#;;ic | {antigone funn}

[walkingshcdow-a]

@tinfoiltemplar liked for a Halloween Starter from my Piffling Disasters

“Victor, when have I ever made a joke about death?” Rudyard asked, ceasing his hammering and looking at his husband with clear-eyed exasperation. 

“Every time you do a funeral,” Georgie quipped, taking the hammer from him and working to nail the boards in place over the window. 

“Not now, Georgie.” Rudyard glared at her and then looked back at Victor. “Surely I’ve told you before that this happens every Halloween? The dead rise from their graves and walk about the village, terrorizing and consuming all who dare to stand in their path? I’m sure I’ve mentioned it...” 

[inthegroundontime]

"Merry Christmas, Rudyard." ( maisondefunn )

“Merry Christmas, Antigone.”

Rudyard looked at his sister. They sat together on the floor in front of the unlit fireplace, huddled under a blanket and holding warm cups in their hands. It had been an exhausting Christmas. All Christmases were exhausting, of course, especially if done right, but this year their funeral home had been under siege by snowballs and one of them had had a rock-hard ice chunk at the center. Rudyard couldn’t prove that it had been foul play - Agatha Doyle said it was just children being children, the little brutes - but he couldn’t help but think someone had done it purposefully. They weren’t exactly popular. He wasn’t exactly popular. To be fair to Antigone, most people thought she was dead, even with all the evidence to the contrary. How mad must he have sounded through the broken window, talking to her! 

How remarkably little he cared if PIffling Vale thought he was mental! 

He was tired and the one year he and Antigone managed to cook everything just right and go more than three hours without fighting, someone had still broken their window. Rudyard eyed Chapman’s set-up warily. It was too low a blow, even for Eric Chapman. Besides, he’d been here when it happened, eating dinner with the Funns and Georgie as their new tradition demanded. He’d offered to pay for the repairs, which had sparked an argument going in four different directions at once. Even though Chapman and Georgie had gone home, Rudyard could still hear their shouting reverberating in his head. In the end, Chapman told them all to enjoy their Christmas and went back across the square, leaving Rudyard and Antigone to clean up and pay for everything. 

They hadn’t even exchanged gifts. They’d been so preoccupied by making the funeral home as respectable as a business with a bloody great hole in the front window could be. 

“I haven’t given you your gift yet,” he said, scrambling to his feet and rushing over to the Christmas tree. “I’m sure it doesn’t make up for the day, but...”

[commander-damneron]

Tag Game

So I was tagged in this by the wonderful @puppypopcornpizza and then proceeded to forget about it for an entire week. But here it finally is!

Rules: answer the 20 questions and tag 20 amazing followers you want to get to know better

I’m super tired right now so I might come back later and tag specific people, but if we��re mutuals and we don’t really talk and you feel like doing this, chances are you’ll get tagged in this later, so if you want to do it now, please do

Name: Eve

Nicknames: I can’t think of any that get used regularly, but my yearbook lists an entire host of height jokes and awful puns, plus there's a lot of obscure inside jokes from group chats

Zodiac sign: Aquarius

Height: somewhere between 5 foot 3 and 5 foot 4, reports tend to vary

Orientation: asexual

Ethnicity: white in that traditional Scottish way where I’m practically see-through

Favourite fruit: apples

Favourite season: autumn, but only that early bit of autumn where it’s all falling leaves and pretty colours, late winter in Scotland is cold

Favourite book series: there’s a lot, but the only ones I consistently come back to are lord of the rings and a song of ice and fire

Favourite flower: Yorkshire pride says roses, but only white ones (something something bloody lancashire) and Scottish pride says thistles. In actuality, I have absolutely no clue. But I do have some very nice tulips on my kitchen table right now

Favourite scent: the sea and candle wax

Favourite colour: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Favourite animal: I have no idea, but I do know that my favourite fish is the coelocanth so I guess that counts

Tea, coffee or cocoa: that’s not even a question, cocoa every time

Average sleep hours: who even knows

Cat or dog person: both. Both is good

Favourite characters: buddy you do not want to go there. There’s way too many. Can I just say everyone in mass effect and almost everyone in dragon age? Other than them, the only ones coming to mind right now are Matt Murdock (because I feel that Catholic angst in my soul) and Antigone Funn (because I, too, am depressed, tired, and spend 90% of my time in a morgue (or at least once I’m done with uni I will)). And also Jim Kirk because I’m in the middle of a star trek binge right now and Jim will never not be the captain of my heart and soul

Number of blankets you sleep with: 1-3, depending on what I’m wearing and the weather

Dream trip: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ maybe New York at time of year when the temperature is manageable, rather than winter when it was -15 or summer when it was about 30

Blog started: 2011 (Oh god I’ve been on here for so long)

Number of followers: 322 (not including the inevitable porn bots who I finally got round to blocking)

[movedtoradiolariia]

This is so late but hi I'm Jake and I'm an actor for Jim Robbie and the Wanderers! My fave color is navy blue, my fave ship is Antigone Funn/Chapman, my fave ice cream flavor is coffee and I have a cat called Missy who's 15 years old and she's a queen!

oh my god!!! jake!!! hi!!! i cant believe u follow me omg

coffee ice cream is the best??? esp w/ caramel???? and pls tell missy i love her, may her reign be prosperous and filled with soft pats

[walkingshcdow-a]

@gwenbrooks | (3/??)

If you asked Georgie Crusoe, she was great at setting up blind dates.

If you asked Antigone Funn, Georgie Crusoe was great at sending her into utter panic. She hadn’t known tonight was a “date”. She thought Georgie really was going to introduce her to a book club. When Georgie revealed that the “book club” was actually just going to be Antigone and the new man who had started to build a miniature cabin on the edge of the Piffling Woods, Antigone had foamed or frothed and begged Georgie to stay but now she was alone in Chapman’s cafe with a cup of decaf coffee and the horrific prospect that when she inevitably died of embarrassment, Eric Chapman would get the funeral and not give Antigone the bespoke care she gave her funerals. No one would mourn her passing - especially not her brother and apparently not Georgie, the Judas, who would bungle everything without her anyway. Otherwise no one else would note her passing. And-

She was getting ahead of herself.

“It’s just coffee,” she reminded herself shakily, aloud, “with a man who likes books. As long as you don’t tell him the only books you read are filthy, smutty, raunchy-”

She took a long sip of coffee to shut herself up.

“Maybe he won’t come,” she reassured herself. Then, horrified, she said, “Maybe he’s  already come and seen it was you and left and-”

When she got home, she’d murder Georgie if she didn’t die of shame first. 

[walkingshcdow-a]

@tinfoiltemplar | continued

“Would you believe that I have?” It’s pure instinct that makes him grab the back of two shirts as they pass him, holding onto them firmly even if he looks like he’s about to fall over. To say that he had already had the discussion was an understatement. They had the discussion about what was not edible more and more often these days. They hoped it was because the children were imaginative and sometimes James was still at an age to be confused- the Funns, after all, seemed to live on that cusp of reality, and the stories about Antigone as the Piffling Witch didn’t help. James insisted that Antigone made potions. Everyone else insisted he was going to poison himself. “I’ll try again though. Couldn’t we just...” he stopped himself but the words were so tempting- couldn’t they just get her a very strong lock? Or a child latch?

Christ alive. If this was how the children behaved when Victor did talk to them, Antigone would have hated to see what they would have behaved like if they were as unsupervised as she’d thought. It was just very different, Victor talking to Calliope and James, than Rudyard talking to them. Rudyard was loud. Rudyard was demonstrative. Rudyard’s booming voice carried on about “consequences” and other such imposing words. Victor was quieter. Gentler. And neither of them did any good. Just look at him, Antigone thought, eyeing her brother-in-law. He looked like he was so exhausted he might topple over. Maybe he’d caught Rudyard’s cold. It would serve him right. 

Her hackles rose at the tone Victor took before cutting himself off. Antigone raised an eyebrow at him, scowling. 

“Couldn’t we just, what, Victor?” she asked. “I’d love to hear it if you have a solution that’s better than Rudyard’s Yell-and-Hope-For-The-Best strategy because that has gotten us approximately nowhere in the last eight years.”

[walkingshcdow-a]

"Henry isn't going to know what hit him." Victor kissed Antigone's cheek, grinning at how excited and beautiful she looked for her date. "You be sure and have fun tonight, hm? You both deserve it."

Antigone stared at the woman in the looking glass as if staring at a particularly glamorous stranger. Her trembling fingers skated over the neckline of the dress Victor had picked out. The cool air on her skin felt foreign and goosebumps prickled across her legs and collarbone. Henry would not know what hit him, but Antigone scarcely would either. She hadn’t thought she could look so… so…

“You made me beautiful.”

Her voice, soft and delicate, easy to melt and break as spun sugar, even felt unfamiliar on her tongue. Antigone had never anticipated being made beautiful and when her brother-in-law offered to help her dress for her date, she had expected him to maybe do the buttons up the back of her usual day dress or offer to get the stain out of the hem. This was too much, really, much too much. Maybe it was the black pumps he’d put her in, but Antigone felt wobbly. It was too much and yet she had no intention of giving it back, of slinking back into her ruined day dress, of giving up the chance to be beautiful for her date. Pressing her fingertips to the cool mirror, she studied her tamed hair, her bold makeup, the earrings she’d taken from her mother’s jewelry box. In a million years, she wouldn’t have guessed she could look this elegant. Now that she knew she could, she wondered what was keeping her from looking like this all the time. There weren’t always funds left over at the end of the month. It took too long. She didn’t know how to do any of the things Victor had helped her to do. But she could learn. She could make time. She could reexamine the finances and possibly force Rudyard to listen to his husband when Victor said they had the money to stop cutting corners. It wasn’t impossible. She could be this beautiful every day. Her fingers slid away from the mirror. 

God, what would Henry say when he saw her? Would he recognize her? What if he hated it? What if he liked it so much that he was disappointed with her as she was? What if he didn’t even notice and all this showmanship was for nothing? She swallowed thickly. Victor had to know how scary this was for her - going out, dressing up, falling in love. She remembered confiding her crush to him while they sat on the beach and Rudyard was being chased by seagulls. 

"I don’t know why you’re in love with my brother,” she said. She was fifteen and peeling like a boiled crab in the sun. Victor had looked around for adults in a panic before looking at Antigone. She looked down her nose at him. “There are better boys on Piffling.”

His “no there aren’t” and “well, who do you fancy then?” pulled a confession from Antigone’s throat. This month she was in love with Henry Edgeware and she was certain that she’d never fall in love again. She’d been wrong about that. She’d fallen in love time and again since but most recently, she’d begun to fall in love with Henry all over again. He was irritable, but intelligent; well-spoken and honest. He had gentle hands and soulful eyes. He appreciated her work and her artistry and when he wasn’t run ragged, he was as passionate as Antigone could have hoped. If she’d have known that she would fall in love again, fall in love with Henry Edgeware all over, she wouldn’t have bothered with other, pointless crushes. 

She wouldn’t have wasted time if she’d have known Henry would like her back. 

And if she’d known he would like her back when she was a mushroom of a mortician, maybe she wouldn’t have wasted so much time lamenting her untameable hair or nearly translucent skin or her nose that was too much like Rudyard’s. But she still would have wanted this Cinderella moment, standing in one of the upstairs bedrooms, looking at her reflection and wondering how it was that there were people who saw this beauty under everything else. She touched her cheek in the spot where Victor had kissed her and she wanted to cry. Antigone lifted her eyes to meet his. 

“Thank you, Victor,” she said. “It’s just- Do you think he’ll like me? I mean, I know if he didn’t like me he wouldn’t have invited me out… But like this? Do you think he’ll like me like this or….? What if he likes this me more than he likes the real me and he’s disappointed I don’t look like this all the time?”

[walkingshcdow-a]

@noblehcart gets a starter

The bright, flashing colors that surrounded Antigone when she disembarked from her flight to Tokyo nearly gave her a seizure. The sounds of city life gave her a headache. Why had she come? Why? Why was it that when Funn Funerals received a call from a publishing house, interested in the works of Octavia Blimp, Antigone had named herself inheritor of her alter-ego’s estate? She’d asked Reverend Wavering what to do. He’d put his hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eye.

“Well, Antigone,” he said, “I’m sure I don’t know, but if anyone might, it’d be Miss Crusoe.”

Georgie had given her a book called “Japanese for Beginners” and the three different alphabets caused Antigone to foam at the mouth. She eventually learned enough phrases to pose as her own estate representative. Georgie insisted on coming along. 

Antigone would have to thank Chapman later for connecting them to a private pilot. She hated flying, but Antigone imagined she would have hated flying commercially even more. It was better with Georgie - and only Georgie - at her side.

But Georgie had taken their suitcases directly to the hotel, so Antigone wouldn’t be late for her meeting. 

Now, away from the hub, she sought out the café where she’d agreed to meet the publishing house’s representative: Poppylan Wilkes. At least, Antigone hoped it was the right café. She saw a girl sitting alone with a bag with the publishing house’s logo on it. Rushing to the table, Antigone almost tripped over her own feet. Thank Christ she’d found the editor without having to sit at a lonely table, like a blind date cliche. In her rush, Antigone forgot where she was and began speaking in a rapid stream of English at the young woman - very young, was she old enough to be an editor?

“E-excuse me,” she stammered. “Are you Poppylan Wilkes? I’m supposed to meet her here. My name is Antigone Funn and I’m here to represent the estate of Octavia Blimp about the book ‘Scandalliances’...?” 

[walkingshcdow-a]

“I bloody love Pepsi!” harold @ anyone

“We’re fresh out of Pepsi, so you’ll have to settle for milk,” Rudyard said sternly. “Go tell your sister it’s time for dinner.”

“You’re talking to the eagle again,” Antigone said, looking over her shoulder as she set the table. “Rudyard, that’s a wild animal. You shouldn’t feed it and you certainly shouldn’t give it Pepsi.”

“That’s no way to talk about your nephew.” Rudyard turned on the kitchen sink and washed his raw hands. “And we won’t have this conversation in front of him. Harold, tell Calliope to wash up. Maybe next time I go to the shops, I’ll pick up some more Pepsi for you.”

[walkingshcdow-a]

You’re actually saving me from a weekend of misery. (stefan @ antigone)

“Every weekend is misery if you have the right perspective,” Antigone says softly, massaging the hinge of her jaw. She can’t believe she agreed to help Stefan pet sit his sister’s cat. She thinks of Sylvester, taxidermied and soft and still, tucked away in the attic. She might not be the right person to entrust with pets, not live ones, anyways. “Are you not an animal lover, then?”

[walkingshcdow-a]

“ crying is very punk, trust me, i do it all the time & i am a punk. ” @ Antigone

“I’m not crying!” Antigone huffs, swiping a palm at her own cheek furiously. “Jesus Christ, can’t I get a little peace without someone barging down here?”

She studies Jane in the dark, a scowl etching onto her features. Jane is pretty and athletic and open and bright. She could spend her time anywhere but she chooses Funn Funerals all because of Antigone’s miserable brother. She wonders if Rudyard knows where Jane is, if he maybe sent her. 

“Did you see all that, then?” she asks. “Or did Rudyard just fill you in?”

[walkingshcdow-a]

Rumor has it that girl is really the sister’s... it makes sense though... so many desperate single men on Piffling... and she’s not bad looking... and whoever would bed that miserable brother of hers?

Antigone doesn’t have the energy to refute the unfolding gossip as she slinks through the stacks of the Pliffling Vale Library. Unnoticed, she slips past, an armful of books she hasn’t technically checked out in tow. Christ alive. She hopes Calliope doesn’t hear this rumor... and that Rudyard does. She’s not about to go toe-to-toe with the PTA mothers over Calliope’s parentage, but Rudyard has never shied away from a fight with the other parents at Piffling School events. Last month, he was reinstated as the PTA’s secretary because his replacement after his last banishment couldn’t decipher Rudyard’s systematic filing. He’ll get banned again if he hears this rumor. Antigone knows it and hopes for it. She’s tired of hearing about the god-bloody-damned PTA. They’re a nightmare and Rudyard can prattle on about them for days. She hopes this will be the final straw for him, that he’ll fly into a frenzy and damn himself in their eyes yet again.

The thing she can’t shake isn’t even about Rudyard, though. A strangled sort of feeling rises in her throat as she turns the sentence over in her head again: so many desperate single men on Piffling... and she’s not bad looking... It’s almost a compliment. It’s the closest anyone has come to telling her that she might be pretty. She hopes, though she knows it isn’t true, that “desperate” means “depraved” and she imagines men trying to woo her through her mortuary door so that they might take her in their arms and have their way with her. She imagines it and then the disgust sets in. It wasn’t a compliment. “Desperate” means “lonely”, means “dejected”, means “have-given-up-on-all-the-actually-pretty-women-in-the-village”. She’s a last choice. Isn’t she always? She bursts into Funn Funerals, no longer able to hide in the shadows. She sprints down the hall before the bile in her throat can become vomit.

“I’LL BE IN THE MORTUARY, GOOD NIGHT!” she yells before slamming the door to her safe haven, where she can breathe again. 

“I think something is wrong with Auntigone,” Calliope says, looking up from her homework at her dad, who is going over the taxes with Madeline. He shrugs.

“There are many things wrong with your aunt,” he says, oblivious that this thing, this one thing, is at least fifty percent his fault and that neither he nor Antigone can regret it. If he knew what was really wrong with his sister, he would miss his dead wife again, in a painful and acute way that he was usually very good at squelching. 

And Antigone would be right: Rudyard would fight the entire PTA if he knew what they said about his daughter behind his back. 

[walkingshcdow-a]

“If you wanted me to rip my clothes off, you should have just asked.“ matt @antigone

Clinging to the man’s shirt - the stranger’s shirt - Antigone realized that in her bid to remain upright in high heels, she’d grabbed the first solid thing in her path. Sold... Christ, he was so-

“Shut up!” she hissed - a little at herself, a little at the stranger she’d wobbled into. Righting herself, she leveled a scowl at him. “Do you honestly think I’d rip a handsome man’s clothes off, right in the middle of the square?”

[walkingshcdow-a]

“I’m so glad you’re up.” He cane up behind her and set hands lightly on her waist, one smoothly sliding over to her arm, up to her elbow and down her forearm, lifting her fingers to his lips for the lightest of kisses. “I saw the soldiers carry you to a sick bed and I was so afraid you would be doomed for my foolishness.”

For a singular, sleep-deprived moment, Antigone dared hope it was her fiancé wrapping his arms around her. The moment fled instantly. These were not the hands she loved. But they were hands she knew. And that voice... it crackled into the fuzzy radio of her mind, over the doom and gloom and Antigone gripped Victor’s wrist savagely, wrenching him around so she could look at him. 

“Your foolishness is trying to seduce me,” she hissed. “What kind of woman do you think I am, Victor?”

She couldn’t do this - whatever this was - to her brother. Even if his husband could. If looks could kill, Antigone would have another body to embalm in her mortuary. 

[walkingshcdow-a]

❝ You make a fool of death with your beauty and, for a moment, I forget to worry ❞ @antigone (via medicusmatt)

“Death is no one’s fool, least of all mine,” Antigone said seriously, somberly. She was about to say something else when another part of her brain caught up. Was that... Flirting? She ran a hand through her lank, dark hair and looked over at Dr. Buchanan. Damn! He might have been flirting with her and she hadn’t responded at all appropriately. She muttered to herself, words likely incoherent, but a few “damns” were certainly intelligible. Then, drawing a deep breath she said, “Do you want to try that again? I promise I won’t say odd things this time.”