#is he miserable or just cursed?

[hannahssimblr]

“Clóda,” one stone. 

“Clóda,” another. 

“Fuck sake,” I murmur to myself, then throw a third, bigger one, which smacks off her window so loudly that I’m briefly paralysed with fear that it has broken the glass. Thankfully it hasn’t. She comes out onto the balcony.

“There you are,” she says quietly, peering down at me in her garden as I drop my handful of stones and wipe the dirt on my thighs. 

“Yeah, here I am. This is a bit Shakespearean isn’t it?” 

“Huh?”

“Like, you know, 'but soft, what light through yonder window breaks…. Defy thy father, refuse thy name', et cetera,” I pause before clarifying, “Romeo and Juliet, no?”

“Oh, I did The Merchant of Venice for my Junior Cert.”

“I thought you’d have still gotten the reference.”

She leans over the balcony to point to a precarious looking trellis against the wall, “If you climb up that thing you’ll be able to reach me.”

“Right,” I say, and press my foot against the flimsy timber to test my weight, “You know I’m like, nearly thirteen stone?” 

“You can try.”

“And if I break it?”

“Hmm, try not to,” she suggests. 

“Right,” I brace myself by slotting my fingers into a gap between some brick facade on the side of the house and I haul myself onto the trellis, and it groans but doesn’t give. “I’m good, I think I’m good.”

From there it’s not so bad. I nimbly move up the wall, grab hold of the sun room gutters and grab a hold of the balcony railings, where I find myself thrilled in the way a child is, having climbed somewhere he is not supposed to climb, the king of the castle overlooking his vast land, though I can’t really see much in the dark countryside, save a few car headlights in the distance, the lighthouse flashing over the bay. 

“Um, here,” Clóda hisses, and I realise I have briefly forgotten my objective, but the rest is easy, I just swing myself over the railing and I’m up. 

“Nice that you’ve a balcony,” I comment, “I don't know many other people who have one of these.”

“We built this house a few years ago, and for some reason I wanted a balcony in my room, I don’t know, I was like, ten, and it was a stupid idea because it’s mostly too cold out here to even make use of.” 

“Useful now though, huh?” 

She tucks her hair behind her ears and bats her eyelashes at me, “yeah I suppose it is.”

She pushes the door open and we creep into her room where the only light is from the glow of the television screen in the corner. It’s clean, very clean with no clutter or clothes lying around, which always freaks me out for reasons that I cannot explain. The idea that a person would have the interest or discipline to keep their bedroom clean is odd. If a person's bedroom is a mirror to the inside of their mind, then the lack of chaos in hers is foreign and unrelatable. 

While she switches on a pink fringed bedside light I throw myself down on the neatly tucked duvet just so that I can mess it up a little bit, to mark my territory like some kind of wild dog let loose in a palace. I peer at her CD collection and mess that up too by pulling one out and showing it to her, “Jesse McCartney, huh? You a fan?”

She goes pink and grabs it out of my hand, “Yeah I used to be, I dunno, not so much anymore, I don’t know why I still have that.”

I grab another, “Who are the Jonas Brothers?” 

“Oh, they’re-”

“That guy in the middle has a pretty wild haircut, would you fancy me with that?”

“No,” she giggles and takes that CD off me too, then slots them carefully back where they were, “I have some silly stuff, I probably shouldn’t have it all out.”

“Nah, well, look, you have some great stuff here, how ‘bout this? Black Holes and Revelations? I love this album, you know I saw Muse live last year.”

The mattress sinks as she sits next to me, “Really? Was it when they came to Ireland?”

“Nah it was in the states.”

Her eyes flash with intrigue, “like, America?”

“Mm, yeah.”

“That’s so cool.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, that you just, like, go to America and stuff. I don’t know anybody who’s gone to America yet, and I want to go so badly.”

I shrug, “well you should, then.”

“How often do you go?”

“Not often, I was there last year and then before that…” I try to remember, “I think I was maybe twelve. It takes a long time to get to where I’m going, you know, from here you can only get to New York and then you have to get a connecting flight and all of that,” thinking about the ordeal of it exhausts me, but Clóda is leaning forward in fascination, as hearing the words ‘New York’ come out of my mouth has sent a thrill through her. 

“What do you go for?”

“Just to visit family and stuff.”

“You’ve family there?”

“Of course, did you not know that my dad is American?”

She frowns, “Well you sound a little bit American but I thought… I don’t know, really, I thought you were putting it on or something.”

“What, like, for attention?”

“I don’t know,” she shakes her head, impatient, “where do you go?”

“Well… I’ve some family in California and some in New Mexico, which is like, a state in the southwest, kinda wedged between Texas and California, if you can imagine that on a map,” I leave out poor Arizona just to make it easier on her, because nobody here knows what the hell a New Mexico, (‘no, no not Mexico, New Mexico’) is so it’s best to keep it concise. 

Clóda is nodding vigorously, “California, like, LA.”

“Kind of. Like, my dad comes from a place called San Bernardino, which is-” I take her wrist and trace a line on the soft skin of her inner arm, “-to the east of LA, say, an hour or two away, depending on the traffic, yeah? And then his family, like his aunts and uncles and their parents, who we used to visit sometimes, they’re living in a place way up north,” I run a gentle trail all the way up to the sleeve of her t-shirt, “to the very tip top of the Sacramento valley in this rugged, gold rush town…” I lift my eyes to her and she’s staring at my hand, following the motion of my finger as I skim the tip of it over her shoulder and across the taut skin of her collarbone. I prepare myself to say more sexy things about the Sacramento river and the rolling hills and the central valley and whatever else I usually bang on about whenever someone asks, but she looks into my eyes and says: “Is there an Abercrombie where you go?”

“Huh?”

“Abercrombie and Fitch.”

I frown, “Yeah?”

“Oh, wow.” She pushes me onto my back and lays on top of me, gazing down at me with fervid glitter in her eyes, “If you go back to America this year, could you buy me something from there?”

I search in her eyes for some sign that she’s joking and determine that she isn’t. She really wants me to do that. “Yep, sure,” I say.

“Ah, that’d be amazing. You know the way they have those bags too? The ones with the black and white pictures of the guys' bodies on them? Well there was a girl in my class who…”

And I zone out and I stop listening to her as she talks about laminating the bags and carrying school books in them, and I wonder if she will even notice the glazed over look in my eyes as I let my eyes unfocus and stare into the middle distance between her and her pastel pink walls and ask myself some serious questions. 

Do I like her?

She’s pretty though.

Sure, she’s pretty but is she fun? 

She likes Muse.

She’s not even very nice though, is she? She’s said a few weird things in the past.

Yeah but I’ve had sex with her now.

I can’t really stop talking to her or anything, can I? That’d mean I’m a dickhead. 

But would I rather be a dickhead or be miserable?

Maybe both outcomes will make me miserable. Maybe I’m just pre-programmed to be a miserable person. Or am I just cursed?

I zone back in for a moment, “...and then Mr. Brennan confiscated all of them, and there was this whole thing where the parents council…” What is happening? 

“Uh huh,” I say, “Uh huh… uh huh, what? That’s crazy,” God she is really pretty though, the kind of pretty that’s hard to find, and it’s not like there’s anyone else around, is there? It’d be awkward to stop seeing each other now with two whole weeks left of the summer. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[yuseirra]

I drew something based on this idea I had from earlier!

I'm pretty sure mephisto is his song, not Aqua's...

I think we should try dunking him into the sea, I'm serious... good guy or not, he's REALLY CURSED. Anyhow, I feel someone's bound to fall into these waters soon, whether it be him or Aqua

[akahael]

No piece of entertainment will ever be able to replace friendship, Mark.

Didn't you learn anything from My Little Pony???

[isa-ah]

We both were chosen by this destiny…

Why did it have to be us?

[seleneprince]

Since I can't stop thinking about it, more memes about the Snape's werewolf daughter au! :

Part 1

(Because only SHE can call him out of his bullshit. Pisa off Potter)

(Basically her mind during most of PoA)

[jabberwockprince]

reworking this old ass oc and trying to figure out colors <3

[avirxy]

In the monster hunter au is there a reason the werewolf curse can't be cured?

Yes! I think it means a lot more narratively within the whole story if it can’t be cured.

Claire’s going to have to come to terms with it, she’s going to have address that her original recklessness set her on this path and no, it can’t be changed. Things happen, irreversible, good or bad things and you can’t change that.

But just because it happened, again good or bad, doesn’t mean you can’t continue, you can’t live, you can’t be happy, things may never be the same again and that’s sometimes a really hard pill to swallow. With time and support though things may just work out.

[girl-bateman]

How does one get assigned as sam coded / dean coded ? Do I need a doctors note ? A psych evaluation perhaps ?

[dnangelic]

tbh i know i bring it up in bits and pieces but whenever i think about the way daisuke tends to go mute/silent when he transforms into dark around other people (because dark's voice is, sounds different from his) + the way in dnangel the idea of voices, of communication and being able to properly translate and transmit your bodiless feelings to another person (which daisuke as the socially anxious one, the cursed child carrying so many secrets perpetually struggles with!!) + canto 25 in dante's inferno where the thieves are damned to a pit of snakes/monsters with everything and everyone in there stealing each other's bodies/forms for eternity ohhh how can i not go insane???

[lizardthelizard]

Been having Thoughts about August again.

So, you know how, in the Pilot episode, Emma comes to Storybrooke and, once she makes the decision to stay in Storybrooke for Henry, the clock tower starts working again and time becomes unfrozen ect?

Well, I'm just thinking about August and his reunion with Geppetto in The Stranger. And the parallel between that and between Emma causing the clock to work again.

Because, the clock that Geppetto and Pinocchio were working on in Fairy Tale Land is now broken in Storybrooke and sitting in Rumple's pawn shop. And, it's not until August makes the conscious decision to try and make amends with his father that he's able to help Marco to fix the clock and get it working again.

And, of course, it's a metaphor for the pair of them making amends and fixing their estranged relationship and for August trying to do the right thing for once in his life ect.

But also? I feel like it represents some of the same things that Emma(/Henry) 'fixing' the clocktower does, just on a smaller scale. Because, even though Marco still doesn't have his memories back and doesn't know that August is his son...He's still able to act as a mentor type figure, and August might not be filling the role of 'son', but he IS filling in a gap that Marco has been feeling throughout the 28 years of the curse in some small way. And the fixing of the clock has set things in motion for the pair and their future (even if August doesn't think he has much of a future left).

It's about change!!! It's about setting things in motion! it's about repairing the damage that has been done by both Regina and by Marco and August themselves!

[microwaving-tesilid-argente]

reading the comments of OI stories is so unpleasant sometimes like 😭 i hate seeing people rage and curse at characters who aren't the protags. bro it's not their fault that they're antagonists and they're not even THAT annoying lmao

[bravevolunteer]

personally i think it would be fun if michael got exposed to remnant pre scooping

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[ssaalexblake]

i am paying to much attention to the Jenny thing and i need to stop before I get mad at how stupid it all is

[yourlocalsimpsonsandsanriofan]

some more art of therian forme Heat Miser cuz I think he's cute LMAO 💀

Angry doggo fr 💀

He about to punch somebody in the face 💀

probably Snow Miser I'd assume, he always starts everything 💀

[milf-harrington]

i think i've loved you before for wip Wednesday please!

Somewhere, a guard cleared their throat as politely as one is able, and Steve reluctantly pulled his hand away, fingers curling in tight like he might trap the residual warmth of Eddie’s skin inside his own.

As the night continued on, Steve discovered that Eddie was certainly an… interesting character, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever enjoyed a stranger's company more. He was quick witted and shockingly judgemental of the guests’ fashion choices, muttering comments to himself that had Steve covering his mouth to hide the smile he had yet to control. 

“Is this the first ball you’ve attended, Eddie?” Steve asked, insatiably curious about where he’d been hiding all this time, wanting to know more. Eddie hummed, now seated on a plush dining chair Steve had asked one of the guards to fetch for him - even the way he sat was peculiar, and entirely refreshing. He had one leg thrown over the armrest, happily bouncing his foot in time with the band playing in the corner while the other was curled underneath him.

Oddly, he reminded Steve of a cat– particularly the rat-catcher employed in the castles holding cells, as awful as a comparison it might seem on the surface.

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longer than 3 sentences but i am Not Complaining