#redwood choir

[gravitycavity]

Sunshine (Pomni x Ragatha) Chapter 4: Spellbound

[Click here to read from the beginning on AO3!]

Cover art by @blukiar

“...and I’m sorry.” Pomni wiped at her eyes, dragging her drooping gaze up from Ragatha’s torn, tear-soaked dress. “The other day, when I was yelling at you — and everyone else? I was being a jerk.”

Ragatha laughed. “A little. But you’re not a bad person, Pomni — if you were, you wouldn’t have apologized. That takes maturity.”

Pomni sniffed. And sniveled. And sniffed again. “What does it matter? Everyone still hates me…”

“Nobody hates you. Especially not me.” Ragatha sighed. “You’re going through so much, Pomni — we understand.”

Pomni shook her head with a shaky sigh. “I just…” Her voice warbled. Another tear dropped from her shimmering eyes, “...I just want to go home...”

“Oh, Sweetheart. Come here…” Ragatha pulled Pomni closer. She rubbed circles around the little jester’s shuddering back, patiently comforting her until her tears ran dry again — however long it would take. 

“...I don’t understand. How do you do it?” Pomni’s voice, still shriveled and small, eventually found the strength to speak again. “You’ve been trapped in this horrible place for years now. How do you stay sane? How do you just…accept it?”

Ragatha stirred her head. Had it really been that long? 

“...I try not to dwell on things that are out of my control. To focus on the little things that make life worth living.” she said. “It’s easy to be miserable — cathartic, even — but to focus on the silver lining, even if you have to squint to see it? It’s not easy, but I think it’s worth the trouble. Because it’s always, always, always there.”

Pomni was perfectly still for the longest time, quietly breathing, silently squeezing tear after tear from her weepy eyes. When at last she met Ragatha’s gaze, she opened her mouth to speak — but no words spilled forth. Instead, Pomni simply pressed her cheek against Ragatha’s chest, holding the doll tighter than she ever had before.

And Ragatha smiled. “Yeah…?” 

Pomni nodded. 

Ragatha hummed softly, brushing her finger through Pomni’s hair. “I’m glad I met you, too.”

🎪  

The memory was still fresh. 

Ragatha groaned, stirred from her sleep by the court of wild ravens clicking and cawing in the stony branches above. Just like every other morning, her drowsy eyes remained stubbornly shut, but the persistent tap-tap-tapping of woodpeckers kept her mind from sneaking back into slumber. 

Propped against the pruned, petrified redwood, Ragatha shifted her head and took in a long, soothing breath. The forest air had thickened overnight, for better and for worse; the aroma of dewy wildflowers just barely masked the foul musk of rotting wood. 

She grit her teeth, exhaling through her nose. Ow — Ragatha had forgotten how much it hurt just to breathe. The countless rips and tears carved into her fragile form worked in synergy to maximize her suffering; any slight movement was immediately punished with a cacophonous chorus of pain, pain, and more pain. 

Reluctant to even open her eyes, Ragatha remained perfectly still, spacing out her shallow breaths as far apart as she possibly could. Slowly, the roaring in her chest faded into a rumble, the screaming pain in her legs hushed to whispers, and the boiling discomfort in her right arm cooled to a bubbling simmer. 

Even as the choir’s shrill song faded into silence, however, a single voice continued its grating chant. 

It was odd — Ragatha’s left arm laid just as still as its opposite, yet a bothersome, prickling pain still coiled around the appendage. Even stranger, it was a far different sensation than the rest: instead of a blunt, radiant agony that flared up whenever she tried to move, the pain was…precise. Targeted. And dreadfully persistent. 

Every few seconds, something sharp would harass a certain spot on her arm — poking, prodding, stabbing — until her soft skin finally broke. The point would burrow deep into the fresh puncture, dragging something long, dry, and frayed behind it; it tickled as it passed through.

It was an uncomfortable sensation, to say the least, but Ragatha was hardly phased. After all, she’d been living in a body fashioned from cotton and fabric for years at this point —  she was rather accustomed to the unique body horror of being stitched back together. The procedure was just a fact of life now, no different than the uncomfortable routines she’d followed to maintain her old, human body—

Wait. Did that mean…?

Where was she? Had she and Pomni failed the adventure? Had they been teleported back to the tent? No, no — of course not. There’d be no need for anyone to stitch her back together if that were the case; Caine could simply snap his fingers and repair her in the blink of an eye. 

Not wanting to give herself away, Ragatha sat forward — slightly and slowly. Her good eye was closed, but the periwinkle button that served as its twin would be her secret spyglass. 

She concentrated, and the gloomy woods slowly came into focus — as much focus as her barely-functional button eye could handle, at least. She glanced down at her chest, and for a moment, a profound melancholy overcame her: her dear friend Pomni, who had been snuggled so tightly against her the night before, was nowhere to be found. 

Her eye scrambled to find her — she didn’t have to look very far. 

A blurry blob, roughly the shape of a certain anxious jester, kneeled on the ground beside her. One of the woman’s little hands held Ragatha’s arm in place; the other held some sort of needle. Where had she found a needle!? It trembled, stumbling around the wounded limb with whatever the exact opposite of ‘surgical precision’ was. 

Prick, pull. 

Prick, pull. 

Prick, pull. 

Ragatha ground her teeth together as the needle passed over, under, and through her fabric skin, slowly but surely mending the tear in her arm. It took everything she had to keep up the act, to not flinch and squirm with every pointed bite — but some outside force compelled her to hold in the urge. 

In fact, in some strange, backward way, the pain almost felt pleasant — and Ragatha found herself fighting the slight smirk twitching her cheek. She just couldn’t help it, just like she couldn't help how hard her heart was beating, or the brilliant warmth spreading out from her core. 

Each jab was a reminder. Proof positive that even Pomni  — the anxious, angry shut-in who hated everything and couldn’t care less if everyone around her died in a horrible accident — had a kind heart underneath all of that harsh, prickly angst. 

Ragatha surrendered, letting her smirk blossom into a full smile. She knew it. 

Prick, pull. 

Prick, pull.

Stab—

“Oh, go #!$% yourself!” Ragatha yelped. She sat up in a snap, roughly snatching her stinging arm away. 

Pomni quailed in fright. “O-O-Oh my gosh! Ragatha! I’m so sorry, are you—” 

There was a pause. And then a longer one after that. 

The jester blinked. “What did you just say?”

“Nothing! I—” Ragatha was as white as a ghost. “I didn’t mean that!”

“Did you just say the F-word?” 

Ragatha cringed. The pain of her injuries was nothing compared to this mental torment. “I’m so, so, sorry! That just slipped out! You have to believe me — I would never!”

“Ragatha, it’s okay! Really! Think about who you’re talking to right now.” Pomni giggled. She was smiling now. “Honestly, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Ragatha struggled to swallow the embarrassment sizzling in the back of her throat. With her mind too scrambled to think anywhere close to straight, her gaze bounced around the darkness, desperately searching for something she could latch onto to change the subject. It took several moments of hemming and hawing before the obvious pivot she was searching for popped into her head.

Her face still hot, Ragatha looked over herself. Just like she had suspected, Pomni had been hard at work mending her wounds — but it was clear that the younger woman didn’t have much experience with sewing. And by ‘not much’, of course, she meant ‘none whatsoever’.

Frayed threads stuck out from hundreds of jagged stitches. Fluffy chunks of cotton bulged out of hastily-sewn seams that were already starting to come apart. Parts of Ragatha’s delicate fabric skin, stretched and compressed at seemingly random points, were far tighter or looser than they were supposed to be, which made movement even more of a struggle than it already was.

Pomni had done a laughably-poor job; nevertheless, her earnest efforts drove an arrow straight through Ragatha’s soft heart. “I…You…” Ragatha could barely get a word out, “How…?”

“Kind of a long story, actually.” Pomni stared at the gound, rubbing the back of her neck. “So, basically…”

Pomni’s flustered explanation was long, rambling, and hard to parse through all the stuttering. Suffice it to say: over the past several hours, she had gathered the pieces of Ragatha’s torn dress, painstakingly de-threaded them, and twisted them up into thin ropes. Her ‘needle’ was actually the feather from her cap — she’d cut off the end, poked a hole through it using one of the redwood’s thorns, then sharpened its pointed tip.

“...and…yeah.” Pomni tugged on her collar. “I woke up early, so I figured I might as well keep myself busy...”

Unconsciously, Ragatha parted her lips. “You did all that?” she said, “For me?”

“I mean, we’re friends now, right?” Pomni shrugged the most awkward shrug in the history of shrugs. “I wanted you to get better.”

Ragatha was enchanted — and the nagging doubt that had strangled her heart since Pomni’s chaotic debut at last loosened its vice grip. That sealed it. Of course she had been right not to trust her first impression. Of course Pomni cared. To the jester, at least, this unremarkable ragdoll was someone worth protecting. Someone she considered a friend. Someone…beautiful.

Recalling the memory did to Ragatha’s heart as sunbeams did to April blossoms. Beautiful — when had she last heard that word? Since when had she felt so wanted? So cherished and valued? Had she ever?

The raggedy doll cast a yearning look toward the jester. “I don’t know what to say. This is…” she hesitated softly, “...Thank you, Pomni.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I still need to finish your arm.” Pomni’s tone was the same she might use to describe the weather. She pointed at the limb still held tightly against Ragatha’s chest. “So, um, if you wouldn’t mind…?”

“...Oh.” Ragatha touched her face. “Oh! Of course — yeah!” she nodded, cautiously surrendering her arm. She wore an anxious smile, and wore it poorly. “Just try to be a bit more delicate this time…?”

“I dunno. Now that I know what happens when I poke you the wrong way, a small part of me wants to know what you’re gonna say next—”

“Try it. I dare you.” 

Pomni chuckled, sinking her makeshift needle into Ragatha’s arm yet again. “Okay, okay. I’ll be careful.” she said. Gently, she pulled the tool through. The doll’s pliable skin tightened, and the deep gash stretching across her arm shrank in turn. 

Ragatha watched Pomni work in silence. The woman, normally a twitching little bundle of nerves, was so…calm. Controlled. Confident, even. It was as if the pitiful, sobbing mess that Ragatha had soothed to sleep the previous night had transformed into an entirely different person overnight. 

Once Pomni had stopped her crying, she and Ragatha had just…talked. And talked. And talked. They vented about the things that annoyed them, chatted about their common interests, and listened to each other’s infodumping about their particular hyperfixations. 

In the midst of it, Ragatha’s troubles had melted away. She and Pomni, holding each other close, were lost in their own little world — but now that Ragatha was back in reality, a nagging worry snuck its way into her mind, and no matter what, it refused to give her peace: 

Exactly what had Pomni been trying to say before her meltdown? 

Why did Ragatha…what? Why did she what? 

The question sat like a boulder in Ragatha’s stomach. She hadn’t done something wrong…had she?

Ragatha looked at Pomni. She shifted her posture, then shifted again. The question, harassing her psyche like a bothersome itch, needed an answer — and yet, Ragatha stayed silent, drowsy eyes admiring the calm smile on Pomni’s face. 

Why would she say anything that might make it disappear?

🎪  🎪  🎪 

Pomni squinted. Her tongue peeked out from between her lips as she carefully — very, very carefully — triple-knotted the thick thread in her hands. With one final tug, the stitches were taut, sealing shut the long gash carved into Ragatha’s arm. “...voilà! Okay, you can open your eyes now!”

Ragatha still leaned against the petrified redwood. Her hand covered her eyes, and, despite her darling companion’s command, didn’t budge an inch. “Again, Pomni, what exactly is the point of this…?”

“What do you mean? This is it — the big reveal!”

“Well, I get that…” Ragatha said, “but I’ve already seen everything. Five minutes ago.”

“But you haven’t seen the whole picture!”

Ragatha breathed in the world’s most angelically-patient breath. “Sweetheart—”

“Ugh, come on! You’re ruining the moment!” Pomni pulled Ragatha’s hand away from her face. Practically bouncing, the jester stepped back, gesturing at Ragatha as if the doll had just been revealed from underneath a sheet. “Ta-da!”

Ragatha shook her head; a relaxed smile brightened her face. She was tickled pink to see that Pomni was finally comfortable enough to show off her goofier side — especially after seeing her at such a low point last night. 

Pomni’s expectant grin didn’t flinch. “So? What do you think?”

Ragatha tilted her head downward. A familiar warmth spread across her face as her eyes retreaded the sloppily-mended tears scattered across her body. Ragatha knew she could have done a much better job herself — but she didn’t care. If it were up to her, she would choose Pomni’s subpar stitching every time. 

She swayed, crossing her hands over her thumping heart. “Gosh, who would’ve guessed you were so talented with a needle and thread, Pomni?” Ragatha batted her hand, “One pales to imagine what this helpless princess would have done without her dashing knight at her side~”

“It’s…It’s not that big a deal.” Pomni swallowed, hands curling around her middle. Her bubbly affect popped just like that. “Really. I-It’s the least I could do…”

“And so modest! Mercy me. Are you just getting into character, or are you always this chivalrous?”

“Um…!” Pomni, wearing an apocalyptic blush, quickly averted her gaze. She awkwardly offered her hand. “S-So, a-anyway, we should probably get going, right…?”

Pomni already looked like a tomato just offering her clammy hand — words could hardly describe the look on her face when, at last, Ragatha grabbed hold.

Sweating, Pomni wrapped her other arm around Ragatha’s back and carefully helped the injured doll to her feet. “You look like you’re in pain.” She frowned, watching Ragatha struggle to stand even with her assistance. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

“I’m a big girl. I think I can handle it.” Ragatha winked. Steadying herself against Pomni, she broke away from the jester’s support. She carefully shifted her weight onto her feet, and— 

An agonized shout, paired with the sickening sound of tearing fabric, echoed beneath the canopy. Ragatha collapsed, clutching her stomach. 

Pomni just barely caught her. 

“Ragatha!” Pomni shrieked. Cotton spilled freely from the reopened wound slashed across the older woman’s chest — now twice as long as it had been before. 

Pain was spelled in bold all across Ragatha’s face, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. “Th-Thanks…” she trembled; a loose tear traveled between the twisted creases that wound across her face. “...for catching me...”

Pomni plummeted to her knees; Ragatha was draped across her lap. “No…no, NO!” she clawed her face, each panicked breath ringing louder than the last. Her pupils quivered in a sea of bloodshot white, beholding the sum of all of her hard work: absolutely nothing.

“Why did I— Why did I think—” Cackling, she bared her teeth — sharp and pointed. “Of course! Why did I think I could do anything right?!”

“Woah, woah!” Ragatha forced herself to speak through the pain. A throaty grunt punctuated her next words, “Calm down — It’s going to be okay!”

“Okay?! How is any of this okay?! What could someone like you ever do to deserve this?!” Pomni seethed. “Is this Caine’s idea of a sick joke? Is that why that psychopath paired us together? So I could lose my mind watching you suffer?” 

“Pomni! Please—”

“What now? Are we just stuck here forever?! Are we both going to die here because of me?!” Pomni’s voice cracked at the realization. “Oh, God. Oh my GOD! Please, please, please—”

“POMNI!” To the tune of another gut-wrenching tear, Ragatha sat up to grab Pomni’s trembling hand. “Listen to me! We’re not out of options, okay?!” Her thumb drew tight, soothing circles on the back of the jester’s palm. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but…why don’t you just go on by yourself? I can just stay behind and—”

“NO!” 

Ragatha dropped Pomni’s hand like hot iron. 

Pomni flinched — the hurt on Ragatha’s face finally snapped her out of her insanity spiral. “I…I didn’t mean to—” she shivered. Her mouth twisted into a hundred different shapes until, at last, she managed to say: “I’m sorry...” 

“Just take a deep breath for me. Please.” Ragatha soothed, reaching for Pomni’s hand again. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

Pomni didn’t hesitate, sandwiching Ragatha’s trembling hand between both of hers. She nodded, filling her chest with a trio of long, shaky breaths. Her racing pulse began to lag. 

“I’m not leaving you all alone.” Pomni said after a beat of silence, peering straight into Ragatha’s eyes. “I already…” she hesitated, shaking her head. “What if something happens, and I’m not there to save you?”

Ragatha couldn’t help but perk up at the look on Pomni’s face. The jester looked just like a guard dog, determined to protect her at all costs. “How about we just wait here together, then?” she said, “The others probably finished this adventure hours ago — and adventures don’t go on forever. If we take long enough, Caine will eventually just force us out and say we failed.”

“Eventually isn’t good enough! You need help now!” 

“I’m sorry, Sweetheart. I wish I could tell you otherwise, but I just…” she sighed, “…can’t.”

Pomni furrowed her brow, gently turning over Ragatha’s arm. She inched her face closer to the doll’s roughly-sutured wounds, squinting as if the answer to their predicament were spelled out somewhere in the frayed silk stitches. Her voice broke the silence. “What are you stuffed with, anyway? Cotton?”

Ragatha raised an eyebrow at that. It was Pomni’s turn, apparently, to ask a question totally out of left field. 

“More or less…?” Ragatha’s hand rapped on her chest, “But if you really want to know, I’m pretty sure I’ve got a heart crammed in here, too. Something that beats, at least.” she shrugged. She’d probably never know what the organ really looked like, but she'd always imagined a cartoon heart fashioned from the same patchy felt as the rest of her body. 

“So you really are just a walking, talking doll…?” Pomni let out a huge breath — one she’d apparently been holding in for quite a while. “Oh, perfect! This is perfect!”

Ragatha rubbed her face — how hard had Pomni’s head hit the ground yesterday? “Perfect…?” she spoke slowly, “How do you figure?"

“Well…” Pomni’s forced laugh was painful to listen to. “D-Do you think you’d be light enough to, uh…” she glanced away, stroking her hair. “W-Would it be okay if I…”

Ragatha wondered if her plush body came with a stomach as well; she definitely felt something fluttering around in the place she’d expect one to be. She just couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Was pint-sized Pomni really about to suggest using her frail little arms to —

“Let me carry you!” Pomni exhaled sharply. Her stammer was gone, burned away by the heat of her passionate glare.  “There’s no way I’m gonna let you just sit here and suffer! We’re finishing this stupid adventure and getting you fixed up — today!”

Spellbound. Ragatha was utterly, completely, hopelessly spellbound — but the sly smirk spreading across her face hid her true sentiments well. “Oh, nooo! You’re just too kind…” she closed her good eye and swooned just like a debutante. Her button spied on Pomni’s reaction — watching the new girl get all hot and bothered over her, of all people, was Ragatha’s special form of self-care. “I suppose you could, but, gosh, I wouldn't want to be a burden~”

Wearing a determined look, Pomni stood up, scooping the lightweight doll into her arms. The way Ragatha’s big, bulky limbs spilled beyond the edges of Pomni’s puny frame, even when curled up, was almost comedic — but Pomni was hardly laughing. “Burden. Give me a break. You weigh fifteen pounds soaking wet.”

Ragatha sighed, leaning her head against Pomni’s chest. “My hero…”

“I-I…” Pomni glanced away, “...Don’t make it weird. You’re not even heavy.”

“Oh, but you would still carry me even if I were stuffed with sand, wouldn’t you?”

Pomni looked down with a nervous smile; her glowing cheeks did all the talking for her. Holding her damsel a little more snugly now, she launched down the path, eyeing the distant, window-studded spires peeking through the trees.

“Woah! Pomni! Take it easy!”

🎪  🎪  🎪 

The moon slept soundly in the sky, silvery light outlining the decrepit mansion’s twisted silhouette. A stark shadow stretched to the bottom of the steep hill on which the manor was perched; from all the way up there, one could see for themselves how truly endless the surrounding sea of trees really was. 

“Almost there! C’mon!” Ragatha whooped, arms curled tightly around Pomni’s waist. “You’ve got this, Girlie!”

Girlie did not, in fact, have this. Pomni huffed and puffed, puny legs wobbling for their lives as they crested the hill — and the obnoxiously-long staircase that wound all the way around it.

“What, so now you’re—” Pomni paused to suck down a breath, “— now you’re cheering me on?”

“What do you expect? Nagging you to slow down wasn’t working. If you’re determined to faint from exhaustion, you might as well do it past the finish line.”

“As if. You’re just mad—” Pomni huffed, “— You’re just mad that I was right.”

“Don’t count your chickens just yet, Sweetheart. You’ve still got a few more steps to go.”

Pomni grumbled, pressing on.

A baroque fence, punctuated by gargoyle-topped columns, hugged the perimeter of the dilapidated estate — as if the manor’s remoteness weren’t already enough to keep out the riff-raff. Pomni stumbled through the iron gate, and the very second she was through, an ethereal presence slammed the egress shut with a startling clang. 

“See?” Gasping for air, Pomni slumped over. Ragatha nearly rolled out of her arms and onto the manor’s overgrown lawn. “I…told you…” she gasped again, “...we would finish the adventure…today…” another gasp, “...and I meant it!”

Ragatha huffed. Again and again, she had begged Pomni to slow down, to stop and rest, to take a break, for the love of God. But Pomni, obstinate as usual, had refused to listen every time.

Shame weighed heavily on Ragatha’s soul as she stared up at Pomni’s pale, exhausted face. The poor woman looked absolutely awful — as if she were ready to faint at any second. 

“Ugh! You could have hurt yourself! Then what would we have done?!” Ragatha huffed, “God. Why do you have to be so stubborn?!”

Pomni’s breathing was finally beginning to slow down. “That’s not a serious question is it?.” 

“Wh-What…?” Ragatha blinked. “Of course it is!”

“Come on.” Pomni, stared straight ahead into one of the mansion’s myriad windows; the flickering candle behind the dusty glass reflected in her eyes. “After all you’ve done for me, don’t you think I owe you at least this much?”

Ragatha exhaled.

A swift tide of emotion washed away her anger, leaving behind…something else. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, or what it really was — but she knew it was a good feeling. Better than good. Much, much better.

Just like Pomni, Ragatha yearned for freedom. She dreamed of wrapping her arms around Mom and Dad just one more time, even if she could hardly remember their voices anymore. She couldn’t recall the distinctive fur patterns on her pet cat’s paws, yet she still worried herself sick about who was feeding him — if at all. By her third year of captivity, the names and faces of her two-dozen kindergarten students had all melded together, and Ragatha couldn’t help but wonder: had her little bundles of joy forgotten their teacher’s name, too? How old were they now? Ten? Eleven? Even older?

For so very long, Ragatha had believed that the only cure to her heartache was to find a way out, to return to the life she had left behind. Yet, if an exit door were to appear in front of her right this second — as the wind nipped her skin, as her entire being roared with pain, as the knowledge that another leg of this adventure still stood between herself and her soft, warm bed — she would hesitate to walk through. 

She must have been going crazy. The idea of remaining in the circus forever was horrifying, yet if she were to make the choice right this instant, she just might choose to stay here in Pomni’s arms forever.

Ragatha’s heart hammered away in her chest; she just couldn’t stay upset at her knight in shining armor. “You’re right.” she spoke softly on purpose, toying with the cute little pompoms that dangled from her protector’s handsome tunic, “Maybe I’m overreacting…”

Struggling to make out the doll’s words, Pomni leaned in closer. Closer than she’d ever been before. Close enough for Ragatha to catch the mild aroma swimming in Pomni’s auburn hair. It smelled sweet. Complex. A patchwork potpourri with notes of vanilla and dried leaves and crisp morning air.  

“You’re a good person, Pomni.” Ragatha lifted her neck, even though it pained her terribly. She closed her eyes and planted a dainty little peck on Pomni’s dainty little cheek. 

Pomni’s breathing turned shallow. She stared at the woman in her arms, mouth slack, then snapping shut, and finally falling open again. 

Ragatha, feeling herself slowly slipping out of Pomni’s loosening grip, wrapped her arms snugly around the jester’s neck. She moved her face closer, gazing up with a dreamy, expectant look — but the longer Pomni just stared down, unblinking, the more Ragatha’s smile faded. She… didn’t break the poor thing, did she?

Another well-placed smooch would snap her out of it, Ragatha thought, but even she knew that was just a sorry excuse to indulge herself further. “Goodness gracious. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” she said with a playful chuckle, placing two more kisses near the corner of Pomni’s mouth. “I’m just showing my appreciation, Sunshine. No need to overthink it.”

It happened so fast. 

Knees buckled, Pomni fainted, plummeting backwards onto the manor’s lawn like a felled tree. Ragatha went right down with her, landing roughly on top of her smaller friend — and another handful of amateur stitches burst open.

Ragatha’s everything roared with horrible, splitting pain. She would have screamed, but she was too busy cackling harder than she ever had in her life. 

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HUGE thank you to @spitinsideme and @blukiar, who were kind enough to illustrate a scenes from this chapter! Go check them out!

@spitinsideme: https://www.tumblr.com/spitinsideme/744502650373062656/read-a-really-good-ragapom-fanfiction?source=share

@BlukiaR: https://www.tumblr.com/blukiar/748666035752812544/long-time-no-ragapom-did-this-one-based-on

[apoemaday]

Heart

by Dorianne Laux

The heart shifts shape of its own accord— from bird to ax, from pinwheel to budded branch. It rolls over in the chest, a brown bear groggy with winter, skips like a child at the fair, stopping in the shade of the fireworks booth, the fat lady's tent, the corn dog stand. Or the heart is an empty room where the ghosts of the dead wait, paging through magazines, licking their skinless thumbs. One gets up, walks through a door into a maze of hallways. Behind one door a roomful of orchids, behind another, the smell of burned toast. The rooms go on and on: sewing room with its squeaky treadle, its bright needles, room full of file cabinets and torn curtains, room buzzing with a thousand black flies. Or the heart closes its doors, becomes smoke, a wispy lie, curls like a worm and forgets its life, burrows into the fleshy dirt. Heart makes a wrong turn. Heart locked in its gate of thorns. Heart with its hands folded in its lap. Heart a blue skiff parting the silk of the lake. It does what it wants, takes what it needs, eats when it's hungry, sleeps when the soul shuts down. Bored, it watches movies deep into the night, stands by the window counting the streetlamps squinting out one by one. Heart with its hundred mouths open. Heart with its hundred eyes closed. Harmonica heart, heart of tinsel, heart of cement, broken teeth, redwood fence. Heart of bricks and boards, books stacked in devoted rows, their dusty spines unreadable. Heart with its hands full. Hieroglyph heart, etched deep with history's lists, things to do. Near-sighted heart. Club-footed heart. Hard-headed heart. Heart of gold, coal. Bad juju heart, singing the low down blues. Choir boy heart. Heart in a frumpy robe. Heart with its feet up reading the scores. Homeless heart, dozing, its back against the Dumpster. Cop-on-the-beat heart with its black billy club, banging on the lid.

[humdrumwhispers]

Heart by Dorianne Laux

The heart shifts shape of its own accord— from bird to ax, from pinwheel to budded branch. It rolls over in the chest, a brown bear groggy with winter, skips like a child at the fair, stopping in the shade of the fireworks booth, the fat lady's tent, the corn dog stand. Or the heart is an empty room where the ghosts of the dead wait, paging through magazines, licking their skinless thumbs. One gets up, walks through a door into a maze of hallways. Behind one door a roomful of orchids, behind another, the smell of burned toast. The rooms go on and on: sewing room with its squeaky treadle, its bright needles, room full of file cabinets and torn curtains, room buzzing with a thousand black flies. Or the heart closes its doors, becomes smoke, a wispy lie, curls like a worm and forgets its life, burrows into the fleshy dirt. Heart makes a wrong turn. Heart locked in its gate of thorns. Heart with its hands folded in its lap. Heart a blue skiff parting the silk of the lake. It does what it wants, takes what it needs, eats when it's hungry, sleeps when the soul shuts down. Bored, it watches movies deep into the night, stands by the window counting the streetlamps squinting out one by one. Heart with its hundred mouths open. Heart with its hundred eyes closed. Harmonica heart, heart of tinsel, heart of cement, broken teeth, redwood fence. Heart of bricks and boards, books stacked in devoted rows, their dusty spines unreadable. Heart with its hands full. Hieroglyph heart, etched deep with history's lists, things to do. Near-sighted heart. Club-footed heart. Hard-headed heart. Heart of gold, coal. Bad juju heart, singing the low down blues. Choir boy heart. Heart in a frumpy robe. Heart with its feet up reading the scores. Homeless heart, dozing, its back against the Dumpster. Cop-on-the-beat heart with its black billy club, banging on the lid.

Dorianne Laux, "Heart" from Smoke. 

NGC 2244, Heart of the Rose

[betterwatchout]

Trees Don't Cry (post title credit: The Divine Comedy)

Total tree-hugger here. I live in the woods, next to a redwood fairy ring. I've also chopped down and trimmed a blue spruce in the Catskills, paid too much for a Charlie Brown tree on Broadway streetcorners, ridden pitbull around San Francisco collecting castoff trees for Ocean Beach bonfires, and for several years had an aluminum tree drenched in vintage ornaments poached from the dump. I bought the tree pictured above in downtown Hollywood one dark season and had it flocked pink to fulfill a longtime fantasy.

Christmas is weird. Here are songs about Christmas trees.

Saintseneca is among the best 21st Century Alt.Xmas heroes, and last year's song cuts into the heart of today's theme.

Bluesman/bootlegger Charley Jordan and Verdi Lee (aka Xmas Blues veteran Mary Harris), inspiring Lady Gaga back in 1935.

Stephin Merritt is my generation's Sondheim, Cole Porter, and Kurt Weill in one, delivering succinct perfection in each lyric. From 2010:

"O Tannenbaum" is unjustly underrepresented in the shopping-mall canon, and I owe it to the indefatigable Ernie, not Bert (one of the earliest and most prolific sharers of out-of-print Christmas music) for this 1961 adaptation of the evergreen ode to lit-up trees.

In 2014, Ice Choir clarified the axe-edge joy of our Christmas traditions.

Raymond Scott was the daddy of library music, but keep this pre-War comfort food from 1940 in your back pocket for the old-timers.

Way back in the New Gay Nineties, we used to go see Y'ALL play in the East Village, and it was everything. From 1995.

You're only allowed to watch the following if you're in a band (Crying Day Care Choir or Christmas Aguilera, ideally) that's hip enough to reimagine this cringe-corny song from 1969, written by John Barry, sung by Nina, Baroness van Pallandt, and featuring Dame Diana Rigg (and a one-off Bond). Sorry/not sorry. (Yes, the blonde skating up and smiling at 2:15 is Lady Olenna Tyrell.) [N.B. I wrote this post a few months before Dean & Britta & Sonic Boom scooped it.]

[simply-flesh-and-golden-blood]

Universe: 47-V-23

Planet: 78-ORVA-2

. . .

The creaking whirr of machinery has become, and will always remain, the melodious cacophony of the world that seldom sees the sun through the haze of blanketing smog and wood-smoke. Cogs are the choir; but the crackling, slithering wires are the chorus. Needle-point columns of marble and concrete stretch indefinitely into the sky, splitting clouds apart with deadly precision. Bulbs flicker in and out; a glittering wave of light that has no true end, that force the stars to hide from its endless glory, that shut the creeping darkness away with apt stubbornness. There are entire cities of insurmountable size with no occupants, facilities with their control panels left barren from the warm flesh of fingers, hospitals with fully-functional monitors and schools with blinking computer screens; all the pinnacle of advancement, of technology, but they lie barren. No sentient, biological life exists in this world of totalitarian advancement.

Disheveled masses of iron and gold and copper are the only things that shamble listlessly through crooked streets. They are the rulers of this metal-plated planet. With their creators long since gone, now just dust motes on the wind, the creations reign supreme. They might be called automations, robots, creatures with a thousand clicking tendons; but indeed, they fit no description, no label. Their brains are a network of 1s and 0s, their hearts are engines pulsating with slick fluid, their veins are wires, and their minds simmer along with deep-encoded programs: Work. Create. Advance.

They have no defined form. They see the perfect body as one that is the epitome of functionality. The more limbs, essentially, the better. They are an amalgamation of arms and spear-headed legs, a whirring, hissing freak of unnature. Each is entirely unique to the other, although have similarities depending on their occupation. Those digging for coal in mines have drills for their hands and heads and feet and thrumming core; hollow metal bags on their crooked spines to collect the daily harvest. Some tarry at the near-surface; tunneling into oil reservoirs and forcing the inky bile through pumps, their bodies constantly covered with slippery black liquid that splatters upon the dusty ground. Few are left to hack at the dwindling forests, but those who do have axes attached to their crane-like appendages, and can slice down an ancient redwood with a single, delicate slice. Even rarer so are those who balance upon a dozen spindly legs, gargantuan in height, with their base decidedly smaller and suspended in the sky like a metal puppet. They coax storms from the clouds that ache with pollution, and from the storms, they drag down lightning and its threads of snarling electricity with gold-hewn claws. They breathe the vibrant death into themselves, allow it to travel into containment below, but they do not melt, do not shatter from the overabundance of power. They barely even creak.

None of these so-called amalgamations lord over the other, though; there is no definable leader, there is only progress. If, however, you wanted to find one with a semblance of control, you would look not at the deep trenches of stone, nor the gaping maw of crackling space, but at the bustling movement of a ground covered with copper plates. These machines fix the others by scuttling up their sides and replacing old batteries or pouring oil in canisters or filling their furnaces with wood and coal. They patrol the cities and keep them up to order with constant and unfaltering persistence, they sketch blueprints of meaningless buildings only existing for the simplicity of existence, they keep track of malfunctions and correct them if they get out of hand. With an advanced AI, they are the ones that discover new exploits and- oddly enough- exhibit a sense of curiosity. It allows them to create new machine designs, to update their own, to find new solutions to seemingly impossible problems.

The only time this semi-intelligent unlife form is stumped, however, is when it chances upon a scampering, skittering creature with true blood running through true veins to get to its true, flesh-skinned heart, steadily pumping along. They have skin and fur and eyeballs that roll frantically in their sockets. They are far and few between, their feet are cracked with sharp grit as they pitter-patter on rock more rather than plant life, their ribs stick out like dead trees in a barren desert. Occasionally, they leave the comfort of dry woods and stumble into machine territory, which is slowly creeping closer and closer to their haven. More often than not, they are flattened by a careless stomp of metal, or cooked alive in boiling hot factories, but sometimes, they will meet a different fate. A sentinel machine might chance upon them, and as the smarter of the machines, they take a moment to pause. They do not understand, even with the width of their understanding. They hold the trembling animal with as much care as they can fathom between thick iron fingers, as gentleness was indeed encoded within their core, and try to understand. They do not understand. They will never understand, not completely.

If the animal is lucky, the machine may simply set it down on the ground again, and as a memory of blurry kindness resurfaces, brush a claw once meant for unscrewing bolts through mats of tangled fur. If the machine takes the time, it may even move the animal into shade, to a semblance of safety. But if the animal has a limp, an age-addled mind, or something of the sort, the machine may take it upon itself to 'fix' the poor wretch. Prosthetic limbs of flexible alloys, eyes that rust from the rain, artificial organs that thump and pulsate along. Even a new brain, an engine of the cranium. These now malformed animals are a shadow of what they once were, ambling across desolate cities instead of the natural land they were once a part of, their body dipping and swiveling and twisting and curling and creaking. They walk until they run out of fuel; instincts now only a distant visage. They have forgotten how to eat. How to breathe. How to fight. How to defend. How to live. How to love.

And all the while, as they are being transformed, the sentinel machine will chitter in an almost pleased manner, and if you listen close, you may even understand a sliver of their garbled murmurs. Perfection, they whisper. I will fix you, I will make you right, I will make you desirable. I will make you more than what you are, and what you are is imperfection.

The animal forgets how to run without tripping.

Imperfection.

The animal forgets how to seek shelter from danger.

Imperfection.

The animal forgets how to bite when it is captured.

Imperfection.

The animal forgets how to care for its mewling, starving young.

Imperfection.

The animal forgets how to be an animal. The animal is wrong, distorted, chattering along with bloody lips that tear into its metal hind in an effort to escape its artificial cage. It is afraid, but in time, it forgets how to be afraid.

And with this, the machine finally whispers, perfection.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

The world that the machines lay waste to is dying. It is nearly drained of oil, once plentiful shores of coal have dried up, lightning storms cannot form in full strength with the absence of water, and forests are a rarity in itself. There is nothing but order, and in that order, there is destruction.

The machines do not care- or they do not realize- that their time upon this ravaged planet is coming to an end. They cannot stop. They will never stop, not until their engines run dry and their wires split at the seams. Then, perhaps, their skeletons will rest.

But there is no rest for the machines. Not yet. Not until the world around them goes up in a boiling mass of copper and metal and scraps of trembling flesh.

Not yet.

[warblest]

verses.

MAIN

2011. for his own safety, kurt now attends dalton academy, a prestigious boarding school, where all of the students are expected to be elite, wealthy, and have stellar reputations. in spite of his best efforts, the uniformity and group mentality of his peers goes against kurt’s unique individuality, and he has difficulty adjusting to his new surroundings. but despite the polished veneer of dalton’s luxury, something troubling lies beneath. 

AMERICAN HORROR STORY: COVEN

2013. new orleans, louisiana. a warlock displaced without other options, kurt is temporarily lodging at miss robichaux's academy for exceptional young ladies, until he is permitted to join the hawthorne school for exceptional young men. although his powers are weak and underdeveloped, he possesses the gift of telekinesis.

AMERICAN HORROR STORY: FREAK SHOW

1952. jupiter, florida. a runaway from home, kurt joins elsa mars' cabinet of human curiosities, under the stage name of ❝ the human canary ❞, because of his unusual voice. it may not be the silver screen, but at least he gets to perform for the public.

AMERICAN HORROR STORY: 1984

1984. los angeles, california. it's the grand re-opening of camp redwood, and kurt has been bused out to the campgrounds, to spend his summer in the outdoors. but a rumor spreads among the campers, of the brutal slaughter of an entire cabin by the serial killer mr. jingles, in 1970.

RIVERDALE

kurt has lived in the small, idyllic town of riverdale his entire life, and is the typical northside choir boy — with a secret: he actually attends southside high school, living with his father in the repair shop they work out of. he is deeply jealous of the choir and theatre programs at riverdale high school, yearning for a fine arts department at his own school, spending most of his time in the northside. after ordinary bullying escalates into increasingly worse harassment, kurt's father allows him to transfer to riverdale high school — when jason blossom is murdered.

ALPHA/BETA/OMEGA

2011. as an omega in a society dominated by alphas, kurt struggles against his natural urges, discrimination, and oppression. he takes daily suppressants, wears a locked, hidden collar, and layers of extra clothing to avoid exposing his neck. but despite these precautionary measures, animal instinct still conflicts with his human rationality. 

HANAHAKI DISEASE

2011. unrequited love yields more than simple heartbreak. kurt begins to develop symptoms of the hanahaki ( or flower vomiting ) disease, wherein flowers begin to grow within the lungs of the victim: taking root, sprouting, and finally blooming. the victim suffers from fatigue, nausea, and excessive vomiting of flower petals; if untreated, their breathing becomes further restricted, until they choke to death on the flowers. the only cure for the victim is to have their love returned.

WINGS

2011. wing growth on humans is an evolutionary deviance, found in only the very few, and it remains unknown if they are a vestigial product of dormant genes, or merely a physical defect. the wings are avian, small, and flightless, sprouting from the shoulder blades. wings are delicate erogenous zones, acutely sensitive to all touch, and their growth advances in accordance with puberty. aside from their rare appendages, winged individuals have otherwise the same anatomy and genetics as the rest of humanity. winged individuals are reviled as deformed monstrosities by some, while valued as religious creatures by others. defined by his wings, kurt struggles to be treated as a human, in spite of his inhuman qualities.

THREADS

kurt + arturia/arthur pendragon

kurt + blaine anderson

kurt + betty cooper

kurt + toma

kurt + bedelia du maurier

[redwoodgigantea1955]

Photogallery: Choir Show October 2022

Photogallery: Choir Show October 2022

[redhairedgryffindor]

HPHM Profile: Bucky Hensletter (Updated)

Thanks to @hogwartsmysterystory for the profile!

He’s not Jacob’s siblings, he’s just Lea’s friends (or Allies) in my story. Just think he’s a new character in Hogwarts Mystery.

The old profile was deleted, sorry.

Identity

Name: Bucky Hensletter

Gender: Male

Age: 17

Year: 7

Birth Date: September 2

Species: Human

Blood Status: Half-blood

Sexuality: Bisexual

Alignment: Neutral good

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Nationality: British

Residence: N/A

Myer Briggs Personality Type: ENTJ-T The Commander

The Mage

1st Wand: 12", Acacia, Unicorn tail hair

2nd Wand: 11", Redwood, Unicorn tail hair

Animagus: Cat

Misc Magical Abilities: Legilimen, Seer and Wandless Magic.

Boggart Form: His Muggle School Bullies

Riddikulus Form: Make them dress like a princess

Patronus: Spotted Hare

Patronus Memory: His dad pushes him on the swing.

Mirror of Erised: Meeting his late dad again.

Specialized/Favourite Spells:  

Hex-Deflection

Vera Verto

Mice to Snuffbox

Reparo

Healing Magic

Vulnera Sanentur

Appearance

Faceclaim:

Game Appearance:

Height: 5′7″

Weight: 155 Ibs

Physique: Chubby

Eye Colour: Grey

Hair Colour: Blonde

Skin Tone: Fair

Body Modifications: None

Scarring: None

Inventory:-

Triangle Instrument with a dinger

Wand

Healing Potion

Photo of his late dad

Notebook

Jelly Slugs

Prefect’s badge

Allegiances

Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff

Ilvermorny House: Pukwudgie

Affiliations/Organizations:

Prefect

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Professions: Healer/ Herbologist/ Magizoologist

Hogwarts Information

Class Proficiencies:

Astronomy: A

Charms: O

DADA: A

Flying: A

Herbology: O

History of Magic: E

Potions: O

Transfiguration: E

Electives:

Care of Magical Creatures: O

Divination: ★★★★★★☆☆☆☆

Study of Ancient Runes: ★★★★★★☆☆☆☆

Muggle Studies: ★★★★★★★☆☆☆

Quidditch: Only friendlies

Extra-Curricular:

Gobstones Club

Frog Choir

Hippogriff Club

Favorite Professors: Professor Sprout and Professor Kettleburn

Least Favourite Professors: Rakepick and Professor Snape

Relationships

Misc Siblings:

Brother:

Name: Bryan Hensletter (Younger Brother)

Age: 12

Eye: Grey

Hair: Blonde

Schoolhouse: Hufflepuff (Year 2)

Height: 5′2″

Info:

Blood-status: Half-Blood

Playful, Stubborn and Mischief

He loves to prank on people, especially on Filch and even his own brother, Bucky (Which he had a lot of patience)

He befriends with Penny, Tonks, Tulip, Jae, Cedric, Fred, and George.

Despite being prankster, he’s surprisingly smart. He had shown his detective abilities when he tries to find his mom’s earrings.

Big fan of detective stories.

Didn’t know much about his late dad, Terry.

Hate when people treated him like a kid.

Bucky teaches him any kind of spells earlier to make sure he can defend himself from Cursed Vault and Rakepick.

His catchphrase is “Dibs”

Want to be an Auror when he grows up.

Big fan of The Weird Sisters

Sister:

Name: Rebecca “Becky” Hensletter (Younger Sister)

Age: 10

Eye: Grey

Hair: Blonde

Height: 4′5″

Info:

Blood-status: Half-Blood

Optimistic, Sweet-tempered and Mature.

Loves to help her mom and grandmother with house chores

Has a stuffed bunny named “Terry”. The named after her late dad.

She was born and raised without a dad. (Because Terry die when Brenda was still pregnant with her)

She always cares about her family and her older brothers, especially Bucky.

Want to be a Herbologist like her mom.

Father

Name: Terry Hensletter

Age: 28 (Decreased)

Eye: Grey

Hair: Brown, Short Tidy

Height: 6'0″

Info:

Muggle

Kind and loving husband and father.

Knowing his wife is a witch before they married

Spending time with his son, Bucky until he turns 7

Died of cancer when Bucky was 7, Bryan was 2 and Becky wasn’t born yet

He’s a camping expert.

Mother

Name: Brenda Hensletter

Eye: Blue

Hair: Blonde, Straight, Short

Height: 5′8″

Schoolhouse: Hufflepuff

Info:

Blood-Status: Pure-Blood.

She’s Herbologist

Sweet-tempered wife and mother

Using her magic to run her errand and housework.

Crying for hours after her husband’s death.

Still keeping her husband’s thing to remember him.

Grandmother

Name: Perry Hensletter

Age: 74

Eye: Grey

Hair: Grey, long and straight

Height: 5’3″

Info:

Muggle

Mother of Terry

Loving her grandsons, Bucky and Bryan

Knowing her daughter-in-law is a witch before her son married.

Feel devastated after her son’s death.

Love Interest: Barnaby Lee

Best Friends:  

Cedric Diggory

Chiara Lobosca

Penny Haywood

Diego Caplan

Lea Cahill

Ben Copper

Earnest Jones

Rival: Ismelda Murk

Enemy: Rakepick, R.

Dormmates: Diego Caplan

Pets: Cat, Rat, Frog, Owl, Crup, Kneazle, Puffskein, Streeler, Puppy Crup, Kitten Kneazle, Spider, Bat, Owlet.

Closest Canon Friends:

Cedric Diggory

Chiara Lobosca

Penny Haywood

Diego Caplan

Ben Copper

Closest MC Friends:

Constantinos Brakus

Lea Cahill

Douglas Hawkins

Earnest Jones

Ben Paul

Background/History

Born in London but moved to England to take care of grandma

His dad never told Bucky about his cancer until he sent it to the hospital. His dad’s last word to Bucky is “I miss you”.

Get bullied a lot at the young age.

He already learns how to ride a horse when he was 10 until now.

Personality

Soft

Warm

Loyal

Kind

Optimistic

Sweet-tempered (But he can get angry when someone tries to hurt his younger siblings or make fun of his gap teeth)

Misc:

Likes: Pop Music, Camping, Candy, Butterbeer, helping people, Cooking, Baking, helping people who need help.

Dislikes: Bullies, Violence, his younger siblings got hurt, losing his friends.

Hobbies: Cooking, baking, hanging out with friends.

He likes to help people who need help.

Despite he said he’s not a very good painter, his painting skills are as great as professional painter.

He and Ben are friends back then but they became distant after Ben changed.

He mostly got bullied a lot by some students especially Merula and Ismelda due to his naive personality

He loves to help his mom in the kitchen.

He loves to bake any kind of bread and sweets.

Despite his gentle nature, he won’t hesitate to leap into action if anyone is causing harm.

He has gap teeth.

Bucky reveal to be a camping expert since he ever go to the camping with his late dad who’s also a camping expert before his dad passed away.

His catchphrase is “Zing”.

He helps Lea stopped the Curse Vault and finding Jacob.

NOT Jacob’s siblings.

[jayrart]

HPHM Profile

Character Profile template is from @hogwartsmysterystory​

Identity

Name: Jenny Callisto Romero

Gender: Female

Age: 16

Birth Date: December 12

Species: Human

Blood Status: Pureblood

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Ethnicity: Hispanic

Nationality: American, British

Residence: Romero Forest Manor

Myer Briggs Personality Type:INFP-T  The Mediator

The Mage

1st Wand: Eleven-inch Redwood wand Unicorn Hair core

2nd Wand:Ten-inch Alder wood wand Phoenix Feather core

Animagus: Munchkin Cat

Misc Magical Abilities: Zoolingualism- can speak with animals and understand them.

Boggart Form: Her Aunt Bianca

Riddikulus Form: N/A

Amortentia: (What do they smell like?) Honey, Roses, Apples, Mint 

Amortentia: (What do they smell?) Fresh laundry, Forest, Sandalwood,

Patronus: Jaguar (family trait from mother side)

Patronus Memory: finding out she can speak with animals

Mirror of Erised: relaxing with her family back home

Specialized/Favourite Spells:Bambarda, Disillusionment, Silencio, cheering, Ferula, Orchideous, Colovaria

Appearance

Faceclaim: N/A

Voiceclaim: N/A

Game Appearance:

Height: 5'2

Weight: 147 pounds 

Physique: Average

Eye Colour: Lime Green that glows in low light

Hair Colour: Black

Skin Tone: Light tan

Body Modifications: Stephanie's gifted earrings 

Scarring: the Aztec symbol for death (Miquiztli) between shoulder blades 

Other: Birthmark under left eye, Right shoulder, stomach, Inner left thigh, bottom right foot, and light heart shape one on her back. purple hair clip on the right side (Jacob gave it to her before he left.)Pearl bracelet on the left hand (past down from her mother)

Inventory: Potions (Draught of Peace, Wiggenweld Potion, Invisibility Potion, Memory Potion, Wideye Potion), Journal with her forgotten memories (Jacob wrote down memories that their parents obliviated from Jenny), Wand, Hair ties, Journals, Pens, Snacks, Animal food.

Fashion:

Winter/Autumn: sweater, layers, warm tone colors 

Spring/ summer: flowy, simple, pastel colors 

Allegiances 

Hogwarts House: Slytherin

Ilvermorny House: Thunderbird

Affiliations/Organizations:

Prefect 

second-order of the Phoenix

Auror department

Professions: Auror, Later becomes a healer at school 

Hogwarts Information

Class Proficiencies:

Astronomy: ★★★★★☆☆☆☆☆

Charms:  ★★★★★★★★☆☆

DADA: ★★★★★★★★★☆

Flying: ★★★★★★★☆☆☆

Herbology: ★★★★☆☆☆☆☆☆

History of Magic: ★★★★☆☆☆☆☆☆

Potions: ★★★★★★★★★☆

Transfiguration: ★★★★★★★☆☆☆

Electives:

C.O.M.C:★★★★★★★★★★

Muggle Studies:★★★★★★★☆☆☆

Ancient Runes:★★★★★★☆☆☆☆

Quidditch: Only friendlies

Extra Curricular:

Potions club 

Frog Choir

Favourite Professors:

McGonagall

Flitwick 

Snape

Least Favourite Professors:

Rakepick

Relationships

Brother:

Name: Jacob Vincent Romero 

Age:20

Eye: Teal

Hair: Dark Brown, Wavy 

Height: 5'11

Schoolhouse: Slytherin 

Info:

He left during winter break to keep his family safe. 

Was going to tell Jenny but decided not to. She saw him leave 

Also Zoolingualism 

Expert at Non-verbal magic 

Learn to Apparition by himself

Extremely smart

 Heir to the Romero family funds but passes it down to Jenny

Shy around strangers 

Hates crowds 

Misc Siblings: 

Name: Dalton Nash Romero (baby brother)

Age: 1

Eye: Skyblue 

Hair: Brown, Curly 

Name: Cordelia Roselind Romero (baby sister)

Age:1

Eye: Skyblue

Hair: Brown, Wavy

Info: 

Born at the start of Jenny's 5th year

Unexpected 

Doesn't have the Zoolingualism gene

Father:

Name: Kristopher Vulcan Romero 

Age: 43

Eye: Blue

Hair: Black, Wavy 

Height: 6'1

Schoolhouse: Slytherin

Job: Auror 

Info:

One of the strongest Aurors 

Has a brother and sister

Traveled to America when Voldemort started to gain followers (orders for parents because he was the youngest)

Met his wife after a bad accident. Eventually got married and had Jacob and Jenny before moving back home.

 Was divested when Jacob left and tried everything he could to find him.

Regrets not being around due to work

Mother:

Name: María Celeste Gallegos

Age 40

Eye: Emerald Green

Hair: Brown, Curly, Knee length 

Height :5'6

Schoolhouse: Thunderbird 

Job: Healer

Info:

Comes from a family of 13 (2 Parents and 11 kids)

One of the 5 kids of her family with Ancient blood 

family of healers

Moved to England after her sister tried to kill Jenny 

Part of a special healer unit (basically the ICU) at St. Mungo's

Takes time off after Jacob left to comfort Jenny

Emotionally unstable for 2 years until she eventually comes to terms 

Love Interest: Jae, Barnaby, Cristiano (Au)

Best Friends: Rowan, Tonks, Barnaby, Charlie, Bill, Jae, Badeea, Talbott, Chiara, Andre, Merula 

Rival: N/A

Enemy: Rakepick, R, Bianca 

Dormmates: Rowan, Liz, Merula, Ismelda

Pets: owl, dog, cat, Abraxan (back home)

Closest Canon Friends: Tonks, Barnaby, Charlie

Closest MC Friends:

Stephanie @hanihonii​

Dia @dia-m-o​​ 

Samuel @moko-sh​

Kyril @kyril-hphm​

Cristiano @chrisception13​

Luna @lunasilvermorny​

Helene @heleneplays​​

Septimus  @brothergrimm71​​  

Ethren @hogwartsmysterystory​

Flavio @sirfluffig​

Background/History

Pre Hogwarts: Jenny was born in the US and lived there for 2 years. She was proclaimed the heir of the Gallegos fortune due to her strong Magical Abilities. This angered her Aunt Bianca so much that she abused Jenny. Often hitting, yelling, and cursing her but she would always obliviate her memory after. She cursed Jenny making it so she was unable to have kids (unless they are born with strong powers). When she was unsuccessful she decided to just kill her off by marking her for death and sacrificing her to Tezcatlipoca. Jenny's mother found out about everything her sister has done and fought with her before leaving the country and moving to England. They once more obliviated Jenny's memories and forbidden her from leaving the Manor. She was fine with that until Jacob went off to school and both her parents started working longer hours. Her aunt who is a Muggle would often come over to babysit Jenny and show her a lot of muggle things. But One day a death eater made their way into the Manor sent to kill Jenny as a warning to her father. Her Aunt got in the way to protect Jenny from dying in front of her. Her father was able to make it before the death eater was able to finish their task. Not wanting his daughter to remember seeing the death of her aunt he once more obliviated her memories. After that Jenny became very lonely and depressed when she was left alone. Often having nightmares of her forgotten memories. When Jacob ran away she broke down mentally and physically refusing to eat and never leaving her room. Once her Hogwarts letter arrived she began to open up again.

1st Year: Jenny is excited to finally go to school and explore other places outside the manor ground. She isn’t really used to talking to others so she comes off as odd. Often mimicking others’ actions and personality. She doesn't focus on any of the vaults and just pays attention to school and friends. You would see her exploring and talking to people and animals often. 

2nd Year: The start year is similar to her first year. Often hanging around Rowan, Merula, Barnaby. Once the Ice vault starts to affect her and her friend Jenny takes an interest. When she found notes left behind from her brother she became invested in finding him. Jenny starts to sneak around closed-off areas of the school and in the forest at the end of the year.

3rd Year: she meets Tonks at the start of the year and joins her for pranks. Eventually meeting Tulip and things got very very chaotic whenever the three are together. She starts to spend a lot of time with Barnaby. Eventually, he finds out about her ability and they become really close. They were often seen with one another, and everyone thinks they are dating but they aren't. As the vaults become more dangerous Jenny starts to get more involved so she can protect her friends.

4th Year: She meets Charlie this year and starts to hang out with him and Bill. They both become a brother figure to Jenny. They even take her back to their place during the holidays. She focuses less on the vaults this yeah and more on her friend. Eventually going on a date with Barnaby without knowing it and being her date to the dance. Jenny still got in trouble for looking for the vault in the woods and ends up in detention.

5th Year: When the year starts Jenny was ready to start looking for any clues but because of detention she wasn't able to. She actually starts developing a crush on Jae. When Rakepick shows up Jenny does not like her at all. She didn't say anything because she didn't want to be rude, but when Snape said not to trust her Jenny told him her thoughts. As year 5 continues Jenny became more stressed but didn't show or told anyone. She helped others with their problems to ignore her own. Once at the vault, she tried to talk to the dragon, but when Rakepick attacked there was nothing she could do but fight it. when Jenny found Jacob she was happy it was finally over. (It was the first time anyone has seen her cry) of course, when he eventually left she was really hurt ,but she put that to the side and tried to help her friends that have been hurt both physically and mentally. Before going home she goes back into Jacob's office and finds the journal that is full of all the obliviate memories. After being taken from mad-eye Jenny returns home and reads the journal. She loses all the trust of her friends and family and locks herself away from everyone the entire summer

6th Year: Jenny tried to hide her emotions and make things back to normal like things where before, but ultimately failed when she noticed everyone acting strange. She literally was doing everything to help her friends, find her brother and the next vault, and keep her grades up that she neglected her health. She rarely slept or eat and the only time she did was because Snape made her. ᴴᵉ ʷᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵃᵈᵐᶦᵗ ᶦᵗ ᵇᵘᵗ ʰᵉ ᵈᵒᵉˢ ʷᵒʳʳʸ ᶠᵒʳ ʰᵉʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ˡᵒᵒᵏˢ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ʰᵉʳ. When Rowan was killed Jenny literally broke. She was a mess cry and screaming as she held on to her lifeless body. After that, she joins Merula and Ben wanting to kill Rakepick. Once she finally meets back up with Jacob she confronts him for running away. Before he leaves again she hands the hair clip to him and makes him promise to bring it back once everything is done. Once Alanza arrives at the school Jenny didn't like her at all. She felt like Alanza was trying to take Roman's place.

7th Year: Jenny gets engaged to Barnaby to help him from being forced into an arranged marriage. They become more of a couple then just friends to make the marriage work eventually Jenny does fall for him.

Order of the Phoenix / 2nd Wizarding War: Becomes an Auror after school joining Tonks and becoming an apprentice of mad eye. Joins the Order helps with Intel, investigating, and spying. Fights at the battle and finally is confronted by her aunt. Jenny is able to kill her after everything she has done.

Post-War: Jenny still works as an Auror until her 50 where she becomes a healer at the school. Jenny becomes pregnant a few months after the war but loses her kid before they were born. During one of Jenny's assignments, she finds an infant child whose family was killed. Knowing that the child has no other family Jenny adopts him and raises him as her own. Jenny eventually gets pregnant again and had a girl named Melody who has the same powers as her.

Old Age & Death: Jenny is 97 when she dies of old age.

Personality

Good: Loyal, Loving, Kind, Optimism, Adventurous, Resourceful, Bold, Playful, Affectionate, Funny, Smart, Lively, Strong, Reliable, Determined, Cheerful, Friendly, Honest, Easygoing

Bad: Wild, Talkative, Rowdy, Fidgety, Cunning, Silly, Careless, Foolish, Impulsive, Sarcastic, Secretive, Clumsy, forgetful

Misc

Talents: Singing, Playing the Piano & Guitar, Baking, Ice Skating, 

Knew that something was off with Rakepick

Actually really good at potions but doesn't like to show off (snape knows but doesn't want it to go to her head)

Goes to the forbidden forest when she is upset to speak with the animals

It's strange to see Jenny when she is serious because she acts like a completely different person.

She stopped growing so she wears heels

Joined the order because of Tonks

When she goes home she invites Barnaby to stay, so he doesn't have to go back to his place if he feels uncomfortable.

The Romero family has 3 house elves but they are all "free". They were bought and set free the very same day, but given an option to say and look after the house and kids while they were at work in exchange for housing and food. 

Never had a real friend until she started school.No one other than the family has seen her up until then.

[leigh-james]

Biography 

Face Claim: Brittany Snow

Name: Leigh James

Age: 32, Feb 22 1988

Gender: Cis Female

Occupation: High School Art Teacher

Neighborhood: Humboldt Hills

BIOGRAPHY:

Leigh James grew up in the Humboldt Hills. Her parents, both San Francisco locals who worked in tech, thought it would be better for her and her sister to be raised amongst the redwoods where they grew up and that it would give them room to grow freely without the chaos of the city. From an early age Leigh’s creative side thrived; she was naturally drawn to painting and poetry, mixed media and pottery - when it came to art she was always an untethered spirit. She and her sister would write and produce their own little plays, footage of said plays can be found in a big box of VHS tapes in their parents attic. Leigh and her sister were always supportive of each other, in school Leigh would help backstage with set production and her sister would either be part of the cast or choir. Socially Leigh was more of a social butterfly, she preferred to keep her head down and focus on whatever muse she was working with but she always made time for friends. 

After High School, Leigh attended UCSC in Santa Cruz, California. It was a town just like Eureka that had beaches on one side and the forest on the other, though the weather was a tad different - it seemed to be always sunny, something Leigh took advantage of. Every other weekend she was at the beach, usually she would show up early to catch some waves on her surfboard or capture the sunrise in one of her paintings. She worked at an Art Therapy clinic after she graduated with a BA in Fine Arts and most of her spare time was devoted to her painting and Pottery. She stayed in the area for a few years before she heard  

Leigh planned on staying in Santa Cruz, but her parents wanted to sell their family home. It made sense to Leigh, they could move into a smaller apartment for just the two of them since their children have all moved on with their own lives, but she couldn’t let go of that American Craftsman with the strong timber framing she had always loved and had so many memories in. So, she took over the home and her parents moved into a small townhouse in Bayview.

When Leigh returned to town in 2016 she got a job at Eureka High School as an Art Teacher. She’s been working there since and has started her own Etsy shop to sell some of her handmade Jewelry, Pottery pieces such as mugs, bowls and vases, and Paintings. She hasn’t thought about trying to live off of her income from her Etsy, she thinks of it more as a hobby - though the reason she started was because she had too many pieces cluttering her home and thought if she sold some of them she would have money for other projects she’d dream up. 

These days you can find Leigh at the Beach, browsing an Art Store, or any of the Eureka High School fundraisers. She frequents the Hendersons Farmers Market, sometimes she has a booth selling some items from her Etsy store. Leigh loves going on adventures with friends, sketching strangers in Carson Square, and spending time with her dog, Lucy.

[shesclearlya3]

In Case You Don’t Live Forever P.5

epilogue

pairing: Xavier Plympton x Reader

word count: 1,516

warnings: fluff, cuteness, slightly sad, references of smut/murder, a little cheesy not gonna lie, canon(?)

not entirely proof-read. *title inspired by Ben Platt’s song*

part 1 part 2 part 3

June 2019

"KEEP UP! Don't need any of you getting lost, now!"

You could hear Montana in front of the group of children following her to their hiking trail. There were seventeen kids in this group, all of them packed with water bottles, sunscreen, and some with cellphones as they saw the beautiful valleys of California. They talked and laughed excitedly when someone tripped up, and from having a good time.

Xavier held your hand as you followed them, making sure nobody strayed too far from the path. He was wearing designer sunglasses, smiling at everything and anyone when they asked where he got them.

"I know a guy," he'd say. 

Camp Redwood was currently in its fifth successful year. One of the siblings from the 1970 massacre decided to open it up, tearing down most of the original cabins and replacing them with nicer, updated ones. His family was full of successful architects, and they wanted to make something good come out of all the tragedy.

People were very skeptical when the news broke in 2013 that the camp was undergoing repairs and construction. The ones who were old enough to remember everything became the harshest critics. When the camp finally opened the next Summer, the number of kids barely filled a school bus. 

Yet, the six of you were there, offering your services as counselors.

After the first year, more and more kids came. It seemed that the Camp Redwood curse was finally broken, and now the children had sleepaway camp eight weeks during the Summer. In the offseason, it was open to entire families, and every Halloween, there was a haunted house, much to your amusement.

Most of the kids had come back year after year until they were not allowed to go back once they were sixteen. It was hard, growing attached to a kid who would soon be too old to come back. 

Finally, they demolished the original kitchen, much to Xavier's relief.

He never went into much detail about what went down that night, and you never pushed him. When Bertie made an appearance, he spent time with her. You'd explore, or read the limited selection of books, or rest. The others liked to spend time with you, you found a good relationship with Ray and Chet over the years. Montana stopped her killing ways once the year 2000 rolled around. 

Once you officially joined their group, Xavier came clean.

You weren't really shocked at Montana's behavior, and Xavier didn't pretend he was innocent, neither. He didn't mind capturing intruders who raided the camp, playing the "lost boy" to gather their trust, before giving them to Montana. He was angry and vengeful what had happened to him, to Bertie, and temporarily being cooked up.

When you died, that's when he killed people.

It wasn't something he was ever proud of. Your death only brought another slew of people who wanted to test their luck, taking pictures and defacing the property, like it wasn't where you and the others lived their final moments. He stabbed people, slashed their throats, even strangling ones who were particularly feisty. 

Finally, Ray was able to get to him, once again explaining this wouldn't be what you wanted. You still hadn't appeared to any of them, you were in limbo, and it pissed Xavier off. Honestly, none you had figured out why certain people came back, and others didn't. Plympton and Duke both should be happy their malicious spirits didn't pay them a visit. 

You and Xavier liked to say your relationship was going on thirty-four years, at least to your group. There was no way in hell you'd say that to outsiders, they'd think you two were crazy. 

Xavier liked to touch you, kiss your hair, neck, lips, he was a man of affection. The kids would giggle and tease him if they caught you two, and Xavier would only roll his eyes and pretend it didn't bother him, giving them smart-ass replies. It was safe to say Xavier was the favorite. 

You hadn't realized they stopped walking, bumping into Xavier's arm. He laughed, reaching down to pinch your butt. "Earth to y/n, you alright in there?" 

"I'm fine, just thinking," you sighed, leaning your head against him. The kids had begged Montana to stop, as you reached the highest point of the hills. It was a fantastic sight to you, seeing kids see nature for the first time. 

"It's our favorite time of the year. Cheer up, buttercup," Xavier said, speaking loudly just to spite the children. A small group of them turned, wrinkling their noses and saying "eeeewww," 

"Y/n and Xavier sitting in a tree," one kid, Adam, started to sing.

"K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" the rest chimed in, causing you to throw your head back and laugh. Montana grinned from the front. Xavier pouted.

"Oh yeah? Well, you guys sounded horrible, thank god we don't have a choir." Xavier said, already starting a rivalry, and the day had barely begun. 

"How about we continue, Montana?" you chirped, trying not to cackle. Some of Xavier's favorite kids stuck their tongues at him, before everybody shuffled forward, more giggles in the air as a kid already tripped. 

"You are so rude to these kids," you teased him, linking your hands together again. 

"They can handle it, they love me," he mumbled, leaning down to kiss your head. 

-

One of your favorite spots to be with Xavier was on the docks. You were still too high up to place your feet in the water, though. It was lovely sitting there, basking in the moonlight with the love of your life. He held your intertwined hands in his lap, this time leaning his head against you. His blonde hair tickled your nose.

"Xavier?" you whispered.

"y/n?" he replied.

"Do you remember when we said I love you for the first time, together?"

Xavier laughed, "Babe, I remember that day like it was yesterday. What's going on, you've been inside your head all day." he gently squeezed your hand, sitting up. His blue eyes found yours quickly. 

You smiled at his name for you, placing your other hand on top of your connected ones. "I just think about it a lot. You said it took us dying to finally confess our feelings, how long did you... love me?" you asked shyly. 

You knew it was random, bringing this up over thirty-years after it happened. You were just dying to know.

"It was the night you picked me up from Blake's house, remember him?" he asked. You nodded, knowing you wouldn't forget that piece of shit any time soon. "I remember waking up, scared because I didn't know where I was. I had a horrible trip, I didn't want my life to get that bad, you know?" Xavier coughed, trying to hide his discomfort. You squeezed his hand. 

"... He just promised me all of these good things, all of this money that I could use to finally pay off my bills, get us out of our first shitty apartment-"

You frowned, "Xavier-"

"Shh," he said, giving you a gentle smile, "I just... When you picked me up, crying because you didn't know where I was the entire night, smacking me around because you were hurt so badly." he sniffed. "That's when I understood nobody would love me as much as you do."

You had tears in your eyes as you leaned into him, pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder. "I'm sorry for uh, smacking you around," you giggled through your tears. 

"I deserved it, y/n!" he said, cupping your cheeks in his hand before pressing a loud, sloppy kiss to your lips. You were taken by surprise, until-

"EWWWWWWW!" 

You broke away from him, turning to see a small group of kids with flashlights, gawking at the two of you. Xavier smirked, waving at them. 

"That's what you get for eavesdropping!" he called after them after they scurried away, their lights bobbing around in the dark. 

"You just love torturing them, don't you?" you laughed. 

"It's the second-best part of my day,"

"And the first?" you asked, leaning closer to him. Your lips brushed together, feeling the heat bubbling between you and between your legs. 

"In the kitchen with Bertie-" he began, laughing at the surprised look on your face. You went to give him a playful smack, but Xavier disappeared. You looked around, hoping none of the kids had seen that.

"Xavier!" you giggled quietly, trying to hide it. 

"y/n," you heard in your ear, causing you to jump and scream loudly.

"DON'T DO THAT!" you said through your laughter, feeling his arms wrap around you from behind. Xavier helped you up, pressing another kiss to your lips. 

"I'll show you the best part of my day," he mumbled, trailing small kisses from the corner of your lips to your jawline. "Let's hope the others don't take a shower any time soon." 

You and Xavier took off towards the showers, laughing the entire way. 

"I love you more than you'll ever wrap your head around, Xavier Plympton,"

----- THAT’S THE END!

Thank you so much to all of you who supported and loved this story as much as I did. I never thought it would get the attention it received, it was heart-wrenching in so many ways, but I needed this story to be told. The next multi-chapter story will be of Foreign Exchange!Michael. If you want to be on that taglist, let me know!  -----

taglist: @thexmancometh​ @the-walking-daryl​ @trichy-knitts​ @shydragonrider​ @thefandomzoneisdangerous​ @lemonwhiskers​  @jetblackpayne​ @langdonsvcrd​ @okoktrinity22​ @uwonman​ @stefanmikaleson1864​ @sevenwonderwitch​ @rubbrninja

[yeet-imma-skeet]

The Sky Is In Pieces

(Based in @starr-fall-knight-rise 's unique universe. Part 5 to the story)

(Part 1: https://yeet-imma-skeet.tumblr.com/post/613232997621202944/the-sky-is-falling)

Bzzzzzzzzz...

Pop! Hissssssss...

The air locks hissed into place as the two ships hitched together. The finality in the sound caused some second thoughts to arise, making one to swallow in uncertainty and the other to twitch her tail for the same reasons. Curious, because of their constant exchanges over video call they had gotten used to the other's existence but here they were. Nervous as all hell.

Then she smelt it.

As soon as the doors peeled open, she fought to withhold an unexpected growl. Her throat tightened as the unmistakable scent of fresh meat washed over her like a cold splash of water to a sunbathed face. Unlike the last few cycles, she was now acutely aware of her hunger. She bit onto her tongue, blocking the scent receptors. Hopefully she could hide it before they noticed anything off.

Too late.

The one she knows as Captain Silva tilted his head, "Is something wrong?"

The flying orb of data did a once over around her form before hovering between them, "Nothing is appearing to be a problem. Voice your concerns, caldat?"

Oh Matradais above, she could practically TASTE it.

She stumbled back, holding her hands around her hidden maw, keeping it shut. The pleading look in her eye seemed to scream when her stomach sharply twisted a knife into itself.

Without a second the humans recognized a starving creature when they saw one.

Silva roared over his shoulder, "SOMEONE BRING SOME FOOD ASAP!"

A gray drev at the entrance reared back in surprise as the humans scrambled for anything edible. Pockets were overturned and boxes were thrown until one human triumphantly held a fried chicken drumstick in the air. Ah, how he held it like a gift from the heavens. It nearly made the others bow down to its golden radiance. Did they hear a choir?

"Did you just pull KFC out of your pocket?"

"Emergency snack, sir. Since it is one it wor—WAHG!"

The tall man fell back as a blur of white tackled him. As soon as she snatched the "emergency snack", she darted onto a nearby stack of crates as she snarfed down. The crunch of bone made the humans wince and the drev scuttle back in shock. They had never seen their humans do such things to their meals. Compared to the hunched over being above them, they were much quieter... most of the time.

"Oh my god, her mouth is under her chin!"

"H—What?"

"Look!"

"Her face flipped up!"

"That’s metal as fuck."

Galia ignored their open stares and whispers as she kept munching, appreciating the juicy flavor of the new meat. The strange crunchy covering on it matched rather well with it. Licking the last remnants off her claws, she made her way down the stack, hiding her embarrassment at the uncouth first meeting.

"I’m sorry," She murmured, "I didn’t expect the smell of food to smack me across the face."

The orb translated between them, wondering about her strange choice of words before a revving sounded from the humans. It lowered it forming guard as the telltale sign of amused humans secured their safety. Then again, humans actions were rather contradictory according to its new data.

"We would probably do the same if we were you." Silva smiled.

Galia held out a hand to shake, using their weird greeting she learned, "Welcome onto my dolmier, Captain Silva."

He accepted it, watching for claws despite himself, "Thank you for taking us, Galia."

——————————

The first thing the crew of the UNSC Esperanca noticed was the sheer size of the ridiculously white ship. The halls were much taller and wider with strangely no corners to speak of like organized tunnels. The "doors" were basically sliding hobbit doors, just circles for entrances. The only places that straight lines existed was within the hexagonal rooms of the ship. It reminded many humans of beehives and ant tunnels. It was a welcome change compared to their cramped brick. Especially to those who managed to smuggl—procure skateboards onto the ship.

"YAHOOOOOO!"

The head medic gazing down at her tablet stepped aside as a group of skaters wheeled past her. The breeze they caused tossed her tied ginger locks. Tossing her hair back, she finally looked up from the data, sighing to herself. A clear window in the corridor caught her eye, making her pause in silent awe for the fourth time that day. The surprising reason why the alien ship had been so huge was because of the gigantic bio-dome in the heart of it.

Towering pillars of rock grew from the ground alongside multicolored trees that could compete with redwoods. A rainbow of vines draped over and under them, the stems as thick as a regular tree. The kaleidoscope of color nearly gave one a headache if it wasn’t for the rest of the bio-dome. Cream and gray savanna grasses covered most of the ground as the tall jungle only took a third of the dome. A visible rundown path winded between the biomes which led to last surprising addition to the nature. Clear yet blue water sloshed around as a lake-sized pool sat beside them. Apparently it was a hundred meters deep and had underwater caves under the land. When she saw a map of it, the maze of tunnels shook her to the core. The effort and engineering that went into the nature seemed so intricate yet it worked so well together.

She laid a hand onto the glass, feeling the warmth of the room on the other side. If they could bring this aboard other ships, who knows what kind of benefits it could have for space travel? Crew would have more morale and wouldn’t be so homesick. The fact that she had to help wrestle most of the crew away from entering the bio-dome proved the fact that nature was a must, even if it was alien. She stared back at her tablet, looking over the data of the plants inside once again. Until she knew it was safe, there was no way that she could let the crew go in or herself for that matter. That lake seemed to call for her to take a dip. Swim in meeeeee...

She shook her head, reluctantly leaving the view. Looking back to her tablet, her resolve to finish scanning the data grew only stronger. She’ll be damned if she didn’t take a dip by the end of the day. Mark her words.

——————————

Screeeeeeech! Crash! Thunk!

A voice groaned, “Ow...”

“Ow, indeed.”

The sprawled form of a marine blearily squinted up to see the upsidedown face of the white alien. He tilted his head. Scratch that. She was right side up. With another groan, he tumbled over his own head as the amused alien stepped away from his flop. Thinking back to her comment, he thought it weird to hear a gruff woman’s voice from his translator chip. How technology easily grows.

She rubbed her ear things—arials they were called, “Are you humans always loud?”

“Not usually, but then again,” He grunted as he sat up, “It depends on the human.”

“...I’ve been hearing that a lot. It’s much harder to tell what each of you would do without any visible differences, though.”

He surreptitiously watched her tail flick back and forth in thought until she reached out a hand.

Accepting it, he asked, “Visible differences?”

“Body language. Usually we watch changes in tails and arials. With you, it’s the face. And hands. And feet. Many things now that I think about it.”

“Ha ha! Good luck with that.”

She nodded towards a runaway skateboard, “And good luck with that too.”

“SHIT MY SKATEBOARD!”

He dashed for it, screaming at it to come back.

Galia winced, the man’s voice ringing across her arials. Ever since the humans came aboard, they had brought delectable food, yes, but had also provided to be impressively noisy. Their words carried through the halls while their movements were almost obnoxious and as much as she admired the drev, they were worse. After walking into their makeshift armory, she immediately cringed away at the metallic screeching and pounding hammers. Her head rang for hours even after hiding away in the treetops of the bio-dome.

A feeling of uncertainty krept into her mind. Having yourself nearly deafened everyday could make one doubt every sound they hear. The fact did not comfort her as she had a job to do. She had to protect the Royals at any cost...

(Part 6: https://yeet-imma-skeet.tumblr.com/post/620559516121137152/great-theres-sky-everywhere)

[kvetchlandia]

Monty Python     Parrot Sketch  and Lumberjack Song    1969

Customer: 'Ello, I wish to register a complaint.

(The owner does not respond.)

C: 'Ello, Miss?

Owner: What do you mean "miss"?

C: (pause) I'm sorry, I have a cold. I wish to register a complaint!

O: Ahh...Sorry.  We're closin' for lunch.

C: Never mind that, my lad. I wish to complain about this parrot what I purchased not half an hour ago from this very boutique.

O: Oh yes, the, uh, the Norwegian Blue...What's,uh...What's wrong with it?

C: I'll tell you what's wrong with it, my lad. 'E's dead, that's what's wrong with it!

O: No, no, 'e's uh,...he's resting.  LOOK.

C: Look, my lad, I know a dead parrot when I see one, and I'm looking at one right now.

O: No no he's not dead, he's, he's restin'! Remarkable bird, the Norwegian Blue, idn'it, ay? Beautiful plumage!

C: The plumage don't enter into it. It's stone dead.

O: No, it's resting!

C: All right then, if he's restin', I'll wake him up! (shouting at the cage) 'Ello, Polly! I've got a nice fresh cuttle fish for you if you wake up, Mr. Polly Parrot...(owner hits the cage)

O: There, he moved!

C: No, he didn't, that was you pushin’ the cage!

O: I didn’t!!

C: Yes, you did! (Yelling and hitting the cage repeatedly) 'ELLO POLLY!!!!! Wakey, wakey! Rise ‘n’ shine!  This is your nine o'clock alarm call!

(Takes parrot out of the cage and thumps its head on the counter. Throws it up in the air and watches it plummet to the floor.)

C: Now that's what I call a dead parrot.

O: No, 'e's stunned!

C: STUNNED?!?

O: Yeah! You stunned him, just as he was wakin' up! Norwegian Blues stun easily, major.

C: Um...now look...now look, mate, I've definitely 'ad enough of this. That parrot is definitely deceased, and when I bought it not 'alf an hour ago, you assured me that its total lack of movement was due to it bein' tired and shagged out after a long squawk.

O: Well, he's...  pining for the fjords.

C: PININ' for the FJORDS?!?!?!? What kind of talk is that?, Look, why did he fall flat on his back the moment I got 'im home?

O: The Norwegian Blue prefers keepin' on it's back! Beautiful plumage.

C: I took the liberty of examining that parrot when I got it home, and I discovered the only reason that it had been sitting on its perch in the first place was that it had been NAILED there.

(pause)

O: Ah, but o'course it was nailed there! I mean, if I hadn't nailed it there, it would have nuzzled up to those bars and VOOM! 

C: Look here, mate.  This bird wouldn't "voom" if you put four thousand volts through it!  It’s bleedin' demised!

O: No!  It's pining!

C: It's not pinin'!  It’s passed on! This parrot is no more!  It has ceased to be! It's expired and gone to see 'is maker! This is a late parrot.  It's a stiff! Bereft of life, it rests in peace! If you hadn't nailed it to the perch it would be be pushing up the daisies! It’s run down the curtain and joined the choir invisible. THIS IS AN EX-PARROT!!

(pause)

O: Well, I'd better replace it, then.

(he takes a quick peek behind the counter)

C: If you want to get anything done in this country, you’ve got to complain til you’re blue in the mouth.

O: Sorry squire, I've had a look 'round the back of the shop, and uh, we're right out of parrots.

C: I see. I see, I get the picture.

O: (pause) I got a slug.

(pause)

C: Does it talk?

O: Not really.

C: WELL IT'S HARDLY A BLOODY REPLACEMENT, IS IT?!!???!!?

O: Well! I never wanted to do this in the first place. I wanted to be... A LUMBERJACK!  

C:  I’m sorry.  This is irrelevant, isn’t it?

O: Yes, a lumberjack!  Leaping from tree to tree as they float down the mighty rivers of British Columbia.  The giant redwood.  The larch.  The fir.  The mighty Scotch pine.  

C: What about my bloody parrot?

O: The smell of fresh cut timber.  The crash of mighty trees.  With my best girl by my side, we’d sing, sing, SING:

Oh, I'm a lumberjack, and I'm okay, I sleep all night and I work all day.

Chorus: He's a lumberjack, and he's okay, He sleeps all night and he works all day.

I cut down trees, I eat my lunch, I go to the lava-try. On Wednesdays I’ll go shoppin' And have buttered scones for tea.

Mounties: He cuts down trees, he eats his lunch, He goes to the lava-try. On Wednesdays he goes shoppin' And has buttered scones for tea.

Chorus: He's a lumberjack, and he's okay, He sleeps all night and he works all day.

I cut down trees, I skip and jump, I like to press wild flowers. I put on women's clothing, And hang around in bars.

Mounties: He cuts down trees, he skips and jumps, He likes to press wild flowers. He puts on women's clothing And hangs around.... In bars???????

Chorus: He's a lumberjack, and he's okay, He sleeps all night and he works all day.

I chop down trees, I wear high heels, Suspenders and a bra. I wish I'd been a girlie Just like my dear papa.

Mounties and C: He cuts down trees, he wears high heels Suspenders?? I wish I’d been a girlie, just like my dear papa.

Best Girl:  Oh, Freddy.  And I thought you were so butch!

Terry Jones  -  1942-2020   -  Ave atque Vale

[junieloveless]

Junie Loveless Profile

I used @hogwartsmysterystory​ profile template 

lDENTITY

Name: Juniper Loveless

Gender: Female

Age: 15

Birth Date: September 6th, 1972

Species: Human

Blood Status: Half-Blood

Sexuality: Straight

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Nationality: British

Residence: Bristol, England.

Myer Briggs Personality Type: ENFP - The Campaigner

THE MAGE

1st Wand:

➤ Applewood ➤ Dragon heartstring core ➤ 11½ in ➤ Supple flexibility.

2nd Wand:

Redwood, Dragon heartstring core, 11 ½ in, brittle flexibility.

➤ Redwood ➤ Dragon heartstring core ➤ 11½ in ➤ Supple flexibility.

Animagus:  White cat with piercing blue eyes.

Misc Magical Abilities: Legilimen

Boggart Form:  Both her parents angrily disapproving of her.

Riddikulus Form:  Her parents get their mouths zipped.

Amortentia: Smelling Junie in Amortentia would smell like chamomile, brand new paper and pumpkin pie.

Amortentia: She smells fresh laundry, leather and something elusive (Bill).

Patronus: Kneazle

Patronus Memory:  it's not a specific moment but a concrete feeling. The last time her family was fine and together. She gets an indescribable peace, the feeling that somehow everything would be okay. She feels loved and safe.

Mirror of Erised:  She sees herself, a little boy holds her hand and a baby girl is in Bill's arms, who is standing next to her. They're both wearing golden rings, Junie spots them in the reflection and the Bill inside of the mirror gives her a warm smile... 

Specialized/Favourite Spells: Expecto Patronus / Revelio / Finite Incantatem / Depulso / Salvio Hexia / Legilimens (Everything a cursebreaker needs)

APPEARANCE

Faceclaim: Iva Varvarchuk

Game Appearance:

(Before and after Rakepick broke her wand)

Height: 5′4

Weight: 127 lbs.

Physique: Slim

Eye Colour: Blue

Hair Colour: Brown

Skin Tone: Fair

Body Modifications: Pierced ears. Dyed Hair.

Scarring: Nothing major

Inventory: Wand, watch, sketchbook, journal, ink, art supplies, fizzing whizbees.

ALLEGIANCES

Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw

Ilvermorny House: Thunderbird

Affiliations/Organizations: Order of Phoenix, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Professions: Owner of "Miss Loveless Wizarding Crafts", Independent Cursebreaker.

HOGWARTS INFORMATION

Class Proficiencies:

Astronomy: ★★★★★★★☆☆☆ (E)

Charms:  ★★★★★★★★★★ (O)

DADA:  ★★★★★★★★★★ (O)

Flying:  ★★★★☆☆☆☆☆☆ (A)

Herbology:  ★★★★★★☆☆☆☆ (E)

History of Magic:  ★★★★★★★★★☆ (O)

Potions:  ★★★★☆☆☆☆☆☆ (A)

Transfiguration:  ★★★★★★★★☆☆ (O)

Electives:

Study of Ancient Runes

Ancient Studies

Care of Magical Creatures

Apparition

Quidditch: N/A

Extra Curricular: 

Support member of the Frog Choir 

Art (Only 4th year)

Duelling Club

Favourite Professors:

Filius Flitwick

Minerva Mcgonagall

Silvanus Kettleburn

Least Favourite Professors:

Patricia Rakepick

Severus Snape

Sybill Trelawney

RELATIONSHIPS

Brother: Jacob Dominic Loveless 

House: Ravenclaw Blood status: Half-Blood Nacionality: British

Father:  Jacob Loveless Jr.

House: Ravenclaw Blood status: Pure-Blood Nacionality: British

Mother: Sylvia Castilla

House: Gryffindor Blood status: Muggle-born Nacionality: Spanish, but when she was 8 years old she moved to London with her parents and her four siblings.

Love Interest: Bill Weasley (4th-6th year)

Best Friends:

Charlie Weasley

Tulip Karasu

Penny Haywood

Andre Egwu

Rival: 

Merula Snyde

Emily Tyler

Enemy:

Patricia Rakepick

R

Dormmates: 

Tulip Karasu

Rowan Khanna

Badeea Ali

Skye Parkin

Pets:

Socks: An American Wirehair Cat. Dies in her fifth year.Ozzy: The frog that Tulip gave her.Paprika: An orange half kneazle

Closest Canon Friends:

Bill Weasley

Charlie Weasley

Tulip Karasu

Rowan Khanna

Penny Haywood

Nymphadora Tonks

Andre Egwu

[amiwalkingincircles]

Heart by Dorianne Laux

I just like reading this one out loud... 

“Heart a blue skiff parting the silk of the lake...” Very cool. 

The heart shifts shape of its own accord— from bird to ax, from pinwheel to budded branch. It rolls over in the chest, a brown bear groggy with winter, skips like a child at the fair, stopping in the shade of the fireworks booth, the fat lady's tent, the corn dog stand. Or the heart is an empty room where the ghosts of the dead wait, paging through magazines, licking their skinless thumbs. One gets up, walks through a door into a maze of hallways. Behind one door a roomful of orchids, behind another, the smell of burned toast. The rooms go on and on: sewing room with its squeaky treadle, its bright needles, room full of file cabinets and torn curtains, room buzzing with a thousand black flies. Or the heart closes its doors, becomes smoke, a wispy lie, curls like a worm and forgets its life, burrows into the fleshy dirt. Heart makes a wrong turn. Heart locked in its gate of thorns. Heart with its hands folded in its lap. Heart a blue skiff parting the silk of the lake. It does what it wants, takes what it needs, eats when it's hungry, sleeps when the soul shuts down. Bored, it watches movies deep into the night, stands by the window counting the streetlamps squinting out one by one. Heart with its hundred mouths open. Heart with its hundred eyes closed. Harmonica heart, heart of tinsel, heart of cement, broken teeth, redwood fence. Heart of bricks and boards, books stacked in devoted rows, their dusty spines unreadable. Heart with its hands full. Hieroglyph heart, etched deep with history's lists, things to do. Near-sighted heart. Club-footed heart. Hard-headed heart. Heart of gold, coal. Bad juju heart, singing the low down blues. Choir boy heart. Heart in a frumpy robe. Heart with its feet up reading the scores. Homeless heart, dozing, its back against the Dumpster. Cop-on-the-beat heart with its black billy club, banging on the lid.

[redwoodgigantea1955]

Photogallery: RHS Choir Show

Photogallery: RHS Choir Show