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comrade-meow · 3 years ago

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LYNNE WALSH looks ahead to the biggest radical feminist conference in Europe, FiLiA, which takes place over two days in October

SOME of us have cynical definitions of “conference”: interesting people talking about boring things or boring people talking about interesting things — or the worst combination of those two.

You get the picture. Let’s face it: we’ve all been there. There are conferences where you leave more exhausted than energised; there are events which turn out to be uneventful, there are summits which plummet.

And then there is FiLiA.

This is a two-day event, the biggest radical feminist conference in Europe, which delivers a breathtakingly fine series of speakers, as well as providing opportunities aplenty for women (and a few male allies) to plan, regroup, support one another, spark new ideas and action — and dance.

This year’s event, on October 16 and 17 in Portsmouth, includes sessions from journalists Jenni Murray, Julie Bindel and Joan Smith,lesbian feminist scholar Sheila Jeffreys, and Harriet Wistrich, founder and director of the Centre for Women’s Justice.

There are stalwarts of the women’s movement at every turn. Gill Hague, activist, practitioner and researcher on violence against women nationally and internationally since the early 1970s, is the professor emerita of violence against women studies at the University of Bristol.

She co-founded the Centre for Gender and Violence Research, School for Policy Studies at the University of Bristol.

Her book, History and Memories of the Domestic Violence Movement, published in May this year, is a passionate and assiduous account of this arena.

Its strapline is “We’ve come further than you think” — just what we need, to encourage us to persist.

She tells it like it is. When she speaks about her international work, and perhaps especially that involving Uganda, Hague is uncompromising, though there is “honey in the rock”; she cares deeply about injustice towards women and girls, and that has clearly always fuelled her dedication.

She says of her work: “As I get older, I feel I can look back with pride; this is a fantastic way to spend the one human life we have.”

And so say all of us.

Choosing from the FiLiA conference agenda is no easy task. Here are only a few of the sessions: Misbehaving: Stories of Protest Against the Miss World Contest and the Beauty Industry; Not Dead Yet: Feminism, Passion and Women's Liberation; Political Participation of Migrant Women, and Police Perpetrated Abuse.

It’s no wonder that one woman attending the 2019 event said: “FiLiA galvanises women — it is without a doubt one of my lifelong conference experiences — and I have been to many.”

Lisa-Marie Taylor, chief executive officer, sums it up: “FiLiA is a place where local, national and global women come together to network, learn from each other, plot the overthrow of patriarchy and to party!

“We’ve received messages from women in Norway, Germany, Spain, the US and more saying they’ve heard about FiLiA and they are coming over — this is incredible to us, and a testament to global consciousness-raising around the rights of women and girls, as well as the desire to gather together wherever and whenever we can.”

These annual gatherings have always had a real international feel, and with good reason.

Delegates greeting one another may be social media mates, but that’s never all they are.

There are campaigns and actions linking women’s rights activists across the world, from Kurdistan to Latin America to Ireland, Israel, India and Ukraine. There are speakers from all these movements on the FiLiA conference agenda.

Typical of this ongoing, FiLiA-inspired, global campaigning is a project focused on a refugee camp in Kenya.

Lesbian refugees escaping violence and lesbophobia in their home country were sent by the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) to the Kakuma camp, in Turkana County, one of the poorest areas of Kenya.

It’s been a refugee camp since 1992, and currently has 160,000 displaced people. Those facts stand alone as a damning indictment.

As the women were seeking asylum due to their sexuality, they were put in the LGBT Block 13 — named with a grim irony.

This, of course, identified them to other refugees in the camp; they’ve suffered violence and abuse as a result.

The women have told FiLiA about a lack of food, constant physical and sexual abuse and lack of basic shelter for them and the other LGB&T refugees in Block 13.

Also recently announced as a speaker is Joanna Cherry, the SNP MP for Edinburgh South West since 2015.

She said recently, of LGBT+ history month: “…these days the L is very much an afterthought and many people have forgotten the contribution made by lesbian feminists of my generation to fighting homophobia and discrimination.

“At a time when the SNP was still undecided about Section 28, I was out on the streets campaigning against it. A large part of my career as a lawyer was spent standing up for women’s rights and prosecuting sex crimes against women and children. So it is particularly galling to be misrepresented by those who have come late to the field of the battle for equality.”

Feminist philosopher Jane Clare Jones speaks in a session called The Radical Notion: Female Class Politics / Founding The Countess, Advocating For Women And Children In Ireland.

The countess in question is Constance Markievicz, the first woman elected to the parliament at Westminster, in 1918. Then representing Sinn Fein, she did not take her seat.

Founder of “The Countess” Laoise UI Aodha de Brun points out that Markievicz “attended her first political meeting aged 41 — it’s never too late to effect change.”

The agenda promises this session will get to the heart of some tight issues: “Many people claim feminism is a form of ‘identity politics,’ but women’s oppression is not a matter of ‘identity,’ but of the material exploitation of women’s bodies and labour.

“This panel will explore why feminism is better thought of as a type of class politics.

“What are the implications for feminist activism and theory of understanding feminism as ‘female class politics’? How might this help us rectify some of the mistakes feminism has made in the past, and reimagine the future of feminism?”

In the session FiLiA Stands with Sex Trade Survivors, Yulia Dorokhovah will speak about the work she does as director of the sex workers’ self-organisation in Ukraine.

This is the NGO All-Ukrainian League “Legalife,” aimed at combating sexual slavery, human trafficking and violence against sex workers.

The two-day happening is to be Covid-compliant, with proof either of vaccinations or of a negative test. The extra regulations are not daunting delegates, many of whom registered as soon as they could.

Another delegate to the 2019 conference told organisers: “FiLiA is Radfem Glastonbury: you see all your mates, get to see the living legends, and it takes three weeks to recover.”

True, in some ways — though we can’t really afford that long recovery time. There is work to do. Thankfully, there are great women to work alongside.

Conference details: filia.org.uk/tickets. You can support the Kakuma refugees here: filia.org.uk/kakuma-campaign.

#Anglo.txt

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pellucidity-is-me · 3 years ago

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Peter Pettigrew and Latin

Summary: Final installment in my Marauders and Latin series. Part 4, but works as a one-shot. I’m working through each Marauders’ relationship with Latin, and this is Peter Pettigrew. I’m also writing a very long story about the Marauders’ years at Hogwarts—you can find the link on my blog description!

Wordcount: 2111

Peter Pettigrew doesn't really ever find out what Latin is.

And he doesn't really care, to be honest.

The first time he has an actual conversation about the language is in the dormitory with Remus Lupin, who is Peter's best friend. They both adore James and Sirius, of course, but they can recognize that they're the underdogs. They aren't as loud and brash and bold as their dark-haired counterparts. It's always been James-and-Sirius, and then Remus-and-Peter. Remus and Peter are the afterthoughts, but that's okay.

Well, that's what Remus says, anyhow, but Peter knows the truth.

It's actually closer to James-and-Sirius and Remus, and also Peter. Remus and James are close because James loves having someone ill to take care of (and Remus is always poorly, for reasons unknown). Remus and Sirius are close because Sirius loves to vent about his parents, and Remus is a very good listener. Peter and Remus are close because they're similar (again: Remus says so, but Peter thinks he's just being kind). Remus has special and separate bonds with each of the other Marauders, but Peter is only close to Remus.

And it's so annoying. Peter spends more time around Sirius and James than Remus ever will. Remus is either ill or visiting his ill mother all the time. Remus doesn't join in on some of their more boisterous pranks. Remus sometimes prefers to spend time in the library rather than with his friends. It's Peter who gets into trouble for the sake of James and Sirius. It's Peter who claps for James when he does a fancy trick on his broom—Remus either reads a book or teases him. It's Peter who spends as much time as he can with James and Sirius, and Remus who is only their friend when he feels like it. So why is Peter still treated as an add-on? It's not fair.

Peter doesn't resent Remus, though. How could he? Remus is kind to Peter when nobody else is. Remus talks to Peter when nobody else will. Peter is always Remus' first choice, and that means the world.

James and Sirius are in a detention today, and Peter is doing schoolwork with Remus. They're talking about spells, and Remus says something about Latin roots. "What are Latin roots?" says Peter. "Are they like tree roots?"

Remus doesn't laugh, even though James and Sirius might've. He leans forward slightly and his eyes light up, just as they always do when Remus gets excited about something (they didn't used to, but now they do. Peter wonders what's changed). "It's a language," says Remus, "a very, very old language." He presses his lips together, and Peter knows that he's about to make a joke. "Older than Professor Dumbledore, even."

Peter laughs, but Remus isn't done yet. "Older than Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall combined. And older than Sirius, even though he thinks he's so old and wise just because his birthday is before ours." Remus smiles at Peter's laughter before continuing. "It's nothing like English. In English, we change the endings of verbs when the subject changes. In Latin, you change the ending of nouns, too—and adjectives have to agree with gender, and there's a whole separate tense just for when you aren't sure about something..." Remus rambles for a bit about the wonders of Latin, but Peter zones out for a bit. He doesn't really understand. "...But even though it's so different from English, a lot of the words we get—and a lot of the magic spells, especially—come from Latin," continues Remus. "Especially the big words. So when you know some Latin vocabulary, then you can guess what a word means based on the parts of Latin in it. That's a Latin root—it's part of the word that stems from Latin."

Root. Stem. What's up with all the plant terms? "Sounds complicated," says Peter.

"Oh, it is. Terribly complicated. I learned a bit of it before I went to Hogwarts, but I was never particularly good at it. I worked hard, though."

"Why'd you learn it, then?" asks Peter. He can't fathom the way that Remus' mind works sometimes. Who would learn for fun?

"Well..." Remus seems to be thinking very hard. "Sometimes languages are difficult to learn because they're always changing. Like French and English and Spanish and things. The vocabulary and slang changes all the time. But Latin isn't changing at all—it's been the same for years, and it'll never change again." He pauses. "And then there's the rules themselves. Latin has a lot of rules, but that means that it's predictable. It has relatively few exceptions to the words. And... I always found it fun to memorize things." Remus shrugs. "My life before Hogwarts was always very predictable, so Latin was comforting, in a way. Things that are constantly changing are a bit like moving targets, aren't they? My life's not predictable anymore, of course," Remus finishes with a laugh.

"It's not?"

"Are James and Sirius ever predictable?"

"Well... no." Peter smiles, but he's a bit concerned. "Does that mean you don't like us?" He dares to use the pronoun us, even though he knew that Remus was chiefly talking about James and Sirius. Peter likes being lumped together with his friends.

"That's not it at all," says Remus, waving his hands. "I think you're great. It's not what I'm used to, but maybe... it's better than what I'm used to. Moving targets are a little more fun, I think."

Peter disagrees, but he'll never say so. He thinks that his own relationship with the Marauders is a bit like a moving target—and, unlike Remus, Peter isn't quick enough to hit it. In fact, he's not even quick enough to see it until it's far too late. The expectations are always changing. The Marauders are too quick for Peter, too fast for him, too bright. Every time Peter feels like he's caught up, his friends have already moved on.

But Remus can keep up. Whenever Sirius makes a snide comment towards Remus, Remus can fire back with one equally snide. Whenever James starts babbling about things that Peter doesn't understand, Remus can keep up and ask questions without seeming stupid. Remus is a lot like Peter, but there's just something there—and Peter doesn't think it's intelligence, but it's something akin to it—that makes him a good, exciting friend.

And whatever it is, Peter doesn't have it.

At first, Peter tries to be just like James. He copies James' excitement and nonchalant attitude. He runs his hand through his thin, blond hair (it doesn't have the same effect, but he does it anyway). He thinks that perhaps he'll play Quidditch someday. He could be on the same team as James. Wouldn't that be grand?

Then Peter realizes that he's started too high. James is perfect, so Peter needs to aim a bit lower. So he makes jokes that he isn't entirely sure are kind, just like Sirius. In second year (after they'd already found out about Remus), Peter makes a rather unsavory joke about werewolves to Remus' face. Remus jokes about werewolves all the time, but there's something about Peter's joke that makes him go pale and shaky. He laughs it off, but Peter feels awful. He stops trying to be like Sirius. Sirius sometimes makes Peter feel bad about himself, and he doesn't want to do that to anyone else.

Peter decides to aim even lower. He's going to be like Remus, who seems to fit in without even trying. Peter tries for Remus' brand of deadpan humor. He sits with his hands folded, just like Remus. He lets his mouth twist upwards when he's happy instead of breaking into a huge grin. He tries to be kind to everyone, even when it isn't true. He starts lying a little bit more, just like Remus—about tiny things, just like Remus. Peter even begins to do schoolwork more, like Remus.

James and Sirius seem playfully exasperated about Remus' desire to do well in school. "That's our Moony," they say, shaking their heads and going outside to play Quidditch. But when Peter stays in to study, they look at him and scoff. "It's not that hard, Peter. You don't really need to revise for the Potions exam. It's the first one of the year. It's gonna be easy. How thick can you get?"

So Peter stops trying to be like Remus. He isn't sure what secret ingredient Remus has that makes James and Sirius love him unconditionally, but Peter has no good relationship with his friends. Even Remus seems to prefer James' company to Peter's on occasion, even though Remus and Peter are supposed to be best mates.

After a while, Peter starts to notice flaws in his friends. They are no longer the paragons of light that he once thought they were. Peter, ironically, notices flaws in Remus first.

Remus is self-pitying and self-centered. Everything always has to be about him. Whenever Peter tells him something even remotely sensitive, he can tell that Remus is pitying himself in his head, even though he doesn't say it aloud. Remus' life is worse; Remus' life is always worse. Peter doesn't mind at first, because Remus is right. But... after a while, it gets tiring.

And Remus pretends that he thinks something of Peter, but Peter knows that too much of it is a farce. Remus is better than Peter. He has suffered more, and he has still come out better. He is a harder worker, a better listener, and better with people. Peter's too slow, too hesitant, and not funny enough for Remus' tastes. And Remus knows it—he's just too polite to say so.

That hurts more than Sirius and James' disparaging comments, actually. With James and Sirius, it's obvious that the three of them are not on equal footing. But Remus seems to offer Peter crumbs of friendship that taste sweet in Peter's mouth and turn to plastic as they go down. Does Remus even like Peter? Peter isn't sure.

Oh, perhaps he's overthinking things. Perhaps Remus is a much better person than Peter thinks he is. Perhaps they all are. After all, Sirius makes exactly the same belittling comments towards Remus as he does Peter—the difference is, Remus can laugh them off, and Sirius respects him for that. And James may be conceited, but there's something much brighter underneath. James is so empathetic that it almost hurts.

Peter almost wishes that he were a werewolf.

Forget almost. Peter wishes that he were a werewolf. Maybe that's the certain something that Remus has and Peter doesn't.

James and Sirius may be the mascots of the Marauders in public, but Remus is the mascot in private. He's the glue that holds their little group together. James and Sirius would never get rid of him: no, it's too much fun to be friends with a werewolf. They love it.

James bends over backwards to take care of Remus when he's poorly. Sirius relishes the danger of having a werewolf friend. Everything is always about Remus, and Peter wants everything to be about Peter. He doesn't even need all that much; he only wants people that genuinely like him. Peter is only a Marauder because of a mixture of chance and Remus. Chance gave him position: it was the reason that he was placed into the same dormitory as the rest of them in the first place. Remus gave him means: he was the one that convinced the other Marauders to treat Peter nicely, even though Peter is now trapped in a group that isn't anything like him.

Well, he's not trapped. But he wants to be.

Peter wants to be equal with his friends more than anything. He wants it so much that his heart aches. He's happy to have friends, of course, but sometimes he feels as if he is merely witnessing a friendship instead of participating.

Peter doesn't know much about the Latin language, but he does know that a moving target is much harder to hit than a stationary one. "I think I'd like Latin," says Peter.

Remus smiles—closed-mouth, as he always does—and folds his hands on his lap. "So did I," he says, "but there are better things, aren't there? And much more useful things. Like this charm, for instance—I think you're waving your wand a bit too much. Try a smaller movement. There, that's it..."

Peter resolves to enjoy his friendship, as strange as it might be. He will not be self-pitying like Remus. It doesn't matter in the long run, does it?

#peter pettigrew #young peter pettigrew #marauders fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #marauders #latin #extremely nerdy #im sorry #i don't actually know latin #i have learned what i know through the Power of the Internet

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multiharlot · 5 years ago

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book cover / s. reid

summary: spencer pulls some stupid shit and it drives y/n over the edge.

warning: angst, maybe with a happy ending?

masterlist

part II

y/n’s pov

we had moved in together almost a year ago. it first started when i came over to his apartment and it was an absolute mess. granted, spencer hadn’t been home for the last week and a half, but the messiness that ensued throughout his usually pristine home was an unusual sight for me. i’d assumed that he had simply left home in a hurry and hadn’t any time to pick up the empty chinese cartons on the coffee table, wash the dirty mugs in the sink, or organize his dirty laundry, let alone wash it. so i had decided to clean up the apartment. take out the trash and wash his laundry. wipe down the dusty bookshelves and soy sauce stained coffee table. crack open a window and light a candle while washing out the dirty coffee mugs. the seemingly small gesture to me hadn’t gone unnoticed by him. when he returned home, he was overjoyed with his newly clean apartment, and even more overjoyed coming home to me, sitting on his couch with my reading glasses on and my nose stuck in the bindings of one of his favorite books. overtime, we had both decided that it was time for us to take the next step in our relationship and we were ecstatic. but little by little, he had seemed less and less enthusiastic about my presence. of course i had noticed. i noticed the moment his tight hugs turned into nods of acknowledgment and the fact that our large bed couldn’t get his body as far away from mine as he’d hoped. or how typically long conversations about cases turned into short three to five word sentences and how he opted to spend his free time in his study rather than with me. today, was no exception. i was in the kitchen beginning a new recipe i had read about in a cookbook my mother had jokingly bought for me when he stepped through the doorway and i was greeted with a tight lipped grin and a comfortable sigh.

“oh hey”

oh hey?

“hi baby. how was the case?” i smile, a small breath escaping my lips as i attempted to blow away the strands of hair falling in front of my face.

“fine i guess.” he shrugged, placing his go bag on the floor and lazily throwing his jacket and scarf across the back of the armchair.

my eyebrows furrowed as i watched my boyfriend plop onto the couch with a book in his lap, not attempting to further the conversation.

“well are you hungry? i’m making pasta. i found the recipe in that cookbook my mom got me for christmas and i think you’d like it. i’ve never made homemade pasta before but i think it’s gonna turn out pretty well if i do say so myself.” i giggle softly as i continue to knead out the dough.

“sure. yeah.” he mumbles absentmindedly as he turns another page in his book.

i sigh, pausing my kneading for a moment before shaking my head. trying to rid myself of any negative thoughts that seemed to cloud my mind as of late.

it could’ve been a rough case?

have all the cases for the last four months been rough, too?

maybe he’s got something going on that he doesn’t feel comfortable talking to me about. or maybe he’s just...comfortable. you know? we’ve reached a stage where we don’t have to be so lovey all of the time.

or maybe he just doesn’t love you anymore.

my negative inner dialogue was quickly cut short and a sigh escapes my lips. i could still hear the pages of the book turning in the living room and the sound of spencer’s slacks ruffling against the black suede couch. i open up the cabinets, in search of the pasta roller, but alas i couldn’t find it.

“hey spence? do you remember where the pasta roller is? i can’t find it.”

i hear him sigh and his shoes thumping across the living room carpet and into the kitchen behind me. i turn to face the chiseled, long haired man who reaches behind me, pulling the pasta roller from the top shelf and placing it on the counter.

“thanks love.” i smile, leaning up to press of soft kiss to his lips when he quickly turns his head, causing my lips to fall on his cheek.

“no problem” he says before making his way back to the living room.

i could feel the thumping of my heart hitting the bottom of my stomach and the emptiness echoing through my chest. i continue to make the rest of our meal in silence. my negative thoughts brewing a mixture of sadness and anger in my stomach. i quickly plated the pasta and brought both bowls out towards the living room, placing the bowl in front of spencer on the coffee table.

“thanks” he sighs, placing his book down and exchanging it for the pasta bowl.

he flicks the tv on and places the remote between us. his eyes never leaving the screen as he consumes the pasta. my bowl hadn’t left it’s place from my lap as i sat on the other side of the couch, sorrowfully watching my lover eat as he continued to pay me no mind. i’m not sure if he didn’t notice my longing gaze or if he chose to simply ignore it, but his eyes never left the television screen. not even when he finished his bowl and placed it back on the coffee table.

“it was good.” he mumbles, placing the fork into the empty bowl and picking his book back up from the table.

and maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t taken notice to the fact that i didn’t eat a single bite. or maybe it was the fact that he had avoided my kiss. or maybe my thoughts had really gotten to me in a way i hoped they wouldn’t. but i had finally had enough. i slammed my full bowl on the table and snatched the book from spencer’s hands, making him finally look my way.

“y/n, what the he-“

“when?”

his eyebrows furrow as he stares curiously at me, as if within the past 20 seconds another head had begun to sprout from my ear.

“when what?”

my lip quivers slightly and an uncontrollable tear drops from my eye onto the soft cover of the book i still held in my hands.

“when did you stop loving me?”

his face softens and he uncrosses his legs, turning his body toward mine.

“y/n...why would you think-“

“you don’t touch me anymore. you can barely look at me. within the past four months, the amount of words you’ve said to me couldn’t fill up a page front to back. i just tried to kiss you and you turned away from me. you always seem a little bit annoyed with my presence. your cases lately have seemed longer and more frequent and-“ my voice trails off as i start to piece everything together in my head, one by one the dots began to connect and the lines between them cutting into my heart as they travelled from one dot to another.

spencer stares at me gently, the whites of his eyes morphing into a slight pink as the tears welled in his eyes. at this point, the tears streaming down my face had made a mess of the paperback cover of the book in my hands.

“wh-who is she?” i whimper, a small hiccup escaping my lips as i looked at the man i loved.

spencer just looks at me for a moment, and i could see his facial expression change. he was guilt-ridden and seemed at a loss for words.

“i didn’t mean for it to happen. and as soon as i realized what was going on i cut all communication. she was-“

“i didn’t ask what happened. i asked who she was.” i sniffle, my fingers clenching around the book as the anger arose in my chest.

“her name is maeve. she was the geneticist i told you i was going to see when i started having my headaches.” he says, his head hanging shamefully.

a scoff escapes my lips and i throw the book onto the table, standing from my seat on the couch and i run my fingers through my hair.

“let me guess...she intrigued you. she’s definitely smarter than i am. so you two probably had better quality conversations in your mind. she understood you in a way i couldn’t. am i right?” i say, a small sarcastic chuckle leaving my lips.

“baby please. i love you. i’m sorry i’ve been so cruel to you i just didn’t know how to look at you without-“

“god how stupid could i have possibly been? i always knew we wouldn’t work. i always knew you’d get bored of lil dummy over here-“

“y/n stop-“

“no it’s true. and you’ve always known it, too. i don’t have any phd’s. i barely have a degree. for god’s sake, i’m a choir teacher. a fucking choir teacher at a high school. sure it’s a private high school, and sure i get paid well, but a choir teacher definitely isn’t what you had in mind now was it?” i sob, staring at the man i thought i knew as the tears streamed down his face.

“y/n...no. you’re not what i had in mind, you’re better than what i had in mind. and yeah, you’re right. it was nice to have somebody understand my rambles. but that was it. that’s all it was. she just listened-“ he pleads, and a short sob escapes my mouth.

“and i don’t?”

“that’s not what i meant. i just-“ he sighs, running his hands over his face and walking over to me, grabbing my hands.

i gently pull them from his now foreign hold and bring them to my sides.

“y/n...she didn’t mean anything. i’ve never even met her. we only spoke to each other over the phone and even then nothing ever got remotely intimate. i love you. i am in love with you. and i messed up. i got caught up in the idea of another woman but...she’s not you. she may read fine literature and know what i’m talking about when i go deep into a scientific theory that i want to dissect. but she never picked up latin because she sang so many songs in it. she’s never made 8-part arrangements of my favorite classical music to have her honor choirs perform. she could never pick up a new skill as quickly as you could-“

i held my hand up to stop his speech. i took a deep breath before looking up at him and staring deep into his eyes. his ready, hopeful eyes that seemed to waver with anticipation. but i couldn’t stand here any longer. i walk past him, grabbing my purse that was sitting on the counter and fishing for my keys.

“y/n please. baby please just talk to me.” he whimpers, grabbing my arms gently to keep me from walking out the door.

“spencer, let me go.”

“no. give me a chance to fix this. to fix us. please.” he begs, falling to his knees and wrapping his arms around my legs, resting his head on my thighs.

i hiccup slightly and roughly wipe the tears from my face and i grip the keys tightly in my hand.

“did you love her?”

and without hesitation, he shakes his head.

“no. i didn’t love her.”

“so...what was it then?”

he pauses, his lost expression searching my face as if the answer was hidden somewhere between my thousands of strands of hair or scattered somewhere between the bridges of my iris.

“at best, i’d call it infatuation. not with her, but with her mind. but i need you to know that i don’t think you’re dumb. this had nothing to do with you and i know i don’t deserve it. i know i’ve treated you terribly over a mistake that i made. but please, don’t go.” he pleads, standing up from the ground taking my face in his hands.

my lips quivers as i stare into his deep brown eyes, losing myself in the pools of desperation that were spilling over. he takes one of his hands off of my cheeks and let’s it gently travel down my arm, pushing my purse and keys from my hand. my tight grip still clutching the key ring and leather strap of my bag. but as i stare longer into the face of the man i’ve loved for the last five years, i break, dropping the items onto the floor and spencer noticeably relaxes, a breath of relief escaping his lips. he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me into his chest as i let out another sob. falling apart in the arms of the man who broke me, but also seemed to want to put me back together.

“do you still speak to her?” i mumble into his broad chest as he runs his fingers gently through my hair in order to ease the anxiety that he knew followed my incessant sobbing.

“no. i haven’t spoken to her in three months. and we only spoke for about a month after my diagnosis and i cut it off as soon as i realized what i was doing.”

a large sigh escapes my mouth as i process the new information. physically, he hadn’t cheated. but emotionally...i guess he had? my brain was all over the place and i couldn’t think straight any longer. i push away from him, wiping the tear stains from my cheeks.

“i’m tired...we’ll talk in the morning.” i mumble, climbing my way up the stairs and i could hear spencer timidly following me.

we both get dressed for bed in silence and crawl into the memory foam pit that seemed to soak up all my tears like a giant sponge. i laid with my back facing him and i could hear him sigh as my eyelids fluttered closed. i stayed in that position for about ten minutes before turning to face him. my eyes never opening as i scooted into his arms.

“i think i ruined your book cover.”

he chuckles sadly as he runs his fingers through my messy.

“you can ruin all of my book covers if it means you stay just a little longer.”

but unbeknownst to the floppy haired brunette laying next to me, it didn’t matter what he did, either way, i knew he’d always have the power to get me to stay.

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds imagine #x reader

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bennydwight · 4 years ago

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Bondmates- A FordxOC Oneshot

I’ve never put a story directly onto tumblr before, but I don’t feel right putting this on my fanfiction page until Dakota’s story is fully published, so I suppose I’ll just throw it into the ether here.

Bondmark: A distinguishing mark, feature, or otherwise occurrence for an individual hinting to the identity of their perfect match

~~~

Dakota is nearly twelve when her bondmark manifests; earlier than most, but not unheard of.

She wakes up one morning to see a stripe of swirling colour on the inside of her left wrist, a vortex of tangerine and bright purple, shifting in and out of intensity as the day progresses. She's so excited, and jitteringly nervous too, for some reason, running down to show her parents right away. They say after school they can celebrate!

She's just gotten home from school when the galaxy on her wrist washes deep, deep crimson, and she's hit by a wave of rage so thick and relentless that she's broken three plates before it ebbs. Her parents send her to bed, the celebration cut short.

In the days that follow, her wrist fades to a numb grey, and Dakota sinks into a bone-deep depression.

Her parents take her to see a therapist.

Twenty-five year old Stanford has accepted by now that his bondmark won't manifest.

Logic and studies show that ninety-nine percent of people receive their bondmark before their twentieth birthday, and less than 0.01 of the remaining one percent go through life without their bondmark ever making an appearance. Ford makes peace with that, just another way he's a freak. An outsider.

During a class on calculus, a song gets stuck in Ford's head. It sticks around for hours and all attempts to drown it out are futile.

It takes a week for Ford to realize that the voice in his head isn't one he's ever heard before.

Dakota knows two things about her bondmate:

One - They're emotionally connected somehow.

The colours on her wrist are quickly identified to reflect the feelings of her bondmate, different colours representing different emotions. If he (she assumes it's a he) feels something strongly enough, Dakota will feel it too. She starts to differentiate which are her emotions are which are his by the taste: hers are tasteless, but his leave a sour taste in the back of her throat, like she'd just drank milk.

Her therapist offers a coping solution during her first sessions. Art or music, something to make her happy when his negativity threatens to overwhelm her. She chooses singing.

She's twenty when he starts to respond.

Two - He's slightly stunted, in her opinion.

His deep emotion affects her in a way, but he ever since those first few weeks, he hasn't felt anything deeply at all. But she develops a habit of keeping an eye on the colours shifting on her wrist and singing to match them. In his sadness, she sings brightly, and the cloudy blue on her skin lightens to a more cheery eggshell. When he's anxious, she learns slow, ancient songs in odd languages. In his anger, she sings soothing melodies from her childhood.

She hopes it's because they're a bondmatch, and her mood influences him as well.

Ford knows two things about his bondmate:

One - They're emotionally connected somehow.

He realizes within a week that she knows what he's thinking to some degree. Her songs change to equal or balance what thoughts weigh in his head. During his exams, she sings almost exclusively in Latin, which spurns a desire to learn the language so he knows what she's saying.

He sings back once, his name and age in a simple melody, to see if they are a bondmatch, but she doesn't respond. That's alright, he tells himself, bondmatches happen once in every five hundred thousand. He's just happy to have a bond at all.

Two - She's an alto.

If her screechy attempts at a high C are any indicator. Fiddleford gets very concerned one day after he right near jumps out of his skin at the murderous scream resounding through his skull.

His initial annoyance vanishes under the next line, as she sings about how awful that note was to the original tune of the song.

He smiles for real for the first time in what seems like forever.

Fiddleford gives him an odd look, but doesn't press further, and Ford is grateful for it.

Dakota's bondmate is more frustrated than normal today.

The mark on her wrist has been a steady, dulled burgundy all morning, and the back of her mouth stings under the sour taste of his emotion.

She tries singing something to cheer herself up, a German celebratory song with a catchy chorus.

The taste in her mouth intensifies, and her mark is shot through with an angrier, burnt rust as his frustration turns to outright irritation.

She stops singing. It's not making her feel better anyway.

Ford can't concentrate.

This quantum mechanics test has been the hardest he's ever encountered thus far, and he pulled an all-nighter to study. Sleepless, running on coffee, and nerves about the test are bad enough.

Halfway through question three, his bondmate starts singing something raucous.

On any other day, Ford might meet the cheerful tune with a smile, but he's trying to focus. The moment he's sure he'll have an outburst if she continues any longer, she stops.

The test is over in an hour, but she doesn't sing again for the rest of the day.

Dakota is finding more and more recently that her bondmate is keeping odd hours.

She wakes up at three AM to find her wrist vibrating in swirls of thrilled lemon and inspired peach. His anticipation is tangible. What's got him so excited so late?

She sings softly, trying to lift her own spirits, but she can't stop the unwelcome thought. What if someone else is making him so excited so late?

The notes are cheerful, but the words are melancholy.

Ford glances up from the chess board as lilting notes drift across his mindscape in an odd, echoing quality. His partner notices his grin, gaze shifting upwards to follow Ford's, though the song seems to emanate from the very essence of the vast expanse of Ford's mind. "What's that?"

"My bondmate." Ford is pleased she's up so late, his friend has never yet gotten the pleasure of hearing one of her songs. She's picked a good one, and it serves to lift Ford's already bright mood.

"Oh yeah, that old ritual." Bill moves his pawn. "Seems a little distracting, don't you think?"

Ford looks to the 'sky', his smile fading. Maybe it is...

Dakota hasn't slept well in months.

What started as a few odd days, wrist fading to colours she's never seen him experience, turns into weeks of deepening anxiety, marked by tangerine spots so intense they're almost white, and an ugly charcoal gray. She gets twitchy and restless, like there's something she should be doing. The taste of his emotion starts small, but eventually she can't stand most food for the sour taste in her mouth.

She knows these feelings aren't hers, but it doesn't make falling asleep any easier.

She sings herself French lullabies, but they don't help her much.

Ford has to find a way to stop him.

Ford doesn't have a way to stop him.

Ford can't fall asleep until he finds a way to stop him!

His bondmate has other ideas. Her soft voice cuts through the mess of paranoia and fear in his brain, stilling his thoughts. No! He can't stop! No matter how tired his eyes are, or how comforting her voice is...

Ford falls asleep to foreign lullabies -

"Well, what do you know! Your better half is good for something after all!"

- And wakes up to three fractured ribs and forearms scored with hundreds of leaking cuts.

Dakota is at a conference when she first feels it.

The first surge of terror is brushed off, she's used to it by now, though she does still worry about her bondmate. But the anger that follows, so blood red it practically glows, prompts her to leave the conference hall and seek a secluded corner where the chances of her breaking something reduced drastically. He hasn't been healthy for a long time, but this time it's different.

Something is wrong.

She stares at her wrist, in its pulsing reds, and downs the rest of her champagne to try to rid herself of his sour taste. It's all she can do to stand there and feel.

Something sparks on the stripe of colour, a tiny burst of the darkest gray she'd ever seen. Rapidly, the gray overcomes the blood, and Dakota is struck by a panic that reverberates to the very core of her being.

Something is wrong!

It's brief, but the sheer scope makes it seem like the shock is drawn out forever.

Then, nothing.

It's as if the air conditioner has been shut off, and you find yourself in a house that's deafeningly silent. A constant, gentle stream of emotion Dakota has felt since she was eleven ebbed in an instant. She feels some horrific being has reached down her throat and yanked out her very core, leaving her nothing but a hollow shell.

Her boss finds her some time later, in the fetal position against the wall.

Somewhere, somehow, she registers the stripe on her wrist has gone completely black.

Ford doesn't have much time to think the moment he enters the nightmare realm. Survival takes precedence.

He's occupied for the next standard week trying to devise a way to defeat Bill.

It takes him a month before he has enough downtime to realize he hasn't heard singing once since he became trapped.

It takes him another three years to come to terms with the fact that he'll never hear her again.

He wants so badly to quietly break down somewhere. If Bill finds him, so be it. But he quashes the impulse. He has work to do.

Dakota doesn't sing for years after her bond dies.

She started singing to cope with his feelings, and now there's no reason to.

Ford turns and leaves without a word.

The hospitable Urarians are confused. Why would the best choir on the planet cause their guest to react this way?

Thirty years pass.

Dakota is humming tunelessly as she cooks bacon, but her breath stops as her chest explodes in anger.

The force causes her to stumble, grasping the counter for balance. Saliva gathers in her mouth to combat the sudden sour sensation. She can barely breathe for the rage, eyesight going blurry.

And then she can't breathe for the tears.

Because the stripe on her wrist is glaring blessed crimson.

Thirty years and a day pass.

Ford lays down on the couch, arm covering his eyes. He's back. He's back.

Somewhere, a song comes on, and Ford is just about to shout at Stanley to turn the radio down when his chest constricts.

The voice is in his head.

After thirty years of silence, he can no longer contain his sobs, but his grief pales in comparison to his pure relief.

She's back. She's back.

Dakota lowers her hand. "My wrist changes colours with what he's feeling."

They peer closely at the gentle pink etched onto her skin, just a shade grayer than her usual complexion. She smiles at their interest. Neither of the twins have their bondmark yet, and Mabel was practically bursting with excitement at meeting someone whose mark was physical. She'd asked to see it nearly as soon as Dakota sat down. Bondmarks are precious to some people, but Dakota has never been shy about sharing hers.

"How do you know what he's feeling?" Dipper asked, one hand on his chin. So much like his great uncle.

"Lots of practice," she answers. "This pink colour shows up when he's generally content. And see this?" She points to an olive streak slowly circling the perimeter of the mark. "He's a little under the weather right now, but it's small enough that it's only at the back of his mind and doesn't bother him much."

"And you can feel him, too?" Mabel asks, her grin like the sun.

Dakota laughs at her enthusiasm. "Only sometimes."

Dipper and Mabel perk up for a second, eyes darting deeper into the Mystery Shack, but Dakota is distracted. "Ah! See that?" The twins turn back just in time to see the blood orange starburst fade back into dusty pink. "He just got annoyed at something. But now he's okay again."

The twins make joined impressed sounds. Dipper looks at her with those huge doe-eyes of his. "It must have taken a long time to learn everything he's feeling."

"It did. But he's worth it."

Ford catches the sneeze in one fist, but it jerks the rest of his body enough to startle Mable. She turns from where she sits on the floor, knitting in her lap and back pressed against Ford's shins, and gives him a look. "Are you getting sick, Grunkle Ford?"

He sniffles. As much as he hates to admit it, but he can't lie to that face. "Maybe a little. But it's not too bad. I hardly notice it."

The frantic pen scratching on Ford's right stills. "Would you say you're a little under the weather, but it's small enough that it's only at the back of your mind?"

Dipper's words elicit a little gasp from Mabel, and he looks back and forth between the twins, blinking in confusion. Dipper stares back with a raised eyebrow, and if Mabel smiles any wider her head will split in half.

"Er, yes, that's a concise way of putting it. Why?"

Dipper goes back to scribbling in his journal, but a ghost of a smile haunts his face now. "No reason."

Ford looks to Mabel. She's turned back to the tv, but there's an excited pull to her shoulders. In a brief moment between commercials, when the screen goes dark, Ford catches her reflection and her grin has not faltered one bit.

Dakota can hardly breathe for the claws wrapped around her waist, trapping her arms against her chest. She tries to stay calm. Wild animals could sense panic, and she's no troll expert, but she didn't doubt the hulking beast could sense something from her. The stripe on her wrist swirls charcoal, a colour she's barely seen since the incident thirty years prior, and she wonders if her own fear is feeding back to her bondmate.

She whispers a silent apology to him, wherever he may be.

The troll opens its mouth to drop her inside, but Ford bursts from behind a stalagmite, blaster raised. "Let her go, you hairy heathen!"

She can feel the resonating determination pulse through her chest, and by chance she glances at her wrist again. The charcoal ripples outwards, arcing through with rings of rich wine. Ford fires once, twice, at the beast, and Dakota is so transfixed by the spreading wine colour that she doesn't feel herself falling until she's hit the ground.

The troll retreats, whining, and Ford makes sure it's gone before rushing to her side, hands hovering over her. Never actually touching her. "Are you alright? Is anything hurt?"

She can't answer. Can't do anything other than stare at her wrist. The stripe is shot through with mist and gold.

"Dakota, answer me!"

She says she's fine, smiling to reassure him, but she can't ignore the rapid beat of her heart. When he verifies her safety for himself, she asks. "Ford, what are you feeling right now?"

Though initially taken aback, Ford recovers quickly with a soft smile. "Relieved."

The gentle lavender on her skin proves it.

Ford has a lot of catching up to do in terms of music, and Dakota seems to be the right person to help with that, but he finds himself bashful when she asks his favourite songs since so many of them are out of date.

They spend an afternoon not monster hunting, as usual, but sitting in his parlour with a laptop, taking turns showing each other songs. He feels a little better with his music choice after Dakota reveals her own odd tastes in foreign music.

He feels like he's heard some of them before.

Dakota stares at the gentle pattern of dusty pink and brighter rose on the inside of her wrist. She's found her bondmate, she thinks. But he hasn't given one clue as to whether she's his too. Or not. Or even if he has a bondmark. It's an unspoken rule that one doesn't ask about another's bondmark unless the information is supplied willingly, and Dakota hates the thought of relinquishing her budding relationship with Ford because she's impulsive. He might not even have a bondmark.

If he doesn't, that's fine.

She doesn't want to think about the other option.

Ford settles into bed with a happy sigh, ready for the evening end. It has been an increasingly delightful part of his day, as he finds his bondmate has been singing some of his favourites every night. He wonders if she has a connection to his music too, or if it's just a common interest. Either way, being lulled to sleep by those songs has become something to look forward to, and it's been a consistent concerto every night for nearly two weeks.

He shifts under the covers, closing his eyes.

But sleep doesn't come.

Because neither does her singing.

Dakota is hyperaware of Ford's presence next to hers as the Pines family (plus her, plus Mabel's friends, plus the handyman and the cashier) participates in their weekly movie night. She can't concentrate on the movie, too focused on her wrist and the uneven pulses of navy blue and slate.

She leans over and whispers, "Ford, what are you feeling right now?"

He thinks about it for a moment before answering.

She wonders why he's lying.

Ford can't concentrate on the movie.

Another week without a peep from his bondmate has sent him into a deep-seated worry. Has something happened? Is she okay? Not knowing is driving him to madness.

When Dakota leans over and whispers the query, he doesn't question it. She's been asking it periodically for a few weeks now, and he's chalked it up to nothing more than a new habit. She's staring at him with an expression he can't place, rubbing one thumb up and down the stripe of colour on her wrist. It seems active, but Ford can't tell what colours burst forth from her skin in this light.

He's often wondered at her bondmate. He doesn't know what the colours represent, but he knows they're very important to her. He's caught her staring steadfastedly at her wrist for minutes at a time, but hasn't asked. She may just not have found hers yet. Or, a more unpleasant possibility, she might be harbouring a dead bond.

His time in the portal flows back to him. He wouldn't wish a dead bond on anyone.

But he can't assume, so best to keep away from touchy subjects. He gives her the best smile he can muster. "Happy and content."

Her face makes him regret lying.

Dakota can find only one explanation for this.

The unthinkable has happened, and her bondmark is unrequited.

It's rare, rarer even than bondmatches, but occasionally a person manifests a bondmark towards a person who does not reciprocate. It's awful, its psychologically damaging, but Dakota has lasted this long without her bondmate and she can continue doing so. She's lucky enough to know him well as a friend, and cares about him enough not to bring up the fact of her bondmark, and if he finds happiness in the end isn't that all a bondmate could ask for?

She convinces herself of this, convinces herself she feels better, but not even every song in the world could make her feel better. So she doesn't try.

Ford is so distracted by his mounting worry that he doesn't even realize it's raining until his glasses are coated in fat, wet drops.

Next to him, Dakota shrieks, though he thinks it may be in delight. He's glad. There was a period of time where they barely saw each other, and when they did, Dakota seemed more subdued than normal. But whatever is plaguing her seems to be wearing off, and he's immensely glad. He's missed his friend.

Just like he misses his bondmate.

She hasn't sung to him in over a week. There have been silences before, but never this... heavy.

He and Dakota rush into the Mystery Shack, sopping wet and laughing, though Ford worries his sounds slightly flat. If Dakota notices it, she doesn't mention it.

She tosses her camera bag on the table, then heads upstairs to shower off the downpour. Ford smiles until she vanishes, then lets it drop. He likes Dakota, but not even her company in monster hunting can replace the comfort he never realized he got from his bondmate's songs.

Dakota starts singing from upstairs, and Ford frowns. Slaps the side of his head with one hand, metal plate giving a dull clang as he does. It sounds like he's hearing two slightly different variations on the same song. Is he picking up interference...?

His heart stops.

No.

But yes.

He's in the Mystery Shack gift shop before he can realize his legs are moving, out of earshot from the upstairs shower. He knows the song that's being sung, knows where in the verse Dakota should be, matching up perfectly to the version he hears in his head.

It matches.

His legs are moving again, thudding rapidly up the stairs to pound on the bathroom door. He feels like he's going to laugh, or cry, or throw up.

Dakota opens the door in her shorts and tank top, still drenched in rainwater, the steam from the shower rising up and framing her like an angel walking out of heaven's clouds. Her left arm rests on the door, giving Ford a perfect view of the churning colours on her skin.

It looks exactly how Ford feels.

END

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nightwingshero · 4 years ago

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1, 5, 14, 27 and 38 for Wren and Whitney! 💜

Thank you, hun!!!

1. What’s a unique skill they have? Is their any reason why they can do it?

Wren - Well, she can sing because she’s naturally good at it, can play piano, guitar, and drums because she’s gone to school for music and learned, and she can dance because she did burlesque. The latter was to get by with doing something she enjoyed, and performing was fun for her. Other than that, I think the most unique skill she has is her talent for throwing knives. That one was stumbled upon when she was drinking with Hurk jr and Sharky. And she’s really great with the Latin language. She studied it in college and is fluent.

Whit - I guess...I don’t think she does. Girl can cook like a legend, and her painting? Mind-blowing. I don’t know if this counts, but she does have an affinity for natural poisons. She stumbled across it when researching herbs and such for a dinner, and just...something sort of caught her eye. Nancy made the off comment about how too much of something can be a bad thing, and it went from there. Her first victim was almost Mable. Whit felt a bit powerless with just being the wife of the Father, while Faith, Jacob, and John had power of their own--dangerous in their own right. This was something that was close to her wheelhouse and provided her with power and made her a threat.

5. What’s their reputation like? Does this reputation contrast what they’re really like?

Wren - yes and no. Wren’s reputation...depends on who you ask, because she’s...a bit of a snake in the grass when she needs to be. Those who know her, know her reputation is being a loyal and loving person, someone who is stubborn and committed. Most people say she’s wrathful and dangerous, and yes, all of this correct. But there are things that get a bit lost from one person to another. The biggest part of her reputation is that she’s a traitor, which...is accurate, even if she doesn’t see it that way. Her reputation changes throughout her canon, and she does redeem herself, but she’s mostly known for being the Dark Siren of the Henbane (after Faith dies), the Judge of Eden’s Gate, and people fear her just as much as they fear the others. Especially because she knows so much about the Resistance on the inside. So it starts out good, turns really bad, and then...gets a bit better in the end of New Dawn.

Whit - She’s another snake in the grass, but she’s way better at it. While Wren’s more of a siren, Whitney is more...angelic and pure, until you cross her and the tables turn. It’s obvious with Wren, it’s not so obvious with Whitney. You’ll never know if you’ve crossed her until it’s too late. You mostly hear that she’s just a housewife who is devoted to Joseph and Eden’s Gate, a warm and bubbly woman that has high standing and carries herself as such. That’s accurate. But people firmly believe she’s helpless, naïve, too innocent and stupid to really do anything else other than follow...and that’s not at all accurate. Whitney is ruthless, she will kill you with a smile on her face, and you be none the wiser until you’re choking...and she would still be smiling. Nobody knew she was married to Joseph until they were ready for people to know, and she fooled Wren and Rowan, which is saying something. When Whitney shows her true colors, it always takes people by surprise because they never see it coming.

14. Who do they go to in a crisis/emergency? Any particular reason why they choose that person?

Wren - It’s always Rowan. Ro is her best friend, the more logical of the two, and has her back throughout the Reaping. She’s someone that knows how to survive and knows Wren well enough to help her when she needs it. Rowan...is dependable. She loves Wren, cares about her, and is the sister she never had. There’s a bond of trust that’s never broken, even when things turn for the worse (Ro being conditioned and Wren marrying John.) Randy eventually becomes another person, because he’s loyal to her and also dependable and he’s another best friend that would risk his life for her, but Rowan? Rowan will always be that person when all else is lost.

Whit - It started out being Nancy and Joseph, Nancy taking the place of a caring mother and Joseph being her husband, who she has the utmost faith in. As time goes on, that changes to Wren, Mel, and Ivy. Wren is her sister-in-law, someone that’s in a similar situation and someone she can truly relate to, you know? They build a special relationship from that, they lean on each other (more Whit leaning on Wren, but that’s okay), and its something special. Mel and Ivy are Whit’s actual sisters, and of course, Mel is there for moral support even if they don’t get along that well. Ivy is the eldest, so naturally Whit turns to her for guidance when she needs it. Sometimes you just need your big sister.

27. Are they forgetful? What do they tend to forget? (plans, phone, keys, etc)

Wren - Absolutely. She’s scattered brained from time to time, she’ll lose her keys, phone, the tv remote constantly. Plans, not as much. Wren likes plans when she has that control in them. Will she go AWOL? Only if needed. She likes knowing what’s going on before rushing in, so plans aren’t really something she tends to forget, in fact, she goes over them until she has them perfectly memorized

Whit - Not a chance. Whitney is so damn organized, she knows where everything is because there’s a place for everything. If there’s something out of place, she’s not having it, and she’ll let you know that. Whitney is also a planner, so she definitely doesn’t forget that. Everything is planned out perfectly, even down to the smallest detail. Whitney is absolutely as put-together as she seems.

38. Do they get lost easily, or are they good with directions?

Wren - She can, but if she gets lost, she’s usually really good at getting herself out of it. Wren typically does a bit of research on where she’s going if it’s super new, and she’s more along the lines of “take a left at the red barn, if you make it to the bridge, you’ve gone too far” when it comes to directions. When she moved to Hope County, she was pretty quick with getting the lay of the land. She’s not completely hopeless.

Whit - Can you say completely clueless when it comes to directions and maps. Whitney can get lost in a damn grocery store. If she was stranded or was lost on a road trip, she would have a complete meltdown, crying and freaking out while on the phone with someone, and rushing around to try and get a cell signal. You have to be very thorough with your directions for her, write them down, or just buy her a damn navigation system.

#oc: wren blake #oc: whitney seed #my ocs #asks #far cry 5

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underworldobsessed · 4 years ago

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Blood Sacrifice l The X-Files Fanfic

Title: Blood Sacrifice Rating: T Word Count: 2409 Chapter: 1/1 Fandom: The X-Files Pairing: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully Summary: The case was nothing too out of the ordinary for the two of them. They had stared down different aspects of the occult since they started working together three years ago, different cases, but this felt different to both of them. Mulder and Scully investigate a case of black magic, but when they get to close to the truth, one of their lives gets put into danger. ll Written for the X-Files Horror Fic Exchange ( @xfilesfanficexchange ) Author’s Note: Written for Thatfragilecapricorn on AO3 (I’m not sure if they have a tumblr account). The word they gave me was ‘Occult’. I hope you all enjoy! Read on AO3 or under the cut

The case was nothing too out of the ordinary for the two of them. They had stared down different aspects of the occult since they started working together three years ago, different cases, but this felt different to both of them. The coven of witches didn’t seem to be hurting anyone at first, but claims of dark magic possessing one of them was enough to send them into chaos. Mulder and Scully had been assigned to the case after the first death and had been working around the clock to try and stop them. Things hadn’t seemed right since they had gotten there though, it was almost as if they were being watched, their every movement being monitored despite the fact that they thought nobody cared about this particular investigation.

That evening, though, was when everything started to change. Scully had seen Mulder start to change. He had been a lot quieter during the day, but now, he was pale. His eyes seemed like they weren’t seeing everything, glazed over and lost. She had initially thought that he was coming down with something, but she had checked him out. He didn’t have a fever at that moment, and he seemed perfectly healthy other than this. It wasn’t until he stood abruptly that she was caught off guard.

“Mulder?” Her voice broke through the quiet of the bullpen, the two of them the only ones left as others had either gone off on a patrol or home for the night. “What’s going on?”

“I am not Mulder,” His voice took on a demonic tone, and the eyes staring back at her were no longer the ones that Scully recognized from her partner. Instead, they were black as coal, no sign of life in him. “Your Mulder is not dead, but I am channelling myself through his body to get you to listen to me. Agent Scully, you seem like the more rational out of the two of you. Unless you relinquish control of the investigation and leave this place, I will take Agent Mulder for my own, utilizing him as my next blood sacrifice on the full moon.” The words caused Scully’s blood to run cold. She didn’t think she could believe that, but then again, since joining the X-Files, she had seen all manners of things, this included witchcraft. However, she wouldn’t believe this threat just yet, ever the skeptic. Not when she felt they were close to a breakthrough, and if this was how they were acting, she believed she was right.

“I see you don’t believe me,” The voice coming from Mulder’s body spoke again, and then they laughed. “Fair enough. Perhaps this would be enough to convince you.” Slowly, blood dripped down from Mulder’s nose, dripping down onto the ground underneath them.

“Scully!” Mulder’s voice broke through “Don’t listen to them,” His voice sounded pained, like whatever was going on caused him to be in absolute agony. “You can’t let them stop the investigation. You’re close, I know it.”

“Silence!” Mulder’s control on his own body broke, and whatever was controlling him took over. “I will take this body for my own. You will get it back, with your Mulder intact, if you agree to my terms about leaving. Until then, he is mine. And just to ensure you don’t follow me,” Whatever was controlling Mulder took his body out of the bullpen, but not before raising a hand that froze Scully in her place. She was unable to move, barely able to breathe.

Once Mulder was completely out of her sight, whatever spell that was holding her in place broke and she fell to her knees. She glanced at the files on the desk, knowing that she didn’t have much time. The full moon was the next night, and if she didn’t figure out who was behind all of this, Mulder was going to… No, she wouldn’t allow it. Absolutely not.

Start from the beginning, she reminded herself. The first murdered victim, study their ties. Who would have had a reason to kill them. They needed to have been picked for a reason, as for what that reason was… she needed to figure it out.

The victim’s name was Theodore Binx, a senior in high school. He, by all accounts, was a normal guy. He was a bit of a loner, according to his parents, but he had found his niche in his school’s latin club. It was a small club, so maybe that was a place to start for Scully. If these were his only friends, perhaps there was something that could tie them to the coven of witches.

She dug through records, finding a list of people interrogated at the school. All the friends he had were members of the club… oh hold on a minute. Her eyes landed on the fact that it was only a club of five members, not including her victim. And all of the club members were female. She remembered Mulder mentioning that all signs pointed to the fact that the known coven of witches in this town were all young girls. Perhaps the latin club had been the coven in disguise, or a way for them to meet and study spells?

I can’t believe I’m actually buying into this.. Scully thought to herself as she continued to read up. Of course. One of the members of the club was the victim’s ex-girlfriend… A plausible connection, one that could lead to who was the one that was supposedly practicing dark magic, and was currently using it on her partner.

When she looked at the time, her heart hammered in her chest. She had been at this for hours, it was nearly 6 AM, and she wasn’t even tired. She had only the afternoon left to find the girl before it would be time for the blood sacrifice… and Mulder would be dead. She wouldn’t allow that to happen. She would have to find Mulder before there was any chance of losing him, for good.

Hours of searching, no sleep, was taking its toll on Scully, but after talking with the parents of her suspect and talking to the victims parents as well, she found a place that the two of them used to go in order to hide away from others. A place with meaning, which meant that there was at least a little bit of a hint that maybe that’s where she would be able to find Mulder. She was hoping that some of his profiling mind had rubbed off on her so that her theory was correct. It was getting late, the sun was starting to set, which meant the full moon was on the horizon.

The place she had found was a garden, unknown to many but his parents had been the one to show their son this place, which then he mentioned taking a beautiful girl to several times. If this wasn’t the place… that would mean that she was wrong, and Mulder would end up…

No, she couldn’t think like this. Her gut was right, this was the place where she was going to do the sacrifice. It had an open view of the sky, meaning that the moon would be right overhead for whatever sick ritual she was planning.

For a few moments, Scully admired the beauty of the garden, rose bushes were surrounding them, but she couldn’t dwell on it. The deep red of the roses just reminded her of blood, of Mulder’s blood that might be spilled if she was too late. When she found an open area, she knew this was the place.

Candles were spread out on the ground in a perfect circle, an old leather bound book resting on a bench nearby to the candles. In the center of it all was a concrete slab that definitely didn’t look like it belonged. It was a lot older than the rest of the decorations, chipped and deteriorating, and there was staining that Scully could easily determine to be blood.

She hid behind a bush, keeping her eye out in front of her. Another two hours passed, before finally, she saw her target. Elizabeth Lightwood, the teenage girl who had been causing all this misery in the town, and next to her was Mulder. He walked as if he was in a daze, under the control of the woman as she wordlessly sent him to lay out on the slab and close his eyes. Scully’s heart hammered in her chest, watching as the book began to levitate and float over to Elizabeth, pages turning until it reached a specific spell.

“I know you’re there, Agent Scully,” The girl’s voice sent chills up Scully’s spine. Her words were cold, emotionless, and nothing like she could have ever imagined. “I should have known you would never give up the investigation.”

Scully came out from her hiding place with her firearm out and aimed. “Step away from him!” The words came out in a commanding tone, anger replacing any other emotion. “Elizabeth Lightwood, you’re under arrest for kidnapping a federal agent, and murder.” The girl laughed, the sound demonic.

“You must be kidding.” With a flick of her wrist, Scully’s gun was sent flying out of her hand and a force was around her neck, lifting her and suffocating her. “You are an insect compared to me. You are nothing, Agent Scully.” The pressure against Scully’s neck tightened, but her hand was able to move. She gasped for breath, feeling darkness ebb around her vision as she searched the small of her back for her secondary weapon. “Now watch, as I take the life of your precious Agent Mulder. You should see the things that go on in his head, the way he thinks about you. Too bad he’ll never get to say anything like that to you.”

Finally, Scully’s hand wrapped around her weapon and she pulled it out, firing almost blindly. One shot ended up in Elizabeth’s shoulder, the other in her arm. Scully felt the pressure around her neck release and she dropped to the ground. For a moment, she gasped for breath, before she pulled out her handcuffs. She locked them against Elizabeth’s wrists and for good measure, she hit her in the back of her head with her gun, knocking her out. She let out a sigh in relief, knowing that this young girl couldn’t hurt anyone again.

“Mulder!” Scully realized after a moment that she had almost forgotten about her partner, lying motionless on the slab. She took off in a sprint to his side, pressing a hand to his cheek. “Come on, Mulder.” No response.

A panicked hand went to his pulse point, and she felt her heart plummet to her stomach when she realized she felt nothing. “No!”

She climbed up onto the slab, straddling him. Immediately, she started doing compressions on his chest. 1...2….3….4 She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his and breathed. Repeating the process again, and again. “Don’t you dare leave me, Fox Mulder.” Panic was intertwined with her voice, though her hands were steady as she continued to do compressions, performing CPR.

After what felt like hours, but was really only a minute or two, she moved to rest her ear over his heart, and finally, she heard the sluggish thump-thump against her ear. A sob escaped her as she felt Mulder’s hand brushed her hair away from her face.

“What did I miss?” He cracked a small smile as she sobbed again and pulled him into a hug.

“Don’t you dare do that to me again, Mulder.” Her voice cracked and she pulled back to look at him. “We need to get you to a hospital. Who knows what lasting effects that situation could have?” She tried to sound disconnected, to not seem like she was as emotional as she was.

“Hey, what happened?” He really seemed like he didn’t remember, hand moving to brush her hair away again, but remaining to cup her cheek.

“I almost lost you,” She shuddered “I could have lost you, Mulder.” Without thinking, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. She had only known him for a few years, but Scully didn’t want to, couldn’t, imagine her life without him anymore. He had been so integral to her life, that the fear of losing him made her realize that her feelings went far more than friendship, and that she needed him more than she cared to admit. It was only after a minute that she felt him pull back, gazing into her eyes.

“Not that I didn’t enjoy that, Scully.” Mulder said, wincing as he shifted “But I hate to say, you were right to think I need a doctor.” Movement seemed to hurt him, which worried Scully. There would definitely be time to kiss Mulder later, for now, medical help was far more important.

“I’ll take you to the hospital.” She said, helping him up and letting him lean on her.

“We will talk about that kiss later, Scully, and you’re going to tell me all about what happened, and what sort of magic you saw.”

“What magic? Mulder,” She desired nothing more than to forget the evening ever happened. How could she explain what she saw when she didn’t even entirely believe it for herself. She bit her lip, before helping Mulder into the car. “I don’t know what I saw, Mulder. Let’s not worry about it for now. Right now I want to get you checked out so we know that you’re healthy.”

“Mm, okay, but we’re going to talk about that kiss at least.” She couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“Now that, I can do.” With those words, she got into the driver’s side of the car, and started to drive off towards the hospital.

Neither one of them paid the young girl another thought, but if they had turned to look back at her, they would have seen her body rise up; not like she was standing, but like she was levitating. The bullet wound in her shoulder healed up and her lips curled into a grimace. Her eyes turned completely black as she stared in the direction that the car drove off in. After the car left her sight, she disappeared completely, along with all signs that this occurred, leaving just a quiet rose garden in her wake.

#X Files #The X Files #Fox Mulder #Dana Scully #MSR #Writing #jen writes

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axwalker · 5 years ago

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Meet my MC: Alexis O’Brien

Thank you for the ask @mskaneko . This was so fun!! I got a little carried away... 🙈

Thank you for the tag @debramcg1106 ❤️

Alexis’s life changes deeply in every AU so I used my canon Alexis to answer these questions.

1. Name (+ bonus why did you choose that name?)

Alexis O'Brien. I've always liked the names 'Jade' and 'Alexis.' The last name was a momentary inspiration because I love Ireland.

2. Faceclaim

The beautiful Valerie Dominguez (aka my on-line girlfriend)

3. Nicknames

O’Brien / Lexie/ Lex/ Blossom.

4. Birthday

April 30th (I headcanon that she's 23 when the Social Season starts.)

5. Height

She's 1,70 cm (5'57")

6. Eye color

Brown

7. Hair color

Light brown

8. Love interest (why did she choose this person?)

Drake Walker is the love of her life. Alexis felt deeply attracted to Drake since she met him. Something about the deep voice, the chocolate eyes, and his strong arms. When they started to spend time together, she realized how much they had in common. Their connection quickly became a solid friendship as they confided in each other while drinking whiskey together after every event of the social season. Alexis fell for Drake's sarcastic sense of humor, flirty banter, and intelligence. But her favorite thing about him is his fierce protectiveness and how he tries to act tough and brooding around everyone except for her. Now that they're married, they form an exceptional, unbreakable team.

9. Best friend

Olivia Nevrakis and Maxwell Beaumont.

10. Personality traits

Alexis is a free-spirit. She's idealistic and passionate about her beliefs. She's very kind and generous, but once her trust is lost is very difficult to get it back. She's adventurous, loves to travel, and has surprised Drake more than once with last-minute weekends and trips. She's very competitive, she and Drake play all the time. She loves books and writing; ancient libraries are her happy place. She's very disorganized and unpunctual. Her head is on the clouds, and she always forgets her keys, or where she parked her car. Her emotions are powerful, she feels everything very intensely.

She's fiercely protective of Drake and her children and would kill for them if necessary.

11. Family background

She's half Mexican, half Irish American.

Her parents, Elena Ortiz and George O'Brien, met in High School. After a five-month relationship, Elena got pregnant. As they both came from an extremely religious background, they got married.

George turned out to be an abusive, rigid, sexist husband. They wasted 10 awful years together, but one morning George left Elena for his assistant and never came back. He has a son with his new wife and rarely sees Alexis. She tried to have a relationship with him until she realized the kind of man her father is.

Alexis grew up happily with her mom and widow grandmother. They had a small Mexican Fonda in Brooklyn. When Alexis turned 18, her mother was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and died only six months later. Her grandmother passed away two years later from an aneurism.

She has a deep-rooted abandonment issue.

12. Hometown

Brooklyn, NY.

13. Education

She has a degree in English Literature. She sold her family's small restaurant and got a job as a waitress to be able to afford a small college in NY. When she met the guys, she was working three different jobs so she could save money to study a master's degree in Literary Translation.

14. What languages does she know?

Alexis is bilingual in English/Spanish and speaks good French. Her French teacher in high school was a sort of mentor for her. She loves languages, so now that she lives in Cordonia, she's trying to learn Greek too. Drake is a great teacher 😉

15. Occupation

Before flying to Cordonia, Alexis gave private Spanish lessons to kids, worked as a waitress at the dive bar where she met Drake, and, on the weekends, she worked as a bartender at an Irish Pub.

In Cordonia, she was the Duchess of Valtoria for a while, but after two hellish years, she and Drake left the 'noble' life. With Drake's support, she went back to school in Cordonia and got her master's degree. For the moment, she works as a Literary Translator, but eventually, she will become a writer.

16. Dream job

Her dream is to write children's books. Her absolute personal hero is J.K. Rowling.

17. Hidden talent

Dancing. Alexis doesn't hide it, though. Dance is her passion, especially Latin music.

She has a superhuman resistance to alcohol. Irish genes.

18. Her strengths

She's hardworking.

She’s determined.

She's empathic.

She can make friends easily.

19. Her weaknesses

She's very disorganized.

She's stubborn and doesn't forgive easily.

She's highly emotional, which can be a source of anxiety and stress.

20. Pet peeves

People who are rude to waiters or any other person in the service industry. She can't stand it under any circumstance.

People who cut lines.

21. Guilty pleasure

Mexican soap operas. Alexis used to watch them with her mom and grandma, and now she's addicted. Sometimes, she convinces Drake to watch one with her; he needs to practice his Spanish anyway.

22. Ideal outfit

In the summer, she loves wearing short, flowy dresses with leather, flat sandals.

In the winter, cozy jumpers, skinny jeans, and low black boots.

23. Favorite season

Fall. The colors, the soft sun rays, the crispy atmosphere, the smells. Everything about it.

24. Favorite vacation spot

Ireland, her grandfather’s country. He used to tell her a lot of stories about it when she was a child, when she finally went she absolutely loved it.

25. Celebrity crush

Michael Fassbender

26. Who is her inspiration

Her mom. Elena was a single mother, but she never felt sorry for herself. She worked hard at her restaurant all day, then studied at night to get her college degree on-line. She loved life and was protective and generous. Alexis has never really got over her death.

27. Whats is the craziest thing she has ever done?

She took a plane with two strangers to a country she had never heard of before.

28. Describe her dream date

A late-night picnic under the stars with a good bottle of whiskey, some cheeses, and Drake. In a very secluded, private place.

29. What's more important for her in a relationship: physical attraction or emotional connection?

Both. The physical attraction is what first drew her to Drake. They're profoundly attracted to each other, and that sort of electrical, physical connection is very difficult to find. After years together, they still can't keep their hands off each other, and it has always been helpful when they're going through a rough patch.

The emotional connection is what makes them happy and crazy in love. They trust each other, make each other laugh, and they're best friends. What they share is unique, and they're aware of it.

30. Three things she would take to a desert island

Things, not people? Ok:

Her first copy of 'One Hundred Years of Solitude.' A gift from her mom.

Her illustrated collection of Harry Potter's books, a gift from Drake.

Her family album with her children's pictures and gifts (cards, letters and drawings.)

31. What is one thing she could never forgive?

Cheating. Never. But she has nothing to worry about 

32. What gets her out of bed in the morning?

Sex with Drake, one of her children crying, strong, black coffee.

33. What does she use more often: her intuition or logical reasoning?

100% intuition

34. Would she rather be alone doing something she enjoy, or doing something she does't like with her best friends?

Difficult question. She loves reading and writing, which are 'alone' activities. But she'll do something she hates for her friends if they really want to.

35. What's her biggest regret?

Accepting the Duchy of Valtoria and making her child the heir. She got out of it, but there were terrible years.

Bonus: three random facts about your MC

She was arrested once while she was in a protest for Women's Rights

She LOVES to eat. Passionately.

She loves big dogs. They have one Labrador and one Golden retriever.

#meet my mc #drake walker x mc #alexis o'brien #drake x alexis

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gotatext · 5 years ago

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hello, its nora (she/her, gmt) n this is the ethereal but spoiled alma olive putnam (she goes by all 3 names cos she’s pretentious as fuck). raised in a farmhouse in vermont, big horse girl energy. very hungry for everything life has to offer. wakes up and smells the success in her blood. luvs the smell of libraries and listening to french music from a tinny record player in knee socks. here is pinterest. bio is below the cut, like this post to be bombarded with plotting messages but i might forget tho so pls message me x

application template.

『ELLE FANNING ❙ CIS-FEMALE』 ⟿ looks like ALMA OLIVE PUTNAM is here for HER JUNIOR year as a CLASSICS student. SHE is 21 years old & known to be RESILIENT, MAGNETIC, CALLOUS & PROUD. They’re living in PERKINS, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ NORA. 24. GMT. SHE/HER.

aesthetics.

a red beret nestled on top of bright platimum locks, neck scarves tied around your throat the way they do it in french new wave films, running barefoot through the woods in feckless hedonism, china dolls with porcelain faces lined against the walls of your room, the mona lisa smile, knee-socks tugged over the hockey grazes on your knees, a forged botticelli drying on your easel, ophelia floating in the middle of a lake.

proceed w caution, tw for death, drugs, alcohol, violence

the short form.

— studying classics cos she thinks it makes her sound smart, but actually hates fuckin latin and just loves learning about feckless hedonism and the festivals of bacchus and writing about how all women in myth are literally forgotten. was expelled from princeton in her first year so her parents basically paid her way into radcliffe but she made an impression.... like... super fast and in her sophomore year she was upgraded to perkins accomodation n a paid scholarship bcos i think the governors kind of expect to see her in the supreme court one day or.

— born in vermont in a big old farmhouse. her great-great-grandfather moved to america as an immigrant and worked on a plantation, made his way up cos he could speak a lot of languages and therefore win more people over. for the last two generations, putnam men have owned the farm and do little of the dirty work. big in the meat industry.

— both her parents had large personalities, so alma’s never really been shy around adults, even as a kid she’d speak to them in a forthright, confident manner, and because she was always surrounded by adults, she’s always seemed a bit wise beyond her years.

— very much a consolidation of every character in the secret history. has a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs. obsessed with w.h. auden and the beat poets. — ”aestheticism is the only thing worth pursuing and even that is pointless” — is majoring in classical civilisation. can read ancient greek and latin. also speaks french.

— studies hard and plays hard. she gets top marks but it’s because academia is literally her life, she loves the smell of libraries, the ancient smoke of learning, of feeling like old wine in a new bottle reincarnated from the bones of some old, dead witchy woman who invented a cure for cowpox or somethin.

— isn’t a foward-planner, however. alma prefers to leave her options open, play the field, live in a spontaneous manner so her study style is mostly cramming a few days before a test, or staying up all night writing an essay on a massive adrenaline boost powered by red bull or probably adderall, scribbling (or typing) furiously into the night.

— pretentious motherfucker. loves poetry, especially the romantics, loves morbid ones too, edgar allen poe, sylvia plath, allen ginsberg, she just loves them all. can’t get enough. her favourite films are like…. wanky artfilm independent european cinema. especially french new wave. “what do you think of goddard’s work??” while snorting a line off someone’s sink at 5am on a school night, but you can bet she’ll make it to that 9am class. — very intelligent and beautiful and knows both of those facts. plays devil’s advocate. humanitarian, vegan. — judgemental but takes great care not to appear so. petty and vindictive

— obsessively devours mystery and thriller novels. she herself is a gillian flynn book waiting to happen. — tries to be an enigma. wants to be mysterious and unreadable because that’s what books have taught her makes women desirable and interesting and cool. very amy dunne in the way she expertly reinvents herself to suit her audience, when she wants to impress

— act like the flower but be the serpent under it. is a user. manipulative. leads people on. will throw another student under the bus to demonstrate her own intelligence and integrity — heavily involved in the theatre society. loves attention. — has an addictive personality. seems unable to do anything in a small dose, she has to let it utterly consume her. with sports, she’s fiercely competitive, runs track, played lacrosse at school, now is a cheerleader probably. with alcohol, it’s never a shot, it’s a whole bottle – wine or whiskey – she’ll be table dancing before the night’s up and making out with someone she’ll regret in the morning.

— her clothing style is like…. vintage thrift store but make it preppy. berets and cute hats, neck scarves, large fluffy cardigans or like those leathery jackets with big suede fringes on them, mini skirts (very 70s), and knee-high socks or boots. quite often she’ll be in sports kit, maybe a cute tennis skirt, n when she’s feeling casual she’ll wear like, a talking heads tshirt with a pair of mom jeans and converse, but otherwise, the library is her catwalk. — relates to ophelia from hamlet and sibyl vane in dorian gray. weirdly obsessed with women who commit suicide. loves jackson pollock paintings and abstract art. – likes old things. old books, old music, old houses, it reminds her of happier times like when she wasn’t alive. buys all her music on vinyl and has a gramophone because “the sound quality is better” kfdsjj.

plots.

here are some generic wanted plots but by all means message me so we can flesh them out more if any strike ur interest:

study buddies !! someone who is equally unprepared and so spends all night in the library with alma before a big deadline, maybe they even met in the library

if they’re from new england or vermont, then cousins . second cousins / extended family / family friends – probably spat volavons on your character once as children, omg childhood friends !

people who live in perkins n feel like they r constantly competing with one another to keep their place as one of the #elite only know each other from brief interactions in the lift or the canteen

honestly someone who is fully in love with her or crushing on her that she can just break would be sweet :/ or on the other hand someone she unexpectedly gets feelings for and actually wants to guage her own eyeballs out bc of it

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! former best friends separated by sporting or academic rivalries !

hockey / cheer friends who are on other teams but who she absolutely loves playin against!!!

fellow academics who like meeting up to discuss latin and greek ! gimme a secret society bonding by their love of ancient learning

i reckon she’s in a lot of societies, definitely the film club, maybe works as a projectionist at the uni cinema if they have one so give me ppl affiliated with that, give me fellow wanky pretentious art-lovers and poets and historians who will go to museums and galleries with her and listen to the velvet underground on vinyl

people she gets mortally fucked off her tits with at parties

people who think she is throwing her academic potential away by caving to hedonistic impulse

A SECRET SOCIETY !!! honestly i would die for a slug club esque thing in which the children of notable families are invited to dinners OR alma’s also an art forger, so maybe like a club of students set up to basically forge paintings and documents from the university special collections

people she has drunkenly made out with, hooked up with, or regularly sleeps with casually, maybe even a friend w benefits she is repressing feelings for, i love angst,

people she used to date or unrequitedly likes, but to them it’s just a physical thing, give me all the thirsty angst plots, and maybe some softness too, i need some religion in this girls life, she is a roman catholic after all

full biography.

alma olive putnam.

intro.

the girl is a knife. razor-sharp, double-edged, the bright shine of a two-faced, lovely thing. silver like the secrets you magpie thief from other heads. you’re a scavenger of knowledge, of tidbits, of gossip to lock away for later use and late-night re-inspection. a mind is like a clock if you get to learn the pieces. bit by bit, you dismantle the inner workings of the brains that tick around you – how easy it is to change it’s path, how words and their meanings can make a person laugh or cry in an instant. to have the power to control that is to be a god. it’s the power trip you crave wielding pom-poms in your hands; a possessive need for control that a younger you, small and weak, never had as a child. small lips, smaller smile, a doll clutched in your too-hungry fingers, hard enough to shatter the bones of a real infant. you cut your hair with your mother’s kitchen scissors before the autumn falls, rendering you out of season, unfit for the cold weather that beats against the nape of your neck, where a stick-and-poke marks the star you were born under ; the bull. “mama, when will i be a queen?” as soon as they find a crown small enough not to slip from your head.

biography.

if you get hungry enough, they say, you start eating your own heart. hands red, stained by pomegranate seeds, the empty pulp of its shell splattered on your thighs you find yourself wondering – what would it be like to want? in the beginning, you never knew hunger. twins, born under the same star, you first, him second – a nuclear family. never a sister to compete with, you were always the cherry pie of your parents’ hearts. white-haired, blue-eyed, beautiful baby of mine. the townhouse in vermont and the summer house in lyon, you wanted for nought, showered with attention, saddled with gifts - hardly a wonder you came to rely on such affection as a confirmation of your own worth.

at eight years old you first met death, blood on a gingham-print dress, a smear of it over your cheekbone and the pulp of a mangled animal at your feet murdered by the hands of a stable boy. “alma, my precious baby, you get away from that filth,” your mama would cry from the upstairs balcony – cigar in one hand and a bloody mary in the other – though whether the filth she referred to was the dead pig or the boy with a kernel of corn in his mouth, you never did find out.

your family earned their keeps in farming, great-grandfather wolfgang hildegarde a german immigrant, great-grandmother maura lisbon a prairie girl. they fell hopelessly in love between troughs and pig-shit, working for three dollars a day at a farm their descendants would later own, trade deals with the indians, vacations to calcutta, your father todd putnam in the kind of sheepskin coat his father’s father could only dream of owning. he worked hard so that you’d never have to. your mama once asked – you heard it through the window, rounding cartwheels across the picket-fenced lawn – could he not find a respectable career rather than selling shrink-wrapped pork for a dime a dozen? that blood money had no business raising a child. you look far back enough, edie, your father had said in his low, strong voice that could bring a civil war to silence, and i think you’ll find that all money is blood money.

language was never fickle on your tongue, french dinner time talk by the time you were out of your hush puppy shoes, your mama fixing the au pair a smile as she fixed herself another martini. you learned the clarinet at four and how to dance with the grace of a swansong at six, ethereal under a spotlight, an audience captive in the palm of your hand. by eight you knew that you’d always been destined to be loved. loved so hard they would want to taste you, bite into the soft plump of your cheek and eat you alive. that was how magnetic you wanted to feel. but mother hamsters eat their own young when penned in together too long, and soon you became too wild, too restless, another package on your father’s delivery invoice, box-shipped out to english boarding school.

fitting in had never been something you had to concern yourself with. you were always the shiny new toy the other girls wanted to play with, bright like a dropped coin from a magpie’s beak. wherever you went, you seemed to leave a trail of awe, pig-tailed harriet’s adoring you, imitating you, teachers forgiving your class-time chatter for the sake of your wild heart and the restless spirit you possessed. tell us what it’s like in the states, alma. they’d coo, enamoured by your hollywood drawl. does your father own a gun? you hardly knew. barely even knew the colour of his hair, for the scarce amount of times he’d stoop to kiss your cheek, though you’d tell silver-tongued tales if it’d guaranteed you an audience. when you learned how to smile at the right times, and that flattery would get you everywhere, it soon became apparent that charm would pave the yellow brick road to success even when your lack of drive couldn’t.

the road you followed – gum-snapping, roller-blading, friendship bands all up your arm – eventually led you to radcliffe. bright-eyed and gingham skirted, you’d always known you were more. there was a hunger in you to be something extraordinary, a want so adamant to be imagined and desired that it was almost savage. in leather-bound volumes and a circle of stones, you were helen of troy, the girl for whom they’d launch a thousand ships. but there’s so much rage within you, collecting like sawdust in cavernous parts. hockey helped. there was something grounding about the feeling of a stick clasped in your hands. sweat. stiff knuckles. feet pounding the earth. the smash of wood against flesh in the scram of a game, passed off as mere enthusiasm. “slipped, sorry.” hockey is the one thing you had that was yours alone – a feral instinct that motivates you to play; something primitive within you that sparks an energy like no other. on the pitch, you feel alive. you feel like a god.

#screeches from the rooftops like a banshee #radintro

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themenof--freeridge · 6 years ago

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Family First

Pairing: Oscar Diaz x Reader

Summary: Reader is Ruby’s older sister and returns from College to learn that Cesar has gotten involved with the Prophets. Oscar and Reader shared an unspoken attraction, but never acted on it. Reader Iis prepared to defend her brother and her family, but is it too late?

Requested?: No

Warnings: None

**Non-canon storyline**

Finally, Christmas break arrived and Y/N was eager to return to the warm walls of her childhood home. Her mother already called her for the morning, ensuring that she got the right arrival time for Y/N’s flight.

Now, Y/N sat in front of the boarding gate, eager to get to her family’s Christmas festivities. The airport was crowded, but she’d be damned if she let that ruin her visit.

Just as she was going to respond to Ruby’s warning message about the rooming arrangement, another message appeared. It was from Monse; the two of them had gotten close while Y/N was away, with the elder offering relationship advice and comfort during tough times. The one topic they never touched: the gang situation that was potentially poisoning her brother’s small group of close friends.

From being in an entirely different state for school, Y/N was unaware of everything that had happened since she’d left. She didn’t know that Ruby has a crush on the girl staying with her family, and she definitely didn’t know about the growing friction between the Santos and the Prophets.

She typed a sly reply to her brother and began to join the line to board her flight.

The moment she exited the aircraft, she let the familiar scent of the city engulf her. As she disembarked, got her luggage and turned off airplane mode on her phone, Y/N moved to the arrival area of the airport.

She heard him before she saw him. “Mana!” Ruby yelled out, already pushing through the throng of persons to embrace his sister.

There were grins all around, especially from her Abuela. Ruby took her luggage and together, they made their way back home.

The moment she stepped into the house, teenagers appeared from behind the couch yelling “Welcome home!”

She could easily find Monse and Jamal, but Cesar was the one who changed the most. She caught her breath when he approached her, noticing the features he shared with his older brother.

The group easily settled into the home, with snacks sharing and Ruby immediately launching into a monologue of what was happening for Olivia’s Quince.

She was already home and there was her brother, still planning a major party. It was like she never left.

As the sun began setting, Jamal, Monse and Cesar left, promising to return the next day to hear all about Y/N’s college experiences.

Y/N retreated to the room she was sharing with Olivia and began to unpack her clothes. From the kitchen area, her mother began speaking in fluent, speedy Spanish to her brother. From the speech, they were arguing about the Quince, which didn’t surprise Y/N at all.

Rather than stay there and witness the incredulous argument, Y/N opted to take a stroll outside to see if anything had changed since she’d been away.

Nearly a block away, she saw Monse and Cesar walking, hand in hand, until a car pulled up beside them. She recognized the faces of the visitors right away; Prophets roaming on the wrong streets.

Just as she sped up to them, the young Prophet member introduced a handgun to the conversation, causing her heart beat to skip. Without thinking, she rushed to Cesar’s side and pushed them away.

“What the hell are you doing here? These aren’t your streets.” Y/N stared at the Prophet, ignoring the weapon pointed at her.

“Stay out of this, bitch,” the kid responded.

Cesar took that opportunity to mention his brother taking revenge. His tone was more menacing that the words, which evidently seemed to work on the Prophets. The kid in the passenger seat scoffed and the car drove away.

“What the hell was that?” Y/N asked, glaring at Cesar. She had no idea that Cesar was involved in this whole gang thing. She’d hoped that he was smart enough to stay away. Even if he couldn’t stay away, she wanted him to get out of that town, to find safety anywhere other than to the Santos house.

The trio remained silent as they moved another block. Soon enough, Monse and Cesar turned left to head to Monse’s but Y/N remained on the path to the Diaz’ house.

It didn’t take long for her to make the familiar trek to the house that was now littered with Santos. The first sign of the house was the Latin music emanating from the over-sized stereo on the front lawn.

Although she felt the intimidating stares from the gang members from the second she stepped on the property, she refused to let it get the better of her. Setting her stern expression, she walked up the center path to the porch.

“What ya want, Ma?” one of the members asked, taking a long swig from the beer bottle clasped in his right hand.

“Spooky here?” she asked, maintaining her confident tone.

The men watched her, studying her with drunken judgement. After a short moment, another one piped up and said, “He’s round the back.”

Y/N took that information and stormed off to the back of the house. Sure enough, she saw him. He was sitting on an old lawn chair, hunched over a cooler reaching in to grab a bottle.

“Oscar,” she said, bringing his attention towards her.

The moment his gaze snapped to her, she faltered just slightly. She was always like that under his intense gaze. She was accustomed to many of his expressions, but this was the first time she saw shock cloud his face.

His mouth gaped open to form her name, but no sound came out. He let the bottle fall back into the cooler as he rose to his feet.

Finally, taking a step towards her, he found his voice. “Y/N? What you doing here?” He flashed one of those smiles that previously made her melt in High School.

Y/N took confident strides until she was standing an arm’s length away from him. Despite the fact that her heart rate rose from seeing his welcoming smile and unforgettable dimple, she remembered what brought her here, and that was more than enough to look at the Santo with severity.

With her mind set on the more pertinent issue, she stared back at his eyes and asked, “What the hell is going on with your brother and the Prophets?”

From his puzzled look, that was clearly not the response he was expecting. “What you mean?”

She recounted the experience that just happened and watched as Oscar’s face morphed from confusion to rage.

Before she could ask for clarification, Oscar asked with haste, “You didn’t get hurt, right, Mamita?”

She scoffed and ignored the question, although the term of endearment remained with her. “I just need to know if this has the potential to escalate into something much worse.”

Oscar studied her for a moment and replied, “It could, but I'll look into it and fix it. You don’t need to worry.”

Her mouth turned up in a smirk as she countered, “Just so as long as my brother and my family are left out of it.”

The twitch in his eyebrows showed that he took offense from her accusation. “You think I'll bring your family into this?”

“Of course not, but my brother is Cesar’s friend, so that automatically makes him a potential target.”

Oscar took another step towards her. Maintaining his steely gaze, he insisted, “Nothing will happen to you or your family. You have my word.”

“You better be sure about that.” She was too worked up to even entertain the idea of catching up with him. All she could think about was her brother’s safety; she didn’t even care if anything happened to her.

She turned on her heel and stormed out of the yard, not daring to look back once at her high school friend.

As she made her way back to her house, she truly wished with all her might that Oscar could take care of this problem. In that moment, she never would’ve thought that the following weekend she would be the one being charted off to the hospital after being fatally shot by that Prophet’s bullet.

A/N: Should I do a Part 2? Let me know what you think :)

#on my block #oscar diaz x reader #oscar spooky diaz #Oscar diaz #Spooky diaz #On my block fanfiction #Fanfiction #Martinez!Sister

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oswhys · 5 years ago

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what do you study?

It’s embarrassing to admit but Business Psychology which is a mix of the two and kinda qualifies you for either field, more specifically it’s about the collection of data for the purposes of business but it can also be a kind of HR thing as well as market reasearch and developing training programs. I kind of regret not going into a field I’m more interested in, but I’ve found that I’m very good at certain aspects of it. Like not to toot my own horn here but I’m very good at collecting statistical data and creating graphs. But one good thing about my major is that there’s a lot of room for free classes. So I’ve gotten to study a lot of other things I’m far more interested in. In fact I had a bit of a crisis in my junior year because I suddenly wanted to change my major to history / anthropology. I was in an ancient Latin American history class and it was the only class I put any effort into that semester. I took a basic sociology class a few years ago and that was very fun, mostly because it was a summer class and everyone had fun with it. Marine biology was also fun and I’ve honestly always had a fascination with science, but the math had always turned me away from it. Like I could never get into physics cause that shit fucks me up. But recently I’ve really liked math, it’s a puzzle with rules, once you know all the rules you can solve the puzzle. At least that’s how I understand statistics. Which is my weird new passion I never talk about because no one cares about statistics and making graphs in google sheets. Rn tho I’m taking three classes, international marketing... which is boring af but is much better then any fucking management class I’ve ever take ( I’m not cut out to be a leader or project manager or whatever.) I’m also taking geology which has got to be my favorite class this semester because it’s got everything! Crisis analysis, cool rocks, math and graphs, maps, horrific predictions of the earths future and the inevitable flooding of coastal areas and how millions of people will be displaced, oh and of course fun in class demonstrations of liquefaction.... the other class I’m taking is mythology which is more of a religious philosophy class rather then a history and lit class like I thought it would be, I love it though, it’s super fucking interesting. I was supposed to graduate this semester buuuut I have to take an online summer class and well obviously graduation is canceled, I had to move back home. When I was in high school I wanted to go into film but I was told that it was “very competitive” and basically decided to go for something that assured a job. So it’s not my first choice and I’m not very passionate about it but by the time I already completed most of the requirements for it I felt like it was too late to change my mind and do something else. My goal is to find a place I’m passionate about and work there and find the role in best suites for, I’m confident things will work out but I do wish I had more to study things I’m interested in. I had a medieval European history class last semester and for a whole unit we only talked about gothic architecture and gothic cathedrals, it was cool don’t get me wrong, but it’s no ancient Latin American history class that’s for sure. I suppose my passions are in history and social sciences and though half of my major is of course dedicated to the most popular of the social sciences there is still the half that puts me in a group with wannabe CEOs and stoner snowboarders who wanna run ski resorts. I could talk more about all of this obviously but I’ve always been pretty private on here and I’m really not the kind of person who can spill out all of their feelings on a fucking tumblr blog. But yeah I guess to answer the question in summery, I’m a bus psych major and half proud of it. Oh and please don’t ever mention accounting around me I fucking hate that shit. Eco I can only deal with cause the professor is my advisor and he was chill about helping me learn that shit. But accounting is the devils math, fuck that shit. Statistics is sick af, love that shit.

#fuuuuck #sorry this got out of hand #asks #im tired

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jeannereames · 5 years ago

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hi if it's not a too personal question to ask how did you come to be interested in history/antiquity/alexander..? I mean did you always like it as a child? or how did it start?

It’s not too personal, and in fact, I LIKE to tell this story, as I’m the definition of coming in the back door, which might encourage others.

Understand, I’m a chick from the other side of the tracks. My generation was the first to get a college education, and I’m among the few to go on to grad school, especially not professional *(e.g., law or med school). I was lower middle-class growing up. My father is from one of the two poorest families in Jackson County, S. Illinois before (and after) WWII. My mother was better off, her father a successful farmer and carpenter, but the Brouillettes had been Catholic (even if he wasn’t), and (worse) they had Indian blood.

There was no silver spoon in my mouth. I had better: wonderful parents who cheer-leaded me all the way. So if you disbelieve a father as great as Amyntor could exist? That’s MY parents. Amyntor-Berenikē are real, and their names were Ed and Idalee. Rise is dedicated to my father. Some of us get that lucky, and I’m HUGELY aware of my fortune, especially as I aged and realized my fellows didn’t have parents like mine. So Hephaistion’s desire to share his father with Alexandros? That was me. All my friends came to my house to visit my mother.

My love of history owes entirely to HER. She loved history, and understood it was about the stories of people. But my elementary and junior high history teachers made it about “kings-n-things” with lots of dates, etc.

So I HATED history.

I hated it all through regular school, then my tenure at UF, where (despite being a humanities major) I AVOIDED all history classes except one, an elective on the history of the Early Church. I think it’s pretty much a crime that a humanities major anywhere can graduate without a history class. WTF?

Yet it’s all the fault of poorly taught history. Plus, yes, younger students are less inclined to understand why it matters. Not all, but a substantial portion regularly return surveys saying history doesn’t matter because it’s the past, not the future.

Back to my clever mother. Instead of teaching me history, she told me about my family: the story of my ancestors, my people, including my tribe (Miami-Peoria). I was routinely hauled around to cemeteries as a kid, shown where my people were buried, and then told stories about them. Respect for Elders and the ancestors is a native thing. Yet I became fascinated, constructed family trees, and tried to trace back their stories, as most of my mother’s family were French who came in the 1600s/early 1700s, or Native Americans. My father’s family were more recent immigrants, but it all made a wonderful puzzle.

The story of me.

That’s history. The story of us, more broadly.

And so my clever, sneaky mother taught me to love history by coming in the back door.

Yet as a teen and undergrad, my interest in other cultures were largely Celtic and Scandinavian. I was introduced to J.R.R. Tolkien as a teen and remain a HUGE fan. My “home” fiction genre, insofar as I have one, is SFF (science fiction and fantasy), where a number of my friends publish. So I resisted the whole “Classical” field until quite late. Latin was the most popular language at my HS (Lakeland Dreadnoughts), and had the most active student group… so of course I refused to join! Never was a follower. I took German instead. In college, I took RUSSIAN, just to be different.

My undergrad degree was a BA in English, with a concentration in creative writing and a minor in acting. My M.A. was in theology and early church history. While at the Candler School of Theology, Emory, I kept hearing about this dude, “Alexander the Great.” I had NO idea who that was. (That’s how bad my previous history education had been.) Yet as he seemed so pivotal in cultural transfer, east to west and west to east, I wandered over to the Emory library to check out a couple of bios.

By chance, they were N.G.L. Hammond’s King, Commander and Statesman, and Peter Green’s (original, Thames-on-Hudson, later re-released by U. Cal Press) Alexander of Macedon.

I literally couldn’t have picked two more different bio’s if I’d tried.

AND HE FASCINATED ME. Who was this KID, who conquered most of his known world by 32, but generated such different evaluations, positive to negative?

Like Alexander, I’m a bit inclined to … obsess?

So I kept reading, and reading, and reading (articles, not just books), and then got into Macedonia (which then in the 1980s, was mostly articles).

By the early 1990s, I’d decided I wanted to study him professionally, not just to write a novel about him, so on the urging of Judy Tarr, I called Gene Borza at Penn State. He was my #1 choice to study with (in the US) as I’d admired his honesty to reply to those who disagreed with him, not just ignore them. So Gene asked me what I’d read, and I started reciting my list, until he said, “Stop, stop! You’ve already read more than most of my current PhD students!” He encouraged me to apply.

Ergo, if my BA was in English, and my MA in Theological studies, and I’d originally intended to go on to a PhD in the latter, I sent off ONE application—to Penn State—for history.

Guess which one offered funding (e.g., a graduate assistantship).

I wound up at Penn State, studying Macedonian history with “Aristotle” (e.g, Gene Borza, whose resemblance to the philosopher is a wee bit uncanny). It was, I think, the best choice I could have made. I remain Gene’s “academic daughter,” and Book 1, Becoming, is dedicated to him due to Aristotle’s prominence, while book 2 is dedicated to my father, Ed Reames, because he’s the model for Amyntor.

So yes…there IS a backdoor for those of us determined enough. But be aware, the handicap never goes away. I face it every single day. My Latin and Greek wasn’t “good enough,” and I don’t have the extensive reading in Classics that someone with a BA in Classics would have. But I DO bring my diverse previous experience. I have a background in bereavement counselling and ER on-call duty that allows me to look at Alexander’s mourning and such events as the Philotas Affair with experience most of my colleagues (however good their Greek and Latin) don’t have.

So be prepared to justify your existence to your colleagues who had Latin in high school and pursued a BA in Classics or ancient history. Don’t apologize.

And those of you who DO have the above, remember, there are a couple of us out there, scrappy and “previously untrained” who loved the field enough to work our asses off to get a degree, and eventually, a job. So unlike some of my colleagues at Penn State, don’t snort and look down on your unusual fellows. Help them out.

I’ll also note that of the students I entered with? Only two of us received the PhD. Tim Howe, my academic brother who came with better prep, teaches today at St. Olaf’s in Minnesota. But dammit, I fought my way through. And I finished, and I’m at a uni that, with my colleagues, created an Ancient Mediterranean Studies Program at the BA/BS and MA level. I’m damn proud of that.

The field has changed since I applied to grad school in 1991, I won’t lie. Tenure-track jobs in the US, especially in ancient history and Classics, have turned into unicorns. Other countries are different. But if you are determined enough, and damn stubborn enough, you might be able to carve your own path, as long as you keep an eye on the current state of the field. I won’t lie to anybody about how few ancient history and Classics jobs are out there on H-Net these days. BUT don’t let the afternoon-tea set make you feel less than them: “imposter’s syndrome” for pursuing a PhD in ancient history or Classics. Some of those Classics blue-bloods won’t get a job, at the end of the day.

I am THE definition of an “imposter’s syndrome” faculty member who succeeded. And I don’t give a good goddamn what anybody thinks of me. I excel at what I do, and I’m proud of it.

#classics #Classics in the back door #ancient history #stubborn ancient historians #realities of the field #asks #Jeanne Reames #ancient Macedonia #degrees in history #advanced degrees in history

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surveys-at-your-service · 5 years ago

Text

Survey #215

i’m not dead yet, just not into surveys very much lately.

What is your favorite dinosaur? Spinosaurus. <3 Would you rather live with wolves or tigers? Hypothetically, if I wouldn't be harmed, wolves. I love social species. Have you ever forgotten what a certain kind of pain felt like? Getting my nose re-pierced like fuck man. What do you remember the most about your childhood? I think the strongest memory is my parents not getting along. Or the stories I made playing with my favorite toys. Would you rather have a pet dinosaur or have mythical creatures be real? Have mythical creatures exist. I want a tame, little dragon. Do you have a favorite toy from childhood still? Astonishingly, no. I was incredibly surprised to find out I got rid of them at some point when I wanted to add the crocodile to my room as a cute decoration and memory. What are your thoughts on the end of the world? *shrug* Not like we can do anything about it, unless you count our own carelessness as a selfish species, but that won't actually end the "world," just mankind. Which sports do you enjoy watching? Dance. Would you ever have a breed of dog that is considered aggressive? I don't want another dog, but hypothetically, yes, because no species is inherently mean. It all depends on how the owner raises it. Have you ever made bread? No. Would your childhood self be disappointed? FUCK YES SHE WOULD BE. God, the thought is depressing. Has anything ever fallen asleep on you? Animals and my niece. Would you like to live in a realm where the zombie apocalypse is possible? Is it too far into imagination to say it's possible in the one we're already in? You have zombie viruses in things like bugs, so in time, something developing that can affect humans isn't out of the question. But anyway, anyone who answers "yes" to this, as in they'd like it, are full of shit. Most of us would die in a heartbeat. You'd witness others that you love die. Every day you question if you'll see the next. The zombie apocalypse has been so romanticized in many forms of media, but please, tell me you'll still be having fun when you watch your mother be eaten or some shit. Have you ever gotten into an accident with you parents’ car? No. What’s the wallpaper on your computer? A meerkat pup looking close up to the camera. What was the most difficult decision you’ve ever had to make? Deciding Jason couldn't be my entire world anymore and I had to let go. Name a band/artist you like that isn’t that popular. There's a YouTube artist named Jonathan Young that I MARVEL over the fact he's not signed with someone. My mom didn't even believe he wasn't professional the first time I played some songs in the car. Can you lift your significant other (your best friend if you’re single)? I'm certain I could. What is the first vehicle you recall your parents/guardians owning? A greenish-blue van. What was the most rebellious thing you’ve ever done? I don't know. I'm not really that rebellious. Pick one: Laundry, Dishes, or Vacuuming? I actually don't mind vacuuming. Have you ever moved and had to change schools growing up? No. Name the most meaningful thing a non-relative has done for you. When my former best friend let me live with her while we were homeless. Memories like that sometimes make me question my decision to cut her off permanently... though I remind myself the bad outweighed the good and our relationship was just never going to be stable. The highway and back roads take you to the same place; Choose your route. Depends on what's quicker to save gas. Are you more likely to give up or persist when you’re having trouble? It depends on the situation. Tbh I think I give up more often. Do you resemble one parent more than the other? I don't think so. Your best friend needs a kidney to survive; Do you give them one of yours? That's my girlfriend. So duh. Name a big life event that has taken place for you within the last 2 years. I physically met Sara. Do you end up regretting things you say often? I don't know about often. Name one thing you look forward to as you get older. Hopefully being financially stable. Do you use your hands when you talk to emphasize what you are saying? Yeah. You own a huge business; what is it? I can't even imagine myself owning a "huge" business. Are you afraid to ask for help when you know that you need it? Sometimes. Depends on who I'm asking. Name somebody you think died before their time. A LOT OF PEOPLE. I think above all of my options, Steve Irwin. Fucking saint, teacher, and pilot of conservation and loving our fellow animals. Name the possession you’ve had the longest. I have a lot of infancy stuffed animals up in the attic. You’re writing a novel; Is it horror, mystery, romance, etc.? Fantasy. Would you consider yourself an interesting person in general? I guess. I know I'm at least different. Have you ever gotten in trouble for running up your phone bill? No. When is the next time you’ll change your hairstyle? Will you color it? I don't plan on changing the style any time soon. Hopefully at some point soon I can get to the damn hair salon and get it dyed lilac, though. But it'll be expensive for a pro to do it (I'm very much so done with anyone less trying to do so, as it always fails), so that's something I don't think will come soon. It's not high on my priorities. Who was the last person to see you cry? Is this person special? I'm sure it was my mom. Probably. Of course she is. What season would you like the world to experience year-round? Autumn. When was the last time you took a picture of something? Was it yourself? Lmao it was of something funny on Facebook that I texted to Sara a few days ago. Are you currently drifting away from anyone? Who is it? No. Would you say you are really close to the members of your family? Most, no. I barely see anyone outside my immediate fam. Is there anyone who lives in the same house as you, that you can’t stand? The stupid dog. Do you remember the first conversation you had with the person you have feelings for? No, but it was likely RP-related. Think of the last person you kissed, when was the first time you talked to them on the phone? She knows I hate talking over the phone, so we use Skype to talk. I think the first time I called her via phone though was when I was having an emotional breakdown. What does your phone do when you get a new message? It makes the sound from Spyro when you pick up gems if it's not on vibrate, and when the screen goes black, a green light blinks. Do you automatically check your phone when you wake up? Yes, for the time. Who was the last person you were in a car with? Mom. Do you party too much? I never did. Who were you last on the phone with? I answered a number I didn't recognize, and it wound up being some bullshit about my car warranty or something when I don't even have a car. I just hung up the moment I knew what it was. Last movie you watched? The Lion King live action remake. Incredible. If you had to get a piercing (not ears), what would you get? Fuck, I want collarbone dermals so badly. Do you like holding hands? With Sara. Have you ever seen the last person you texted naked? Yes. What are you listening to? "Third Day of a Seven Day Binge" by Manson is on rn. Do your parents allow you to date? I'm 23. They never really restricted me from it. Then again, I started dating in the 7th grade, so I was older than most first couples. Have you ever had a serious conversation with your dad? Yes. Would you rather have long or short hair? I could not be happier than I have short hair now. It's so much easier to manage, and it really did me well chopping it all off considering my bad self-care episodes. I recommend it soooo much to anyone struggling with that. Do you want to have children? Big No. Do you think you’ll have the same boyfriend/girlfriend a year from now? Realistically, yes. How old were you when you stopped sleeping with a nightlight? I don't know. What topic did you write your last essay about? This awful book "Masters of Doom" or whatever I had to read in game design in college, I think. Whose car did you ride in last other than yours? Dad's. What was the last clothing article you purchased? Some pants. Who was the last person that made you cry [accidentally or on purpose]? Probably myself. Is there construction going on in/near your neighborhood? No. Who did you go/plan on going with to prom? I went to Jason's senior prom and he came to mine. What language[s] did you study in school? Latin for one awful semester, then German for four. I miss German, honestly. Have you ever been to a debate and speech tournament? Hell no, that sounds so boring. Choose two dead celebs who could be your biological parents - explain why? Steve Irwin for my incredible love of animals and uh... I'm not sure about a mom? I thought about this for like two minutes and really don't know lmao. If you were living in the past, which job that doesn’t exist anymore would you like to have? No idea. Which animal are you afraid of? Most afraid of, probably some spiders, like huntsmen spiders. I'm afraid of most spiders in general (if they're near me or in my house, anyway), I cannot stand maggots and larvae of that sort, and whale sharks freak me out. AND WASPS. FUCK WASPS. How would your wedding bouquet look like? *shrugs* It would probably depend on the wedding theme. What kind of game would you like to play that doesn’t exist yet? I can't even swallow how unbelievable Shadow of the Colossus would be in VR. What is one thing you would never ever eat? Escargot. Is there a music video that you would like to see turned into a movie or a TV show? Which one? *shrugs* Which character in your favorite movie do you hate the most? It's impossible to hate any from TLK. How do you think the world will end? A meteor striking, or a deadly volcano going boom. Either way, it's gonna be smoke shrouding the sun. Do you own anything clown related? No. If you were a celebrity - which celebs you would befriend? Y'all done know one, but I think the celeb I would connect to most and most easily befriend would be Shane Dawson. He is such a goddamn sweetheart, chill as fuck, and #relatable. There's really a lot... All YT-related lmao. Except Bindi Irwin. Damn, would I love to meet her. If you were going to make a horror movie that you would be scared of yourself, what would it be about/how would it look like? I can't handle those movies about women being raped and impregnated by a demon and shit. I can't. Fuck The Rite. If you could take a pill that would cure something in you that isn’t an illness - what would you be cured off? How ungodly shy and awkward I am. Ew. Do you like Rihanna? I don't know most of her music, but I don't enjoy most pop, so. Have you ever experienced hydroplaning? Not severely, anyway, and not while I was driving. What’s your opinion on the legalization of weed? Legalize it medicinally. What’s your current favorite song? Man idk. Have you ever hit a girl? I hit my sister once as a kid. What was your New Year's resolution? I don't make them. Do you find Eminem attractive? Not particularly. Are you wearing nail polish? I never do. Have you ever been/considered being vegetarian? I was for a couple months and definitely plan on going back to it once I get to the weight I want... if that ever fucking happens. What’s the last concert you went to? Alice Cooper. Do you own a cat? Yes. :') He's my best buddy. Do you like cats? I love cats. Do you like watching music videos? No. How are your grades? I'm not back in school yet. But SOON. Do you listen to Aerosmith? YO "Love In An Elevator" just finished on my iTunes. I love them. Have you climbed a tree in the past month? I never have. Were you ugly in middle school? Jfc save that child. What’s your type? CHARISMATIC. Stand out, man, and be proud of it. Having a smart head isimportant, too. Having a loving heart. Have a good sense of humor. Don't judge. Do you sleep with one of those mask things on your face? No. Have you ever straightened your hair? Yes. What kind of calculator do you use? The one on my phone or laptop. Have you ever seriously tried to count the stars? Lol no. Did you see the lunar eclipse? I'm guessing you're talking about the biggie from early this year? Yes. It was incredible. Do you have a bank account? No. Did you go on vacation last summer? What's a "vacation?" Where to? N/A Have you ever been in a choir? At church as a kid as well as elementary school. Are you happy with your looks? No. Have you ever gone streaking? You couldn't have paid me to do so even when I was in great shape. Are any of your siblings married? Yes. Were you in the wedding party? Yes. Have you ever seen a ghost? I've sure as hell seen something. Do you even believe in ghosts? I absolutely do. Have you ever had an eating disorder? Thank God no. What big corporation(s) do you support, particularly because you like what they stand for (many vegan items, donate large amount of money to charities, pay their workers a living wage, etc)? I'm really not educated on the morals behind most businesses. Oh, I do know Jeffree Star's products are entirely vegan and cruelty-free though, so his company definitely is one. If you wear foundation or have in the past, what type of applicator do you use (beauty sponge, foundation brush, fingers, etc)? Is there a type of applicator that doesn’t work for you? I've always just used my hands because we don't have anything else for foundation, I think. For those of you that do listen/watch ASMR videos, what are your favorite “triggers”? If you don’t watch ASMR, what are your thoughts on the whole phenomenon that seemed to happen the past couple years over it? I don't listen to it, but I don't care if others do. It doesn't do anything for me. I personally find the talking ones super uncomfortable, but if someone likes that, whatever. Are there any true crime cases that bother you immensely because of the story or verdict of the court case (ex. OJ Simpson)? I know there're some I've seen on Facebook and such. Do you use store loyalty programs? If you don’t use them, what is your reasoning behind that? What store loyalty programs do you feel offer the best incentives, regardless if you aren’t a member of them? I think I am for Hot Topic? I know I have a card for there. I think Sam's Club is a great place to have membership; that place has some damn deals. Mom used to be one, as well as an employee, and that shit was great. When it comes to skincare, what product could you not go without over the other ones? Where are you most likely to shop for your skincare needs? I could go without any, save of course for a wet washcloth. If I get something for skincare, it's just gonna be at Wal-Mart. Regardless if you aren’t someone who hoards or keeps stuff for a long time, what is one (type of) item that you have a hard time getting rid of? STUFFED ANIMALS. FUCKING CHRIST. If you eat meat, what is at least one vegan item (not necessarily a banana) that you like or would like trying (such as trying a soy ham substitute)? If you don’t eat meat, what is one meat item that you like and understand why people eat it? I have no idea. Being vegan just sounds... gah. I couldn't imagine. Major respect for vegans, man. What is a food that is always better homemade? How about a food that is always better at a restaurant? I don't know about the homemade one. Maybe like... cobblers? Meanwhile, steaks tend to be better at restaurants, I've found. If you watched teen dramas growing up (such as 90210 or One Tree Hill), which one was your favorite or you liked the best? If you watched family sitcoms growing up (such as Full House or The Fresh Prince), which one was your favorite or liked the best? I'm not sure if I watched teen dramas. For family sitcoms, ummm... I loooooooooooved/still love The Nanny. I like the two mentioned as well. What is a tradition either within your country or family that you feel is not needed or could in fact even be bad (ex. using paper plates for every party, eating hot dogs every weekend during the summer, etc)? Getting drunk as a motherfucker on New Year's Eve. Is there something you said you wouldn’t do, but in the end you did it? Yeah, a few things. Are you originally an American, or are you some other kind of nationality? I'm just American, save for like, if ancestry is involved. Then I originate from Europe. Do you sometimes pretend to do things you don't know how to do? No? What was the last compliment you remember someone gave to you? Who was it? Hm, I don't know. Have you ever had one of those pregnancy scares? When did this take place? Two completely unrealistic ones in high school. Are you someone who puts ranch dressing on everything you eat? No. Have you ever personally been friends with a stripper or prostitute? Not to my knowledge. What, to you, is the best way a guy can smell? Give examples? I personally like gentle colognes. How many times a day, on average, do you think critically about something? Twice or so. Are you someone who speaks their mind, or do you hold it all in? It depends. Where do you work at this moment in time? Does this place have insurance? I don't currently work bc I can't be a functioning adult in a work environment without collapsing into panic attacks. :^) If you have tattoos, which one that you have was the most painful? The inside of my forearm. Are you currently in the process of ‘bettering’ yourself as a person? I'm trying to grow more independent. What is something you tend to not be able to stand in the least bit at all? Anti-LGBT bullshit. OH BOY, or anti-vax insanity. Do not even interact with me if you're a "vaccines cause autism" imbecile. Does it make you angry when people complain an excessive amount around you? If it's over stupid shit or an issue you brought about yourself, then yes. At what age did you actually hit puberty? Was it hard for you to handle? I don't remember, and yes, it was. I remember crying outside the day I got my first period because I realized I wasn't a kid anymore. Are you considered a graceful person or are you more clumsy? I'm the clumsiest fuck you'll meet in your entire life. Have you ever sucked in helium? Did your voice change at all? No. Do you know any girls who have an overly manly voice and features? Girls can't be "overly manly," just as men can't be "overly feminine." Do you play any sports? If so, did you meet new friends that way? I did, and yes. Do people ever make fun of you for something you really can't help? No. Do you have any pets who will bite anyone else out there, besides you? No. Have you ever tried chocolate chip waffles? Are they now your favorite? Yes; no. What company are you signed up for car insurance, if any at all? N/A Are you someone who really likes to cook? What’s your favorite meal? No. Are you the candle lighting type? I prefer incense. Is your ex sexually attractive to you still? If he looks anything like he did, yeah. But I haven't even seen a picture of him in forever. Coffee in the morning, yay or nay? Don't like coffee. Do you ever drink your coffee black? N/A Body waxing, yay or nay? Ow, I would never do it. Honeymoon, where? I'd love the pink beaches of the Bahamas... but fuck Bermuda's Triangle, my conspiracy theory ass ain't going near that shit lmao. The black beach in I think... Scotland or whatever will do. Anal sex, yay or nay? Never tried, never will. The concept just really grosses me out. Has anyone ever written on you? Probably. Have you ever dated a fat person? I'd prefer the term "overweight," but w/e, once or twice depending on if you count one relationship as "dating." How many foreign friends do you have? In which countries do they live? Quite a few, having been on the Internet so long... I've got some in Europe and one in Australia. How long have you known the oldest friend you have? "Old" as in who I've had the longest? Since I was ten, I think. If you include my "real" friends. What’s the most interesting story you’ve never told anybody? Good question. When’s the last time you went to a bookstore? What did you buy? Last year when we were threatened by a really bad hurricane. I got The Fault In Our Stars and only read like... ten pages lmao. It wasn't because the book was bad, I just don't read anymore. What’s the most complicated meal you’ve cooked? Hunty I can't cook. I've cooked scrambled eggs and spaghetti like once lmao. What is truly attractive to you? Wisdom, for one. Have you ever come up with your own game? As a kid, yeah. What is something you value a lot in your life? The fact I have my mom in my life hit me first. I. Don't know where the fuck I'd be in life right now if my mom wasn't here with me. Whose hand did you hold last? Sara's. What was the last thing you planted? Oh boy, I have no idea. Oh wait, years ago I grew habaneros only to find out non-pickled ones are fucking gross. What or who was the last thing you gossiped about? I have no clue. I don't really do that. Did anything exciting happen just before you went to sleep last night? Well, my cat literally peed on Mom. That was "exciting." When’s the last time you helped a senior citizen somehow? I don't know. What’s the most selfless act you have done? Man, a lot of "I don't know" in this one. You see a spider web in the corner of your room. What do you do? I'm finding that guy or moving. Have you ever intentionally fed a house spider? No. How do you like your favorite beverage? Cold. What’s your big family secret? We don't have one. Do you answer the phones at your work? I don't have a job. Have you ever given up on someone and then went back to them? Many, many times with my former best friend. Did you wake up in the middle of the night last night? I do every single night, and it sucks ass. What shows do you watch? None. Have you ever broken someone’s heart? I don't know. Has anyone ever told you that you have pretty eyes? Yeah. When’s the last time you had a headache? I think I had a mild one a few days ago? I don't remember. My days are sooo blurred together. Do you know anyone who has been arrested? Yes. Think back to the last person you kissed, how many times have you laughed with them? A whole lot. Have you ever suspected anyone of cheating of on you? Yeah, because of his ex and a believable lie. It was ultimately a good thing that that was what immediately turned me away though, as I don't want to imagine how a long-term relationship with him would've gone, honestly. Who was the last person you kissed? Sara. Do you still talk to the person who hurt you the most in life? No. Who’s the last person you sent a friend request to? I've no clue. I don't really send requests because I don't know more friends on there. Is anyone in your family a criminal? Not by blood. Who was the last person you told to shut up? I don't recall; I don't tell people to shut up, generally. I haven't had a confrontation in a long time, besides the occasional arguments with my mom, and I wouldn't tell her to shut up. What was the last thing you lied to your mother about? I don't remember. Have you ever been in an abusive relationship? No. Name a song that reminds you of a past relationship: I could name 50 that remind me of Jason and myself if I cared enough to. Do you think anyone hates you? One person probably does, at least. What do you think your last ex would say about you? I don't know, but probably something nice. He's my closest friend irl. Do you still talk to the first person you fell in love with? No. Do you still want the last person that hurt you to have a happy life? Yeah. Have you ever had a crush on any of your teachers? No. I, along with like every girl in class, found a former band teacher attractive, but I definitely didn't have an actual crush on the dude. Thank God considering he was eventually fired for relations with a student. Why did your last relationship end? I learned I didn't like him romantically, and also because I discovered I liked Sara instead. How long did it take you to get over your last heartbreak? A year and a half. And that's just when I started moving on. Do you know anyone that looks up to you? I doubt it. Which one of your friends is always serious? I don't think any qualify for that. Are there any people in your life that you wish you never met? Yeah. Do people think you’re a bad person? Probably someone. Do they also think that you’re a slut? I don't see how a single person could think that. Are you with the last person you kissed? Yes. Have you ever been punched? No. How many people do you know that have been to jail? Multiple. Three off the very top of my head. Do you know anyone that sells drugs? I don't think so? Do you know anyone that does drugs? Yes. Do you care about what’s happening in other countries? Well yeah. I care about the world being a good, safe place. Do you think you have a pretty good reputation? I guess, at least as far as being a decent person goes. Meanwhile, I'm sure my rep as being a proper adult and such is shit. Where do you see yourself in 25 years? I don't want to think of that. You’re at a bar, you witness a man drugging some girls drink. What do you do? I'm not even REMOTELY kidding, I'm knocking the fucker OUT, calling the cops, and of course telling the girl. Fuck that guy getting out of that without a black eye. Who is more attractive, someone who is edgy or preppy? I could never, ever be attracted to a preppy person, so guess. I wouldn't want an excessively edgy person either, but I'm NOT into the preppy jazz. Short term dating, or long relationship? I've always been about long-term relationships. Kids? How many? Why? Names? Boy or girl? *Bugs Bunny "no" meme* Ever play that game MASHO?? "I’ve played MASH. I don’t know if MASHO is similar or something different entirely." <<< Same. A sad child, skinny and underfed, approaches you. What do you do? Obviously ask them what's up if they approach me, and from there, it would depend on what they tell me. I'd most likely call the cops first about a child like that because I wouldn't know the appropriate place to actually call; if the kid is underfed to an obvious degree, odds are I shouldn't find their parents first. I'd think it wiser to get some kind of officer to do so and determine if that child should even be with those people for their own good. What happens after death? I hope some kind of peace, but who really knows. Would you cheat on your BF/GF if you knew they would never know? No??????? Because I would know?????????????? And I have a conscience???????????????????????? Do you think there will ever be peace on earth? Why or why not? No. People as a whole can't get along and too many find violence to be the ultimate solution to big problems. Favorite childhood story growing up? I remember I particularly liked Stellaluna because of the drawings, and I enjoyed the actual story of Chrysanthemum. Worst way to die? Why? Some form of slow torture, I'm sure. Because if you've gotta die, make it quick. And humane. What were you in school? Jock, nerd, prep etc… I was recognized as an emo/metalhead thing. Did you ever eat playdoh at a child? I don't think so. Your dreams tend to be? As of the late, violent, at least those that I remember... I wake up attacking the air a lot. Describe your aesthetic? A quiet pastel bunny and a furious but awkward gothic demon are aggressively fucking 24/7 while trying to decide who's top and who's bottom. Do you believe in the afterlife? I believe in something. What book have you re-read so many times that the cover is completely worn? None. Are you a morning person or a night person? I'm in a brighter mood in the morning. Who do you most admire? There're multiple people I look up to for different things. But as for most, yeah, probably Mark. What is your favorite thrift/antique shop find? I love this shipwreck lamp that I have. What is the most incredible place in nature you’ve visited? The mountains. What is your greatest achievement? Still being alive lmao. Is something expensive better than something made with love? Almost never. What do you think of stealing? Uh, don't do it??????? If you could be told when you were going to die, would you want to know? NO. What would you do in case of the zombie apocalypse? Die very early on lmao. Okay but realistically, I'd want to climb somewhere. I'm going to assume a zombie can't figure out ladders 'n shit. What have you learned from pain? You yourself play a big part in making things better. Are you more worried about doing things right or doing the right thing? Doing the right thing. What’s something you know you do differently than most people? Eat biscuits like a fucking caveman by separating parts and eating each individually lol. Would you ever adopt a child? If I actually wanted a kid, yeah. If you could make anything glow in the dark, what would it be? *shrugs* Could you ever picture someone writing a biography about you? Hell no, my life's uneventful as could be.

#survey #quiz #questions #random #bored

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hrhagnes-blog · 6 years ago

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- ̗̀✰ •【 BARBARA PALVIN / CISF / 20 】announcing the arrival of her royal highness, ( AGNES EMMANUELLE LEMAIRE ), the ( PRINCESS ) of ( BELGIUM ). I’ve heard that she is ( PROVOCATIVE ) & ( DISHONEST ) but can also be ( CONVINCING ) & ( CUNNING ). ( AGNES ) is arranged to marry ( ANY FC ). Rumor has it (AGNES IS A DRUG DEALER). We hope you enjoy your stay at London!

i know no self control .

if fairytale princesses used eyeliner and insisted on getting away with murder , agnes would be the perfect one . raised to the peak of protocol by a severe mother and many , many tutors , professors , assistans and advisors , they knew they weren’t raising a queen : they were raising a wife , and primarily a lady , so they did .

agnes is skilled in the art of mingling , she speaks latin , spanish , english , dutch , french , german , russian , gaelic and ASL . her shoulders have never been seen slumping and there’s never been another gesture upon her features that wasn’t that of understandment and quiet attention to what she’s doing . she’s learned typical dances from most europe and certain rhythms from latin america . always a perfect retort , or a decisive silence , always a light laugh that enchants the room .

if fairytale princesses rode motorbikes that they kept hidden near to their castles , if fairytale princesses licked their finger and counted money before handing out a baggie with whatever she’d been asked , if fairytale princesses had three phones - a burner , a “ business “ , and a regular one - , if fairytale princesses did all that , then agnes would be your girl .

a very strict enviroment with such little space to move , between protocol lessons , language lessons , music lessons , literature lessons , geography and world history lessons , psychology lessons , adding to the list archery , horseback riding , dance , theatre , botany , and every weekly outing for the press , it made it so the only times agnes was really able to disconnect from her life were when she would sneak out and into all sorts of places .

the first time she made a type of transaction with anything illegal was when she was fourteen : she liked a boy , and she wanted to impress that boy , a dark - and - mysterious archetype dudebro with too much leather and smelling faintly of stale smoke in the mid - length hair that said very loudly “ i haven’t touched water in three days “ . the antithesis of everything her parents wanted for her . this boy wanted to get high or something like that , they were talking pills with his friends while she sat on his knee with his hand on her waist , and that’s when she mentioned that she could easily get some pills out from her house . the first time it was a gift , but then rumor started to spread and they wanted more , more people wanted more , so she started charging them .

back at that time , it was merely nothing . child’s play . the plot thickened when she was sent to a boarding school in france . by that time , at sixteen , agnes had stabilished a contact web and was dealing larger amounts , had others dealing for her even . her going off to boarding school opened the opportunity to expand her growing business , make it international . so , with royalty pass and a jet of her own , she smuggled amounts of lsd tablets , pills , weed , coke and even heroine per request . with only sixteen , the belgian princess was supplying at least two hotspots for drugs in two different countries , right under everyone’s noses .

it was harmless , kids just wanted those drugs to have fun during the weekends and whenever they were off the hook .

thanks to her fairytale princess facade , nobody ever suspected a thing . agnes graduated high school as a honor student and was valedictorian for the speech . with no effort put , she was accepted into the most prestigious , ivy league colleges , from which she chose stanford . to study what ? she’s not completely sure . second year and she is drifting like a parachute on a windy day .

however , the good girl facade has been breaking . as of late , what with being in college and not under her parents’ noses anymore , she’s really gotten a tight grip on her freedom . for most of her life , she’d sneak out dressed like a posh girl , then change at a bar - pub nearby , leave her clothes with the barman ( older guy that she both befriended and had a couple of casual fucks with ) , put makeup on in the bathroom , and go out to do her thing being a completely different being from the one that had walked in , only for retracing her steps before she could sneak back in and pretend she hadn’t been out all night .

as of the past two years , the paps have been running wild with the stories the belgian princess sparks in the college campus . for her , it’s just the tip of the iceberg ... and a personal victory . bold makeup and publicly making out with whoever she wants , appearing disheveled because of exam season , in bunny slippers and traces of smudged eyeliner beneath her eyes , and the secret service being constantly dismissed “ for the day “ . being human , finally human .

what with moving to usa for studying , she unlinked herself for the most part from the small drug path she’d built in europe , putting it on hold or delegating , and setting it again in usa , where she was required to take some lengthier measures for ensuing the quality of her product .

agnes doesn’t sell to just anybody , she’s not some corner drug dealer , she gets the good stuff for what it’s really worth ( a lot ) and in return demands complete confidentiality . if someone doen’t have a high - reaching surname , they sure are going to have a hard time getting anything from her other than a pat on the back and you’re so funny that means get lost more clearly than the sky is blue .

whether she’s a sweetheart or a raging bitch , nobody’s really sure . she’s a phony , she will sell herself to the highest bidder and appear to be happy about it . hardly ever does she reveal her true thoughts and there aren’t many people that have seen anything other than ... ice . molten lava and ice .

fun facts :

is a vegetarian .

broke a leg rollerskating and never did it again .

has a white kitten that shadows her , molly .

she used to be a drug user when she was dating the older guy , but ditched them up until the last year of boarding school , when she picked it up again and hasn’t dropped it anymore . doesn’t consider herself to be addicted .

she used to be the apple of her family’s eye when she was younger , and while she always could mold herself to fit it ( to be perfect ) , agnes hates it completely .

hasn’t spoken to her parents in a year , after a particularly “ scandalous “ note came out on TMZ and they insisted that’d “ ruin all her prospects at finding a good spouse “ . how much damage can a few naked pictures make ?

what she really wants is to be a model , but her parents don’t condone it and want her to study something related to science , or politics .

she can do a keg stand for hours .

does yoga every morning outdoors , no matter where she is .

she knows martial arts for self defense , also twisted her mother’s hand on them training her in the use of knives . security first .

changes boyfriends like scarves .

can charm her way out of any situation .

comes off as the fairytale , dreamy princess .

she’s actually fuckin’ adorable , just has a few issues but she wants love , love and lots of space to do what the fuck ever she wants .

she has some v spiritual beliefs .

when she’s in europe , she handles business wherever she is . when she’s in usa , she handles business there , and so forth .

hellfire club member .

is a sagittarius .

#drugs cw #buckingham:intro #well this is a bit longer than expected .#* about.

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