced him.”

“Ah, yes, divorce, from the Latin word meaning to rip out a man’s genitals through his wallet.”

“My divorce came to me as a complete surprise. That’s what happens when you haven’t been home in eighteen years.”

“When two people decide to get a divorce, it isn’t a sign that they ‘don’t understand’ one another, but a sign that they have, at least, begun to.”

“The possibility of divorce renders both marriage partners stricter in their observance of the duties they owe to each other. Divorces help to improve morals and to increase the population.”

“In Hollywood, an equitable divorce settlement means each party getting fifty percent of the publicity.”

“A divorce is like an amputation; you survive, but there’s less of you.”

“The great secret of doctors, known only to their wives, but still hidden from the public, is that most things get better by themselves; most things, in face, are better in the morning.”

“Never go to a doctor whose office plants have died.”

“The witch doctor succeeds for the same reason all the rest of us succeed. Each patient carries his own doctor inside him. They come to us not knowing the truth. We are best when we give the doctor who resides within each patient a chance to work.”

“The good physician treats the disease; the great physician treats the patient who has the disease.”

“To do the sort of things to a dog that one does to the average medical student requires a license signed in triplicate by two archbishops.”

“My doctor is wonderful. Once, when I couldn’t afford an operation, he touched up the X-rays.”

“My doctor gave me six months to live but when I couldn’t pay the bill, he gave me six months more.”

“Doctors are men who prescribe medicine of which they know little to cure diseases of which they know less in human beings of which they know nothing.”

“A medical maxim—when you hear hoofbeats, think of horses before zebras.”

“Physicians think they do a lot for a patient when they give his disease a name.”

“First the doctor told me the good news: I was going to have a disease named after me.”

“My doctor told me that jogging could add years to my life. I think he was right. I feel ten years older already.”

“Specialist: A doctor who has a smaller practice, but a larger house.”

“Doctors will have more lives to answer for in the next world than even we generals.”

“From a dog’s point of view his master is an elongated and abnormally cunning dog.”

“To his dog, every man is Napoleon; hence the constant popularity of dogs.”

“I loathe people who keep dogs. They are cowards who haven’t go the guts to bite people themselves.”

“A Canadian psychologist is selling a video that teaches you how to test your dog’s IQ. Here’s how it works: if you spend $12.99 for the video, your dog is smarter than you.”

“Did you ever walk in a room and forget why you walked in? I think that’s how dogs spend their lives.”

“I’ve seen a look in dogs’ eyes, a quickly vanishing look of amazed contempt, and I am convinced that basically dogs think humans are nuts.”

“I wonder if other dogs think poodles are members of a weird religious cult?”

“Doubt grows with knowledge.”

“The press and the public like certainty and affirmation of popular biases. But real science thrives on the capacity for doubt.”

“Doubt is part of all religion. All the religious thinkers were doubters.”

“If you can doubt at points where other people find no impulse to doubt, you are making progress.”

“True science teaches, above all, to doubt and to be ignorant.”

“Belief in truth begins with doubts of all truths in which one has previously believed.”

“The great civilizer on earth seems to have been doubt. Doubt, the constantly debated and flexible inner condition of theological uncertainty, seems to have held people in thrall to ethical behavior, while the true believes of whatever stamp, religious or religious-statist, have done the murdering.”

“A doubt that doubted everything would not be a doubt.”

“You can never do too much drawing.”

#rp meme #rp starters #sentence meme #sentence starters #prompts #rp prompts #writing prompts

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mothandpidgeon · 3 years

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THE SINS OF THE FATHER - a Molly York story

(gif by @pajamasecrets)

PROLOGUE

MASTERLIST

Characters: Dave York, Molly York (Carol and Alice, too)

Words: 1400

Rating: T

Warnings: character death (canon), loss of a parent, angst, training your daughter to be an assassin?

Summary: Dave York starts training his daughters young. One day Molly might have to put her training to good use...Grappling with the sudden death of her father, Molly York grows up trying to fill the gap he left in her life. And looks for answers.

a/n: So I wrote this drabble the other morning and it got stuck in my head and so here is a Molly York revenge story. I didn't mean for this to be a series but I think I will be posting this in 3 parts so stay tuned for the rest.

Thanks @purplepascal042 for reading this over and being so kind I almost cried!

“Molly, without turning around, how many people are sitting behind you,” Dave asks at the restaurant.

Molly pulls the straw of her milkshake away from her lips, her eyes sliding to their peripheries.

“I don’t remember,” she tells him.

“Sure you do. Trust your gut.”

She sighs and thinks hard, he can see it on her face, recalling the fat couple and the table of teenagers and the bald man sitting at the bar.

“Seven?”

Dave smiles. “Just checking how observant you are. Do you know what observant means?”

“Yeah, Dad,” Molly says, rolling her eyes. She turns around to check her work and Dave can see she’s satisfied with herself when she goes back to her milkshake.

Molly knew it was bullshit even before Capra. She could just feel it.

“An accident.” That’s what Mom had said when she sat Molly and Alice down to break the news to them. Their father, David York, was dead.

“Is he in the hospital?” Alice asked, confusion pulling at her little features.

Mom tried to hold back the fresh round of tears that the question elicited.

“No, baby. I’m sorry, baby,” she said.

Alice was too young to understand and Mom was too broken hearted to explain it. Molly didn’t ask any questions because she didn’t believe it. Dad didn’t have accidents. She’d never seen him trip or drop anything or even stumble over a word. A dark, slick feeling in the pit of her stomach told her something terrible had happened.

“He loved you both very much,” Mom said. And when Molly didn’t respond she asked, “Did you hear me?”

“We were going to play softball on Saturday,” Molly said.

She was lying even now that he was gone. They never played softball or went rollerblading or spent the afternoon at the air and space museum. They had their own adventures. That’s how Molly saw them. Dad sometimes called them missions. He liked to take her shooting on the weekends. Or they’d go hiking. Occasionally they would just go for a jog in the park and then Molly would practice her karate. She loved sharing these secrets with her dad. And if she kept on lying about their missions, maybe they didn’t have to be over.

Molly felt numb. She kept waiting for Dad to come back. But he never did.

“Where are you going, Daddy?” Molly asks on an afternoon together.

“On business, kiddo,” Dave tells her.

“Yeah but where?”

“I’m going to the beach.”

“Can I come?” she asks.

“No, baby, I’m going to be working,” he says and when she huffs he laughs.

Something comes over him, a bittersweet feeling. He has it often around the girls, when he remembers they won’t be so little forever. Just yesterday he was carrying Molly to the nursery in the hospital, small enough to fit in the crook of his arm. But this feels stronger than usual. He tries to memorize how she looks right now. He runs his hand over her long hair.

“Maybe next time,” he says. “Will you take care of Mommy and Alice when I’m gone?”

Molly promised she would. She made that her mission. She kept her grades up so that Mom never had to worry. She could tell when the weight of being a single mother was too much on Carol’s shoulders. If her mother’s eyes were ringed with red, the next day Molly would surprise her by doing all of the dishes before she got home from work.

She took care of Alice, too. When her sister was in the school play, Molly didn’t miss a single performance. She beat up one of the girls that bullied Alice. And, in high school, when she found out Alice’s boyfriend cheated on her, Molly filled his gas tank with sugar.

Molly went from karate to Krav Maga. She wanted to be able to take care of herself, too. She joined an archery team. She went on long runs when she felt lonely.

Years passed and Molly saw more and more of her father when she looked at herself in the mirror. She’d inherited his soft eyes and she had dimples in both of her cheeks. She’d also gotten his nose which she would have hated if it hadn’t reminded her of him.

Molly was packing for college, her 18th birthday on the horizon, when she found the note. She’d been worried about leaving home, leaving Mom and Alice on their own. But it had gotten harder here. Molly’s energy was more and more restless and some days she just wanted to disappear.

She ran her fingers nostalgically over the things she was leaving behind in her room. A music box, a medal, an ugly ceramic bowl she’d made in art class.

At the end of her bookshelf was a hardcover that hadn’t been touched in years. Dad had been reading Harriet the Spy with her. They’d never finished it and Molly had never been able to bring herself to open it again. Carefully, she lifted it off of the shelf, the dust jacket sticking slightly to the book beside it. Maybe she would take it with her and finish reading it. She flipped through the pages, admiring the little illustrations. The book fell open to the page they’d left off on, a little piece of note paper stuck in as a bookmark. Molly saw the handwriting on it and immediately recognized it.

It always shook Molly to see her father’s writing. She would turn over every scribble she found for secret meaning. This was just a phone number and the name Capra. Molly suddenly remembered her father giving it to her before he left on one of his business trips.

If anything happens and you can’t reach me, call this number.

She stared at it for a long time wondering what would’ve happened if she’d called that number all those years ago. Before she knew what she was doing, Molly was dialing it on her cell phone. It rang for a long time before someone answered.

“Yeah?”

It was a woman’s voice. For a second, Molly had an awful thought, her heart plummeting. But Dad wouldn’t have given her this woman’s phone number if something...like that was going on, right?

“Is this Capra?” Molly finally found her voice.

“Who is this?” the woman asked.

“I think you knew my dad. Dave York?” Molly said.

There was a pause and then, “You’ve got the wrong number.”

And she hung up.

“Molly Carolina, what are you doing in here?” Dave growls when he finds Molly in his study.

“I need a piece of paper,” she explains.

She’s got a file in her hand and Dave knows what’s inside of it. His whole body tenses. He keeps those things locked in a drawer, shreds them as soon as he’s finished with them. He’d just stepped out of the room for a minute.

“If you need something, ask for it,” he tells her. “What have I told you about privacy?”

Molly swallows.

“Would you like it if I went in your room and read your diary?”

Molly’s eyes flash with anxiety. “No.”

“May I have that?” Dave asks.

She hands over the file, whispers, “Sorry,” and scuttles out of the room.

It was so mysterious. Molly had dialed correctly. And she knew the woman on the other end was Capra. She felt it in her gut. Molly was about to dial again when her phone rang. Blocked.

“How did you get my number?” Capra asked.

“My, my dad gave it to me...when I was a kid,” Molly stammered.

“What do you want?” the woman asked.

Molly didn’t know. She hadn’t had a plan. Christ, had she called hoping this Capra person could turn back time?

“Did you know my dad?” Molly asked.

As the years went by, she’d realized there were pieces of him that she’d never gotten to see. Mom had filled in some blanks but Molly was never satisfied. If she’d shared missions with him, he must have had other secrets.

“I didn’t think I’d hear from you,” Capra sighed.

Capra offered a time and place to meet and quickly got off of the phone. Molly was dumbfounded but she had an old feeling creep over her– an excitement and eagerness that she felt on weekend adventures with Dad. She was going on a mission.

/ / / / / / / part 2

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#dave york #dave york pit #molly york #nothing but respect for the york girls #dave york x reader

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im-pretending-imthere-already · 3 years

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by the warm current

As kids, my sister and I spent our summers near the river, often falling on our long garments. Our knees scraped and bruised by the sharp rocks that lay beside the strong, warm stream. The hot days rushed by as we spent our hours playing under the hot, blinding sun. If my sister adored anything, it was birds. Often we spent our days searching for them in the scorching heat of the summer, looking for all the wings that have been neatly crafted, threaded into shape. Our collection of feathers of all colours were kept safe, hidden to preserve their infinite beauty, kept in a wooden rustic box under our bed. The box neatly tucked away between the sheets that were perfectly stored by mother. One grim evening, one of my older siblings had found our box hidden between the worn out blankets, that night we were forced into womanhood, our childhood was stripped away from us. Our summers were no longer warm, our knees left with scars.

What is it to truly be a woman? A question I still struggle with. Reverend Michael often referred to womanhood as preparing to serve God by serving your husband, which we spent the following years doing, leaving our ambitions and dreams of independence behind. Our personalities were to be crushed under the high expectations of becoming nothing other than slaves which men used. Our days were spent caring for our younger siblings who occupied our time dirtying the floors we just scrubbed. Our womanhood, reduced to becoming mothers and leaving our aspirations for our sons. Too tall, too confident, too short, too skinny, too immodest, too fat, too lanky, too talkative, too hairy, too loud, too aggressive, our existence is nothing more than a checklist for men to choose from. Growing up, I admired adulthood. I admired the idea of growing up to serve my husband, the idea of dressing modestly and spending my time cleaning, to become a woman. But as I grew into that woman, I began despising it.

My teenage years were regulated by the women of the church who made it their mission to crush my dreams, my life was to be sacrificed for god. Waking up to the screaming children of the church who demanded breakfast, my days were the same every single day. After the tedious mornings of cooking, cleaning and caring tirelessly, we met the citrus trees sprinkled with the soft dew on their delicate leaves in the community garden as we planned to prepare our annual lemon pie. Every year we were to prepare a feast full of food, including our lemon pie as the dessert for the mating party. This glamorous party was only a facade, a sweet glaze over a dark oppressive, controlled, and abusive future. This year was different, however, as I was becoming a woman of age, all day I had been thinking about what was to come, the life I was forced to have, pushed into a designated role my whole life. This is it, this is the dream of the church, this is what my life was to be, what my family had planned, what the reverend had envisioned.

That day I realised I couldn't do this, after seeing all the women blatantly eyed by the men of the church, scanned from bottom to up, graded as if they were a gift to be expected, a helpless little kitten to be chosen from a shelter or rescued from a basket left on the road. My older sister stood beside me, we glared at each other exchanging the same thoughts. Our life was more than this, our dreams were not to be forgotten, hidden in the blankets of our mind. I had heard about a couple of people who had escaped before, I didn't know how to but we had to get out. That night I decided to do the unthinkable, I had to make a plan, I had to take action, I had to escape this cage and fly away.

Reverend Michael was my father however he was never a typical father, more like a shepherd grazing his sheep, controlling us to become nothing more than slaves for his sick fantasies. He slept in the cabin house beside ours, but I knew he was going to arrive late today due to the ceremony, like every year before. It was the perfect time as if the universe aligned for our freedom. In my nightgown, I slid out as my sister was fast asleep. The night was dark, the air thick and foggy, the moon barely lit watching over me as I ran barefoot, in my white gown to the reverend's cabin. I knew where to look, under the vase he kept his spare key, which I used to unlock his door. I walk in knowing exactly where to find what I'm looking for, his diary, kept in the last drawer of his desk conveniently hidden in between his bibles. I flick through the delicate pages looking for something useful when I stumble across the gold mine. It wrote the name of a woman named "Angela Zachery" and her cabin number''14", suspected of breaking out "Mary Williams". I quickly close the book, return his diary precisely into its spot and leave the same way I entered, leaving no trace behind me.

The coming night my mind was occupied with one thought, cabin 14. I couldn't just leave, I had to make sure it was clear. It took a couple of nights which felt like forever but eventually, I got there. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a Friday night, everyone had got to their cabins early after a hard day of work and the daily evening lecture was longer than usual. The pathways were empty, the road clear. I made my way, a little more professional than the night of the ceremony, in my brown dress and handwoven cardigan that wrapped its threads around my shoulders supporting me through my journey. If I was found by any person or even if "Angela" was a scam I would end up 6 feet deep into the ground before sunrise. I took the chance walking across the church to his cabin, no one was around, no one to be seen spying. I knocked on the door anticipating the worst, painting the images of my death. My life dissolving into nothing more than a forgotten story in the depths of my memories, an old story tale kept at the back of a dusty bookshelf. The door opened ever so slightly as I felt the fear shake through my body. She grabbed me inside so hard I stumbled inside falling to my knees in front of her as he shut the door aggressively. I introduced myself and explained my story and she sat there listening. Her eyes stared at me aggressively yet with a shadow of love. Her agreement brought me feelings, flushing my skin, red. Independence, freedom, individuality, expression, life. All books that she dusted alive within an instant. My dreams of independence and freedom rushed back through my bones to the crevices of my every thought. It was scheduled for Thursday night.

The night before the escape was probably one of the hardest and most important nights of my life, I was breaking the cage and finally getting the opportunity to fly, but the thought of leaving everything and everyone I knew terrified me. I wasn't to ever clean after my siblings, but I wasn't ever going to see them again. I wasn't going to have to make lemon pie for the church, but I wasn't going to celebrate with all my family ever again. Laying in my bed I couldn't get my eyes to shut as I laid there staring at the ceiling. The only support holding me together was the sheets I laid in and the light breathing of my sister beside me.

My bags packed, my thoughts collected, my breathing stable. This was it, this was my freedom. I get to leave and not look back. It was starting to get dark, the last evening to spend in this hell of a place. The trees rustling in the wind and air smelling of wood fire. I had kissed each of my younger siblings goodbye, hoping I would remain alive in their memories. My sister spent that evening reading, which we did often. An outlet we used to let our imagination roam free to live the lives we wish we had. As we put our coats on we stared at each other with fear, the sun had set and the sky was so empty reflecting the withdrawal we were to be hit with. We looked at each other and left, never to set foot in the cabin ever again.

Angela has sent some, waiting for us. He had a car organized outside the fence, we just had to make it outside. In the dark night, we threw our long dress off and climbed the fence gripping the holes with all our strength, looking back I could see Angela in the distance leaving. Climbing faster and faster, our bodies shaking with fear, our hearts anticipating our freedom. Hand over hand, foot over foot, we rose higher and higher. It felt like forever until we reached the top, then at the tip I stared into my sister's eyes when I heard a bang! My soul left my body for a moment from the fear as I saw my sister's body growing limp, her back falling into the fence becoming one with it. I stared into the sky for a moment, knowing I was targeted, I had no time. I had to leave my sister behind, running my way down the fence. I felt the wind brushing my cheeks, the heat irritating my skin. As I reached the last few steps I fell onto the floor, my vision blurring into two. There was no option but to get up, leaving my sister hanging on the fence and running into the truck.

As fast as my life gained sweetness it got bitter again. I stayed in a home with many people, I had food and clothing. But life without my sister was hard, the image of her murder remaining drilled into my head. I saw the soul leave her body, I saw her life end. I often wonder how different things would have turned out if I never left, if I was caught, if we moved a metre to the right if we left on Friday?

My favourite place grew to become the beach, reminding me of the warm river my sister and I loved ever so dearly, connecting our dreams to every nook of the world. As I sit here today, on the warm sand, I often find myself looking beside me to find my sister's spirit constantly gifting me with feathers. Today I have the privilege of sitting on this beach, feeling the wind through my hair, the cool breeze on my shoulders and my sister's feathers can be forever stored, kept safe and loved, not to be a secret but to be a memory of resilience.

-F.A

#relgioustruama #sister #bestfriend #cult #love #childhood #creative #short #shortstory #poetic #poetry

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siriusinmynerves · 3 years

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EVERY MOMENT IS A FRESH BEGINNING

- a fanfiction on Harry and Sirius father-son relationship.

CHAPTER 1-

31st OCTOBER 1981 (THIRTY-SEVEN YEAR AGO)

"Yes i did it" a young twenty one year old Peter squeaked out of happiness because he completed his first magical painting which is for James and Lily though they ordered Peter for the painting for two reason first that Peter paint really well and second because if unfortunately James and Lily die somehow so Harry can talk to them whenever he needed.

"Wow its beautiful, i am pretty sure that Lily would love it" Sirius told Peter who was astonished by Peter's hidden talent and he went upstairs to write his journal because he was feeling uneasy. his heart was saying that only family: James, Lily and Harry is in danger. so he wanted to clear his heart out.

October 31st 1981,

Dear diary,

As i have mentioned already that today is 31st of October and its Halloween, my Harry's first halloween, but poor lad can't even go for trick-and-treating thanks to that shitty seer's prophecy and that noseless git who is afraid of him. although he call himself dark lord but still afraid of a mare child. anyways i really miss him its been almost one month since i have met him and his father. I don't know why i am getting some dirty feelings that my family is not safe, but as wormtail is their secret keeper they are safe. but still today i am worried for some unknown reasons. their is also something which made me uncomfortable about Tuli, she's been acting weird these days. its about yesterday when she suddenly screamed while holding her left wrist and when i asked her what happened she didn't replied instead she changed the topic. maybe i am wrong but their is something that she is hiding from me these days. merlin please make me wrong and i can't came to an conclusion because the last time i suspected anyone, i ended up accusing my own best friend and since i haven't seen him. Remus i miss you buddy please came back soon.

After writing he still was not feeling any better, he went downstairs and found Tulip sitting on the couch of the living room. she was admiring Peter's painting her eyes popped out when she saw the painting.

"Wow its beautiful, i am pretty sure that Lily would love it" Sirius told Peter who was astonished by Peter's hidden talent.

"Peter can you paint me and Sirius on our wedding day?" Tulip asked who just entered inside the house out of nowhere. Tulip Evans twin sister of Lily Evans and fiancé of Sirius.

Tulip is nothing like her sister. neither she have red hair and green doe eyes nor she was in Gryffindor, she was the adoptive twin sister of Lily. She is 5'6 in height and had thick black hair, with greyish-blue upturned eyes with gullwing lips, dark, heavy-lidded eyes and pale skin color. From her sixth year she start wearing descent wizard clothes, even at her house she didn't wore any muggle cloth. When sixth year end she didn't stay at home very much, nobody knows where she goes everyday. One day she break her limits, she didn't return to her house, her parents ground her and on the very next morning when Lily and her older sister were on a double date with James and fat pig Vernon some unknown death eaters killed their parents and surprisingly her little finger wasn't harmed.

''Tuli what the hell are you doing here! shouldn't be you at your home. have you forgot that you-know-who is after so many muggles and according to sources his black listed muggle list also have your name!", Sirius scolded her angrily.

"Oh come on Sirius do you really think that i came here without any thought of my security? i came here through the hidden ward in the basement of my house. I know that you are worried about me, but i was missing you badly", she said this and throw herself on Sirius. Sirius hold her and start kissing her passionately. Peter mimic Sirius and make fatigue faces. Sirius smirked at Peter. "I think we should prepare lunch otherwise i will faint of starvation." said Peter.

"You won't have to do that i bought some self made kidney pie. do you want some Peter?" Tulip offered to which Peter agree and they all eat together, after eating an idea came through her mind.

"So i think we should bake some pumpkin pasties, Halloween themed sugar cookies and cup cakes for my little nephew?", Tulip suggested. Sirius and Peter both agreed and after an hour of huge mess created by Sirius and Peter finally an edible outcome of treats like pumpkin pasties, sugar cookies and cup cakes was ready. After eating Peter was wailing to meet her girl Mary because they haven't seen them in the last few months.

"Peter please wait for two days you'll be able to meet her after two days. Mark my words.", Tulip said that strange thing but but everyone ignored her as Sirius decided to play a match of chess. suddenly an owl came flying through the window it was James's owl Bulger who sent him Lily special handmade pumpkin pie and two photographs of baby Harry who was wearing a pumpkin shaped dress and a picture of James and Lily. this made Sirius smile. He showed the photograph to Tulip and Peter. Peter was crying because of Harry's cuteness and Tulip was smiling in a strange way, but Sirius ignored that too and he hugged that picture.

"So boys i am going to my house because its already seven thirty. goodbye Siri and Wormy", She said with an evil smirk and apparate from the basement of Sirius's house. Sirius was feeling a little bit better after seeing his godson's photo, but not much so he decided to talk to James through two way mirror.

"James?" he called James.

"Hey mate how you're doing? why are you looking so tensed is everything alright?",James asked.

"Everything is not okay James nothing is okay. how do you expect me to live happily when my only family is in danger. i am fed up with this now please someone end this. we don't know when we get die, when our heart stop beating and you are asking me why i am tensed. that noseless git is after everyone we love and i can't live like this anymore. I want our perfect life back like we used to live happily till last year and ever since you and Lily went into hiding and Remus has left my life because my dumb mouth accused him after that incident where death eaters came to hidden Potter Manor to kidnap a pregnant Lily. I lose most of my friends, i lost my brother and my life have become an misery.", Sirius stopped talking because he was on the verge of tears.

"I know how you feel but no one can do nothing until someone defeat the ruthless killer and i know that day will come soon, so you don't worry everything will be fine and okay and don't worry about Remus he returned to London today, he visited us. now change the topic and tell me have you tasted the pumpkin pie that I have made specially for you?" asked Lily who kicked James out of the way like a queen.

An idea struck into Sirius's mind. "I am coming right now to meet you both and my little Bambi and if you dare to deny my decision i will surrender in front of that noseless git you understand Lily Potter", Sirius said fiercely and a miracle happened Lily the boss didn't even tried to deny. Then without any nonsense he went to the living, he wore his travel cloak when he was about to leave the house Peter called him. "Where are you going?" asked Peter. "To James's.",he simply replied.

"Wait padfoot i wanna come too." said Peter. "Peter how you can come with me? have you forgot that you are Lily and James's secret keeper. You have to hidden until James and Lily's life will be spared.", Said Sirius. "Me? secret keeper? didn't Tulip told you that James and Lily swapped their secret keeper again?",Peter frowned.

Confusion ran through Sirius's mind. "N-no one told me that. neither Tulip nor James or Lily. Peter when did they changed their secret keeper and why no one told me yet?!!" Sirius said loudly which make Peter frighten. "T-they ch-nged their secret keeper a month ago and we didn't told you because Tulip was supposed to tell you this. They change their secret keeper because Tulip somehow convince them to do so .",Peter squeaked in fear. Then something ran in Sirius's mind.

"Wormy do you remember last year when some death eaters halfway kidnapped the pregnant Lily from Potter manor and a female death eater fled, and when Lily was taking Harry to bath someone made that water boiling hot. one time when Lily was feeding Harry apple puree a mice ate that and it instantly dies thanks merlin Lily didn't feed Harry that puree?" he asked Wormy.

"Yes i remember every single incident so what?" asked a confused Peter.

"So Peter have you ever thought in every single incident Tulip was there, when Lily was kidnapped we cannot found Tulip but suddenly we found her faint in the closet where she was wet with water and do you remember on the same time it was raining. obviously she didn't go outside for some rain dance. In the second incident when the water was boiling hot it was Tulip who prepare the bath for Harry and in the third time it was again her who prepared the apple puree for Harry. Till this date she didn't tell me about the secret keeper swap and have you noticed her strange behavior lately she even cover her arm.", Sirius said grimly.

"OH NO!! THIS MEANS THAT-

"This mean that my filthy little mudblood adoptive sister is in danger along with her scumbag byproduct and that filthy blood traitor. it took you a little late to figure this out but you do. now its your turn to die, so who decided to die first huh?", Tulip said evilly. Sirius was rooted to the spot, his love of his life, her Tuli she betrays her own sister. His heart broken into thousand pieces he wanted to know why she betrays him. he loved her with his full heart but she did this to him.

"I know what you are thinking but to be honest i never loved you, you were good to use. but i don't have any choice other than using you. for the first fifteen year of my life i lived with those filthy mudbloods and they spoke too much, well then i put them into silence forever. now its their turn to put their mouth shut, but first i wanna shut yours." she said

Sirius shocked, he never expecting this from her not from his love. "w-why d-did---

"You don't have to stammer because I'll tell this to you on my own and don't call me with that filthy name, what was that? ohh yeah Tulip Evans because i don't want that filthy muggle man's surname or his given name because my real name is Cassandra Lestrange. i am the daughter of Polaris Lestrange and Leta Lestrange III they leave me in the muggle hospital and put a spell on me so only muggle family will adopt me in which a magical child is born who is the younger twin of mine but unfortunately only one magical child was born on that day who happens to be Lily. Poor Lily. I tried every single thing to kill the boy but he was too arrogant to die just like his father but today will change everything because they both will die soon, i think the dark lord have done his job." she said and began to laugh like a maniac while Peter was drained out of blood because of what he hear and Sirius wasn't sure what to do he wanted to kill her and cry his eyes out and suddenly his legs passed out and he fell on the ground his eyes were red with anger and pulse high.

"So who wanted to die first. i think Sirius you so I'll do that for you AVADA-- PETRIFICUS TOTALUS-- someone petrify her from behind. Sirius who was in the way to his death was not surprised that someone save him, it was Remus who heard all the conversation.

"Peter i am going to check on Lily and James and you do something to this bitch, if she stayed anymore second in front of me i swear to merlin that she will die in this petrify state of her and Remus will you come with me?", Sirius was filled with rage and mind with horrific thoughts, without any waste of time he went to the garage he pulled out his flying motorcycle and start the engine Remus on the other hand didn't dare to speak to Sirius anything because he know the anger of Sirius Black. the journey from his house to Godric's Hollow was filled with dead silence like no one in this Earth was their expect Sirius and Remus, not even a fly or an owl. Sirius's was flying with full speed and soon they reached Godric's Hollow and their worst nightmare came true. horror stricken Sirius and Remus were pale and eyes widen when they saw the sight of house with half blasted roof which was of Harry's nursery. Without any delay Sirius and Remus entered in the house and saw the worst sight they ever wanted to see.

James Potter, laying on the floor, eyes wide open with horror but without any life and light. pale and ice cold body. Remus couldn't believe that this man is James Potter because James Potter is no James Potter without his mischievous grin and smirk. Sirius break down when he saw this horrific sight of his brother, he wanted to die, have nothing to lose anything anymore because he already lose Reg, now his whole family: James, Lily and his godson Harry. all because of that bitch. He started laughing like a maniac because he didn't know what to do with his life because all his happiness now ended with James.

"Padfoot get up we need to find Lily and Harry.", Remus said sadly but Sirius didn't want to go upstairs only to found the dead bodies of his sister and Harry, but a voice said in his mind which said "GO SIRIUS, GO UPSTAIRS. DON'T GET HOPELESS NOW" Sirius get up and rushed upstairs and found Lily Potter's lifeless body. her beautiful green doe eyes were not filled with anything except from horror and lifelessness. now he lose hope he wanted to cry, he wanted to die. With a guilty heart he started blaming himself for the death of his family, but suddenly he heard some crying, Remus rushed toward the baby cot and he squeaked with a bit happiness when he found a crying Harry.

"Sirius look we haven't lose our family Harry is alive look, your godson is alive.", Remus said happily. The candle of hope which was then blew off now found a way to save its light.

without any waste of time he lift up the crying baby and tried to sooth him, when he remove the messy mope of hair from his forehead he saw a lightning bolt mark.

"We have to take him out of here Sirius", Remus suggested to which Sirius agreed without any hesitation. "Remus take the keys and flew and I'll sit in the sidecar with Harry. Take us to Dumbledore i need to talk to him about Harry's future. five minutes after they flew away Hagrid also came to see the horrific sight.

Thanks to Sirius's motorcycle which have a magical ability to locate anyone they wanna visit soon they unexpectedly came to NUMBER 4 Privet Drive where Lily's vile excuse of a sister lives with her husband. What on Earth Dumbledore is doing here at this late.

"Aah Sirius you i didn't expect you with Mr.Lupin i was expecting Hagrid with little Mr.Potter, now you are here so hand him over me and bid a goodbye for few year until he became illegible to go to Hogwarts." Dumbledore said this and the marauders didn't understand what is the old man talking. so Remus decided to ask, "Why Albus? why we have to bid a goodbye to him where he is going?" asked a confused werewolf to his old headmaster.

"well you all know that Lily's older sister Petunia is the only family he have left and it is--- so you want Harry to live with Lily's vile excuse of sister who didn't even bother to attend her own sister's wedding and calling her names which shatters her heart. NO IN THE BLOODY WAY HARRY IS GOING TO LIVE WITH THESE MUGGLES, NOT UNTIL I AM ALIVE!!!!" a heart broken Sirius with a lot of loss roared before his old headmaster could complete his words.

"But Sirius try to understand, its for Harry's own safety" Dumbledore tried to explain Sirius but the future auror didn't wanna hear a word from his ex headmaster. "OHH BY KEEPING HIM IN A HELLHOLE WITH TWO MAGIC HATER FOOLS, I DON'T WANNA TELL YOU ANYTHING HARRY IS MY RESPONSIBILITY NOT YOURS OR NOT ANYONE BUT MINE. SO LET ME MAKE THIS CLEAR DUMBLEDORE HARRY WILL BE LIVING WITH ME ALL HIS ETERNITY AND YOU ARE NO ONE TO TAKE DECISION FOR HIM. YOU ARE NOT HIS GODFATHER I AM." Sirius roared again so that his throat get sore. their was a utter silence for a minute then Minerva open her mouth to speak.

"Sirius is right Albus, i have watched these muggles everyday and they are the worst sort of muggles i have ever seen. Harry's well being is with Sirius, in the wizarding world." she explained.

"Minerva you also? i just don't want to make his head swell with fame and i want to let him safe that's it" Dumbledore said.

"OHH SO YOU WANT TO LET HIM LIVE IN A HELLHOLE RIGHT SO THAT HIS HEAD DIDN'T SWELL WITH FAME", this time a silent Remus burst out on Dumbledore.

"And of his safety, i am sure that Sirius will make him safe so that on one can ever harm him." McGonagall said this with pride in her eyes and she did something unexpected. She hugged him and hand over Harry to him. Dumbledore didn't have any options left so he also have to agree.

After that they all apparate from there and call an order meeting.

"Peter betrays us. i cant believe that Peter can do such things", Minnie said.

"It wasn't Peter, it was always Cassandra aka Tulip that bitch killed my brother and sister and I'll kill her too, I'll make her life hell until she begs me to kill her but i won't show any mercy on her and still torture her until she dies. she will pay for this, Sirius said with full hatred.

"Sirius please don't do any stupid thing, there is no use of Harry in azkaban and i will make sure that she'll rot in azkaban", Dumbledore assured him.

"Wait will someone tell us who is this Cassandra lady?", asked a confused Mary who was now relieve that his Peter is innocent. Then Remus told all about Cassandra. everyone gasped when she heard that and asked him what is he saying. Remus then explained everything to his ex headmaster and house head. Minnie's eyes were filled with tears and after a long silence Sirius spoke.

"It's all my fault if i haven't swapped my place with Peter so she couldn't convince them to swap her to Peter's place but i was a fool who make Peter their secret keeper, it's not Peter's fault its mine and i didn't even get to say a goodbye. I don't know what to do Moony please make this pain to an end please or I'll die of remorse. My life is filled with black clouds, it feels like dementors suck out all my happiness, i don't have anyone in this world.", Sirius said and one speak a word.

After a long pause Alice Longbottom open her mouth to speak who was sobbing on her husband's shoulder.

"So what happened to Voldemort?", she asked.

"He is gone for good and now our wizarding world is safe until he came back to power and-- Dumbledore pause and pick up Harry from his cot and raise him into air and continue to speak "and he is the boy who lived."

"THAT DOESN'T MAKE ANY DIFFERENCE MY BEST FRIEND IS GONE.", Marlene sobbed.

Dumbledore said something which make Sirius a bit cheerful, he said that:

"Ms.Mckinnon remember never pity on the dead, pity on those who never received love and every moment is a fresh beginning"

#tumblr #harry potter #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar #james potter #lily evans #wizarding world #albus dumbledore #purple

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catvicddlm · 4 years

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Grenetine D’Chessur

(Riku: So, yeah, as this blog deputy, it’s my job to introduce this girls to their respective fandom... Sorry for those who may find me unbearable, but this is how the blog works. Anyway, since D’Chessur here is the one who has the most complete paperwork, she’ll be first)

Name: Grenetine Dioica D'Chessur Manjary (though she mostly goes by Grenetine D’Chessur)

(Riku: Thankfully)

Name Meaning: Grenetine comes from grenetina (Gelatin). Dioica is meant to be the Pimenta dioica (Allspice). Manjary= Mangiare (Italian)= Eat.

(Riku: What does D’Chessur stand for?)

(Grenetine: I thought it was obvious)

(Riku: Well, no)

(Grenetine: Then we’ll leave it for them to investigate!)

Nicknames:

Greenie (family and Dahlia)

My Lady (Jolly and servants)

Strawberry Shortcake (Mudira)

Heartslabyul's Little Duchess or the Little Duchess (Reappina, Suha and several others)

(Riku: How original...)

(Grenetine: In my defense, you don’t get to chose how others nickname you)

Twisted from: The Duchess (Alice in Wonderland)

Affiliations:

D’Chessur family

Manjary family

Lilyaceae family

Night Raven Collage

Heartslabyul Dorm

Dormitory: Heartslabyul

Year: 2nd

Age: 17

Birthday: October 6th

Likes: Sweet treats, savoury foods, literature: poetry, novels, etc, puns, puzzles, getting references.

Dislikes: Bland foods, the noble court, people messing with her things, open endings, being called pig, being mocked for the curse.

Hobbies: Reading (especially mystery), writing in her diary, baking, playing the violin and the piano, gardening, anti-stalking: learning about other persons routine to avoid them (guess why)

(Riku: You need more original hobbies)

(Grenetine: And do you have better hobbies?)

(Riku: Touche)

Occupation:

Student

Competition judge (informal)

County heiress

Personality:

Most of the time she’s a calm person that tries to be polite as much as she can. Truth be told, most of the time she comes off as rude. This is because most people only deal with her in class wich is...not the best. Grenetine is the type of person that thinks that is crucial for one to make things by themselves. So she not only rathers to work alone but also doesn’t offers a lot of help. She also is the type that takes very seriously responsabilities and duties... and she will always insist on them. She has a really strong determination. Always keeping a regal like posture.

The only exception is if she notices that the others are hopeless, in wich she’ll be more sweeter and helpful. Right now she has a soft spot for the “poor things” that are the Heartslabyul first years.

Those who talk to her outside academic situations see a different side: a more laidback girl who likes to have really long talks about anything. Some are even surprised of how easily she can change the topics. They also notice how she overanalyzes everything and how much she mutters. She’s a much more curious person and is willing to more things. This doesn’t mean she’ll do anything, she quickly realises when they are trying to take advantage of her.

Again, this is not easy to reach, so many consider appeal to the “duchess” as a last resort. This plus her cute looks gained her certain fame.

Alligment: Lawful Neutral

Skills:

Disappearance and appearance.

Hide presence and amplify presence.

Stunner spells.

Transformation spells.

Weapon summoning: The Pepper Grinder. This weapon has two forms: a hidden form that looks like a key and the other, the true form, a pepper grinder shaped gun. It also has three modes:

Non-lethal: the target weakens phisically but the proyectiles don’t actually harm them (they do hurt though)

Magic piercer: affects only to magical manifestations (force fields, magic levels, enchanted objects, etc). Magical beings can be harmed.

Lethal: self explanatory. Acts like a normal weapon but magical.

(Riku: I just checked a picture of this...You have a fucking machine gun?!)

(Grenetine: It is not a machine gun)

(Riku: It looks like a machine gun, it behaves like a machine gun, IT’S A FUCKING MACHINE GUN! How are you even allowed to summon this?!)

(Grenetine: A lady has her secrets)

Backstory:

Grenetine was born as the second child from the duke D'Chessur and a noble lady from the infamous Manjary family. They have curse wich would turn them into pigs at some point of their life. Grenetine and her siblings knew from an early age what was coming for them as a lot of nobles excluded them, sometimes outright mocked, for “ruining” their family. She was the biggest target as she was the one that more resembled their mother (and also was very fat).

Out of all her siblings, she was also the one that showed more magical potencial and more learning capacity. She was a very lonely child so she spent the time reading and developing a more analytical mind.

One day, her grandmother, the last of the Lilyaceae line, decided to educate her to make her the heir to her county. During this time, Grenetine got fed up of the humilliations and decided to end the curse that ruined her life.

She, along with her father, spent years finding several clues of the curse’s origins. Then, they discovered that all of them lead to Night Raven College. So when she recived an invitation from the institution, she didn’t think it twice.

Theme song: “Fairytale”- Alexander Rybak

Relationships within the dormitory:

Riddle: It’s complicated. He doesn’t like her very much due her noble status, but at the same time, he kinda wants the approval of an actual noble. He’s also annoyed by the fact that she spends zero time at the dorm yet somehow became quite popular. On the other hand, she avoids him as much as she can. She thinks he hates her guts and it reminds her too much to the court at home. Still tries to please him, she has better thing to do than to face the leader’s wrath.

Ace: Not friends but not total strangers. He likes her better when she’s sweet and willing to help, especially on school problems. She thinks he’s quite likable but doesn’t trust him too much. They usually have long conversations.

Deuce: Similar to Ace’s. They do bond a lot more due their similar interests. He’s impressed by her and is very curious about the whole curse investigation. She also prefers her on her sweeter side but understands and respects her work mood. This is why Grenetine prefers him a little more over Ace.

Trey: Just like the rest of the dorm, Grenetine trusts Trey as a deputy. Surprisingly, he seems to prefer her more serious side, as she’s one of the few that can get work done right. However, they do clash a lot, mostly due to her “stay out of the dorm troubles” policy. He’s one of the responsable to drag her back.

Cater: Also complicated. Cater likes to tease her everytime he gets the chance, wich she dislikes. Nevertheless, they actually enjoy each other company, as they surprisingly discuss more mature themes. Grenetine considers their interactions as necessary break. She allows herself to be sarcastic and intentionally rude with him. Along with Trey, Cater is the other responsable for bringing her back.

Jolly: Her cat companion, her family adopted him along with his siblings when Grenetine found the abandoned as kittens. Jolly is more than a mere pet for her, is a dear friend. She’ll constantly demand respect for him. She’s one of the few people who Jolly likes to talk to as she likes to listen him.

Relationships outside the dormitory:

Dahlia (another OC): They are bests friends. They met due to a similar interest in flowers and haven’t separated since then. Dahlia is one of the few who can influence her and usually dissuades her from her more unhealthy habits. Grenetine is one of the few who knows Dahlia’s complete backstory.

Idia: Even less than acquaintances. Since she’s friends with Dahlia, she has spent a lot of time at Ignihyde. He kinda reminds her of her older brother in personality. He thinks she talks too much but sometimes makes very interesting questions.

Chausiku (another OC): Not really friends but they get along and hang a lot together. Chausiku likes that Grenetine isn’t a princess like girl or a rich spoiled brat. Grenetine admires her determination but doesn’t share her goals. She also kinda wishes to have Chausiku’s imposing presence.

Ruggie: They have a relationship totally based on favors (Grenetine pays him to do some simple jobs for her, usually in form of either money or baked pastries). On ocasions, they have worked together to keep order. They interact mostly through Chausiku. Ruggie is actually disgusted of how insanely rich her family is, but doesn’t reject being paid. She thinks he’s competent enough and a little greedy but doesn’t blame him for that.

The Tension Quartet (again, OCs): Grenetine serves as some kind of judge for them. This often translates to keep them out of trouble. Even though they hang a lot, she mostly keeps herself professional.

(Riku: Take a shot for everytime “one of the...” appears.)

Phrase: "You can't spend a day doing nothing! There's always something to do"

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #grenetine d'chessur

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saintarchie · 4 years

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Remember A Day

Me: The year is almost over, this is a good time to start playing that game. My Life: Here’s 58,000 fucking other things that need doing before Christmas. Me: Oh.

Anyway, now that’s done, let’s check out Ringabel’s future diary gimmick.

There’s actually a lot to take in: In addition to the journal itself, it seems all of the relevant information about the game’s characters and mechanics are kept in here. Probably wouldn’t hurt to familiarise myself.

[several minutes of reading later]

OK, let’s move on to the journal itself. It seems to be written from Ringabel’s perspective, but he doesn’t remember any of it and the events described mostly haven’t happened yet. Assuming they prove to be accurate, the most likely explanation would seem to be that he was either given the book by a future version of himself, or that he is the future version, but doesn’t realise it thanks to his amnesia.

As for what the book actually says, here’s a quick summary:

9/20: Ringabel admires a picture of Edea and longs for the chance to meet her. He also watches a new ship, named the Eschalot, being towed into wherever he was at the time.

9/26: Ringabel crosses the Norende Plateau, en route for the capital, uneasy due to the lack of a weapon. Upon arriving, he is unable to stay at the inn and so lets himself into the empty house next door.

9/27: While exploring Caldisla, Ringabel is “volunteered” to join a local boar hunt with Owen. It goes well enough that Owen offers to set him up with better accommodation when they return.

9/28: Following the hunt, Ringabel becomes more ingratiated with Owen, but still keeps a certain amount of distance, allowing the people at the inn to go on believing their incorrect assumptions about why he came to them.

10/03: The new routine Ringabel had settled into is upset when a bright flash and violent ground tremors occur, apparently heralding some great cataclysm back in the direction of the Norende Plateau. Ringabel can’t figure out what’s happening, but of course the audience already knows that it’s Madoka’s birthday the Elric brothers burning their house down Norende falling into a chasm.

10/04: Signs of the destruction of Norende wash downstream, and Ringabel helps the locals investigate. Turns out, it was he who found Tiz and brought him back to the inn.

10/07: While Tiz convalesces, a badly damaged ship arrives in the port. The seas are rotting and un-navigable, stranding this ship’s crew and passengers. Among the latter group is Agnès, who has a lot of questions about the events of four days earlier. Ringabel tells her about Norende.

Of course, these are all things that have now happened. The next set of entries, however, are still to come:

10/25: The Sky Knights are defeated by the Vestal et al, who comandeer their airship, apparently taking Edea captive in the process.

11/13: The writer travels to Ancheim in search of the Vestal. This is interesting because it suggests that, assuming Ringabel is still the narrator of these events, that he did not take part in the capture of the airship. Since the current Ringabel has joined the party that’s about to head off and do that, it implies that either something will happen to separate him from the group, or that he is trying to subvert the pre-ordained narrative from the journal. In any event, he is unable to find Agnès in Ancheim and is pointed towards the Yulyana Woods.

11/23: At the palace in Ancheim, Agnès appears to be fomenting a rebellion against the king for reasons that aren’t entirely clear, although they have something to do with an evil sigil she’s carrying. The narrator is unable to get close to her because of the crowd.

12/08: The narrator expresses relief that “they” haven’t come to wherever he is, as their presence would complicate matters in some way. In their absence, he begs for “her” help but the book doesn’t say what for. Later, aboard his ship, he notes that Florem is a place where women live in chaste humility, peacefully co-existing with nature and rejecting conflict. He notes that “those two” would react badly to this description.

1/31: Nyx’s avatar awakens at the summit of Tartarus, bringing about the end of the world. Wait, wrong game. The narrator receives his first contact from “them” in three weeks, a brief message simply noting that the Vestal has entered the Sacred Flower Festival. He doesn’t seem to know what this means.

3/07: The narrator returns to a fortress for the first time in four years, wondering what “they” intend to do with such a large sword. He restrains the urge to attack his guide. Despite complaining about the properties of mythril and orichalcum being common knowledge that everyone already learned at school, he still makes a note of them in the journal. The fort’s interior appears unchanged, and there’s a map of it that I assume will be useful later on. At the top of the fort, he dismisses the guide, just as somebody with a giant hand greets him.

3/17: The narrator is annoyed about having to defend some brat from being tortured. This came about as the result of a stand-off between him and an odd couple made up of a fat guy and a weakling. After “old man battleaxe” intervened, the kid ended up in the narrator’s care. The child is an eight-year-old orphan who ran away from a forced labour detail and so ended up “here”. Where that is isn’t specified, beyond the kid and the narrator having to share a room there.

3/19: The narrator reluctantly allows the child to accompany him on a journey... somewhere. Wherever it is, there’s a secret tunnel into some magma caverns. During a break they are caught by Edea, who demands that he let the boy go. Despite his exhaustion, the narrator has the boy hide and prepares to fight not just Edea, but Tiz and Agnès as well. So if it is Ringabel writing all of this, it appears that he ends up at odds with the rest of the party. In the midst of their battle it seems that the ground becomes unstable, leading to him having to pull Edea to safety. While she’s grateful for the help, neither she nor the other two are prepared to let this thing with the kid go. It’s all rendered moot however, by the narrator falling into the magma himself.

4/24: The narrator doesn’t initially know that that’s what the date is, but it’s written in the in-game menu, so I assume he added it afterwards. Anyway, he has improbably survived his magma bath and is being “fixed” by someone who doesn’t seem all that concerned about his well-being for reasons that seem to stem from an incident that’s not in the book. Oh maybe not, actually, the fixer is described as a pig, so it might be the fat guy from earlier. More painful reconstruction follows, after which, someone else tries to question the narrator about a letter he’s received. “Bring the orphan to the inn of origin.” The questioner assumes that this is a code of some sort, but I’m assuming that it is literally what the writer wants him to do with the boy. Of course, it’s been over a month since he actually had the boy, so the letter writer is working from outdated intelligence. Anyway, the questioner tries to get something out of some other letters they’ve intercepted, but the narrator’s not up to it, catching only a few key words like “earth crystal” “grandship” and “engine room”. After some more time passes, he’s released into civilian care, and within a week is fully healed.

6/16: The narrator reflects on the fact that “his” predictions are coming true. The first is a pillar of light that can be seen over the sea to the south, while the second has yet to happen, but stopping it depends on the narrator’s ability to stop Agnès et al from doing... something. He reflects upon how that trio came to be, and his feelings towards Edea, before signing off his final entry.

So yeah, a lot going on, or at least will be going to have been going on at some point in the past/future. Time travel is complicated. I’m assuming it’s time travel, anyway. Will be interesting to see how much, if at all, we end up deviating from the version in the book. The deal, as far as I can tell, is that the party is/was/will be convinced to do something, possibly under false pretences, while Ringabel is convinced to stop them. As for who’s right and who did all that convincing, I guess I’ll find out as I play through it. Airy’s absence from the diary narrative is interesting, though. Presumably that version of Ringabel didn’t see her much.

Now I look, there’s a bunch of notes that he’s written about people/things that are probably worth commenting on. Think I’ll leave that for tomorrow though.

#archie plays bravely default

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mariequitecontrarie · 5 years

Text

All of Me: Chapter 16

The Fic: Belle French is a pudgy librarian who’s in love from afar with “town monster” and ace reporter, Mr. Gold. Little does she know, he’s head-over-heels in love with her, too. Chapter Summary: Belle and Emma go shopping in Portland to prepare for a big night out with Gold and Neal at the Storybrooke Winter Gala. Emma runs into an old high school rival and shares a secret. Rating: T A/N: Guys, it’s been 84 years! Much love to @galactic-pirates and @magnoliatattoo for putting up with me. Artwork by the talented @wizzygold @a-monthly-rumbelling: “I’m not dressed for this.”

Stay with Me (bet. Ch 9&10) | Spiked Chocolate (bet. Ch 16&17) | Pieces of Me (Q&A)

ON AO3

“The quickest way to know a woman is to go shopping with her.” - Marcelene Cox

***Three weeks after Belle has moved out of her parents’ house and into Marco’ s.***

Belle picked up the telephone to call Gold at the newspaper, her day planner spread open on the desk.

Yes, it was old-fashioned, writing things down on a calendar and lugging the thick planner around in her bag, but she liked old-fashioned. She liked books, and fountain pens, and the rustle of paper—both crisply new and faded with age. Besides, she didn’t trust iPhone calendar apps.

She’d forgotten Daddy and Edith’s anniversary one too many times thanks to those finicky electronic calendars. Whenever it happened, she rushed to write a card at the last minute but instead of being grateful, Edith seemed to enjoy shaming her for “neglecting her family.” Personally, Belle felt anniversaries were about the couple celebrating each other…but her thoughts were veering way off course. If she ventured down the dark road of worrying over Edith, she could end up in bed with a box of snowball cakes for the rest of the day.

But falling into depression was less likely now that she no longer called her father and Edith’s house home. After three weeks of living with Marco, there was no denying how much better she felt; the freedom of coming and going as she pleased was a heady sensation. Sometimes Gold joined her at Marco’s house in the evening and the three of them played Scrabble together. Once, she had insisted Marco not cook dinner after cooking at the restaurant all day long and dragged him to Emma’s house for a family dinner where Henry chattered about school and his friends and made everyone laugh until their sides ached.

But most often, Marco would come home from the restaurant and the two of them would eat a pasta and salad dinner, and then spend the evening in the comfortable quiet of his small, cozy living room. His overstuffed couch and chairs were such a contrast to the hard, slick leather furniture Edith filled her house with, and Belle loved sinking into the corner of Marco’s huge couch and covering up with a fluffy throw blanket.

Sometimes they would make small talk about their days but on most evenings, Marco would be bent over a notebook making notes for the next day’s specials at the restaurant, and she would pull out her laptop to research books to add to the library. Usually, either the Cooking Channel or HGTV played in the background. She’d had an older television in her bedroom at her parents’ but no cable connection. Marco, however, had a new flatscreen and Belle indulged in her love of watching House Hunters International, which combined two of her favorite pastimes: seeing home interiors and a peek at exotic destinations.

Gone were the days of being chased into her bedroom, hiding her diary, and hoarding snacks. Some days, the years spent in Edith and her dad’s frosty household seemed like a bad dream.

At least twice a week, Belle offered to pay Marco rent. It didn’t seem right to eat his food and live in his space and offer nothing in return. But he refused every time she asked. “No,” he had said this morning over breakfast, flipping eggs with a stubborn twist of his lips. “We are family, Bella. La famiglia. And when life is hard, family is a soft place to land.” Her eyes had burned with grateful tears, but she kissed his cheek and ate her breakfast and let him fuss over her until they went their separate ways—he to the restaurant and her to the library.

Besides, she thought as she punched in Gold’s number, she didn’t have time for wallowing.

She needed to talk to Gold about the annual Storybrooke Winter Gala today. On impulse, Neal had bought four tickets and insisted he and Emma and Belle and Gold make a double date of the occasion. He’d even arranged for their next-door neighbor, Ana, to watch Henry.

Every December, the Mayor’s Office hosted the gala to benefit the city schools. This year, all proceeds would go toward school Arts programs—music, theatre, writing, and art workshops. Emma and Gold usually attended every year, Gold to cover the event for the Times and Emma to capture photographs to accompany the story. Belle had never been invited to the ball before, though, and she wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Part of her didn’t want to be seen in public with so many shiny glossy people she couldn’t measure up to, but another side of her was excited to play princess for an evening.

She glanced again at the date and punched in Gold’s phone number. Today was Friday, November 16th. Thanksgiving was next week, which meant the gala was only three weeks away. There wasn’t much time to get ready. Finding a dress could be difficult and she would probably need to take it to a tailor, too. The thought of shopping for formalwear made her palms begin to sweat.

“Gold,” he answered on the first ring.

“What are you wearing?” she asked in a rush, followed by a breathless pause.

He answered with a laugh, the deep, rich sound making her spine tingle. She imagined him setting down the newspaper proof he was holding to turn in his chair to peer out the window toward the library. Since her office was in the back of the building he couldn’t actually see her, but she felt the admiring burn of his eyes all the same.

She heard a rustling sound as he set down the pages. When they talked or spent time together, he always gave her his full attention. It was certainly a refreshing change from Sean distractedly glancing at her during one of his marathon video game sessions and asking her to repeat what she’d said for the third time.

“A naughty call in the middle of the workday?” Gold drawled into the phone. “Sweetheart, men dream of these sorts of calls from their girlfriends. It’s not even my birthday.”

Belle blushed. She hadn’t stopped to think how awkward the question would sound out of context, but now that it was out, she teased him right back. “Mmmm nothing naughty to say today but just wait till it is your birthday,” she said. “Now that you mention it…”

“Yes?” He drew out the word, filling it with expectation and making her giggle.

She could almost see him leaning forward across the desk, a mischievous gleam in those caramel eyes.

“When is your birthday?”

“January 14th,” he answered promptly. “And tell Marco I prefer ice cream cake.”

“You prefer every cake,” she shot back, smiling into the phone. When it came to baked goods, Gold had an enormous sweet tooth. “But I think it can be arranged.”

“That’s excellent news. Just don’t tell Marco how many candles to put on it because the thing will be melted before we have a chance to slice it.”

Belle knew he was still self-conscious about the difference in their ages. She also knew exactly how to soothe him when he worried. “Then it’s a good thing I prefer mature men.”

“Indeed,” he said, sounding pleased.

She flipped her planner forward and marked his birthday on the calendar in bold, red ink, surrounding the date with fat, bright hearts. The birthday of the man she loved was an important day—far more worth remembering than the wedding date of her stuffy stepmother and emotionally unavailable father. At least she knew Marco wouldn’t snoop through her things and read her planner or her diary. But she was digressing again.

“Now, back to my question,” she ordered, feigning sternness.

“You have my full attention, General French.”

She laughed and rubbed the thick holiday gala invitation between her fingers. Its embossed gold lettering and sprigs of holly in metallic ink screamed expensive. Everyone knew the Storybrooke Winter Gala was the social event of the season. From the chilled seafood towers bursting with crab claws and lobster tails to the elegant champagne cocktails, no expense would be spared.

Belle fanned her warm cheeks with the cardstock, her clammy fingers leaving damp smudges at the top of the matte stationery. “The invite says formal attire, but you’re almost always formal. Were you thinking suit or tuxedo?”

“At the moment, I’m in my usual. I did opt for the socks with the turkeys today as a nod to next Thursday.”

Belle giggled and dragged her teeth over her lower lip. His Thanksgiving socks were adorable and he was being terribly sweet in his attempts to put her at ease. She wanted to go to the gala, but she didn’t want to look like a country bumpkin who had never been anywhere. Gold had attended fancy dinners and parties all over the world. He’d been to a State Dinner with the President, for goodness sake, while Belle had never ventured beyond the Portland city limits. “You know what I mean. It’s not like we can show up in sweatpants and be all ‘sorry, I’m not dressed for this.’” Oh, how she wished.

“Sweetheart, you can wear anything you like. You’re gorgeous no matter what you have on. That said, I’m not really the proper person to offer advice on evening gown selections. Why don’t you talk to Emma?”

She sighed. “Honey, I have talked to Emma. We’re both going shopping and we both need to know. It’s not like we can ask Neal for guidance.” Exasperated, she pushed a curl off her forehead, wondering why she had to explain this. “You know what he’s like. Emma said, ‘Neal would dust corn chips off his construction clothes, zip a hoodie sweatshirt over it, and head out the door.’ That’s a direct quote, by the way.”

Gold burst out laughing. “Sounds like my boy. I’ll make sure he’s dressed appropriately.”

“Anyway,” she continued, “there’s not much of a boutique circuit here in Storybrooke and I’m not exactly a candidate for Rent the Runway.” She sucked in the inside of her cheek as soon as those last words were out. Since they’d started dating, she’d been making a concerted effort not to say self-deprecating things about herself. At least not out loud.

Gold hadn’t seemed to notice her negativity, though.

“Which would you prefer I wear? Tux or suit?”

The image of whirling on the dance floor with Gold in a sleek black tuxedo was doing crazy things to her insides. “Tux,” she said in a breathless whisper. “Tux sounds good.”

“Tux it shall be then. And Belle?”

“Yes?” She was still picturing Gold in black tie and her stomach was doing gymnastics.

“Love, I meant what I said: you’re gorgeous no matter what you wear. We’re going to the gala so we can dance and eat shrimp cocktail and support the Arts, not so you’ll worry over competing with silly girls and stupid women who wouldn’t know true beauty if it ran over them with a sleigh.”

“I wish you and Emma and Neal were going to be the only ones there,” she murmured, feeling silly. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t known about the gala and been given every opportunity to decide against going. The event had been on the calendar for weeks, yet the closer it came the more she fretted about fitting in. An inexplicable craving for belonging tightened her chest.

Gold hummed into the phone. “This is about more than a dress, isn’t it, sweetheart?”

She closed her eyes and took a deep, slow breath, letting the weight of his understanding settle over her like a comforting mantle. Her head lolled forward until her forehead rested upon the top of her desk. The smooth, cool grain of the wood felt good against her flushed skin and she forced out another lungful of air. Gold didn’t deserve to be at the wrong end of her short fuse. She tried to tell herself she belonged at the gala because he’d invited her, but the heart didn’t always believe the head—no matter how sensible the head was being.

“It matters to me that I at least look like I belong, even if it isn’t true,” she admitted.

Gold was quiet for a long moment. “It is true, sweetheart. For as long as I draw breath, you will always have a place to belong. If Marco, Emma, Neal, and Henry were here, I know each of them would say the same. I also know it’s going to take more than hearing the words to make you believe it. You have to know the truth deep down. I love you so much, and I only hope and pray that one day you’ll see yourself the way we see you.”

Belle pressed her lips together, muffling a sob. “Thank you for understanding,” she whispered tearfully. “I love you.”

“It’s nearly five. I’m coming over to the library.” Through the phone, she heard the distinctive click of his pocket watch as he snapped it closed. “When I get there, I’m going to kiss you till you’re breathless, then take you out for a nice, quiet dinner, just the two of us. How does that sound?”

Belle smiled and wiped her tears and her worries away with a tissue from the box on her desk. “It sounds perfect.”

“So we’re here.” Emma sucked down the dregs of her iced latte in a noisy slurp and wiped her hands on her black jeans. “Portland. Boutique Row. What do we do now?” She tossed the cup in the trash can inside the door.

Like aliens on a foreign planet, they hovered inside the doorway of Posh, the largest formal boutique in the city.

Belle eyed Emma suspiciously. “I thought you said you knew about shopping.”

“Yeah, for denim and dry fit. Where to get the best doughnuts. And the occasional piece of leather. Not evening gowns.”

“But you’ve been to this gala before?” she pressed.

“Yeah, as the photographer. No one pays attention to what you’re wearing when you’re behind the camera. I got away with black pants and a dress shirt three years running.”

Belle looked her friend up and down. Perspiration was dotting Emma’s temples. Her cheeks, ruddy from the winter air outside just moments ago, were ashen. She knew that deer-in-headlights look: Emma was on the verge of an anxiety attack.

Belle ran her teeth over her lower lip, discouragement slithering around her and squeezing the air from her lungs. “Are we in trouble?”

“It’s possible,” Emma acknowledged, then shook her head hard enough to cause her ponytail to sway. “No. No! We’re two grown women. We can handle one small town formal.”

“You make it sound like war,” Belle said wryly.

“It’s worse. Other women. Rich, polished, cold as ice.” She rolled her eyes at a chic blonde dripping in Chanel and carrying a Louis Vuitton handbag bigger than Belle’s suitcase. “Maybe we should invest in suits of armor.”

“Or maybe we should eat them for supper.”

Emma snorted, their laughter breaking the tension. It was rare for Emma to be intimidated, and Belle patted her shoulder. Misery loved company, and somehow knowing she wasn’t alone in her insecurity gave her hope for more than the hunt for an evening gown. “We can do this, as long as we do it together.”

Emma’s reached for Belle’s hand and squeezed. “Right. Together is better.”

”Exactly.”

Emma gave a long, slow whistle and they moved into the store like two people tied together in a three-legged race. “Where should we start?” Belle stared at the array of gowns and began to shuffle through the racks, heading in the direction of the plus sizes. She’d come here expecting to have maybe two choices in style but after a few minutes of browsing, to her surprise, there were many gowns in her size—short and long, tight and flowing, beaded and glittery. And though she hadn’t tried on a solitary dress, she was still convinced there wasn’t one in all of Portland designed to flatter her physique. In one fell swoop, she’d gone from zero choices to too many. So many dresses, so little time, and so much Belle.

Even the eggnog lattes and cream-stuffed doughnuts she and Emma had feasted on in the car on the way here left her feeling hollow. She was at her worst at formal events—the last one she’d been to was her high school senior prom and not one person had asked her to dance. She’d gone stag simply so she didn’t have to sit in the house with her father and Edith. With the exception of going to the refreshment table to sneak brownies, she had sat in the corner the entire time.

But she wasn’t in high school any longer. She had a handsome escort in Gold and friends to spend the evening with. The steeply priced gala tickets had already been purchased and paid for and supporting the Arts in their schools? She couldn’t think of a more excellent cause. Besides, backing out three weeks before the event was paramount to announcing you had no interest in seeing Hamilton. It simply wasn’t done.

She squinted in the direction of the lingerie. Spanx were what she needed—something to suck her in and smooth her out—injected with industrial-strength elastic.

“Black. Black is the slimming choice,” Belle decided aloud, pushing through the rack toward a plain A-line silk sheath gown.

At least if she stuck to basic black, she and Gold would match. Like two penguins. One sleek and sophisticated, the other round and plump, carrying a lot of blubber around to make it through the hard, cold, South Pole winter.

“No black! Black is the safe choice,” Emma countered, smacking Belle’s hand when she reached for the hanger on another simple, nondescript black gown with clean lines.

“And that’s bad why?”

“Because it’s drab and washes you out. Go for color. Like gold.”

“Suddenly you’re a Pantone expert?” Belle winced. “A gold dress? Isn’t that a touch…cliché?”

“Alright. We’ll keep looking.”

Belle nudged Emma in the direction of a tall, willow-thin woman with striking black and grey hair and the pointiest red stilettos she’d ever seen. “Maybe we should ask someone. I think she works here.”

Emma squinted and slid more dresses down the rack. “The one with the scarf on?”

“It’s a poncho.” She knew that much.

“Wait! Wait! Try this emerald one! Gold will go crazy when he sees you in this!” Emma whipped a dazzling, jewel-toned gown with a daring thigh-high slit off the rack. Belle stared at the stunning gown then glanced back at the saleswoman. “Five minutes ago you didn’t know anything about dresses.” “You’re right, I don’t. But I know my father-in-law and he’s going to love that dress. Well, he’d love you in a life-sized paper bag, but this dress will make even Mr. Smart Ass Newspaper Dude speechless. God, I can picture him drooling already!” She thrust the dress into Belle’s arms and gave her a playful shove. “Go try it on. And remember, the only person who has to know how beautiful you are…”

“Is me,” Belle finished. They’d had this conversation often during their walks over the past few months, and Emma had reminded her yet again on the two-hour drive here. She fingered the rich velvet skirt with trembling fingers. Now she had to walk the walk. “I’ll try it. What color are you looking for?” she asked, backing into the fitting room.

“Black.” “Emma!” she whined.

Emma yanked the fitting room curtain closed with a laugh. The dress was crushed velvet with full-length sleeves, hard to find, even in the middle of a brutal Maine winter. She slid into the gown, the silk-lined velvet feeling decadent against her skin. Even without the back completely zipped, she liked the look. Emma was right, she realized, turning this way and that in the three-way mirror.

The scoop neck hugged her shoulder blades, emphasizing her thinnest feature—her shoulders—and the color made her blue eyes sparkle and skin creamy even under the garish fluorescent fitting room lights. It was a few inches too long for her 5-foot, 1-inch frame, but the skirt length was easily remedied at a tailor. Not hating it, she took a deep breath, lifted the skirt so she wouldn’t trip, and opened the curtain. She hoped Emma was nearby because she didn’t want to make a spectacle of herself. Those stupid little fitting room closets were designed to thrust you back out onto the floor where commission-hungry salespeople could tell you how good you looked and convince you to buy.

“Em,” she called out, “could you zip—” She swallowed the rest of her words. Emma was face-to-face with a dark-haired woman, and looking even more nervous than she had when they walked into the boutique. “Emma? Emma Nolan?” The stranger wore a smart navy pantsuit and a light blue silk blouse, and her blood-red lips spread in a wide smile. Everything about her, from her perfectly coifed hair to her buffed, nude pumps, screamed suave and important.

“Yeah, who’s asking?” “It’s me, Regina Mills. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten. We graduated together from Storybrooke High! I sat next to you in Mr. Walsh’s English class.” “Oh, hey.” Emma kicked the carpet with her boot, looking anything but thrilled to meet an old high school friend. “Good to see you. You remember Belle French, I’m sure. She graduated the year after us.” Regina frowned at Belle, making a small scar on her upper lip stand out. “Sorry, doesn’t ring a...bell.” “It’s fine. We didn’t really travel in the same social circles anyway,” Belle said. Regina pouted, as if trying to decide if Belle’s remark was a put-down.

Well, she could interpret the comment however she wished. Belle didn’t care for the change that had come over Emma since Regina had appeared or the barely-veiled insult that she wasn’t worth remembering. Now that she’d had a good look at her, she remembered Regina well enough. Then again, it was hard to forget the most popular girl to ever come out of Storybrooke High School. Student body president, prom queen, and girlfriend of Daniel Colter, captain of the football team. Belle would have called her a high school cliché, except that Regina had carried her smooth, flawless reputation into adulthood. She was still the most beautiful woman Belle had ever seen close-up. “I’m just in town for meetings today. I’m an attorney and planning to run for office next term.” Regina’s frozen smile was back in business. “I’m thinking start small with state Senate and work up from there. So, Emma, what have you been up to since graduation? I haven’t seen you since we walked across the stage.” “Um, well.” Emma shoved her hands in her pockets and looked toward the racks of dresses. “Emma is a gifted photographer,” Belle said, sliding to her friend’s side. If Emma wasn’t going to boast about her accomplishments, she sure as hell was going to do it for her. “How exciting!” Regina’s grin was wolfish, her dark eyes sparkling. “Are you exhibiting your portraits at any galleries?” “Uh…” Emma looked at the floor. “No time,” Belle put in. “Right, Em? You’re much too busy with your son, Henry and your husband, Neal.” “Oooh, a husband.” Regina’s eyes flashed again, reminding Belle of a shark circling its prey. “Is he a doctor?” “Nope.” “Hmmm.” She tapped a red nail against her jaw. “A lawyer then?” “He’s in construction,�� Emma said, looking to Belle for help. “For your information, he runs his own construction company. He’s built most of Storybrooke’s new buildings in the last ten years.” Belle glared at Regina, daring her to make another cutting remark. “So he’s a working man,” she said, managing to make the term sound neither positive nor negative. “Yeah. Yeah. He’s great.” Emma’s laugh was feeble and she ducked her head. Regina clapped her hands. “This has been fun, catching up. We should do this again sometime.” She flashed another gorgeous, winning smile, and moved in the direction of the lingerie. “Best of luck on the campaign trail,” Belle called after her. Waiting until Regina was out of earshot, Belle whirled on Emma. “Excuse me, but what the hell was that?”

“Never mind. We have shopping to do.” Emma cleared her throat and tried to slide past her, but Belle held her ground.

“The shopping can wait. Who died and crowned Regina Mills queen?”

Belle had zero patience for people who clambered for social standing and pronounced themselves better than others. Having been so often on the receiving end of other people’s sarcasm, Belle rarely talked down to people. But standing up to bullies didn’t count. Something about watching Emma cower in front of Regina caused an angry fire to blaze in her belly. Maybe she was lousy at defending herself, but she’d be damned if she’d let anyone walk all over her friend. Emma shrugged and studied the dresses. She was pretending not to care about the awkward encounter, but Belle knew better. “I don’t like small talk. ‘Hi. How are you?’ she parroted. ‘Oh, I’m fine, how are you?’ News flash: nobody’s fine.”

“Em…”

“No matter how she makes it sound, Regina and I weren’t friends in high school, we were competitors.” She rolled her eyes. “She reminisces about Mr. Walsh’s English class like that was the only time we saw each other. I guess she forgot about the four years we spent one-upping each other on the cheerleading squad, softball team, and the debate team. Always trying to be smarter, stronger, and skinnier than the other. We were out for blood.”

“Then why are you letting her get under your skin?”

Emma sighed and pulled on her ponytail. “You know Cora Mills?”

“Cora Mills, the mayor? Of course.” Belle suppressed a shudder.

Regina’s mother, Cora, had been mayor of Storybrooke for as long as Belle could remember. Cora was a cold, calculating woman, but what she lacked in lovable qualities, she made up for in efficiency. She ran Storybrooke like a machine and no one could argue with her methods, not even Gold, who was paid to search out everything. From the few times Belle had met her, she realized Cora wasn’t mean so much as devoid of emotion. Beyond a perfunctory review of the library budget once a year, Belle was fortunate to rarely communicate with the Mayor’s Office and even when she did, it was strictly emails between Belle and Cora’s assistant. The library and its services were beneath Cora’s notice; so long as Belle didn’t ask for too much money, she stayed under her radar—which was exactly the way she liked it.

Emma wandered to a bench next to the row of fitting rooms and plopped down. “My mom always wanted to be like her, you know.”

“Really?” Belle would never have expected sweet, kind Mary Margaret Nolan to want to emulate Cora Mills.

Emma smirked. “Once, a long time ago, Mom even tried bidding against her for Mayor but she was too nice. She was laughed out of the first debate, and it’s a good thing because the town would have walked all over her. Since Mom couldn’t be like Cora, she decided the next best thing would be for me to be like Cora’s daughter, Regina. I spent every day of high school trying to beat Regina for one reason: because my mom couldn’t beat hers.”

“Wow,” Belle said. “I would never have known. Your mom is such a great teacher and your parents are like a fairytale marriage. Talk about relationship goals.”

“Exactly. The thing with my mom is she’s incredible just as she is,” she said. “Former prom queen, straight-A student, a born teacher. She’s smart and pretty and married to the perfect, charming husband. And she loves Storybrooke—but not for me.”

“But your parents live in Storybrooke.” Confused, Belle furrowed her brow. “That seems like a bit of a double-standard.”

“Yeah.” Emma shook her head. “’Why do you want to take pictures of engaged couples and local pet adoptions?’ she said, mimicking her mother’s innocent tone. “She would rather I was out on the front lines of some war documenting the dying.” “Like Gold used to?” Belle nodded in sympathy and claimed the empty side of the bench. She knew all too well the feeling of being expected to be someone you couldn’t be and dashing parental hopes in the process. “She feels like you shouldn’t be satisfied with a simple life.” “Bingo! And she resents the hell out of Gold for telling me what it’s really like out there. I think that’s why I’m closer to him now than I am my own parents. He understands weakness and failure in a way I don’t think they can. I’m not some conceited little bitch who’s hiding in the bathroom to throw up everything she eats to fit in anymore, but sometimes that really sucks, you know?”

“Yeah, I do.” Belle’s heart clenched in sympathy. Sometimes she still got sucked into the vortex of her own self-pity and forgot that everyone—even gorgeous, wonderful Emma—was fighting a battle. Trying to be yourself was hard work. It was so much easier to toe the line of people’s expectations, to do and say what made others feel comfortable and safe. “So there’s Regina, first conquering the state of Maine, then the world.” Emma put her head in her hands. “And here I am...not running for a spot even on the PTO. Married with a kid and pregnant again.” “You’re pregnant?” Belle slung an arm around Emma and dragged her against her side in an awkward hug. “Oh, sweetie, that’s amazing!” “Ya think? Emma sniffled but looked hopeful for the first time since they had entered the boutique. “Really? I wasn’t expecting another baby. It just happened.”

“Henry is going to be a big brother!” Belle squealed, excited enough for both of them. “Does your mom know yet?”

“Are you kidding?” “What did Neal say?”

Emma shook her head and touched her belly. “You’re the first soul I’ve told.”

“Me?” Belle crowded closer to Emma and drew her head down on her shoulder. She smoothed Emma’s hair back from her temples, soothing her the way her mother used to when she was little while she tried to process the news. To think she was the first to know about the new addition coming to the Cassidy household. She hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t think I’ve ever been first in someone else’s confidence. At least not...well there’s Gold, of course.” She felt Emma nod against her shoulder. “I know what you mean. I’ve had friends. Acquaintances. Then when I met Neal he satisfied any need I had for friends. He’s a great husband and I love him to pieces, but it’s not like this. Like us. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Belle.”

“Me too,” she said, tears scalding her eyes. She’d known it was true—had felt the stirrings of their bond deep in her spirit ever since their first real conversation at Henry’s birthday clambake. Between family dinners, walks, and girls nights out, the invisible force between them only grown stronger. Somehow acknowledging their friendship out loud made it seem more solid. Precious. As important to her as her love for Gold, but in a different way.

“Now stand up,” Emma said, fishing into her pocket for a crumpled tissue. “I wanna see this dress!”

Belle shot to her feet and smoothed the skirt, her fingers fluttering around the waist and hips while Emma zipped up the back.

“I love it,” she said, motioning for Belle to twirl around.

“Really? You don’t think it makes me look like a medieval strumpet?”

“Hell no!” Emma whistled as Belle turned around again. “You’re stunning. All we need now are Spanx and shoes. And maybe some lingerie for the after-party?” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“Maybe.” Belle’s face flamed at the thought of wearing a negligee for Gold. “What about you?”

“We’ll get to me after lunch.” She patted her still-flat tummy. “There’s a place down the street serving yummy cheese-covered waffle fries and this kid wants some now.”

Belle’s stomach growled in answer. “Lead the way.”

Their waiter was clearing the lunch plates at the café when Belle heard a knock on the window. She did a double-take as her father waved through the glass with a sheepish smile. Her turkey club sandwich, which had tasted so delicious a few minutes ago, now lodged in her stomach. What was he doing here in the city?

“I’ll grab the check, Belle. You go talk to him,” Emma urged. “If I see things are getting bad I’ll come outside and rescue you.”

Nodding, she gathered her coat and made her way outside, wondering what would bring her father looking for her in Portland of all places, when she hadn’t seen him once on the streets of Storybrooke in the three weeks since she’d moved out.

The air was frigid even in the sunshine, and she seemed to grow colder with every step she took toward her father.

“Daddy?” She wrapped her arms around herself to keep from reaching for a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s the Portland flower show.” He brushed a bit of pollen off the sleeve of his coat. “I was in the neighborhood and saw you having lunch in the window.” “Ah.” Her dad attended the vendor-focused flower exhibition every year. She should have prepared for the possibility of running into him in town, but she’d completely forgotten it was this weekend.

“We haven’t heard from you in weeks, darling. Edith was devastated when you collected your things and left us.”

Belle gave a noncommittal grunt and thrust her cold hands in her pockets. Edith was devastated? Perish the thought her own father actually missed her.

“Marco treating you well?” he asked gruffly.

“Like family,” she retorted, her voice carrying a sharpness she hadn’t intended.

Her father’s face paled and she instantly regretted her tone. There was no call to be so mean-spirited, especially when it somehow succeeded in making her feel worse instead of better.

He sniffed. “Will we see you for Thanksgiving?“

Belle looked into the clear blue sky, distancing herself from his hopeful gaze. "Marco’s cooking a huge feast, so I’ll be eating with him and Gold and the Cassidys.“

“Christmas?“

She blew out an exasperated breath and hugged herself again. “Let’s push through one nightmare holiday at a time, okay?“

He huffed. “I didn’t realize things had gotten so bad.”

“Are we still talking about holidays, or are you referring to other bad situations?” She thought back to the horrible family dinner she’d put Gold through when she’d tossed a roll at Edith’s head and stormed out. “I can’t live like that anymore. I won’t.”

“You’ve changed, Belle. Is this…is this Gold’s influence on you, then?” He seemed to deflate before her eyes, this giant of a man shriveling down to a pathetic shell. “When did you become this way? So stubborn. So willful.” His lips shook as he spoke. “If your mother were alive, she…”

“But she’s not, Daddy,” Belle interrupted. “Mother hasn’t been with us for years. She’s not here to tell you what to do and what to say, and for that matter neither is Edith. You’re the one who changed. It’s as Erskine said, you don’t even see me. Maybe you never did.”

“Belle!” Emma jogged over to the rescue, her breath a white cloud in the cold afternoon air. “Hey, Mister French. We really gotta get going if we’re going to finish shopping and I promised Henry I’d be home in time to tuck him in.”

“Great. I’m freezing anyway.” She looped her arm through Emma’s and mustered a sad, parting smile for her father. After years of trying to gain his attention and approval, she wasn’t sure when she would see him again and at the moment, she didn’t care. “Take care of yourself, Dad.”

###

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #a monthly rumbelling #chubby belle #chubby!belle #mr. gold x belle french #swanfire #regina mills #marco #moe french #mqc writes

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secret-diary-of-an-fa · 4 months

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Doctor Who: The Giggle Review- A Whole Glorious Hour of Literally Perfect Television

Warning: Spoilers Ahead

In my previous two Who reviews, I argued that- regardless of the increasing quality of the show- cancellation would still, ultimately, be a kindness. I said this as a fan, because I was aware that the world Doctor Who was built for and the world we presently have are so wildly different that, ultimately, the off-kilter, quintessentially British spirit of the show would have to be traded away to maintain long-term viability. In the wake of The Giggle, I find myself forced to reevaluate this opinion. You see, The Giggle isn’t just a really, really good piece of television- it’s also a blueprint for the series going forward. In this story, showrunner and script-writer Russel T. Davies seems to have hit on a new-but-familiar identity for Doctor Who that can continue to work in the modern world without sacrificing the elements that made it good to begin with.

It would be hard to overstate how fucking great this episode is. Let me see if I can put it into words. I was fourteen years old when Doctor Who came back from its decades-long hiatus and reappeared on the BBC, fronted by the inimitable Christopher Ecclestone. I used to watch those early episodes perched, very literally, on the edge of my seat, my legs trembling involuntarily, ready to run- as though if I sprinted fast enough, I could catch up to the Doctor and enter that world of wild, uncontrolled imagination; that infinity of time and space. That feeling continued throughout David Tennant’s first run as the Doctor, but eventually began to decay. I chalked this down to getting older. After all, nobody watches anything at 20 or 30 the way they watched it when they were 14. I just had to accept that the ageing process had robbed me of my ability to uncritically enjoy something that had meant so much to me in my formative years. And then The Giggle happened, and suddenly I’m 14 again, glued to my chair and grinning like an idiot.

It’s not that The Giggle turned off my critical and analytical faculties by appealing to the nostalgia centres of my brain. It’s too fresh and inventive to pull that cheap trick. Rather, it’s that it’s so joyous and energising that it taps directly into the same part of my psyche that the early episodes did in 2005 while also being so well thought-through and meticulously realised that my capacity for analysis and critique enhanced rather than marred my enjoyment. In my review for Wild Blue Yonder, I commented that it’s harder for TV episodes with a lot of superfluous ideas, characters and concepts to juggle them all successfully- almost like there’s only so much quality to go around and it gets spread too thin. This makes The Giggle particularly impressive. There’s a ton of stuff going on here, but it’s all handled with equal panache and genuine verve. The Giggle makes the juggling of elements feel completely effortless. Spoilers ahead, but I think it’s important to list, out of context, some of the things that happen in The Giggle that left me bewildered, gobsmacked and delighted all at once. And yes, I laughed out loud at many of these, braying like a complete fucking cretin from the sheer, infectious joie de vive of it.

Rhyming murder puppets.

A shop folds itself into a toy-box just to mess with the Doctor and Donna.

The Celestial Toymaker interrupts the plot to deliver a full-on, showstopping musical number.

“It’s alright. I’ve given the moles a force-field.”

A sexy black alien with no trousers whacks a time machine with a croquet mallet so hard that gives birth to another time machine in a slightly different shade of blue.

Grandma’s Footsteps with a motherfucking death-laser.

The fate of the world is resolved with a game of catch.

“I love you. Get out.”

Two chill dudes set fire to a dummy in order to invent television. All the more hilarious because this isn’t a ‘Doctor Who Thing’- this actually happened.

Neil Patrick Harris’ cardistry is on fleek, and- as a magician- I appreciate that.

Oh Sweet Baby Cthulhu the accents! The accents!

Donna Noble has the balls.

You know, I could probably go on, but I won’t. I think that’s honestly enough to be getting on with, and this review does kinda need to end eventually. The point I’m trying to make is that there’s a tremendous amount of silliness and cleverness and inventiveness on display here and it all feels very Doctor Who-y.

Now, if I were a proper reviewer, I’d deal with the meat and potatoes of making a TV show. But honestly, what can I say that isn’t blindingly obvious? Of course David Tennant and Catherine Tate’s acting is spectacular- they’re good actors. Of course the rest of their cast pull their weight- most of them are old hands. Of course the script is well-crafted- I’ve already praised it. Of course the special effects are excellent- this isn’t the bloody Star Beast (hey! I think I just worked out where all that Disney money went!). Basically, everything is well-assembled and you could have figured that out for yourself because I wouldn’t be praising the episode at all otherwise. I will say that Neil Patrick Harris’ Celestial Toymaker is one of the most amazing performances I’ve ever seen. The dude’s having so much fun it’s infectious. I don’t mean to suggest he’s the best actor in the world or anything quite so grand- I just mean that he’s ideally fitted for the role and it’s a treat to see. Other than that, I think we can forgo the painfully obvious gushing over the acting.

It’s probably more relevant to discuss whether The Giggle does the job it sets out to do. And, frankly, it sets out to do a lot of jobs. Its a send-off for David Tennant’s take on the Doctor, an introduction to Ncuti Gatwa’s take, a long-overdue attempt to mend the bridges fucking Chibnall burned during his time as showrunner, a showcase for everything that’s good about Doctor Who, an attempt to expand the Whoniverse in lasting, meaningful ways and an attempt to establish a new identity for the programme that cleaves to the original without depending on it. I mean, that’s a fuck-load of stuff, so it would kind of be unfair to demand that it pulls it all off. Well, the good news is that I don’t have to demand shit, because it just does. Like, completely fucking unprompted. I didn’t have to yell or whack its knuckles with a ruler or anything.

As a send-off for Tenant, it works by… well, by not being a send-off. Russel T. Davies is a gay man whose formative years were the eighties, with the AIDs crisis running rampant and disproportionately effecting his community and demographic. In the early 2000s, when he had to write and manage Tenant’s first run, he still hadn’t entirely come to terms with that (or so the speculation goes), which is why the Doctor’s regeneration from Tenant to Matt Smith was so traumatic- to paraphrase a fellow fan on the issue, Russ just didn’t believe in happy endings. Tenant’s 10th Doctor ‘dies’ (for want of a better term) sad and desperate, clinging to an identity that’s about to be washed away. This time around, we get something called ‘Bi-Generation’, which allows the Doctor to split himself in two, so that his current and next identity can co-exist simultaneously. He gets to hand over the mantle and task of being the Doctor, without giving up who he is. In fact, he gets to go and live with Donna and her family and basically become everyone’s favourite uncle while Gatwa’s Doctor flies off to continue being the main character. And it’s perfect. It’s not a painful, wrenching goodbye, but a fond farewell- a reward for services rendered that doesn’t just keep a fan-favourite on hand for future shenanigans but allows the show to evolve without symbolically erasing a beloved part of its history. It’s made all the more lovely by the fact that it clearly signifies Russel T. Davies going through some kind of internal resolution and coming to terms with something we humble viewers can only guess at. He’s made room in his life for the possibility of happiness- or so it seems- and it’s reflected in his work. It’s nice when real people have arcs.

As an introduction to Gatwa’s 15th Doctor, The Giggle doesn’t do a bad job either. Instead of a few pitiful seconds of screen-time at the end of the episode (which is traditional for hot new Regenerations), Gatwa gets to act properly alongside his predecessor for a little bit and feel out the role. His delivery of the lines is mostly solid, barring a few moments of awkwardness, but- in fairness- he’s being asked to act against a fuckload of green-screen FX in no trousers for one of the most iconic programmes and roles on British telly. The fact he does as well as he does first time out is impressive. You can tell he has the talent to carry off the role (this isn’t another Whitaker situation, thank fuck)- it’s just going to take him a full episode or two to hit his stride, which is fine. But that’s the actor. The character of the 15th Doctor… well, let’s just say I feel like the TARDIS is in safe hands. Fifteen is over the top, bombastic, a tiny bit queer-coded (in a fun way, not a virtue-signalling way), refreshingly silly and absolutely full of heart. Yeah. I could get used to this guy. The fact that he’s the first black Doctor is also handled way, way better than Whitaker being the first female Doctor. With Whitaker, we got a fucking awful, unearned straight-to-camera speech about how change can be scary but how it’s also inevitable and important (or something- after a certain point, I couldn’t hear it over the sound of my own groaning). With Gatwa we get “Do you come in a range of colours?” “Yes.” and that’s it. The show doesn’t want to start a blasted controversy over it or have it be a big deal… so it accomplishes that by not making it a big deal. This kind of light touch, trust-the-audience-to-keep-up approach is refreshing to say the least. And yeah- it does help mend some of those Chibfail/Pisstaker-burned bridges I alluded to earlier.

Speaking of mending burned bridges, I think one of the most important things The Giggle does is low-key kick the shit out of Chibnall’s idiotic changes to canon. It’s accomplished with exactly one line of dialogue, and it’s open to interpretation, but it’s still an olive branch to fans who were flabbergasted by the flagrant disrespect of The Timeless Children and the whole ‘Division’ plot arc in Flux. See, aside from pushing against established canon in a way that insulted those invested therein, those storylines symbolically overrode William Hartnell’s definitive performance as the First Doctor from way back in the 60s, turning his character into just another link in the chain and erasing the in-universe legacy of much-cherished figure (a real person whose importance to the show cannot be overstated), just because he didn’t fit Chibfail’s personal, self-serving vision of who and what the Doctor should be. But, in The Giggle, we learn that the Toymaker “made a jigsaw puzzle” out of the Doctor’s history, low-key implying that, actually, none of this bullshit is canon- it was just a mad bastard with reality-bending powers messing with the Doc for shits and, er, giggles. No pun intended. Fine by me. I also quite liked the way The Giggle used the Toymaker to take aim at the Culture War and cancel culture- on both sides of the divide- because it seemed like a bit of an acknowledgement that the fans hadn’t really come first where creative decision on Who were concerned lately; that it was more about seeming to be on the right ‘side’. The implication here, of course, is that if the bloody Toymaker knows this is bullshit, so does the show and we’ll get episodes that appeal to all the fanbase as a whole rather than episodes that seek to draw battle-lines and divide them. I mean, the bridges Chibnall and Whitaker burned were big, huge, fucking massive bridges and they burned them very, very thoroughly. Doctor Who has a lot of work to do if it wants to bring them back up to code and win fan trust back, but it’s made enormous strides just with The Giggle.

As for serving as a showcase for everything good about Who- yeah: fucking nails it. We’ve got cosmic stakes, quintessentially British snark, loveable daftness, a great fucking bad guy, problems being solved with smarts and charisma rather than guns and violence, high concept sci-fi nonsense by the bucket load and even some creepy as fuck monsters to play with. Plus, with the single line “My legions are coming,” we know that we’re going to get more mileage out of the plot-line. What’s not to love?

So yes: The Giggle is worth every tiny scrap of hype that surrounds it. It really is the episode to revitalise Doctor Who. Yes, RTD and friends still have to stick the landing- they still have to keep up a consistent quality with upcoming episodes and not backslide to fucking Star Beast level- but, if they can do all that, the show should be good for awhile. Yes, it will still have to stop eventually, but that moment is no longer imminent. With the right management and succession of showrunners, we could get another decade out of this. Doctor Who could actually outlast the Culture Wars that make it so hard to do good sci-fi, regardless of which side of the political spectrum your story falls on. Wouldn’t that be nice? To know that, in the end, the winner of that tawdry fucking bum-fight wasn’t one side or the other, but a genuinely lovely and well-meaning little British sci-fi show. And all that, because one episode- one fucking episode- was able to undo years of crap. Not bad for a single hour of Saturday evening telly.

#secret diary of a fat admirer #doctor who #tenth doctor #fourteenth doctor #fifteenth doctor #David Tenant #ncuti gatwa #Dr Who #The Giggle #doctor who 60th anniversary #The Toymaker #The Celestial Toymaker

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donettegilbertso-blog · 5 years

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featherchan · 6 years

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RULES: Don’t Reblog, Repost.

► NAME

Kimber Lee Fowl (Civilian Identity) a.k.a Silverwing (Hero Identity)

► ARE YOU SINGLE?

Yep!

► ARE YOU ANGRY?

Depends.

► ARE YOUR PARENTS STILL MARRIED?

Yes, they are before they pass.

🐾 NINE FACTS!

►‘BIRTH’ PLACE ➭

Hong Kong, China

► HAIR COLOR ➭

As a civilian, my hair color is brown and when I’m in hero mode, my hair turns silver.

► EYE COLOR ➭

Honey Brown when I’m a civilian and it turns Deep Blue when I’m as Silverwing

► BIRTHDAY ➭

5th December

► MOOD ➭

I’m okay or just meh! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

► GENDER ➭

Female

► SUMMER OR WINTER ➭

Definitely Winter! I can’t stand the heat and my hair turns frizzy during the summer. (҂⌣̀_⌣́)

► MORNING OR AFTERNOON ➭

Afternoon. I’m not a morning person. ｡(*^▽^*)ゞ

🐾 EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE!

► ARE YOU IN LOVE? ➭

Sadly, no. (⌯˃̶᷄ ﹏ ˂̶᷄⌯)ﾟ Not yet anyway.

► DO YOU BELIEVE IN LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT?

Oh yes, I do. That’s how my parents fall in love with one another when they were younger. (*≧▽≦) *read her mom’s diary* ｡(*^▽^*)ゞ

► WHO ENDED YOUR LAST RELATIONSHIP?

Well, I haven’t been in any relationship.

► HAVE YOU EVER BROKEN SOMEONE’S HEART?

Again, I haven’t been in any relationship so far. So no.

► ARE YOU AFRAID OF COMMITMENTS?

Nope

► HAVE YOU HUGGED SOMEONE WITHIN THE LAST WEEK?

I did hug Wildfire recently. (*´∀`*)

► HAVE YOU EVER HAD A SECRET ADMIRER?

No, but I will I do.

► HAVE YOU EVER BROKEN YOUR OWN HEART?

🐾SIX CHOICES!

► LOVE OR LUST

Love

► LEMONADE OR ICED TEA

Iced Tea.

► CATS OR DOGS

Cats

► A FEW BEST FRIENDS OR MANY REGULAR FRIENDS

A little bit of both.

► WILD NIGHT OUT OR ROMANTIC NIGHT IN

Romantic night in.

► DAY OR NIGHT ➭

Night

🐾 FIVE HAVE YOU EVER!

► BEEN CAUGHT SNEAKING OUT

Definitely.

► FALLEN DOWN/UP THE STAIRS

I can be a little clumsy sometimes especially when I’m distracted so yeah. ｡(*^▽^*)ゞ

► WANTED SOMETHING/SOMEONE SO BADLY IT HURT?

No. I tend to stay away from this kind of negative emotion. Especially when I know it will amount up to nothing but a waste of time.

► WANTED TO DISAPPEAR

Sigh. As a teenager, I do feel that way from time to time. Its a part of growing up as I struggle to find my identity, meaning and stuff.

🐾FIVE PREFERENCES!

► SMILE OR EYES

Eyes

► FAT OR SKINNY

Really!? Sorry, I’m not into body shaming. (҂⌣̀_⌣́) Shame on you.

► SHORTER OR TALLER ➭

Um, neither.

► INTELLIGENCE OR ATTRACTION

Intelligent

► HOOK-UP OR RELATIONSHIP

Relationship.

🐾 FAMILY!

► DO YOU AND YOUR FAMILY GET ALONG

I think I’m 'alright’ with my Yeye (Grandfather) but due to the large generation gap. He can be ‘difficult’ and has a hard time understanding me, as I’m to him.

► WOULD YOU SAY YOU HAVE A “MESSED UP LIFE”

You can say that.

► HAVE YOU EVER RAN AWAY FROM HOME

No, and probably never. I don't think I can put my Yeye (Grandfather) through any emotional stress. Its bad for his mental and physical health, especially due to his old age.

► HAVE YOU EVER GOTTEN KICKED OUT

Urgh, no.

🐾 FRIENDS!

► DO YOU SECRETLY HATE ONE OF YOUR FRIENDS

What!? No.

► DO YOU CONSIDER ALL OF YOUR FRIENDS GOOD FRIENDS

Of course.

► WHO IS YOUR BEST FRIEND

Starfire, Wildfire and Beast Boy too.

► WHO KNOWS EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU

Currently no one. I haven’t opened up myself to anyone, not even to my closest friend. I probably will once I feel the time is right.

Tagged By : @starfirechan // thank you for tagging me

Tagging: @smolgreenboi , @iamnobodysservant , @worldly-diversity and anyone who is interested.

#[ tag | theWitch ]#[ headcanon | theWitch ]#[ tag | tag game ]#[ thank you for tagging me ]

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buzrush · 3 years

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im-pretending-imthere-already · 3 years

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By the warm current

Tw: heavy topics and mention of murder and abuse

My teenage years were regulated by the women of the church who made it their mission to crush my dreams, my life was to be sacrificed for god. Waking up to the screaming children of the church who demanded breakfast, my days were the same every single day. After the tedious mornings of cooking, cleaning and caring tirelessly, we met the citrus trees sprinkled with the soft dew on their delicate leaves in the community garden as we planned to prepare our annual lemon pie. Every year we were to prepare a feast full of food, including our lemon pie as the dessert for the mating party. This glamorous party was only a facade, a sweet glaze over a dark oppressive, controlled, and abusive future. This year was different however, as I was becoming a woman of age, all day I had been thinking about what was to come, the life I was forced to have, pushed into a designated role my whole life. This is it, this is the dream of the church, this is what my life was to be, what my family had planned, what the reverend had envisioned.

That day I realised I couldn't do this, after seeing all the women blatantly eyed by the men of the church, scanned from bottom to up, graded as if they were a gift to be expected, a helpless little kitten to be chosen from a shelter or rescued from a basket left on the road. My older sister stood beside me, we glared at each other exchanging the same thoughts. Our life was more than this, our dreams were not to be forgotten, hidden in the blankets of our mind. I had heard about a couple of people who had escaped before, I didn’t know how to but we had to get out. That night I decided to do the unthinkable, I had to make a plan, I had to take action, I had to escape this cage and fly away.

Reverend Michael was my father however he was never a typical father, more like a shepherd grazing his sheep, controlling us to become nothing more than slaves for his sick fantasies. He slept in the cabin house beside ours, but I knew he was going to arrive late today due to the ceremony, like every year before. It was the perfect time, as if the universe aligned for our freedom. In my nightgown I slid out as my sister was fast asleep. The night was dark, the air thick and foggy, the moon barely lit watching over me as I ran barefoot, in my white gown to the reverend's cabin. I knew where to look, under the vase he kept his spare key, which I used to unlock his door. I walk in knowing exactly where to find what I'm looking for, his diary, kept in the last drawer of his desk conveniently hidden in between his bibles. I flick through the delicate pages looking for something useful, when I stubble across the gold mine. It wrote the name of a woman named “Angela Zachery” and her cabin number''14”, suspected of breaking out “Mary Williams”. I quickly close the book, return his diary precisely into its spot and leave the same way I entered, leaving no trace behind me.

The coming night my mind was occupied with one thought, cabin 14. I couldn’t just leave, I had to make sure it was clear. It took a couple nights which felt like forever but eventually I got there. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a Friday night, everyone had got to their cabins early after a hard day of work and the daily evening lecture was longer than usual. The pathways were empty, the road clear. I made my way, a little more professional than the night of the ceremony, in my brown dress and hand woven cardigan that wrapped its threads around my shoulders supporting me through my journey. If I was found by any person or even if “Angela” was a scam I would end up 6 feet deep into the ground before sunrise. I took the chance walking across the church to his cabin, no one was around, no one to be seen spying. I knocked on the door anticipating the worst, painting the images of my death. My life dissolving into nothing more than a forgotten story in the depths of my memories, an old story tale kept at the back of a dusty bookshelf. The door opened ever so slightly as I felt the fear shake through my body. She grabbed me inside so hard I stumbled inside falling to my knees in front of her as he shut the door aggressively. I introduced myself and explained my story and she sat there listening. Her eyes stared at me aggressively yet with a shadow of love. Her agreement brought me feelings, flushing my skin, red. Independence, freedom, individuality, expression, life. All books that she dusted alive within an instant. My dreams of independence and freedom rushed back through my bones to the crevices of my every thought. It was scheduled Thursday night.

The night before the escape was probably one of the hardest and most important nights of my life, I was breaking the cage and finally getting the opportunity to fly, but the thought of leaving everything and everyone I knew terrified me. I wasn’t to ever clean after my siblings, but I wasn’t ever going to see them again. I wasn’t going to have to make lemon pie for the church, but I wasn’t going to celebrate with all my family ever again. Laying in my bed I couldn’t get my eyes to shut as I laid there staring at the ceiling. The only support holding me together was the sheets I laid in and the light breathing of my sister beside me.

Angela has sent some, waiting for us. He had a car organized outside the fence, we just had to make it outside. In the dark night, we threw our long dress off and climbed the fence gripping the holes with all our strength, looking back I could see Angela in the distance leaving. Climbing faster and faster, our bodies shaking with fear, our hearts anticipating our freedom. Hand over hand, foot over foot, we rose higher and higher. It felt like forever until we reached the top, then at the tip I stared into my sisters eyes when I heard a bang! My soul left my body for a moment from the fear as I saw my sister's body growing limp, her back falling into the fence becoming one with it. I stared into the sky for a moment, knowing I was targeted, I had no time. I had to leave my sister behind, running my way down the fence. I felt the wind brushing my cheeks, the heat irritating my skin. As I reached the last few steps I fell onto the floor, my vision blurring into two. There was no option but to get up, leaving my sister hanging on the fence and running into the truck.

- all feedback is appreciated <3

#religious trauama #creative piece #creative writiting #shortstory #creativestory #sisters #creative #writing #truama

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seizingfate · 6 years

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MEET THE MUSE (repost with your info)

Tagged by: @chcpxn Tagging: mlem idek

historical verse / CL verse

► Name ➔ Ludwig van Beethoven ► Are you single ➔ Yes ► Are you happy ➔ on average, no, but there are ups and downs ► Are you angry ➔ 24/7, including while asleep ► Are your parents still married ➔ yes, unfortunately

NINE FACTS

► Birth Place ➔ Bonn, Germany / Hamamatsu labs ► Hair Color ➔ dark brown ageing to grey-white / pure white ► Eye Color ➔ dark brown / green ► Birthday ➔ December 17ish - not quite sure even of the year ► Mood ➔ yes ► Gender ➔ Male ► Summer or winter ➔ Summer ► Morning or afternoon ➔ Morning

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

► Are you in love ➔ euuuuh probably / trying to avoid that pitfall this time around ► Do you believe in love at first sight ➔ yes / yes ► Who ended your last relationship ➔ distance and circumstances but mostly her ► Have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔ he would say that people are responsible for their own hearts, because he’s kind of a dick ► Are you afraid of commitments ➔ do you gotta drag him like this / absolutely ► Have you hugged someone within the last week ➔ yes / no ► Have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ yes we have a really cute diary entry from her, unfortunately he was interested in her sister lmao / does schoob count ► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ y e s

SIX CHOICES

► Love or lust ➔ Love but since that’s hard we’ll settle for lust ► Lemonade or iced tea ➔ coffee ► Cats or Dogs ➔ both ► A few best friends or many regular friends ➔ A few best friends ► A wild night out or romantic night in ➔ both ► Day or night ➔ Day

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

► Been caught sneaking out ➔ no ► Fallen down/up the stairs ➔ at least once a week / only when acclimating to new body ► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ yes / isn’t this the entirety of s1‘s beet centered episodes ► Wanted to disappear ➔ yes

FIVE PREFERENCES

► Smile or eyes ➔ smile ► Fat or skinny ➔ eh ► Shorter or Taller ➔ eh ► Intelligence or Attraction ➔ intelligence ► Hook-up or Relationship ➔ relationship

FAMILY

► Do you and your family get along ➔ what’s the opposite of “get along” / HE COULD DO A LOT BETTER ► Would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ y e s ► Have you ever run away from home ➔ yes ► Have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ probably in a drunken rage / yes but is kanae really serious about evictions ever

FRIENDS

► Do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ not sure if he’s capable of secretly hating someone ► Do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ nah ► Who is your best friend ➔ stephan von breuning / wolf (motz) ► Who knows everything about you ➔ alexander wheelock thayer-senpai and scott burnh@m-senpai only the music

#he's not actually angry 247 #about the muse #chcpxn #ty for the tag <3

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leonarsleman94 · 4 years

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Increase Wall Height Sims 4 Wondrous Ideas

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How To Grow Taller Scientifically Proven

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#Increase Wall Height Sims 4 Wondrous Ideas #How Can You Grow Taller After 18

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