#dearcliffe

[dalmatianplantationsensation]

Everything Has Changed || Dearcliffe

Roger Radcliffe had a letter from the Edinburgh College of Art. It was a thick letter and Roger knew what that meant and the thought of that both thrilled him and terrified him and finally after avoiding the envelope for the better part of the day as he ran around chasing the dogs and wrangling them for their baths, he closed the porch door and sat down on the dining table and held the letter.

His name was printed on it, all official: ROGER JOHNATHAN RADCLIFFE

He took a deep breath and opened it

Dear Mr. Radcliffe, began the letter. We are pleased to inform you…

The university had accepted him. They accepted him and he could afford it. He could – there was – he was going to university. His mother’s dream for herself, for him later on. A distant dream that Roger never thought he’d even want, not till this past year or so, not till the lessons he was giving had become more important to him than he’d ever thought –

Then there was the other thing. The thing that he and Anita had decided after their argument outside the restaurant, which was, namely, not to decide. Not till they got all the information. Because Roger thought he wouldn’t get in. Because Roger didn’t want to make that decision. Because if he didn’t have to utter anything painful, he’d prefer that that was the case. Because, then he’d follow Anita to Brighton and he knew he’d do alright for himself there and he could give up his dreams of uni in peace.

But here was uni, in an envelope, in his hand, closer than ever.

He pulled out his phone and shot Anita a text – he was supposed to come over anyway, but he wanted to tell her before. He said he would.

Got the uni letter. I got in!

The exclamation point felt like it was mocking them. He swallowed.

If anything, the latest Swynlake adventure or whatever the bloody hell you wanted to call it (god it had been awful) had brought them oddly together – something about that forbidden romance (and the hot sex). And in the last few months, with the thought of the future shelved for now, they had enjoyed themselves. As he walked over, Roger realised that this would be the last time it would be like this.

The sun was setting and Roger realised that this conversation would change everything; that more likely than not, it would change things for the worse. It was warm, still, the late August air heavy. He drew a deep breath, wanting to shorten his steps, wanting to preserve this in-between sort of time –

But he reached her door. He gave it a buzz. He smiled.

“You look lovely,” he said. He said that always, for it was always true, and he leaned to kiss her.

@truly-aninspiration

[truly-aninspiration-blog]

11:15 To Edinburgh || Dearcliffe

@dalmatianplantationsensation

Summary: Anita sees Roger off to his next great adventure. 

ANITA:

Today, Roger had a train to catch.

He was headed off, you see-- up north, to the rolling hills of Scotland, to the old stony walls of Edinburgh. There was a little flat with his deposit on it, close to a little tea and book shoppe. There were a few boxes shipped up there waiting for him. He’d have a new roommate, someone with a very Scottish name who was also doing some sort of graduate program at the University of Edinburgh. And classes would start very, very soon.

Roger was off, onto a brand new adventure. And Anita was not going with him.

She had woken up beside him early in the morning with this singular thought running through her brain. She felt like she hadn’t slept, though, not all night. She just kept waking up and twisting in the covers, to check to see if Roger was still there. And every time she spotted him, her heart had caught-- and she’d sighed in relief, knowing she had just a few more hours with him.

A few hours turned to two hours, then one hour, and then very little at all. When the alarm went off, Anita pretended to wake up fresh and kissed his scratchy cheek. “Do you think we have a little time for tea?” she’d asked him.

“There’s always time for tea,” he responded, and Anita fell in love with him all over again. But she would still not be going with him.

The morning bustled. Anita followed on Roger’s heel, going down a list of things that he must have for his trip (You packed socks? Do you have your wallet? Your IDs? Your library cards? A book to read? A pen? You must never go anywhere without a pen, darling.) They lined up Roger’s suitcases and she went all over it again, just to be safe.

“You sure you have everything?” she pressed, but of course, Roger did.

(But not Anita-- she would not be going with him.)

So for the last time, they scampered out of Anita’s humble flat. The luggage wheels ricketed down the hallway and then bounced along the cobblestone streets. They turned onto Main Street and began to walk down. It was a rather boring, misty morning outside, rather typical of Swynlake, but Anita didn’t think she’d want it any other way. Best remember Swynlake the way it usually was.

Though that was impossible when you were someone like Anita. As they passed by all the usual shoppes, she looked at them all as though she were seeing them for the first time.

It felt like that, didn’t it? Even if she’d return down this street in a half-hour and remain her another week or two before it was her time to proper move. Even then-- after Roger left, well, it felt as though Swynlake simply wouldn’t be the same.

He had been there since the beginning, after all.

“Oh, we should stop in Hatter’s,” she announced as she saw it approaching. She blinked rapidly and looked at him. “Shouldn’t we? I know we already had tea but-- perhaps a scone or something? You can’t leave Swynlake without one more trip to Hatter’s, Rog,” she said and smiled like it was simply a tease. But she meant it quite seriously. Or maybe she was just trying to stall.

ROGER

He had not been able to sleep a wink.

This feelin’ of pickin’ up everything he knew wasn’t unfamiliar. He could recall that same flutter in his stomach, equal parts excitement and equal parts like he was leavin’ everything he’d ever known behind.

So he’d stared at the ceiling most of the night and tried to imagine what was gonna happen next -- would he like his new roommate, for instance? What would it be like goin’ back to school after so long? Would he be the oldest, stickin’ out among the crowd of uni kids?

What would happen with Anita?

That was the question that kept creepin’ back into his mind. He pushed it away, because he knew he shouldn’t be questioning that. If this was gonna work, he had to believe in it. In the two of them. Believe that they could do it.

Even so, in some early hour of the morning, he’d glanced over at Anita as she slept besides him, a triangle of blue light spilling across her face and he wanted to take that blue on her face and keep it with him always. He heard the melody of a song that did not exist and he pulled her close and held her tight.

<>

“I suppose we can pop in for a scone,” said Roger, even though the train was coming quite soon and he knew that they should be at the station, probably, or at least on the way over. But they had been making good time, after all, and the town was small and even though he had said quiet goodbyes as he walked through all the streets and passed all the buildings he’d grown to love, they were still on track.

He squeezed Anita’s hand, leaning to steal a kiss from her -- he was stealing loads of kisses from her this morning, tuckin’ them away so he’d have something to hold onto.

“‘Slong as we take it to go, I think we’ll be on time -- it’d be a shame not to stop by Hatter’s.”

ANITA:

“Exactly my thinking,” she said and then, grasping his hand, ducked into the tea shoppe.

It was, as expected, exactly the same. In the early morning hours there were only a few people sat at the tables, and a few who’d queued up for their morning coffees and teas before going to work. This was just slightly before Anita herself would have arrived before work-- when she had work. She’d gotten a little Swynlake-specific routine down and things operated by that routine or Anita could focus all day. All of her best days, then, began right here: in the tea shoppe.

Since she lost her job, that routine had been in a flux and so too had Anita’s mood. She saw right away how silly she’d been to skip her morning jaunts to tea. Just entering Hatter’s and smelling the fresh coffee on the pot made her feel better.

It also made her feel sad. She squeezed at Roger’s hand and tried to ignore that feeling, but it bloomed as they stood in the queue. For it was here, wasn’t it, where they’d finally gotten their proper beginning? Anita glanced toward the table now-- no one was sitting at it yet. She could see the ghosts of the two of them though.

“You want to get dinner?” Roger had asked her “Like, dinner-dinner? As in, I’ll pay and it’ll be date.”

All those years of waiting, of back and forth and misunderstandings and dreadful timings, and it had come down to just one question in this tea shoppe.

“Do you remember?” Anita said then suddenly. She couldn’t ignore the nostalgia even if she wanted to. “You asked me out here. What was it-- for a-- very early dinner or a very late lunch?” Anita smiled up at Roger. “That happened right here, Rog.”

“Oi, what can I get for you?” asked the barista at that moment, for baristas, you know, have no concern for things like nostalgia and moments. They have a queue to get through and coffee to brew.

Anita jerked her head back and her face reddened a bit, but she stepped forward. “Oh yes, yes, um-- a black tea with lemon, please, and-- the strawberry white chocolate scone, I think, and-- anything else, Roger?” she said and looked back at him.

ROGER:

It had happened here -- not just the first ever date that they had been on. Hatter’s had been the first place that he and Anita had stepped into when they crossed paths, right after the two of them had happened to plop right into Swynlake.

This town had brought them together. In more ways than one.

Now they were leaving it. Hatter’s. The Plantation. The lake. The park. Town Hall. All of it.

There’d be old castles and foggy highlands and university halls for Roger. A bright beach and bustling boardwalk and fancy theatre for Anita. It would be different. They’d make do. They’d tell each other all about their old castles and bright beaches and foggy highlands and bustling boardwalks. They’d complain about their uni halls and theatre rows (but also they’d love them).

It would work. This was the best option.

(He wished she could -- that she would -- come with him).

“I’ll take an Earl Grey, lots of cream, just a smidge of sugar. And… a Bakewell tart for me.” He reached into his pocket, handing the money over to the barista before Anita could fetch her pocket book.

“Gotta keep the tradition, yeah?” said Roger, with a wink. “‘I’ll pay and it’ll be a date”.”

He leaned to kiss her on the forehead yet again, as if all these stolen kisses he were collecting would somehow fill the shape of her once his train left the platform. ‘Course it wouldn’t -- nothing could. But still, the thought of it was romantic enough and he slipped an arm around her waist as they waited.

The lad behind the counter handed them the little brown baggies and the cups. Their last Hatter’s order. Roger would forever remember black tea with lemon with a strawberry and white chocolate scone and Earl Grey, loads of cream, light sugar with a Bakewell tart.

“Well,” he said, looking at Anita. “Shall we?”

ANITA:

Anita briefly wished they had enough time to sit down in that little corner, that little corner that would forevermore be theirs-- even after the two of them were gone. It’d be nice to sip tea and chew at their treats and pretend that today was any other day. She’d miss the sameness of it all, Anita realized. She loved her routines. She loved that Swynlake had become as cozy as a sweater to her. It was going to be much harder to leave than she thought. It would be even harder to not think about Swynlake-- and all that had happened here-- when she was in her new home.

Anita looked away from the little seat though and smiled softly at Roger. It was best, she supposed, not to linger on such nostalgic things. She’d miss these very last moments if she did.

And so she slipped her hand into his again and squeezed it very tight. “We shall, Mr. Radcliffe,” she said, with a brief nose wrinkle in his direction.

And they did.

The two of them walked out of Hatter’s and back onto Main Street. The morning mist had yet to lift, but the tea in Anita’s other hand warmed her from her fingertips to her toes. They walked down, down, passing the police and fire station, passing Town Hall (where Anita used to go every single day-- so funny, how quickly those routines that Anita loved changed), passing Whosits and Whatsits too, and then passing Pixie’s.

They walked and they walked, the suitcases dragged behind them catching now and again on the stone. But they just pulled it on.

It was a brisk walk, and a quiet one, and many times Anita wanted to say something, but she didn’t quite know what she wanted to say. Maybe it was simply-- goodbye, as she passed.

Goodbye to Main Street! Goodbye to the Swynlake oak trees! Goodbye to Castle Road and goodbye to the calm waters of Atlantis Lake!

They arrived at the train station, the platform even quieter than the rest of the town-- and no one there but Roger and Anita.

Anita bit at her lip and looked at the old clockface ticking away.

“Just a few minutes now. Hopefully it won’t be late,” she commented. I hope it will be late, she thought to herself.  Because-- for all of Anita’s goodbyes-- Anita still had no idea how she was going to say goodbye to Roger.

ROGER

He remembered the first time he’d set foot on this train platform, his first step into Swynlake, actually. It’d been scary, ‘course it had, but he felt that thrill of anticipation. Hell -- he’d written a whole song about it on the train ride over, wonderin’ about what all it really meant, if he was just searchin’ for something he was never gonna get.

But he’d found Anita here. He’d found Perdita and Paul and they’d all found each other.

And he found what he wanted to do next. His next step. A clearer step than he’d had in ages.

He just wished it didn’t mean leaving Anita.

The train was supposed to come in just a few minutes or so. He wanted those few minutes to feel like the ten minutes on Friday afternoon back in school before a three-day holiday, the few minutes waitin’ for Mum and Dad to unwrap Christmas gifts.

He slipped his hand from Anita’s and instead, wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close so that his cheek rested on her hair.

He wanted to say something -- anything. Something about how he didn’t want to leave this platform right now. Something about how he would see her again, so soon. Something about how he would write her the minute he was on the train, send the letter the minute he got off.

But all he could say was, “I love you so much.”

It came out a little soft, a little choked, and there was a lovely moment after he said it, a warm, blooming thing he wanted to keep forever, before it was punctuated by the whistle of the train.

ANITA:

They hugged. Roger pulled her close and Anita’s arms slipped around him, her hands locking against his spine.  She held him tightly, but it didn’t feel tight enough. There was still so much space between them even as close as they were. And if there was all this space even now, how could Anita bear to be hundreds and hundreds of miles away?

She knew that she must bear it. She knew that this was what was best for both of them.

But in Roger’s arms, she didn’t know anything, not really. All she had was her heart. And in Roger’s arms, her heart was home.

The train whistle screeched behind her. Anita clung even tighter as her heart rate sped up. And then she thought of her father--

Be brave now, Anita, he would tell her. That’s what he said on the day she took the train to Cambridge. He’d traveled with her to the train station but couldn’t come get her settled, for he had work. He knew that she was terrified though. One look at her big eyes and pink cheeks told him that.

She had to be brave again. Pulling away, she sniffled a bit, the tears bright in her eyes. She didn’t even bother to stop them from falling, for one was already spilling down her cheek. She laughed at how silly she was though and tried to wipe the tears away.

“I love you too, Rog. Oh, look at me, I’m a mess and you’re still here,” she said and wiped at the other eye. She blinked even faster, and then grasped at the front of his shirt. “You best get on that train right now, before I can’t even form a sentence, eh? I love you,” she said it again. You could never say something important like that enough, not at a train station or an airport or all the other places where people say goodbye.

She popped up onto her toes and kissed him, a hand on his scratchy cheek. It didn’t last long enough.

She fell back onto her heels. “Okay-- go, go! You’ll be brilliant!”

ROGER

Anita was crying. Roger felt that he might cry too -- hell, he was crying. Tearing up. Doing his best to blink it all away and be strong, be brilliant as she said.

He looked at her now and it felt so hard to be strong, to be brilliant, when all he wanted to do was be with Anita.

But he couldn’t stay. Roger couldn’t go to Brighton. There was nothing for him in Brighton, nothing new, at least. Sure he could play pubs and he could work in a shop somewhere to tithe him over between paychecks, but it wasn’t gonna be a step in the future like the one he was gonna be makin’.

It was gonna be okay. They would be okay.

He squeezed Anita’s hand one last time, ducking his head a little because he didn’t want her to see him cry.

“Goodbye Anita,” he said and he wanted to hold onto her hand forever, but the train gave another whistle and he had to carry up his bags, so he let go of her hand and turned around, picking up his bags. Before he stepped up onto the train, he glanced over his shoulder, smiling back at her, looking back.

“I love you!” he called out. Roger could feel his heart hammering. He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. His chest felt tight. He just had to do it, just had to get on the train.

So Roger took a deep breath and stepped onto the train, trying to focus his nervous, sadness on finding an empty seat.

ANITA:

Roger turned away from her.

Wait! caught in her throat.

He picked up her bags.

Wait! There the word was again.

She watched as he bustled on, the mist lifting around them and the train whistle screeching through the air, the loudest thing in the morning. She watched because that was what she was here to do. Anita had come to see him off-- to stand here at the platform and be the last thing that Roger saw as the train pulled out and took him to all that strange and unfamiliar.

She would wave to him and he would wave to her from the window. They’d wave until the train took the bend. And even then, Anita promised Roger she’d still be waving. She’d not leave until the train was gone. Completely gone. The ticking of its wheels on the tracks faded, and the air still again.

She promised these things. She tried to hold onto her promise as Roger boarded the train.

Maybe she could have done it too. Maybe. If Roger hadn’t turned back to look at her and shouted “I love you!” even louder than the whistle.

Her heart leapt from where she was standing then. And she thought again. Wait!

Wait, but for what?

For me!

The train doors closed, and Anita panicked. She leapt into motion too, chasing after her heart which had gotten caught on the wrong side of the door. No-- she was on the wrong side of the door, and so she darted to the train and pounded on it.

“Don’t leave! Stop, don’t leave!” she shouted. A face squinted through the slim windows on the door. “I have a ticket!” she shouted, she lied.

The doors opened.

“Ticket ma’am?” said the inspector.

Anita pushed past him, ignoring his exclaim. She rushed down the train compartment and shouted Roger’s name.

“Roger! Roger, wait! I’m here!”

“Ma’am, your ticket!” snapped the inspector, hot on her trail.

“I’m coming to Edinburgh!”

“Someone stop this woman!” the inspector reached out and caught Anita by the arm.

She whirled on him and tried to yank her arm away. The man had a firm grip and beady, hateful eyes, if you asked Anita. Her own brightened with her anger. “Let go of me, you cad. I’ll pay for a bloody ticket, I’m trying to-- this is a very romantic-- gesture--and you’re ruining it--” she huffed, then smashed her foot down on the man’s foot.

He yelped and let her go, and then Anita was off again, racing down the compartment until she collided into Roger’s arms. Anita brushed at some of her hair, askew from her dramatic flight here, smoothing it back, and then smiling.

“Roger, damn Brighton. I’m coming with you,” she repeated.

ROGER

It all happened very fast.

One moment, Roger had been stealing glances out of the window, keeping his eye on Anita’s figure. Then he’d spotted an empty place for his luggage and had reached to lift up one of his bags, only when he glanced out the window this time, Anita wasn’t there --

His heart clenched. He feared the worst. He turned around, ready to dash out, ready to find Anita, ready to --

There was commotion towards the front of the train. Roger’s heart caught in his throat, for it was a voice he knew, calling his name, for it was a familiar flash of red hair.

“Anita!” he called out, rushing through the aisles of the train, bags be damned. He muttered apologies as he maneuvered past people, wishing that the path to Anita was not so cluttered.

But damn the narrow aisles, damn the bags strewn on the floor, damn the old women gawking at him and the young kids giggling -- he’d faced worse to get to her, he had. This was nothing. This was absolutely nothing.

She was right there, and Roger called her name as she collided right into his arms and she spoke.

Roger, damn Brighton. I’m coming with you.

He didn’t process it at first, still giddy with the fact that she was in his arms, that he didn’t have to say goodbye just yet. Then he heard it. I’m coming with you.

“Anita -- you -- I -- “

Roger cupped her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth, pulling away a little breathless. Anita in Edinburgh with him. The two of them, in Edinburgh, together. The two of them. Together.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” He was breathless, head spinning, looking at her like she was the most real thing in this whole world “I want you to come with me. You just said you would, I don’t know why I’m repeating that, Anita. I sound like a fool. I just want you with me, always.”

ANITA:

Roger kissed here, there in the middle of the train compartment. And you know, Anita would compare it to her favourite books and movies, but oh, why ruin it? The truth was it was so much better.

He kissed her and she kissed him back, her hands clutching tightly onto his shirt. This time, she swore to herself, she wouldn’t let go.

Because she saw it all clearly now. The Brighton mist had lifted for Anita and through it shined a different sun. There, the hills of Edinburgh and the grand castle looking over their new life together. They’d find themselves a brand new tea shoppe to go to every morning and to meet at between Roger’s classes. There were theatres up in Edinburgh and Anita would get a job there, because she was not the same sweet, shy Anita who relied on her family for her favours. She had outgrown that. She had grown into something else, and that something else fit perfectly in Roger’s arms.

And so she’d be fine. And so would Roger. Because they’d build a life together and this time and  talk it all the way through.

Yes, yes, yes, she wanted to say and laugh, like she was accepting a marriage proposal. Yes, I am so certain.

And Anita did laugh, but mostly because people around them had begun to clap. Some old man two seats away put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. Anita covered her lips, giggling behind them. She looked up at Roger with all that delight and saw his own reflected. They had always been mirrors for one another.

Then her hands slipped back down and clutched his shirt again. “And so do I. Oh Rog, I’ve wanted you to ask me since you got that letter. But how silly of me to wait. We must stop waiting for each other and get on with it, eh?” she teased. “So yes, I’m sure. Let’s us go be brilliant together.”

“Kiss her again!” hooted the old man, which made Anita laugh.

“Are you going to buy a ticket or not?” huffed the inspector. He tapped his pocket watch. “It’s all very romantic, I see, but we have a schedule to keep.”

And so Anita blushed and reached back into her purse. “Yes, um, of course. I’m terribly sorry.”

“Oh no you’re not,” said the sullen inspector.

And he was right. Anita was very much not sorry at all.  

[silvermist-jeon-blog]

Dearcliffe

What a strange being you are, God knows where I would be If you hadn't found me, sitting all alone in the dark A dumb screenshot of youth Watch how a cold broken teen Will desperately lean on a superglued human of proof What the hell would I be, without you Brave face talk so lightly, hide the truth

'Cause I'm sick of losing soulmates, so where do we begin I can finally see, you're as fucked up as me So how do we win?

@dalmatianplantationsensation; @truly-aninspiration

I will go down with this goddamn ship.

#dearcliffe5ever

Okay look, my feelings about Dearcliffe and Louita and Ranch Lesbians are all... shattered and scattered and muddled and horribly biased, but at the heart of it all I am a Dearcliffe shipper. They just... they’re so... how do I even put this connection into words? It’s tangible; when the two of them are in a room together you can feel the air trying to pull and push and force them together. They’re beautiful in that quiet, quaint way: Rog pecking around on his piano while Anita smiles to herself and paints. And they have that friendship where the lines get all muddled, the way Silly was in the beginning. There are feelings and they know that but they’re best friends and they don’t know how they’re supposed to come out on top in either scenario. Please excuse me while I go silently cry to myself.

[silverbooklamp]

[ber-bonfamille-lyons]

📖 - milano 💋 - dark squad, calliara 📨 - lads, dearcliffe, sink demo, berly

📖 - milano

November 2015

....in other news, I had lunch once again with the fascinating Miss Jane Porter! It was by far the highlight of my week thus far, taking into consideration the dreadful nature of examinations and all those papers I have to work through. But for a blissful hour, I didn’t think about any of those things. How could I? Miss Porter was busy filling my head with tales of her travels. She’s seen an actual elephant! Imagine that, a real live elephant. It reminds me very fondly of my lunches with Grandpa Thad, he always had the most amazing stories too...I should probably be careful how much time I spend with her, if only because she’ll quickly discover I have no such stories of my own and then grow bored of me. Or, I guess, I’ll just have to do something worth...telling a story about! Maybe I’ll discover something in the cave this weekend and then tell Miss Jane Porter about it during tea...

💋 dark squad.

“Darling, you’ll want to compliment the hair. He’ll be yours in the hour.” 

💋 Calliara

“Bitch that’s my GIRLFRIEND BYE.” 

📨  Lads

PAUL: [picture of himself in a tux] how GREAT do I look? 

📨  Dearcliffe

ANITA: picking up some tea from hatter’s

📨  Sink Demo

MERIDA: [text with a link to some buzzfeed article about like most haunted toilets in Great Britain.] 

📨  BERLY

BER: [link to a new release from some dope indie shit im sure idk lets just go with neko case] this made me think of u 

[lou-bonfightme]

Toulouse Henri Bonfamille and Anita Beatrice Dearly - Louita Aesthetic

Because no one else was gonna do it. Look, I love Dearcliffe, I do. Hellooo--I named them dearcliffe. BUT BUT--Louita is one of those things that kind of came about on accident and I just loved how they complimented one another. They were both artists and Anita is rather shy, where as Lou is bold. But, Anita was feisty and put Lou in his place. Lou doesn’t do emotions very well, but Anita was so gentle guiding him through it and they were both so out of their depth but willing to preserver through it because they mutually respected and cared about one another and it was so BEAUTIFUL. RIP. 

@truly-aninspiration

MK’s Valentine’s Day Aesthetics (for MK) || 1/7

[littlebrother-mowgli-blog]

8, 9, 10, 13

what is each of your muses otps? notps?I want to clarify that by otp i dont really mean otp i mostly mean i ship it currently tho i mean simber is my OTP to Rule Them All 

Mel- otp: dark squad holla for open relationships / notp: no oneBer- otp: SIMBER / notp: idk uh anyone who would hurt him,,,,, Kiara- otp: i love callie/alice/kiara rn idk if thats otp but!! / notp: i say kella but also i loved kella with my problematic heartHades- otp: Helle / notp: no oneMilo- otp: milano / notp: uh. Nala- otp: idk? / notp: uh Kiki-  otp: idk? / notp: uh Anita- otp: dearcliffe and lowkey pernita / notp: paulita Paul- otp: fate but also lowkey gorgeous bartender / notp: paulita Prince- otp: CINDER PRINCE  / notp: prince and any of his children Andrina- otp: uh i really dig mandyandy / notp: mercest Merida- otp: sink demo is c o o l lowkey meric / notp: phillidaMowgli- otp: peace and happiness / notp: more pain

9 is answered 10. which muse is the most fun to write for?This is a hard question! I mean, I REALLY strive very hard for each muse to give me something diff in terms of style/voice w/e. I get giddy writing Mel and Kiki posts. I LOVE writing Andy’s posts a lot of the times, she’s just so fun. When I get in the groove for Ber, he breaks me i cry. When Hades clicks also, sometimes I think it’s some of my strongest stuff- the sentences are crisp and concise and pack punches. Mowgli’s already filling me with so much joy in terms of the imagery and tone. so!!!!!! idk leave me alone

13. what’s a weird headcanon you have for each of your muses?

Mel- idk whats weird uh. when she was little she was super excited for her bro to develop powers and when he didnt, she was lowkey heartbroken 

Ber- uh when he was very small he was too scared to hold marie because he thought he’d drop her and hurt her. whenever he broke anything, even if it was just like a normal glass or something, he always tried to put it back together again in secret with glue and probably cut his fingers. breaking things was a big concern of his, basically. he’s always been very concerned about things breaking. 

Kiara- Kiara doodles on her wrist and arm during class

Hades- Hades once worked in the petrol station with his grandfather 

Milo- His grandfather once took him to a psychic to see if his big ol brain was magic– but it wasnt! 

Nala- When Nala was in London, she tried to have a one night stand, freaked out, and climbed out the dude’s window. she almost called simba but remembered that he had totally ghosted her and he wouldnt pick up anyway :/ 

Kiki- Kiki’s Aunt is the one who taught her how to cook more than her mother. Also, her father is a librarian! (I know i never mention kiki’s dad)

Anita- Anita’s father used to read her bedtime stories

Prince- He used to have a secret stash of stuff that Willow gave him but after Father Prince found out, Father Prince destroyed it all :/ 

Paul- whenever he and ambrosia fought, she banned him from the Spot. This doesnt last long which is good bc literally ppl will not let him in 

Andrina- She has a queen bed and half of it is slept in and the other half is literally like a staging area like her laptop lives there and also like her phone and snacks– yeah snacks– and like school work and sweatsers and clothes its unlivable but she lives with it. 

Merida- her fuckin COUSIN DONNIE once tried to kiss her and she kneed him in the groin (they arent tech related by blood– but stiLL gross - merida)

Mowgli- Mowgli had a pretty normal ish schedule for a boy tbh. He had lessons in the morning, chores in the afternoon, and helped his mother with her fabrics when he was done with those. Mowgli often times sped through his chores so he could romp and explore tho

[andrina-the-amazingsupergenius]

Milano, Dark Squad, Dearcliffe, annnd let's toss in McTriton why noT ur on ANdy

Milano

who’s more into cars? Gotta be Jane bc milo dont gaf

who’s traveled more? Jane

who swears more often? Jane. Milo says likes like Neptune! and By jove! 

who believes in ghosts? canon

who would plant a garden in the backyard? uh jane? 

who would paint the walls in the living room an obnoxious color without asking the other? jaaane bc milo would literally never paint

who owns more shoes? jane

who takes up most of the counter space in the bathroom? jane wow 

who’s the big spoon? JANE lmao i mean milo does big spoon sometimes

who has the kinkier fetish? (bonus points: what is the fetish?) jane christ-- uh idk she probably would like some bdsm and threesome and stuff those arent fetishes rly but

who forces the other to recycle? jane forces milo

who always leaves their dishes in the sink? who ends up cleaning them? milo leaves the dishes but they do trade off 

who would be more likely to cook the other a romantic surprise meal? jane christ

who’s more likely to come home with a romantic gift just because? uh-- jane? I dunno milo is prone to spontaneous amazon orders though so she’d probably get some of those in the mail randomly tho they also arent romantic 

who’s parents are more controlling? milo’s would have been very controlling. his mother would have wanted him to go into a real science, not a magic field. so milo. but they died so

who was more popular in high school? jane lmao

who is more frugal? milo... mm. i dunno? equal maybe? milo is used to living on very little so he might skimp ahead of jane 

Dark squad

who’s more into cars? howl for status or good instas

who’s traveled more? hmm probably equal on this front

who swears more often? ...hmm. toss up

who believes in ghosts? canon

who would plant a garden in the backyard? Mel 

who would paint the walls in the living room an obnoxious color without asking the other? Howl

who owns more shoes? Howl

who takes up most of the counter space in the bathroom? Howl

who’s the big spoon? Mel

who has the kinkier fetish? (bonus points: what is the fetish?) Mel probably in that she likes 2 whip Howl sometimes what 

who forces the other to recycle? they make kiki do it 

who always leaves their dishes in the sink? who ends up cleaning them? mel cleans howl’s dishes or she spells them

who would be more likely to cook the other a romantic surprise meal? mel cooks more but i dont think she’d ever cook a romantic surprise meal so 

who’s more likely to come home with a romantic gift just because? are we considering skeletons romantic or 

who’s parents are more controlling? Howl’s

who was more popular in high school? Howl? he had a rough childhood tho. mel was homeschooled and she didnt get along with her fellow apprentices

who is more frugal? Mel but also she like rly takes whatever she wants so 

Dearcliffe

who’s more into cars? neither

who’s traveled more? Anita 

who swears more often? i feel like Anita is prone to swearing when she’s upset and sober but roger swears a lot when he’s drunk

who believes in ghosts? canon

who would plant a garden in the backyard? anita 

who would paint the walls in the living room an obnoxious color without asking the other? Anita 

who owns more shoes? Anita 

who takes up most of the counter space in the bathroom? A..nita? 

who’s the big spoon? Roger

who has the kinkier fetish? (bonus points: what is the fetish?) uh anita...? I dunno their fetishes would match for the most part. the whole cumming on a girl’s face would probably offend anita a bit tbh. but she’s not against getting spanked so idk there’s the line apparently

who forces the other to recycle? Anita 

who always leaves their dishes in the sink? who ends up cleaning them? Roger, and Anita cleans them

who would be more likely to cook the other a romantic surprise meal? Anita? Roger can u cook

who’s more likely to come home with a romantic gift just because? Roger for sure he buys stuff whenever he sees something that reminds him of anita 

who’s parents are more controlling? Anita’s

who was more popular in high school? Anita

who is more frugal? Honestly tbh it could be Anita bc she’s very sensitive that she doesnt have money but Roger has lived that way his whole life so i feel like he’d be a bit more like paul in that if he gets some cash he’d be like ah i should treat myself, drinks on me !! instead of investing it. maybe. 

McTriton

who’s more into cars? Andrina. She actually really digs cars

who’s traveled more? ...Al? 

who swears more often? Andrina

who believes in ghosts? canon

who would plant a garden in the backyard? I feel like Al would want to grow his own spices like mint and basil and shit. idk why maybe he wouldnt just feels like a ‘project’ he could get into

who would paint the walls in the living room an obnoxious color without asking the other? andrina 

who owns more shoes? andrina 

who takes up most of the counter space in the bathroom? andrina bc she doesnt know how to put things away

who’s the big spoon? Al but Andrina gives it a go sometimes and she always shouts  “JETPACK” before she does 

who has the kinkier fetish? (bonus points: what is the fetish?) u know Andrina isnt actually that kinky. so ima go with al 

who forces the other to recycle? al

who always leaves their dishes in the sink? who ends up cleaning them? andrina, al cleans them

who would be more likely to cook the other a romantic surprise meal? it would have to be al but andrina will make u kraft mac n cheese

who’s more likely to come home with a romantic gift just because? al for  sure

who’s parents are more controlling? Andrina’s 

who was more popular in high school? Andrina

who is more frugal? Al 

[dalmatianplantationsensation]

A Merry Little Christmas || Dearcliffe

Roger Radcliffe had a gig two days before Christmas.

Only problem? Well, it was a paired gig, you see, but his partner, one of Powell’s other students, a jazz singer named Christy, had gotten tonselitis and had to drop out. Roger could do the gig on his own, mind you, only thing was the resturant that had booked him wanted a singing and piano gig, not just a piano gig and Rog was a little rusty on his singing. Plus most of the arrangments they’d practiced needed two people, not just one and--well, okay long story short, here he was, few days before the gig in the room with the glass doors in the plantation that held the piano.

Anita was here too, since they were going to go out for a spot of tea afterwards, after he’d finished playing.

Roger was playing “Silver Bells”--one of his favourites, and not singing yet, but he caught sight of Anita and shifted to a different song.

“:Have yourself a Merry little Christmas,” he sang to her. Let your heart be light--Anita, help me out here, this arrangement’s a duet.” He pouted his lip a little bit, imrpovising a bit of a riff on the last note to stall for time.

@truly-aninspiration

[truly-aninspiration-blog]

The Arrival of Mirella Dearly || Dearcliffe

@dalmatianplantationsensation

Mirella Dearly had arrived promptly at 11:00 AM sharp, because Mirella Dearly was never late. Even if the train had been delayed, Mirella Dearly would have found a way to step onto the Swynlake platform at 11:00 AM, as she had originally told Anita in their third phone call, and then confirmed in a written letter that arrived two days after since Mirella was always quite thorough. And so it was at 11:00 AM that Anita waited there on the train platform, Roger at her side, feeling a mix of things and unable to identify one from the other. It was like a tapestry of feeling, each string of emotion entirely tied up into the next. She could not be nervous without also being excited (if that flutter was nerves, or if that flutter was excitement, that is-- she really didn’t know.)

She just knew it had been a very, very long time since she last saw her mother. That the last time had been in their old London home, the last of the boxes packed. Her childhood, all wrapped up in suitcases and bows; the walls of her room stripped bare, their robin egg colour quite sad without her pictures there upon it; the garden downstairs, where her father had died, hidden from view by long drapes, so even the sun could not steal in.

Her mother had told her that she would move to Brighton and Anita had told her no.

But now it was over a year later. When Mirella stepped off the platform, Anita’s eyes pricked with tears and she rushed forward to hug her mother at once. Her mother had smelled the same as Anita had always remembered, the same expensive perfume dotted upon her wrists and folded into her clothes. Her mother laughed and hugged her back, patting her back before kissing Anita’s cheeks.

“Oh darling, you look splendid!” exclaimed Mirella, stroking Anita’s bright red hair.

And some of those knotty emotions untangled and Anita felt nothing but happiness.

They’d gotten Mirella settled in her hotel room at the Tipton and Anita and her mother had tea in the lobby, Roger going off to work. They would all have dinner together later-- at Remy’s of course, the finest that dear Swynlake had to offer.

The time snuck up on Anita, all that talk of her old school friends and her mother’s life in Brighton having sidetracked her. They were nearly late meeting Roger’s at Remy’s. Nearly. Since Mirella was never late.

“Oh, isn’t this a pretty establishment,” commented Mirella as they were all seated. “It reminds me of that one little bistro we ate at in Paris, for your 14th birthday, Anita.”

“Oh, em-- Coquette!” piped in Anita. She looked at Roger. “They had the most delicious soups I’ve ever had in my life. And live music too, do you remember, Mum? There was that wonderful lounge singer.”

“Does Remy’s have any sort of entertainment like that? You would know, wouldn’t you, Mr. Radcliffe?” said Anita’s mother, smiling politely at Roger.

[dalmatianplantationsensation]

♥  103 likes

rogradcliffe: happy birthday to the most amazing, wonderful girl out there  @dearlyxyoursxanita

[dalmatianplantationsensation]

Life’s Too Short || Dearcliffe

Y’know the funny thing of the matter? Roger didn’t plan it. He had just said the words out loud as he and Anita were sitting in Hatter’s, each with their own mugs of tea.

Let’s backtrack a little though.

Roger was one of those who didn’t really remember what had happened in the past three days. He went to bed on the 8th and woke up on the 11th and that was that and he did not even question it, just accepted that. Prior to that, he’d been in London, coming home to his mum after being in the hospital for nearly three weeks, his mum being worried mad about him, him wanting to be there for her and also wanting to take a break from everything for a bit.

He’d talked to Anita between then, yeah sure, she’d visited him and the hospital and all, and when he’d gotten back he’d popped over to check on her and Perdita and the babies.

He wondered though, wondered about it all, when she said she loved him what she really meant, if when they’d slept together had just been out of her cold, frozen heart or if she’d actually, deep down, wanted him.

He was thinking about all that, but talking about the dogs (Roger talked about the dogs a lot, easy subject to slip into, though lately he was wonderin’ a bit about if his whole life would just be about dogs from now on), and then there’d been a pause in the conversation and then that’s when he did it.

“You want to get dinner?” he asked. “Like, dinner-dinner? As in, I’ll pay and it’ll be date.”

Anita sat across from him, mug in front of her, and he hadn’t planned it at all.

It just sort of happened. Which was odd for Roger Radcliffe, but then again, he’d been doing all sorts of things out of character lately (jumping in front of a psychopath holding a knife to a baby had been one) and he grinned then, ducking his head down a bit.

“Well, it’s the time for a late lunch, maybe, but we could make it an early dinner.” Now he felt the tips of his ears burn a little and he decided, well, might as well make the most of it, since he could’ve died a few weeks ago and he had a sort of refreshed look at the world.

@truly-aninspiration

[truly-aninspiration-blog]

Pin Down Your Heart || Dearcliffe

@dalmatianplantationsensation

Anita left Elsa’s well before noon. In fact, most of the world had yet to wake up. There were the birds tittering in the trees, a few patrons at Hatter’s, reading the paper and sipping their teas, and the shoppe keepers getting ready to open their doors. 

Anita felt wide awake for the first time in her life. She realized, upon leaving Elsa’s flat, that she’d spent her whole life dreaming. What a silly girl she’d been. 

Things looked sharper to her now. Sounds were clearer. She moved quicker upon the cobblestone, with her head raised, not worried about getting in anyone’s way or making a fuss. All her life she’d been worried about that. Her mother taught her to curtsy and tilt her chin down and speak in quiet words. She didn’t see the point of any of that now. She had places to go, Anita realized-- things she wanted to do and people she wanted to tell off-- her aunt for one, for being a heinous, crazy sociopath-- Paul Patts for another for treating her like some kind of a criminal and for not loving Perdita as he had promised-- perhaps even Toulouse for pretending like she no longer existed and not letting her properly explain herself in the first place. 

But all of that could wait because it was not important. It was arbitrary, really, as were all her fussy dreams and foolish tears and strange confusion. There was one thing that was clearest of all to her, that she still wanted even with this strange new solid feeling in her chest. 

Roger Radcliffe. 

It was a pretty day to be walking. Anita did not doddle though. She walked straight and tall and fast. She left the streets of Swynlake, ballet flats kicking up the gravel of the walkway toward the Plantation. The breeze tickled a few of the red strands of her hair. Normally, Anita would be humming something because she always managed to get a song in her head when she thought of Roger. Ta tum ta tum tum... 

But there was strangely enough no music in her heart today. How could there be Roger and no music, Anita would wonder later-- much later. For now, she didn’t think of the music, or lack there of, at all. She simply walked, wrinkling her nose a bit when the dogs started barking at her. But she danced up the stairs anyway and knocked on the door. 

“Roger? Roger! Are you there?” she called, and then peered through the window in hopes of spotting him. 

[dalmatianplantationsensation]

DEARCLIFFE 14-16

14) Who starts the hand holding? Who grabs the others butt? Who slides their arm around their waist? Who likes to put their fingers in the belt loops?

Hand holding--roger. Butt--tbh probably Anita but like in private. Roger does the waits and Anita the belth loop.

15) Who likes writes the others name on their wrist?

Anita would write her name on Roger’s wrist. He does not wash it away. and when he catches a glimpse of it he smiles

16) Who is more seductive when they are drunk? and who is louder in bed?

Anita?? I can see her like drunkenly coming onto him and he’s like shhh let’s get you to bed. And also probably anita.

[truly-aninspiration-blog]

Sanity Check || Dearcliffe

Anita: Roger, I don't know how else to say this so I'm just going to-- say it

Anita: I think my father is haunting me from beyond the grave and he wants me dead and I'm to blame for all the vandalisms too and I don't know what to do

[truly-aninspiration-blog]

A Bend In The Road || Dearcliffe

“There is another bend in the road after this. No one knows what will happen.”  -Anne of Avonlea 

Anita would never forget waking up the day after her birthday with a missed call from her mother, a little number blinking on her phone which would soon unfold itself in tragedy. She’d always remember the silliness of her cream nightgown as she sat listening to that message. She’d always remember how outside, the sky had been bright with a spring blue that adorned much of Anita’s own room-- her duvet, her journals, her curtains. She’d always remember that, as she put her phone down, she had two thoughts at the very same time: 

My father is dead. I’m going to be late for breakfast with Roger. 

There was, of course, no breakfast that day, a breakfast which was intended to answer the question: What are we now? There would be no talk of love in the wane of winter and on the cusp of spring. That day, Anita would operate by agenda alone, thinking herself a military commander as she re-sorted her next few weeks, sent texts to her friends, called her mother back, booked her train ticket, and packed what little she had for a trip back to London. Perdita took her to the train platform that very afternoon, bidding her a safe trip with a kiss on a cheek. 

“I’ll come back. Tell Roger I’ll talk to him soon,” said Anita. The steam rose from the train engine like fog off a lake, billowing up to the still-blue sky. Anita boarded the train with an eye on that sky, thinking of her canvases and how she would paint over them, always in large swaths of paint until they were solid and smooth once more. 

Anita came back to Swynlake several weeks later with a sky just as blue, like no days had passed between her leaving and returning. The funeral of her father was over. Her old house was practically cleaned out, a for-sale sign hung in its window. It took her another day to text Roger that she was back. She still had not cried. 

Everything felt very much like it happened to someone else. Anita recognized that feeling. She had felt it when her father first confessed his crime. She felt it when Roger had first told her that he loved her. Anita wondered if she’d always feel this way-- like she was the reader of her story, not a participant-- and that she would always be helpless to shape what happened next. 

She missed the beginning. 

That was why she had asked if Roger might meet with her in the park, which was where they had walked the first day in Swynlake, around and around, just like their many afternoons walking through London town. Anita wanted to find that place again. She wanted to be that girl. She called not the Roger who she had kissed on Valentine’s Day, but the Roger who had walked with her with a steady gait like he knew where he was going, even if the two of them ended up in places they never meant to be. 

She sat on the bench and watched a beetle crawl over the blades of grass, thinking of little else but those walks when she heard him approach. She looked up then, and she smiled at him, not as bright as she used to-- but still, a smile. And it was the sight of him that finally brought her tears rushing forth, brightening the blue of her eye as the colours of the park blurred together. And she couldn’t tell you why-- just knew her grief had been cracked open like an egg and she wanted him to hold her. 

“Roger,” she said his name more breathless than she would hope. “I missed you.”