#timeline: tbt.

[unorcadox]

try not to remember

[timechange]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 — peanut brittle.

OCTOBER 25, 1985

He feels like he’s gonna puke.

Even if the sticky sweet smell of caramel and stale, almost rancid peanuts wasn’t assaulting his nostrils the second his dad opened the box and poured a bowl, he still would feel like he was gonna puke.

“Just try it once, okay? For me. Say no. N. O. No.”

He looks over at Dave and his dad laughing over The Honeymooners, sighs, and keeps pushing his food around his plate.

His dad couldn’t even do that. Not even for him.

NOVEMBER 2, 1985

“Hi sweetheart,” his mom chirps as he walks in the door.

“Hey, Mom,” he responds obediently, staying put as she ducks out of the kitchen to kiss his cheek. She’s dressed in a weird, flouncy apron with pale roses on it Marty’s never seen before in his life and wonders, briefly, if she went crazy and made it out of her mom’s curtains. But that’s something his mom would do, not this one. Never this one.

“I’ve got a surprise,” she grins, steering him by his shoulders back toward the kitchen.

What he’s greeted by is some kind of Martha Stewart flavored nightmare.

Bowls of lovingly prepared candy— including, he notices with a churning stomach, a mountain of peanut brittle— lie photoshoot ready on the table.

“It’s all homemade,” she tells him proudly and he feels the color drain from his face. Who are you and what have you done with my mom? “I wanted to have it all ready by Halloween but that just wasn’t in the cards this year, and some of it had to set overnight—“

“It looks great, Ma,” Marty responds weakly, swallowing down his revulsion and his panic. “Real great.”

“Well, go on, have a piece! I’m sure you're hungry.”

“I, um… actually, Mom, I’m good. Don’t wanna… don’t wanna spoil dinner, y’know?” He starts backing out of the kitchen, taking wide strides while keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the table.

“Oh, Marty, a piece or two of candy is not gonna—“

“Bye.” He turns and runs for his room, closing the door.

That settles it. He’s never gonna be able to eat peanut brittle again.

[lightcreators]

@skywalker-sister continue from here

The affection seemed to soothe Noa as she took her first steady breath in a minute. It was one of those days that was especially difficult for her, and she was feeling overwhelming anxiety from a source she couldn’t explain. It was simply a persistent feeling that probably didn’t even have a source.

“Anakin… I don’t feel good…” she mumbled to him quietly, allowing him to kiss her forehead.

He always had understood she needed time for herself sometimes. Or even had really emotionally harsh days --- in which, considering his mental health was pretty much fragile, and preferred be certain degree of how serious it was had to remaining hidden, he switched his priorities … towards her. As he would always picking this option regardless if he couldn't mentally handling himself together, when his anxious, close of depressive instants were sometimes horribly damaging in which le let only Padme perceiving degree of damages. Hence, as he remained wordlessly at her side, he letting her time to breathe away, lowering down the pressure. Concerning reassuring her, he could do the best he could. He wouldn't considering himself be easy to be reassured with : not when he would doing his best efforts NOT to comment he wasn't perceiving same things than people around him … and well, he would need strenght and efforts for his voice pointing out things to be accepted ! He would have hoped sweetness gesture of affection would have calmed down her mind. Immediately, of course, he saw with his two eyes it wasn't the case. ❝ Dizziness? Headache? Where does it hurt? ❞ Did it was purely mental in which he could attempting something ? Did it was purely physical in which her body decided enough efforts had been made today ? Patiently, he searched tiny signs that can giving him clues about what do do --- because as much everyone pulled all faith within him, he could say he was learning slowly … and partially fullfill part of expectations desired for him.

[morningflew]

❛ don't mess with my hat. ❜

it's less of a hat and more of a makeshift helm, rhaena thinks. far be it from her to correct one of the ladies of the castle, though. arya stark might welcome any other title than the one she was born into but it would never change how anybody else was to address her, whether she liked it or not. "i was only going to dust it off, my lady. it must have fallen and been placed back without being cleaned." she clasps her hands behind her as she steps back, looking at her earnestly. "it's a fine hat. did you make it yourself?"

one piece (live action). accepting !

[chernayavidua]

you’ve been avoiding me . (for phil)

YEAR: 2015 LOCATION: natasha's upper east side apartment

                 as soon as the words leave his mouth regret starts gnawing at him because they sound like he's accusing her of doing it on purpose. but given the circumstances, she has every right to do so. and yet after a dozen calls and half a dozen messages and voicemails, he feels like perhaps she is avoiding him and everyone else. natasha glares daggers at him but says nothing. slowly he follows her further into the lavish loft. the scattered papers, pictures, books, piles of old newspapers and magazines are everywhere. what he can only assume to be a marble breakfast bar is covered with them and the stunning wooden floor in the living room is also covered with all sorts of papers. a portion of the floor to ceiling windows is covered by pictures, flashcards, and sticky notes. a timeline. the multicolored squares remind him of his own attempts at remembering things and how those damn squares were in almost every room of his own apartment. there's a broken glass on the far side of the room. the scene is a familiar one to him. it nudges him off kilter only enough to cause the faint beginnings of anxiety to take hold.

what was so important that you had to show up here?

                 she looks a mess. she looks tired. exhausted really. the dark circles under her eyes look to be that of weeks worth of sleepless nights. the shadows of her high cheekbones mean that she hasn't been eating normally and the red around her eyes is self explanatory. she arches a brow from where she sits on the couch.

                 “i figured why take up more space in your voicemail when i can get a faster answer in person..” there's a momentary struggle of deciding if he should cross the room towards her or not. an urge he fights to suppress by crossing his arms, gaze flickering about the space. silence engulfs them.

i'm tired and angry. her voice wavers, head hanging low. his brows pinch. he waits for her to elaborate but instead she abruptly stands, hands ranking through messy crimson hair. you don't get it. everyone is fucking lying to me. everyone is hiding things from me like i'm too fragile to handle the truth. they look at my like if they say the wrong thing i might kill them. do you know what that's like? to have your friends, people you cared about, lying straight to your face?

                 he knows what it's like to not be able to trust your own mind. even all these years later he still has holes in his memory and certain memories feel more like dreams and sometimes he'll lose hours of the day, unable to even remember anything. and the nightmares. those damn nightmares used to make the nights feel longer than the days. sometimes they still do. even with melinda's help ---if one could call it that--- the effects of being brought back to life still lingered. he moves towards the coffee table as she paces, the curiosity that their line of work brings out getting the better of him. (she's a private person ---they both are--- and with his forced presence he's taking a chance by poking around.) he nudges one of the papers out of the way, revealing a handful of pictures scattered underneath.

                 “you're still confused about what happened between you and barnes.” he catches a glimpse of himself among the scattered photographs on the coffee table.. and the sick part is that it feeds his ego knowing that she's kept this picture of them, that she's looked at it, attempted to place it in a moment in time. he still remembers the sound of the little snort she let out that caused him to grin, attention solely on her. the moment forever frozen in time.

about him. about my time at shield. there's a pause as she turns her back to him and moves further away from the coffee table and couch to pace. about you. the last three years have been a lot to deal with, mentally that is. i don't even know if what i think is real was real at all. ivan can only help so much. i don't have an appetite. i get splitting headaches that make me nauseous. i can't sleep--

                 he pulls himself away from his thoughts. the moment captured in that photograph forgotten as his attention returns to her. the sleepless nights would explain the bottle of pills he saw in the kitchen. “you can't do this on your own. you need friends around you to help---”

friends? her voice rings out as she she quickly yet gracefully spins to face him. you mean the same friends that are lying to me? the same ones who didn't question why fury and hill told them not to talk about barnes to me after i took a so called 'deep cover assignment of an unknown duration'. those friends? what are they going to do? how exactly are they going to help me remember?

they stare each other down. the look she gives him daring him to challenge her, daring him to tell her she's wrong. you're here on fury's orders, aren't you?

“no. why---”

don't fucking lie to me, phil!

“i'm not! for fucks sake, natasha! i was the only person who was against fury putting a burn notice on you!”

a burn notice? hill insisted i take a leave of absence. after everything that happened, it made sense --- am i actually undercover for russia? ---no. no i'm not. i don't think i am but--- she mumbles to herself, moving towards the window with all of it's papers.

                 phil sighs, hands resting on his hips. ivan wouldn't have known about the notice in a million years and anyone who is talking to her, even if they're lying, would never have any idea about the official story. fury and hill had made sure that only a select few knew about it. he tried arguing a case for her but they were more concerned about a potential infiltration along with appeasing those within the agency who wanted answers for the deaths of a dozen agents at her hand. they didn't care that she'd been loyal to them for so long nor that she was their top agent. nor that she hadn't been herself when she'd attacked said agents. they had already decided to protect the agency above all else.

                 “if you don't believe what ivan says then believe me because i've been there for you for years. i'm won't lie to you, talya. i never have and i won't start now.” he moves towards her as he speaks. never lying to her was something he prided himself in. the truth might be uncomfortable and harsh and callous but at least it was the truth. lying to himself was an entirely different matter. he reaches for her and despite her attempts to push him away his grip on her wrist is firm as he pulls her to him and wraps his arms around her, holding her tightly against his chest. she's ramrob straight in his arms yet he presses a kiss to the top of her head. after a few long moments, he feels her sag against him. he smooths her hair down with a hand, the other remaining wrapped around her. moments drag on, silence settles around them like a blanket and soon enough, he feels her start to cry.

                 phil holds her as she cries, as if holding her tightly like this will make them both her whole again.

[minarcana]

@likemosaic laurel -> yotsuyu . little starter call

"my lady," laurel enters with this as her greeting, a nod that's almost a bow. still a touch informal despite everything so far. "i took a detour on my return, my apologies. but i bought something pretty on the way." laurel holds forth her hand, letting silk wrap drop to reveal a hairpin crafted with an intricate blood-red flower of metal and gem. "can i tie it in your hair, or do you mislike it?"

[raehs]

rey  hasn’t  realized  that  she  didn’t  mind  being  touched.  it  wasn’t  something  she  was  used  to  and  was  still  getting  acquired  to.  not  the  physically  intimate  things,  but  the  small  things  that  you  may  not  think  about  until  it  happens  and  you  realize  oh,  you  don’t  hate  it. 

she  welcomed  it. 

rey  was  also  terribly  TOUCH-STARVED  for  someone  so  young.  she  wasn’t  this  old  hermit  who  hadn’t  felt  physical  contact  in  forty  years.  rey,  simply,  never  experienced  platonic  intimacy  much.  no  hand  holding,  hugs,  a  supportive  shake  of  the  shoulder,  a  parent  braiding  her  hair,  a  brief  kiss  on  the  cheek  …  she  grew  up  alone.  terribly,  terribly  alone.  loneliness  seemed  to  have  made  its  home  in  her  heart  and  stayed  there. 

do  you  know  how  to  braid  hair?  rey  asked  one  day,  randomly,  while  admiring  kaydel's  wreath  of  braids  atop  her  head.  they  didn't  actually  think  cal  knew  how  to  braid. they were surprised, but in a good way. it seemed childish to want this, like something a child would ask for. and rey was no child, they hadn't been in years.

"  i  thought  you  were  joking  when  you  agreed,  "  rey  admitted,  her  worn  and  tired  hands  working  at  undoing  the  buns  that  had  become  their  signature  style  over  the  years. " my hair's ... probably a mess. "

closed starter ( @tapalslegacy )

[mafiya]

im obsessed with the concept of mishka learning about love so late into his life. in his sixties and absolutely oblivious to someone flirting with him or trying to develop a relationship ... what can you really expect from a guy who was a child soldier at ten years old and was in the military from then up until he was sixty :pensive:

[timechange]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 — 24-hour scientific services.

SEPTEMBER 15, 1983

“Listen, Mrs. Springer, I’m fine. Promise.”

He knows his English teacher probably isn’t going to appreciate the ‘cross my heart’ gesture, but he feels it’s necessary to really convey how totally, completely, one hundred percent fine he is. 

“We’re almost to the office,” is all she says in response. Her expression is gentle, so’s her voice, but by her tone Marty recognizes that she means business. She almost looks… angry?

“Are you… mad at me?” he asks, eyes squinting to try to get a better look at her.

“What? Oh, honey, no,” she’s quick to reassure, and he feels so shitty that he almost doesn’t mind how she’s talking to him like he’s still in elementary school. “No, of course I’m not mad at you. You’re sick!”

That, he’s not going to argue with. 

“But, y’know, I-I can stay, really–” he tries to protest. He’s totally okay to just sit and listen to everyone talk about… whatever book they were reading. To Kill A Mockingbird, probably? Or Inherit the Wind. Something about some trial or whatever. Yeah, he was totally getting it, even if he did kind of almost fall trying to get up and use the pencil sharpener. But it was no big deal.  

“No, you’re going home to bed,” Mrs. Springer says definitively, sitting him down on a chair that’s in the hallway for some reason? No, they’re in the office now, he recognizes the big desk and the lady behind it. Mrs. Springer puts her hands on his shoulders. “Now, I have to go back to class, but Marjorie’s here and she’ll take good care of you. She’ll get someone to come and pick you up, okay? And if you need a ride, I can take you back home after school, but I don’t want you waiting that–”

“No, it’s… it’s okay, Mrs. S. Thanks.” He offers a half smile her way. It’s nice that she cares so much, but he’d be okay just to skate home, really. He didn’t want anybody to bother Mom and Dad or Dave but he also didn’t want them to freak out if he climbed into bed and didn’t climb back out for a solid two weeks.

Mrs. Springer and the desk lady– Marjorie, he guesses– exchange a look before Mrs. Springer goes back down the hall. Marjorie smiles at him. 

“Hang tight, Marty,” she assures, cheerfully, “let me just call home for you, okay?”

He nods, letting his eyes shut for just a second–

“--Hi, sweetheart.”

Marty starts. Since when was Marjorie right in front of him? 

“Nobody’s picking up at home,” she continues, “is there someone else we could try?”

He nods. 

“Can I do it?” he asks.

“Sure, honey, go ahead.”

He stands, scuffing his shoes on the floor the way Mom always hates. He doesn’t mean to do it, but he’s pretty sure somebody tied weights around his legs while he wasn’t looking. 

He squints again, trying to make sense of the jumble of letters, numbers, and squares. Eventually, he manages to punch in the right number, hearing @doctorbrown ‘s voice at the other end. 

“Yo, Doc,” Marty begins. “Wait… you’re not your answering machine, right?... You’re you?... ‘Cause I, um, I kinda need a favor…” He rubs the back of his neck, his hair damp, fighting for words to describe his situation that just aren’t coming. “... I don’t feel good,” he eventually settles on, barely registering a wince at how babyish it sounds.  “They’re sendin’ me home but Mom and Dad aren’t, uh, aren’t home, so is it okay if you pick me up?... I keep telling ‘em I’m cool and I’ll be good to skate back but…”

[lightcreators]

@skywalker-sister continue from here

Anakin could read her like a book.

Noa knew this, though she would always try too hard to seem tough in front of him. They had trained together, watched each other grow, and he had always been very protective of her through it all. She would’ve been lying if she said she didn’t appreciate it from him - he was her brother, after all.

Everything that could’ve gone wrong on this mission was going wrong so far. It was beginning to affect Noa, but even so…

“I’m fine.”

He would considering myself having an higher protective issue : something that somewhere already Master Obi-Wan could blaming him often for it, since between an order and an protection of someone he cared for he would dismissing without hesitation the authority, would defending this cause to the very end. An consequence Padme received in boomerang - - - wishing simply desire of an permanent happiness bewteen each other meanwhile he was wrapped around with responsibilities! If in one manner or another he could removing, turn lighter weight of the war within her shoulders he would whatever if the burden of the world will destroy him! From her reaction he expressed an understanding sad smile. He was saying to everyone that kind of lie. Himself often repeating himself he could just be fine for not listen darkness within his heart. ❝ I know it's isn't easy. ❞ Gentle tone mused at her. ❝ With everything not going as planned and how complicated this mission turn out, If it's too heavy for you please tell me. ❞

He can bear responsabily for two.

[lifesliced]

different ways to kiss someone. accepting !! // * @maljefe

[ comfort ] a tender kiss to provide comfort or reassurance

he's been struggling. he's been off the grid for a few days, not answering his phone, not replying to texts or emails. nothing. he's just gone.

had she known chris, she might have been able to ask, and he would say josh just does that sometimes. it seems to be his process when he's working on some secret project.

her instincts tell her better; tell her that this isn't a drop off the map and say sorry kind of exodus. something is wrong.

she confronts him several days later, although it isn't exactly a confrontation. she's more agitated before she sees him, almost deflating after entering the foyer of the washington family main estate.

it's too big here. it's too lonely for three people.

when she rounds the corner, she sees him just as he always is. he shows like himself at first, casually in his kitchen leaning against the island as he ignores the tall glass of ice water that's been poured for him.

even their drinking glasses are crystal, and only two sips have been taken, just enough to swallow his new pills. those are tucked away safely in a locked cabinet that only his parents have access to.

you know you like to overmedicate, his mother had staunchly reminded him.

it's just precautionary, son. with your history, it's better this way, his father explained.

drumming his fingers on the countertop and the light finally hits him from the large window over the sink. he seems more fatigued than usual, more rundown. this isn't his usual stayed up for twenty-four hours studying classic horror movies kind of tired — the kind where he'd usually come out of the basement with his eyes sore from the projector light and a journal full of scrawled notes. this is something different; something heavier.

❝ didn't think you'd actually come here, ❞ he croaks before clearing his throat. he picks up his cell off the counter, showing it to her. his voice is a little stronger now, a little more confident. ❝ got your texts. i was gonna call you back, but, uh, i got ... kinda busy, and i just sort of ... lost track of ... right. look, i'm sorry i totally flaked out. i'm not usually like that. ❞ that's not true. liar. ❝ i, uh, got sick. pretty bad flu going around. heh ... ❞

she doesn't seem to believe him. she's watching him carefully — too carefully for his liking — before silently approaching from the left. he stands straight, one hand dropping to rest on the island top as the other arm fall at his side to hang loose. what ... ??

when she says his name, he goes to reply, but she shushes him. instead, she slowly takes his face in her hands, standing on the tips of her toes, and cups his cheeks. awkward and embarrassed, josh opens his mouth, letting it hang open stupidly as his brows furrow in a look that reads as confusion seeking resolve.

is she mad at me? is she going to slap me now or something? not like he doesn't deserve a hit for totally bailing, the complications of his situation aside, and he half-braces for an impact that never comes.

instead, she kisses him on the corner of the mouth, and it's brief, yet tender, and her hands release him just as gently as they procured him.

he stammers a bit, cheeks flushing out of sheer disbelief. it just seems so random in its tenderness. did that ... actually happen?

❝ maybe i, uh, should disappear more often? ❞

[exalted--zealotry]

As someone who is innately very spiritual as a result of his upbringing and position, as the ruler of a nation that is outright defined by its ties to the divine Naga, and with historical precedents such as the Terrors described in the ancient war between Zofia and Rigel - Anri is very much a believer in the paranormal, especially the spirits of the dead.

[usagimen]

❝ i'm not going to stand here and argue with you about how much you need to get some rest. if i find you passed out on the floor i'm leaving you there. ❞ // gino !!

            The dramatics caused her eyes to roll, long legs that swung idly as she smoothed the softness of her skirt with one hand. Was she truly tired? The days that were spent either in the throws of academic pressure or competing athletically, pale skin that was bruised surrounding her lower eyes, she hid them well with expensive cosmetics or sleek designer glasses. “And yet you are still here, arguing with me, in public might I add” the childish remark was akin to a spoiled brat, she wasn’t able to have her way, thus ending in an unceremonious tap of her foot. Perhaps it was all the pressure surrounding her, what would her life’s direction be after graduation? The thought of the unknown that caused her skin to crawl as she wished to either become pro or enter the mundane life of an accountant, Sayuri could have screamed right there. Dropping her nylon bag, she slowly removed a few wristlets, headband, huffing as she pouted in a juvenile manner.

         “I could say the same for you, Ice King” , the razor-like sharpness of her voice that drips with sarcasm, she moves to stand, flicking away long legs of ebony from her countenance - tying them quickly with a silver hair ribbon. Alice, the common nickname that resided amongst the student body, small && curious, enticing in her dreamy nature while utterly ruthless in her serve. “When was the last time you slept decently? I don’t mean dozing off in calculus solely because you cannot keep up” even then, she would dutifully record the lecture notes, bemoaning that it was tiresome to work twice the load for them both - even if she was never asked. “Relax, I’m not that unprofessional to fall flat on the court, you don’t need to keep stressing about my health, it’s fine” waving him off, she stretched her petite form, hand resting upon her shoulder.

          “You wouldn’t, that’s not who you are, enough with this bickering! Either work with me or leave, I can handle this without the constant nagging”

 // various sentence starters. (accepting)

[theha1r]

@popularmxnster liked for a starter!

Steve couldn't help it, he practically jumped out of skin at hearing the other man suddenly behind him, he turned now - trying to calm his racing heart. "Jeez, man. Do you always have to do that?" He asked, glaring slightly at Billy. "We need to get you a cat bell or something."

[dawnshe]

because i finally have an idea on what i want to do with it, have vex’s campaign two / tombtaker verse :

upon fleeing syngorn and discovering the fate of their mother, vex and vax decided it was time for to start completely fresh and headed to wildemount, particularly finding themselves returning to shadycreek run, but wandering to and fro as they pleased. there they several times completed jobs with locals, though neither of the twins joined, vax being engaged in secretive missions with the myriad leaving vex’s curiosities to roam when her brother was away on day mission.

more often than not, vex would aid her brother on his tasks, hoping to avoid the very instance that happened before her eyes, one day on their travels back to shadycreek run, her twin brother was slaughtered before her eyes, using his last breath to tell his sister to run.

in desperation to be surrounded by people, vex was quick to ally herself with some familiar faces and joining some memeber of the claret order on the occasional mission, including one to rexxentrum and in time, to aeor.

the idea and possibility of getting her brother back was something she was so set on, vex’ahlia is quick to follow along with the tombtakers and lucien, obtaining five eyes herself before derogna’s failed ritual ( one on her right palm, one on her left wrist, one on each of her shoulders, and a final on the spot where her neck meets her back ). it isn’t till after the ritual fails that vex finally wakes up to how naieve and wrong what she was planning on following through with was and promptly goes about trying her best to avoid other members of the tombtakers to try and combat her grief for lucien and properly grieve her twin.

upon / if encountering a member of the mighty nein she is going to not say shit about any marks so if they catch a red eye grill her about it and be prepared for her to try and cover her tracks until she literally can’t

whether or not vex returns to the tombtaker’s side to finish their quest truly is a gamble but if she does it’s not without a heavy heart and much hesitation.

within this verse, vex is a ranger, bloodhunter ( ghost slayer ), paladin ( ‘oath of the ancient’s’ that i’m calling oath of the dreamer but she becomes an oath breaker ) have a character sheet :)

[timechange]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 — "duded-up, egg-suckin’, gutter trash."

 NOVEMBER 11, 1985

“Come on, McFly,” Needles’ jeer rudely interrupts Bruce Dickinson’s killer vocals and Marty’s even more annoyed than he was before. This is just what he needed today.

He doesn’t stop, turning up the volume on his Walkman. He just has to make it a little further; he’s almost there, almost to Doc and Einstein and safety. They wouldn’t follow him that far. They wouldn’t dare. They learned that lesson years ago.  

A hand roughly grabs onto his shoulder and Marty whirls around, glaring at Needles and the gang that’s circling him like a bunch of vultures. He straightens, hands balling into fists. 

“Look, I’m not interested, okay?” he repeats. “Lay off already. I’m not in the mood.”

“You’re no fun anymore, McFly, you know that?” Needles returns, “What’s ‘a matter… chicken?” 

His gang ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs,’ snickering, as if the guy just played his ace in the hole. 

Marty pauses his music, takes off his headphones, and stares at the other boys. 

“Seriously?” he asks, eyebrow raised. “Is that the best thing you can come up with? What, you just finish preschool?”

Needles’ face goes pale, fumbling for words. Even the rest of the group seems stunned, whispering among each other and backing away.

Marty shakes his head, shrugging off the hand on his shoulder, and puts his headphones back on. He crosses the street, pretty sure he’s never been so happy to see the garage in his life. 

To his surprise, @doctorbrown is waiting outside for him, looking equally shocked. 

“Doc?” Marty asks, immediately uneasy. “What is it? What’s wrong?” How did I screw up this time?