a labor of love that didn't quite work out

because i like to talk about myself.

cindevillain@gmail.com — Thu, 22 Jan 2009 11:11:33 GMT

dude. school has been kicking my ass. hope it's been going better for you guys. :C

1. How about a brief introduction?
lena. 21. capricorn. likes long days spent inside in front of a warm, toasty laptop and the comfort of having yet another good day well wasted.

2. What got you into role playing?
hmm... i can't really remember, but i think the first time i roleplayed was because a hp forum i was a major part of randomly decided to start one, and i was like WAHEY I LIKE REMUS and the rest, as they say, is history~~*~**~

3. What kind of games do you tend to be drawn to?
fandoms, usually. very rarely will i attempt an original game, mostly because i rather like having a little structure to guide me while i settle into things.

4. Which one of your muses fan favourite and why do you think people think so?
i feel like there's something wrong with this sentence. :/ ummm.. luke seems to be the favorite as far as ps goes! i think because everyone just wants to take care of him, which i can't understand, since half the time he's so selfish and stupid about things. another favorite, outside of ps, is my... third/fourth version of albus severus. i love him to pieces, i have to admit. he's charming in an off beat sort of way, and he likes to say things like "i'd rather hold your hand, because mine likes to cuddle." yeah, idk. OH ALSO. my older!draco was a pretty good hit? he was a jerkface still, but man did he try so hard with his family. 8'C

5. What post/thread are you most proud of?
AHHH I CANNOT CHOOSE THIS IS TOO HARD NEXT QUESTION.

6. Do you find writing easy? Hard? What aspects do you struggle with?
it depends, usually. i tend to have to be in certain moods to be able to do certain characters, some requiring more energy than others, but generally i don't think i find it too difficult. at the same time, i'm not exactly writing masterpieces. :p

7. Do you tend to use the same PB again and again? Is the character different each time, or the same one tweaked slightly to for each game?
i try nooooot to. usually, if a character was a big hit, it's hard for me to picture that face as someone else, even if the personality is sort of similar.

8. Write a few sentences on your favourite muse or pairing.
like.. what? I NEED A PROMPT I CAN'T JUST WORK LIKE THIS D8

9. Do you have any big pet peeves when it comes to RP?
i basically concur with what ama and micha have said. i want scenes to make some sense please, and i want the other person to be invested in it ESPECIALLY IF THAT OTHER PERSON WAS THE ONE TO ASK sjlkdslkjalk

10. Are you guilty of any of the pet peeves you hate?
ohgod i hope not.

11. What was the first game you joined? Fandom, Original, or Celeb?
well first off i can't even imagine a celeb rp. i find that slightly creepy. o__o ANYWAY it was definitely fandom. SEE #2.

12. Name your favourite muse and what it is about them that you love to write.
this sounds a lot like number 8 I SEE WHAT YOU'RE DOING, MEME, DON'T THINK I CAN'T. i love to write luke because it's always such an adventure for me to be able to delve into such emotions (or lackthereof). i love to write albus severus because he's quirky and sincere and (at least from what i've seen) difficult to deny/get mad at, no matter what he says. i love to write draco because of all the things he gets to say i wish i had the nerve to say myself, that he tells it like it is (unless it doesn't benefit him), and, let's face it, it's fun to see the reactions he provokes.

13. What would you call your writing style?
i remember a meme from way before, and you guys described my style as quirky and snarky. i have to agree, at least for the most part. but what i tend to notice is that my writing tends to be more.. mimic-y. like. if i've just finished reading something like good omens i find my writing tends to have that off-beat british quirky humor. if i'm writing with someone who has very artistic writing, i find myself adjusting to try and match up to that. so on, so forth. IMMA COPYCAT.

14. Do you have a set group of people you tend to RP with? If so, what is it about them that makes you stick around?
definitely, definitely you guys. i love you all it's not even funny. seriously, it still amazes me how much this community is different from most others.

15. Name one thing/character you'd love to write/pick up but have been too afraid or shy to do.
micha, i concur. i've had some semi-successful girl characters, but never in ps but oh gosh i hope to have one one day. BECAUSE OBV EMILY NEEDS A FRENEMY BFF WHO STABS HER IN THE BACK apparently i can only write bitchy girls. :/

16. Do you feel uncomfortable taking criticism? Or worse, do you have the dreaded bloated ego?
ahhhhhhhhh ego, no i do not have. i don't feel uncomfortable so much as i get insecure. I MEAN I WOULD SERIOUSLY KILL FOR CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM because i seriously want to know how i'm doing and i want the TRUTH TRUTH TRUTH so bad but i'm soooo afraid to get it cuz i'm weak and fragile and yes. ._.

17. When you write, is there anything that helps?
i want to say music, but that'd be a big fat lie. music distracts me, actually. XD cuz then i'd find myself listening to the song too much, and i can't hear myself reading out the words as i type (IN MY HEAD, KAY?) and so yeah. mm i think it really helps me when i know i have TIME. like it's all quiet and comfortable and i know i have hours and hours to work on this scene and because this scene definitely needs all my love and attention like that.

18. What inspires you?
other people. when i see someone doing something and getting somewhere with it, i think to myself, 'hot damn. me too me too!'

19. Lastly, how would you sum up your RP experiences and you as a writer?
oh there have definitely been some ups and downs but i like to think i've learned a lot, both as a writer and just as a person. i think about the days i used to write on my own and i woe a bit because i find myself so unmotivated for that (and failing epicly the few times i get the nerve to try). but i enjoy rping and interacting with you all too much to ever really stop. ♥

yap yap yap.

cindevillain@gmail.com — Wed, 14 Jan 2009 02:09:29 GMT

Pick one of my characters and one of yours, and I'll tell you something they've always wanted to say to your character but could never bring themselves to say out loud.

drabble. to drab.

cindevillain@gmail.com — Sat, 10 Jan 2009 00:41:58 GMT

Pick two characters, one I play and one you play, and come with a location and/or situation, and I will write you ~~between 50 and 250 words~~ a short fic of probably any length about the kiss that happened in that context.

It can be a pairing we already share or one that is completely random and impossible! It can also be old characters of mine or yours. No limits on this one!

okay okay.. we all know how fabulously i did with the other drabble meme (and by "did," i mean "didn't") so a bit of DISCLAIMER WITH THIS ONE BBS-- i may not actually get around to it. XD but try your luck anyway!

trufax.

cindevillain@gmail.com — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 01:25:39 GMT

In this game, I am going to list 10 FACTS, all of which are true. You have to guess which of my PS characters they belong to. Comment with whatever ones you can guess!

~stephen crane / cain stephens
~august derleth
~shirley jackson / (sheridan) jackson
~walter "wally" map
~michel de nostradamus / mickey ramos
~sylvia plath / victor "luke" lucas
~sophocles / sofronio leandros
~andy warhol

1. snuffles in his sleep.
2. actually tried to be a vegan for a while. it lasted about two weeks.
3. has really thin, spidery handwriting.
4. still sleeps with a little night-light in the shape of tigger.
5. virginity lost at age fourteen to an older man by eight years. whether consented or not is not entirely clear.
6. cannot whistle.
7. always prefers to be on top. both sexually and not.
8. once owned a st. bernard named cujo then gave him up when it wouldn't attack on command.
9. once seriously considered starting a vlog in hopes of catching youtube fame.
10. has a black thumb.

hey hey remember these?

cindevillain@gmail.com — Sun, 04 Jan 2009 00:57:38 GMT

Pick a character of mine and a number from 40 to 167. The number will correspond to an entry number of this blog and my character will answer the listed questions. You can find the entry by entering it's post # into the search box at the top of the blog.

now i rule you too.

cindevillain@gmail.com — Tue, 04 Nov 2008 08:48:24 GMT

( so her entry sample makes a little more sense )

The butler leads him into a spacious, picturesque room with a spectacular view of the garden through wide, open windows. He shifts nervously, his low sense of self esteem made even lower at the sheer amount of wealth the room screams, and here he is wearing an old, stained hoodie and jeans with too many holes worn through. The butler, a tall man made even taller with his nose held so high in the air, takes him to a table placed in the center of the room. It's a quaint little set up— fancy tablecloth with handcrafted doilies, and a pristine China ware set up for tea. He takes the seat offered to him, swallowing quietly before he finally gets the nerve to look up.

August smiles for him, pretty and charming. "It's nice to meet you, Timothy," she says, stunning him even more when he realizes she knows his name. But of course she'd know his name. He wouldn't be here right now if she didn't already know everything there is to know about him.

"I.. I heard you had.. stuff," he murmurs under his breath, sparing a glance towards the butler waiting dutifully by the door.

"The drugs, Timothy?" August asks, her pretty voice ringing out clear in the room.

Timothy flinches, looking to the butler again, but the man hardly even bats an eye. "Yeah," he says, swallowing again. "Yeah, that."

"I might," says August, carefully smoothing her napkin over her lap. "I'm afraid it really all depends on you."

Timothy blinks at her. "Me?"

"Mmhmm," says August sweetly. "You see, I have a bit of a problem, Timothy, and I'm afraid you're the only one who can help me."

"I am?" Timothy asks, gaping.

"Yes," says August, a bit of her patience slipping. But she still smiles for him, soft and charming. "You see, there have been rumors that my Vice President has been sleeping with an awful lot of men. It's absolutely shameful."

"You want me to check out if it's true or not?" asks Timothy, thinking he's caught on.

"Oh no," laughs August, a soft chuckle behind a dainty little hand. Her smile is still soft, but her eyes are sharp as he meets them. "I need you to make sure it's true."

SPAM SPAM SPAM SPAM SPAM

cindevillain@gmail.com — Mon, 20 Oct 2008 01:13:44 GMT

I DIDN'T KNOW WHERE ELSE TO PUT IT 'KAY?

(this is mostly just for me. XD so i have somewhere to keep itttt~)

not coherent enough to be clever with this.

cindevillain@gmail.com — Sat, 18 Oct 2008 15:02:15 GMT

1. What would your character kill for? What would they die for?
2. What would they refuse to do under any circumstances? Why?
3. What do they dream about? [Either literal or figurative].
4. What’s their biggest fear?
5. What single object would they be most hard pressed to part with? Why?
6. What is their fondest memory?
7. What is their worst memory?
8. What or who was were their most significant influence? Expound.
9. What do they believe makes a successful life?
10. What makes them laugh?
11. What are their religious views?
12. What is their greatest strength?
13. Do they have a fatal flaw? If so, what is it?
14. Who is the most important person in their life?
15. If they died or went missing, who would miss them most?
16. How would they describe themselves?
17. How would others describe them?

IT LIIIIIIIIVES. as in scribbld.

cindevillain@gmail.com — Fri, 17 Oct 2008 00:20:54 GMT

Name: helena
Alias: peachy featherduster
Years role playing: oh gosh.. three? i don't remember.

Notebooks: like... for the school kind?
Earthlink: don't think so
Chatrooms: ttly. look me up guys, i'm 2sxy4u90210.
Message Boards: oooh, used to. that was Old School rping, yo.
Journals: hellz yeah.

Favourite three characters: luke, neil, soph, and much. (if micha can do four, dammit, so can i!)
Least favourite character: eh. they all have their good and bad days. i think maybe mickey, because the way i made him just makes it absolutely impossible for him to scene with anyone else, sigh.
Male or female characters: i'm better with a penis, hands down. (oh. dirty joke.)
Oldest character: i think luke is my oldest, in terms of playing. age-wise? hadrian is 29.
Newest character: bret~
Most popular character: gosh, i don't know. D: luke? or maybe soph, idk.

Which character of yours would be most likely to...
Jump off a bridge: luke. and soph, because he's dramatic like that.
Get drunk and pass out: neil
Kill somebody in a very unorthodox way: jackson
Get married: well. luke already got married. but aww, soph wants to be married some day. D:
Be far too hyper for their own good: much~
Rape somebody: ... jackson and guy. cough.
Be raped: both luke and much have been raped. soph too, though he's convinced himself he wanted it.
Get lost and refuse to ask for directions: neil and mickey. and probably cain too.
Get lung cancer: jackson. i actually don't think he smokes, but lord knows he's fiddled with enough chemicals and shit and YES THAT'LL GET HIM LUNG CANCER shhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Star in a horror movie: soph. he's a total damsel in distress guys, let's be honest.
Star in a porno: also soph, if he were asked to. :/
Star in a video game: ..neil. LOL. idk idk probably not i just like to piss him off. XD
Be a rap star: none of them have enough street cred for this D:
Have a torrid gay love affair: uh. all of them? XD because BASICALLY.

Relate each word to a character of yours.
Love: soph, luke
Hate: mickey
Money: neil
Seduction: bret. ... and much, actually. LOLOLOLOL unconscious seduction anyway.
Lies: neil
Tragedy: soph, luke
Manipulation: jackson
Violence: cain
Politics: susie
Fire: cain
Ice: luke

Lastly, would you ever...
Play a prostitute? dude i've been wanting to SO. BAD.
Play a musician? once, ala eric.
Play a pilot? never really considered it, actually
Play a homosexual? i think the question here should be, would i ever not?
Play a pedophile? define pedophile. like ickle bb kids? no. 16 and over is fair game though, sigh.
Play a politician? oh i'm awful with politics lol
Create a character for the sole purpose of smut? bret. ba dum tshhhhh

eesa ghostie

cindevillain@gmail.com — Mon, 22 Sep 2008 07:34:13 GMT

omg i'm in my next class all alone and i was sitting down for a while and ALL OF A SUDDEN THE LIGHTS JUST TURNED OFF AHHHHH GHOSTS AHHHHH or you know, motion-sensor lights whatev.

anyway, how are you?

oh, also:

If you could say anything to one (or more) of my characters, what would you say? Give advice, give a compliment, ask a question, whatever! I'll give you a response in-character.

ooh here it comes (waheey)

cindevillain@gmail.com — Tue, 16 Sep 2008 04:41:05 GMT

1. What do you think of _____________ ?

2. When did you last ____________ ?

3. __________ or ___________ and why?

4. What did you ______________ ?

5. What's your favorite ______________ ?

6. How would you ______________ ?

7. Who would you most like to ________ ?

undoubtedly, you'll all be real horrible with these, since i was so horrible with yours. XD; ohhhdearr.

moar pbs?

cindevillain@gmail.com — Tue, 09 Sep 2008 09:22:00 GMT

PART 1: Why did you choose who you did as the PBs for your characters?
PART 2: Who is your favourite PB to date?
PART 3: Which PB have you used most?
PART 4: Which PB are you most unsatisfied with?

PART THE FIRST
Borys Starosz as Stephen Crane/Cain Stephen
in my head cain had already been formed as a real army man. this is one of those rare occasions where it was the pb to fit the character, and not the other way around. i needed a boy--not quite yet a man--who was muscular with a lot of angsty, conflicted looks. i found borys fairly easily, to be honest. he was on the first page of the ABC section of modelhommes (at the time) and what really sold me to him was this picture. it was just so cain.

Rachel McAdams as Susan Glaspell
i don't really remember what went on in my head when i decided to make susie. i think i was just really itching to make a teacher, and i wanted it to be a girl because there was such a considerable lack of them. at this time, i wasn't too aware of how horribly i fail at girls. :P anyway, rachel was one of the very first girls to pop up in my head for susan, mostly because i love rachel, but i had a hard time finally deciding on her; in some instances i thought she'd look much too young. i think at one point i was torn between her and rachel weisz. but then eventually i decided to use her youth to my advantage, so then made susie the Rookie of the teachers, and i think it worked out quite well!

Zachary Quinto as Shirley Jackson/Sheridan Jackson
i was on my OMGILOVEBADGUYS streak when jackson was born. zachary quinto was my number one choice, right off the bat-- and no, it isn't only because he's in Heroes with nico, mmm~ zachary, to me, is just the right amount of charm and sleaze and OMGSOCREEPY. i dithered for a bit, trying to find others that might have been better, but in the end i stuck with zachary. and c'mon, don't even try to tell me he doesn't scare the pants off you. ~~(oheydirtyjoke)~~

Santiago Figueora as Michel de Nostradamus/Mickey Ramos
mickey and casey were originally supposed to be lewis and carol. i shit you not. but somewhere along the line cristal and i realized they'd be kind of boring, besides they weren't really taking off in our head anyway, and so ~psychic~ mickey and casey were born. santiago and nicolas figueora had always been their pbs, so this is one example where the character was created around the face.

Cillian Murphy as Eugene O'Neill
i love cillian. i would do cillian. i would watch people do cillian. the character was created first, and he was originally supposed to look like this, but at the last minute i decided to switch to cillian because andris just wasn't working for me. the winner was when i stumbled upon a cillian icon that looked pretty damn close to what eugene really looked like. (shhhh, it's the eyes, i swear.)

Douglas Neitzke as Sylvia Plath/Victor Lucas
well obviously douglas looks nothing like sylvia. i actually don't remember if the face or the character came first, but after i'd made robert frost i came to the decision that, man, i need some Angst. at the same time (i think) i stumbled across ama's icon journal and there was beautiful douglas being beautiful. i think it happened like this-- i'd decided on a boy-shaped sylvia plath, and had him mostly worked out, and while searching for pbs i got lazy and remembered beautiful douglas and thought, waheey ohai luke~ and yes. i am so ~deep~

Natalie Portman as Katherine Anne Porter/Callie May Porter
because of the.. delicate nature of callie's actual business in the Springs (that is, to be tennessee's baby mama), i knew i needed a girl that had a sweet enough face that people just can't hate. XD; natalie is one of my girl crushes, and she was one of the first to pop up in my head. i have this real bad habit of trying to really match up authors with their pbs if i can, so as soon as i found this natalie icon i was sold.

Jonas Kesseler as Arthur Rimbaud/Jean Nicolas
basically, i needed a pretty little slut bunny boy. it was actually liz who directed me to lovely, lovely jonas, though i'd definitely seen him before (but i guess his thread wasn't in one of the first few pages at modelhommes when i'd been checking XD). he was perfect. it was his yummy bedroom eyes that won it over for me~

Andrew Smith as Sophocles/Sofronio Leandros
originally, soph was supposed to be pb'd by lars swenson. i had his icons all made and he was Good to Go as far as his application went. at around this time, i'd had andrew's modelhommes thread bookmarked as one of the many i can use later. i didn't go too far in andrew's pages, so i didn't see all of his pictures, but i definitely saw enough to know he was yummy. as such, though, i didn't get to see all his lovely softer pictures, where he makes just the loveliest dreamy look that was just so very soph. it wasn't until i stumbled across baobabble's set of icons for him that i saw those aforementioned looks, and i just knew right away that lars was out.

--AND BECAUSE I JUST HAVE WAY TOO DAMN MANY i'll only do my SL and ARP characters if you ask for them. i'll be more than happy to answer for any of them but it's rather pointless if no one wants to know about it. :3

PART THE SECOND
oh gosh that's a little mean... i think. mm. i think i'll have to say either Douglas Neitzke for Luke, Hayley Williams for TP, or Martin Cohn for Much. i'm probably biased as far as luke goes, but douglas does have very luke-esque photos that are just both tragic and beautiful at the same time. he's so fragile looking. and hayley williams makes the best damn faces ever. i originally wanted tp as a boy, but once i saw hayley i just KNEW she'd be perfect for the player. also martin cohn is just about the cutest damn thing in the whole entire world and he was just so perfect for much, he really helped shape a lot of what much is.

PART THE THIRD
um. none! i'm fairly certain this is my first time using any of these pbs. XD;

PART THE FOURTH
within PS, i think the pb i'm most unsatisfied with is... actually i think i pretty much lucked out on them all. but out of PS, i think i could have been a bit smarter about Jonas Sundstrom for brutus. he's a beautiful boy and i'd love to use him again, and i'd been so convinced before that he'd be perfect for brutus because of the puppy thing he has going on, but then i realize-- brutus has a little more balls than that, lol.

BBs.

cindevillain@gmail.com — Sun, 07 Sep 2008 06:38:21 GMT

Give me one of my characters and one of yours, and I'll tell you how they end up together and what their first-born is like, even if they are unqualified to have children. I'll even give a PB because I'm fabulous.

my braaaainzzz....

cindevillain@gmail.com — Thu, 04 Sep 2008 03:41:42 GMT

Comment with one of my characters (past or present) and I will tell you the following:

1. What initially prompted me to like the character enough to write about him/her.
2. One of his/her best traits.
3. One of his/her worst traits.
4. How easy/difficult I find it to write the character.
5. The story/thread/chapter/post/paragraph/tag/phrase where I feel that I truly captured the character.
6. My plans for the character in the near future. (In the case of previous characters, this question reads as "what I planned to do with them.")

um. for number six? i reserve the right to Not Answer, because it might give away Sekrit Surprises. :3

because sometimes i like to think i'm clever.

cindevillain@gmail.com — Sat, 30 Aug 2008 14:23:13 GMT

meme tiems! ~~again~~

Explain the meanings for all of the usernames for all of the characters you roleplay.

Pierian Springs
Stephen Crane / Cain Stephen : andable
- cain. and abel. cain. andable. GET IT? GET IT?

Susan Glaspell : adifferentsame
- ripped from her rather famous quote, "We all go through the same things-- it's all just a different kind of the same thing."

Shirley Jackson / Sheridan Jackson : raisingdemons
- ripped from one of her book titles and... that's sorta what he's trying to do XD

Michel de Nostradamus / Mickey Ramos : somniloquiste
- because cristal and i are CLEVER. she thought up casey's username first, "somnambuliste" from "somnambulist" which was the name of the bad guy in this play thing but then it also means 'sleep walking' so i just took the fancy name for 'sleep talking' and since the boys' visions happen while they're sleeping it makes perfect sense SHUT UP IT DOES D:

Eugene O'Neill : livebymending
- ripped from his quote, "Man is born broken. He lives by mending. The grace of God is glue."

Sylvia Plath / Victor Lucas : plathora
- so everyone knows sylvia's got a torrent, a plethora, if you will, of emotions. plethora, plath, plathora... so i like word puns, sue me. :P

Katherine Anne Porter / Callie May Porter : portersfield
- like potter's field? because porter apparently had a fancy for death too. (are you sensing a theme yet, in my characters?)

Arthur Rimbaud / Jean Nicolas : votrenfer
- "votre enfer" in french apparently means "your hell." ... you do the math. XD (psst, he's looking at you, maurice, bb~)

Sophocles / Sofronio Leandros : amidstragedy
- a smashing of "amidst tragedy," because sophocles was such a drama whore. :/

Stage Left
Quinn Marcus / Brutus : butbyreflection
- ripped from his quote, "No, Cassius, for the eye sees not itself / But by reflection, by some other thing."

Mark Escalus / Mercutio : roughwithlove
- ripped from his quote, "If love be rough with you / Be rough with love."

Jude / Judas Iscariot : silvercoins
- because Judas asked for thirty silver coins in exchange for giving up Jesus D:

Tess Piann / The Player : theplayah
- not much to say about this, really... 'cept she's GANGSTA, YO.

Bella Tinker / Tinkerbell : bellapix
- okay okay this is where i really geeked out. bellatrix + pixie = bellapix. YES I'M LAME, SORRY.

A Royal Pain
Art Stone / King Arthur : swordinstone
- um... 'nuff said.

Hadrian Aiello / Emperor Hadrian : soulroamer
- ripped from his poem (YES HE WROTE A POEM), "Little soul, roamer and charmer /Body's guest and companion / Who soon will depart to places / Darkish, chilly and misty / An end to all your jokes..."

Piers Gaveston : hisfavourite
- because HE'S EDWARD'S FAVORITE, BITCH. (also, i threw in the 'u' to make micha happy :D)

Guy Gisbourne / Guy of Gisbourne : doingdirtywork
- cuz that's how he do.

Sonny Miller / Much the Miller's Son : lacklustrous
- because canonically, much is defined by his lacklustre appearance and abilities. but my much is so much more awesome, that i threw in 'lustrous' instead.

CHARACTERS DROPPED OR COMING IN (MAYBE)
Virginia Woolf : crywoolf
- C'MON DON'T TELL ME THAT'S NOT EVEN A LITTLE BIT CLEVER.

Robert Frost : frostbitn
- okay alright i'll admit that's a little lame D:

Ollie Stephen / Orlando : boywhowill
- ...cry wolf. GET IT? har har har :P

Abigail Williams : pleadnotguilty
- because bitch's always trying to get out of shit :/

Alex Romanov / Alexei Romanov : imnobaby
- his nickname was 'baby' and alex says NOTHX

Drusilla Caligula : divadru
- no, not just because she's self-centered. when she died, her brother made her a diva, aka a deity, aka HAY LET'S WORSHIP MY SISTER WHOM I LOVED too much

Edmund Grant / Edward the Confessor : confessin
- confessing, confess sin, sin, yeah you get it.

Anne Boleyn : alittleneck
- when she was sentenced to execution, the guy was all like O YEAH HEY YOUR HUSBAND GOT YOU A RLY GOOD HEADCUTTER and she's like O TEEHEE HOW NICE OF HIM AND ANYWAY I HAVE ONLY A LITTLE NECK SO HE CAN'T MISS TITTER TITTER. and yeah. man i love her.

makes me wish models had more expressions

cindevillain@gmail.com — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 21:05:41 GMT

Name one of my characters and one of yours. I'll show you three icons displaying expressions that my character frequently makes (or MADE) when interacting with yours, ~~and explain why~~ AND EXPLAIN WHY.

~~so i crossed out the "explain why" part because i realized i wasn't doing any of that (BUT HEY NEITHER WERE YOU GUYS SO THERE). besides ~~i'm lazy~~ we're all smart bbs, you can figure it out~ ♥~~

OH FINE, GOD.

a favor.

cindevillain@gmail.com — Fri, 01 Aug 2008 22:40:17 GMT

guys. i need a favor.

tell me i shouldn't pb him. TELL ME.

pb's the thing.

cindevillain@gmail.com — Mon, 28 Jul 2008 06:54:43 GMT

Go to my directory. Which of my PBs is your favorite? Least favorite? Why? Have you ever used any of the PBs I'm using currently? If so, as who? Which PBs would YOU use? As who?

since i don't have the PB's name up on my directory, feel free to just refer to them by their characters' names! ♥

Tommy and Callie: An End

cindevillain@gmail.com — Wed, 23 Jul 2008 20:43:47 GMT

NOTE: now that you've seen how it began, have a look at how it ended.

Who: Tommy and Callie May
Where: Tennessee
When: once upon a time

WARNING: sex

Tommy is humming under his breath as he kicks up dust on the dirt road. He grins to himself, a bottle in hand, and sways a little precariously. He sidles around to the side of Callie's trailer, and then starts to drum his fingers quietly against the window, lifting the bottle for another swig.

It's a few minutes before the window finally slides open. Callie draws the little curtain back to stare a little blearily at Tommy, the sleep still dragging her eyes shut. "Tommy?" Her voice is thick and croaky from sleep. "Christ Almighty, what time is it?"

"Time for your wake-up call, o'course," Tom announces, putting his elbows on the narrow window and starting to pull himself up into it, drunk and clumsy.

Callie moves aside to give him room out of habit, a hand coming up to rub at her eyes as she sits further up in bed. "Felt like I jus' fell asleep," Callie stifles a yawn against the back of her hand. She pauses midway, finally noticing the smell of liquor. "Tommy..." she murmurs softly, sadly.

Tom grins at her, crooked and pleased with himself, as he tumbles through the window, too long-limbed and drunk to be very graceful about it. "Well now you're awake, 'cause I'm here." He climbs across the bed to her, leaning in to snuffle at her ear in greeting, pressing the bottle of whiskey to her lips for her to take a sip.

"Mmph--!" Callie squeaks with surprise, his hands flying up to wave in the air between them. She turns her head away from the bottle and his lips. She wipes at the little bit of liquor on her lips with the back of her hand, turning sad, brown eyes at Tom. "I don't want any, Tommy. You shouldn't want any either."

"Why shouldn't I?" Tom asks, laughing faintly and then taking a long gulp from the bottle, looking at her as he does it as if defying her.

"It's bad for you, Tommy," Callie tries to explain to him, like she's tried to explain to him for years now. She picks at the long sleeves of the old nightshirt's she's wearing, which was big enough that she always wears it alone. It was her daddy's.

"Don't really matter much, does it?" Tom says, before he scoots in next to her and leans in, pressing his lips to her ear. "What, you wanna distract me?" he asks her playfully, mouth against her skin.

Callie stiffens at the touch, but she doesn't move away aside from the slight shift of her head, making his lips brush against her hair instead. "Sure, Tommy," she says, very slowly. "We can talk."

Tom scoffs, and then tackles her a little suddenly, tipping her over on the bed. He laughs, pinning her beneath him and then nuzzling at her neck like an overexcited dog, fingers tickling her ribs. "You shootin' me down, Callie May Porter? You givin' me the cold shoulder?"

"N-No!" she shouts in between fits of laughter, "no, Tommy-- I can't breathe!" Tom's a big boy, and Callie's a very tiny girl, but she still tries to wiggle away from him. Something flares in the back of her mind, telling her that something isn't right here, but she can't stop listening to her heart that tells her this is her best friend, who'd never dare do her wrong. She yelps out when his fingers refuse to stop tickling her, and she's never been more thankful that her aunt's a heavy sleeper.

Tom stops tickling her, instead nuzzling in and pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "C'mon, we'll have fun. Don't you wanna have fun, Cal?"

"Sure I do," replies Callie readily, but warily. The smell of liquor's filling her senses with him so close, and no matter how hard she tries she can't make herself like it. "But you're a big boy, Tommy, an' you're real heavy on a tiny thing like me."

Tom makes a soft noise of protest, his chin coarse with scruff as he nuzzles her jaw. "S'alright. I won't crush you. Relax."

"Maybe we should just talk, Tommy," Callie tries again. Her tiny hands reach up to lightly grip his shoulders. "You can tell me 'bout your day."

"It wasn't worth livin'. Bet you could brighten it up," Tom mumbles, starting to sneak his hand up her thigh.

The hand startles her, making her knee jerk up in reflex. "T-Tommy-- you shouldn't--" That thing in the back of her mind flares up again, louder, desperate, but Callie doesn't want to believe in it. Tommy wouldn't hurt her. Tommy wouldn't ever hurt her. He's just playing around, that's all. "Tommy, stop, please."

Tom makes a frustrated noise and rolls off of Callie, onto his back on her bed. "Fine, whatever you say," he sighs. "You ain't no fun." He reaches for his bottle, fumbling a little, and props up on his elbow to take a long swig.

Callie doesn't move for a while after he'd rolled off, her eyes wide and staring up at her ceiling. She waits the voice in her head has quieted before turning to look at him. "I'm sorry, Tommy," she whispers softly, biting down on a lip. She feels like she's just betrayed him, somehow.

"Coulda been out with someone else, but I chose you, an' you ain't got no mind for it," Tom grumbles, swirling the liquor in his bottle and watching it spin. "Next time I'll pick someone else."

Cold fear grips Callie so suddenly she forgets to breathe. "I didn't say I had no mind for it, Tommy, I didn't!" she insists suddenly, sitting up and gripping his shoulder. "You ain't gotta pick anyone else, Tommy, not when I'm right here. I just..." she fumbles, lost, "I didn't know you wanted stuff like that from me..."

He doesn't usually. Usually, she's sweet as a sister to him, and he'd never dream of it. Usually, he hasn't got much of a mind for girls at all. But he's drunk and she's right there, and Tom wants to get off. "Pretty gal like you, why wouldn't I?" he asks, lifting his brows and gazing at her with silvery blue eyes. "I'm awful lonely tonight, Cal. Real lonely. Thought you'd wanna keep me company."

His words hit her hard-- they always do. Tom thinks she's pretty. Tom thought of her. First. He's always been there for her, and she's being ungrateful. She'd always been told your first time had to be with someone special, and Tom was special to her. He was Tommy, Tommy boy. Her Tommy boy. Very quietly, she nods, one hand coming up to grip the edge of the nightshirt she's wearing. She wrings the material around nervously. "I do," she answers after a while. "I will."

Tom's lips part, and he starts to grin, slowly and faintly. "Really? Come an' give me a kiss, then, babydoll." He reaches for her, putting a hand on her waist and guiding her to him, propped up on one of his elbows on her bed.

Callie bites down on her lip again, her body tensing when he touches her. She moves with his urging, unable to do anything else. She shifts forward, crawling on her hands and knees till she's close enough to breathe on him. Her lips hover over his, hesitant; she doesn't even have to inhale to smell the alcohol on him. She shuts her eyes and closes the gap between them, hoping she's doing it right.

Tom tips his chin up to meet her lips, setting the bottle of whiskey down on her night stand again so that he can slide his arms around her. He sinks back against the pillows, taking her with him, urging her body to press against his. Girls are fun sometimes, he thinks. They have all sorts of soft parts that feel good pressed against you. His mouth draws at hers, slow and soft, trying to coax her into relaxing.

Her eyes are squeezed so tight, it's giving her a headache. Or maybe it's just that voice again, growing louder and louder and telling his this is not right but she can't listen to it, she won't. She has to do what Tommy wants. She owes him. She doesn't want him to leave her too. So she tries to relax, tries to make laying over him a little more comfortable. She shifts over his body, one of his legs pressed up between hers, her breasts crushed against his chest, and her tiny hands gripping at the sleeves of his shirt.

Tom's hand sneaks down from the small of her back slightly, just where her backside begins to curve, and then his tongue swipes over her lower lip. He coaxes it into her mouth, slipping against her tongue, and his hand slides up her back, dragging fabric with it, letting the big shirt ride up her back.

Callie shivers from the sudden cold air that hits her back, or perhaps it's due to the tongue currently curling against hers, moving so unfamiliarly it frightens her. But she struggles to clear her mind, to push the troublesome feelings away. This is Tommy, she tells herself, again and again. He'd never hurt her. Steeling herself, she draws back just enough so she can slip the shirt over her head, letting it flutter to the ground in a quiet rustle of cotton.

Tom slips his hands up her back again, meeting her lips for a soft kiss and then bringing his mouth to her throat, kissing along it. One of his hands gathers her hair, drawing it away from her neck, freeing up room for his mouth. He kisses the line of her shoulder, and then suddenly rolls them over so that Callie is beneath him. He braces himself over her with one elbow and leans in, bringing his mouth to one of her nipples and closing over it, dragging his tongue over her skin. His hand trails down her side, fingers tucking under the band of her underwear at her hip.

Callie lets out a sharp, shuddering breath. Her body shivers from his touches, soft and almost loving. No, not they are loving. This is Tommy. This is Tommy. With her mouth free, Callie bites down on her lip again, turning her head to the side, trying to keep quiet as his tongue manipulates her. Tears prick at the corner of her eyes, but she wills them away. Tentatively she lifts a hand, letting her fingers curl around his hair, trying to encourage him where her words fail.

Tom's lips trace along her breast, and his hand inches further under the band of her underwear. He lifts his head, looking down, then back up at her face. He watches her eyes as his hand slips down, fingertips brushing against her.

Callie's body seizes up as she sucks in a breath. Her brows knit together in surprise as a shudder running down her spine makes her limbs shake. She whispers his name, almost whimpering. She can't understand how a touch can feel so good and so bad at the same time.

Tom nods faintly, leaning in to kiss her lips softly as his fingers explore her. He pushes one inside of her tentatively, his hips shifting against her side, impatient and looking for friction. He waits to see if his finger will hurt her before doing anything else.

Momentarily distracted by the hips shifting against her, Callie barely has a moment to process it before a something sharp shoots through her. She winces, gasping out sharply. Her hands tighten around his shoulders, but for only a second. Her breathing grows ragged, but she's hastily making it even out, as if trying to correct her mistake. She licks at her lips, absently nodding.

Tom nuzzles at her cheek as he works a second finger into her, coaxing her body into accepting it. If she hurts at all, he doesn't notice it. "Ain't gonna hurt you, babydoll," he murmurs. "Gonna treat you real nice. Ain't it feel good?"

"Uh- uh huh," Callie replies without hesitation, though her shaky breath betrays her. She can feel the pleasure starting to spread through, but there's still a tiny bit of fear there that she hates. It makes her not trust Tommy, and she thinks that's horrible of her. She shifts beneath him, tentatively spreading her legs to give him more room.

Tom kisses her ear, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. His fingers work inside of her, his breath humid and hot on her face, reeking of whiskey. "Like it when you say my name," he whispers. "You oughta say it."

"Tommy," Callie whispers softly, after swallowing around the lump that had formed in her throat. Her eyes flutter open for a moment, spying the shadows playing along her ceiling, then she squeezes them shut again. She grips his shoulders a little tighter, a soft gasp escaping her when his fingers twitch inside her. "Tommy," she says again, moaning faintly, whimpering.

Tom moans softly when she says his name, his thumb rubbing against more sensitive skin, letting it spark through her nerves. "Cal," he whispers, voice low and husky against her ear. "Callie. I want you."

He's breathing the words so close to her, she can almost ignore the smell of whiskey when he says them. She licks at her lips again, her body shifting anxiously as she thinks about what happens next. But it's okay, she tries to tell herself. He wants her. It doesn't even matter to her how he wants her, just that he wants her. "Okay Tommy," she whispers against his cheek. She presses a soft kiss there. "I'm yours."

Tom nods and then shifts, drawing his hand out of her underwear. He kneels, pulling off his shirt, and then gazes down at her as he tugs his belt buckle loose. "You want me?" he asks her as he watches her, her chest bare and her underwear crooked, cheeks deliciously flushed.

"Yes," she breathes out, without even hesitating. She's both relieved and wary now that he's pulled away; but she knows he won't be gone for long. She tries to keep her eyes on his as he tugs his belt loose, and absently she reaches down to push her underwear down her ships, shimmying them down the length of her legs. This is Tommy, she repeats like a mantra. Her Tommy. "I want you." She reaches out for him, curling his fingers around the back of his neck, tugging him down to press a kiss to his lips, letting him know she means it.

Tom returns the kiss, pushing his jeans down his hips, dragging his underwear with them. He kicks them off along with his shoes, his lips parting from hers for a moment before they return. He touches her thigh, easing them apart, and settles his hips between hers. He rubs against her, his hand fitting over her breast, thumb circling her nipple slowly as he kisses her.

Callie kind of wishes he'd just get through with it. Quick and painless, like a bandaid. She hopes. "Tommy," she murmurs against his lips, trying to coax him to hurry. Her anxieties are starting to get the better of her again, and she wants to run. She grips his shoulders, lifting her legs to loosely wrap around his waist. "Tommy-- please--"

In his mind, it's not out of anxiety that she says those words - its out of desire. It does to his head, sending shocks of pleasure through him. He draws his hips away from her slightly, reaching down between them, and then finally begins to push into her as slowly as he can bear to.

Her breath catches in her throat, eyes snapping wide open when she feels the pressure. That only lets the tears finally start pouring out, trekking down her cheeks, off the side of her face, into her hair, her pillow. She gasps in pain, and tries to wriggle away out of pure instinct, but she hasn't anywhere to run.

Tom stills over her, though his body wants him to keep pushing forward. He kisses her ear, slides his arms under her to cradle her. "Relax, baby. Relax. We're gonna have fun, but you gotta relax."

"It hurts Tommy," she whimpers against his neck, shaking faintly from her tears and fear. "I don't like it.."

Tom shakes his head, closing his eyes. If she makes him stop, he thinks he'll lose his mind. "You will. You gotta get used to it. Like jumpin' in the Cumberlan', real cold at firs', but then it's fun, right?"

Callie draws in a breath after the other, trying to force her tears to stop. She wills herself to listen to him, because he's never led her wrong before. He can't be wrong about this either. So she nods, sniffling against his chest. "Okay," she whimpers quietly, slowly letting her thighs loosen and spread beneath him again, "okay Tommy.."

"Alright. Jus' relax. It's gonna feel good, I promise." He's being as patient as he can with her, even if he wants to keep pushing until he gets what he wants. He waits a moment before he moves, slowly thrusting into her, trying to be gentle. It's hardly in his nature to be gentle, but even as drunk and sex-starved as he is, he knows he has to take care of her.

She lets her eyes slip shut again, forcing deep, calming breaths as he starts to move. She can feel the pleasure start to bubble deep in her gut again, and she latches on to the feeling, willing the other horrible feelings away. She reaches up and lightly grips his arms, and soon the tiny sounds leaving her lips aren't whimpers, but quiet little moans.

Tom moves a little deeper, just a little faster when he hears those soft moans. He builds his way up, not rushing. It really takes more control than he has, but he manages it for her. "Callie," he whispers, a soft moan against her ear. "Yes... Callie."

She lets out a tiny sob when she hears her name. Her arms fly up to wrap around Tom's neck, holding him closeer to her. Her legs lift up to wrap around his waist, quietly encouraging his his movements. It's not so bad when she can distract herself with every other thing he's doing to her. It's almost romantic, when she twists it around in her mind enough. She turns her head and moans his name into his ear, begging him to go faster, but for him, not her.

Tom does, his movements finding a new speed - pressing, almost desperate. He's starved for it, and he thinks that she can take it now. He thinks she must like it just as much as he does. He pants, letting out quiet grunts of pleasure, cradling her against his chest as he moves into her again and again. He doesn't think he'll hold for long, but he's too drunk to care.

"Yes.. Tommy--" she pants against his ear, moaning faintly when she thinks she should. She's stopped trying to focus on the pleasure, because even that hadn't been distracting enough. She feels like crying, but she knows he hates that, so she doesn't. This is Tommy, her Tommy, and he must be hurting real bad if he's like this, so her heart goes out to him. She holds him tightly, keeping him as close as possible, trying to move and moan and squeeze to try and coax the end out from him.

Tom isn't far off, and those movements from her bring him close. Her voice moaning his name, her hands clutching his shoulders - it all sends sparks of pleasure through his foggy mind. His break takes him by surprise when it comes, before he can even consider pulling out of her first. Drunk as he is, it doesn't occur to him what that could mean. He keeps pushing, riding out his pleasure, and then finally collapses heavily on top of her, panting and sweat-sheened.

Callie hardly realizes the implications of his action (or inaction) either, far too occupied with the heavy body suddenly cutting off her air supply. She shifts around, just enough that her chest isn't completely beneath him. She takes in one gasping breath after another, not minding the smell of liquor, the weird feeling in her lower region, or the body weighing down the rest of her body. She's just thankful he's finished. Turning towards him, she presses a kiss along his sweat-slicked brow and murmurs his name like she thinks a best friend turned lover is supposed to. She'll wait until he's sleeping to cry.

Tommy and Callie: Once Upon a Time

cindevillain@gmail.com — Wed, 23 Jul 2008 20:15:47 GMT

NOTE: so the truth's out, callie is tennessee's baby mama. but before that, she was also his best friend.

Who: Tommy and Callie May
Where: Tennessee
When: once upon a time

Tommy marches up the dirt path, kicking up clouds of sandy earth as he goes. "I'm the same ol' trouble that you always been through!" he sing-songs under his breath, hopping over a rock so his mama doesn't break her back. He finally reaches the rusty stairs up to the door of Callie's trailer, and he reaches over them to pound his small fist against her door. "Callie May," he shouts, and then takes a step back and squares his feet, aiming a beat-up plastic gun he found in the street at her door. "Come out wit' yer hands up!"

There's a sound of a scuffle behind the door then a tiny squeak before it's pulled open, leaving just the screen door separating them. "Boys ain't s'posed to point guns at girls!" Callie protests with a pout, stamping her tiny foot on the floor of her home. "You put that 'way or I ain't steppin' out like you want." She crosses her arms for emphasis, though she's already taken a step forward to leave.

"I ain't puttin' nothin' away, injun scum!" he announces. His fingers are dirty and his knees are scabbed, and theres a bruise on his cheek from a good smack. "I'm the cowboy, you're the injun! You gotta get shot, them's the rules."

"Do I got a feather in my hair, Tommy boy? Do I? No, no I don't so you put that 'way right now or I ain't sharing my fruity snacks wit' you an'more," she threatens, though it's an obvious lie. She's already snuck in two into her pockets since that morning.
): "You got 'em?" Tommy asks, narrowing his eyes and then slowly lowering the toy gun. "Alright, fine. Guess I won' shoot ya. Wanna come play?"
Callie breaks out into a wide grin, nodding happily, eagerly. She's been waiting for him for hours, but she won't tell him that because it always makes him wrinkle his nose all funny. She makes sure to lock up behind her, even though she doesn't have a key, because she can always stay with Tommy till her daddy gets home anyway. "You wouldn' really shoot me, would ya, Tommy boy?" she asks, coming up just beside him, admiring how much taller he is than her.

"Naw, I don' shoot ladies," he says, before he pokes her in the side with the gun. "'Less they deserve it. Don't be no traitor, Callie May. Gimme them fruity snacks."

"Aw you'll get 'em 'ventually, Tommy boy, boys gotta be all gentlemanly an' wait an' stuff." But she fishes a pack out for him anyway, beaming. "You'd use that gun there to protect me, though, won't ya? Guns're for protectin', daddy says so."

"My daddy says guns is fo' winnin' bets," Tommy informs her, sticking the gun in the back of his jeans and then bending to pick up a flat rock. "Wanna go throw rocks at Hutton's cats?"

Callie makes a face, absently running a hand over her upper arm. "Them cats don't like us already, Tommy boy, why you wanna' make 'em even madder? I still got my scabs. 'Member one got my on my arm, Tommy boy, 'member? Daddy says cats're devil things."

"Your daddy don't know shit, Callie May," Tommy grumbles, filling his pockets with carefully chosen rocks.

"Oh don't you go talkin' 'bout my daddy again!" says Callie, her cherub face twisting in pain. "And you ain't s'posed to be swearin' neither," she adds, a little quieter. She watches him for a few moments, before quietly bending down to pick up some rocks too.

"Don't tell me what to do," Tommy scoffs, standing up straight and then throwing a rock at the side of her trailer as hard as he can, leaving a dent.

Callie makes herself look away so she doesn't end up crying over it. She doesn't want him making fun of her for crying over everything again. Oh, her daddy is going to be mad, but she'll blame it on the boys from across the park, he already doesn't like Tommy. "M'only saying," she mutters quietly, ducking her head to look at the rock in her hands.

Tommy looks over at her, narrowing his eyes. He knows that look - he's seen it on his baby sister a thousand times. "Hey, don't you cry now. Come on, we can go steal some ice cream." He holds out his hand to her, expecting her to take it.

"M'not," Callie insists, even if she is sniffling a little bit. She looks up to see the offered hand, and immediately she feels ten times better. She drops the rock so she can take his hand, giving it a light squeeze as she smiles at him. "You gonna' make me play distra'shun again?"

"Well there ain't no one better at distractin' 'n you," Tennessee says, giving her hand a tug to start walking towards town with her. "But you ain't all that good at stealin'."

"Only cuz my hands're tiny, Tommy boy, tha'sall," she insists, pouting faintly. She doesn't hear the compliment as loud as she hears the critique. "I think today I'll be hurt or somethin'," she murmurs thoughtfully. "Last time I got lost, 'member? This time I can be all sufferin'."

"Want me to hurt ya?" Tommy asks, looking over at her and grinning wide, gap-toothed and crooked. "I'll break them little twig legs!" He'd never really hurt her, but he always says he would.

Callie pouts at him, stepping away a bit, but only a bit. "They ain't twig legs, Tommy boy, you take that back. 'Sides you can't hurt me anyways cuz you'd hafta carry me back an' that makes running 'way more harder."

"Oh, you ain't no fun," Tommy sighs, rolling his eyes. He starts to swing their hands between then, jumping over rocks in the road. "My mama says I can get a dog."

Callie's eyes brighten, her mouth forming a big 'O'. "Really, Tommy boy? You ain't fibbin'?" She pictures a cute little puppy with big brown eyes and a short, waggy tail. "Oh you'll let me play with 'im won't ya? You'd share 'im like I share my fruity snacks, right?"

"Well 'course!" Tommy says, pulling a rock out of his pocket to throw it at the sign leading into the trailer park. "He might bite you, though. Knows girls have cooties."

Callie's eyes brighten, her mouth forming a big 'O'. "Really, Tommy boy? You ain't fibbin'?" She pictures a cute little puppy with big brown eyes and a short, waggy tail. "Oh you'll let me play with 'im won't ya? You'd share 'im like I share my fruity snacks, right?"

"Well 'course!" Tommy says, pulling a rock out of his pocket to throw it at the sign leading into the trailer park. "He might bite you, though. Knows girls have cooties."

"I ain't got no cooties!" Callie insists immediately. She whips her head around to pout at him so fast her hair flies all over her face. "I'm clean, Tommy boy, you know that 'else you wouldn't be holdin' my hand now an' everythin'."

"Well, I did give you a cooties shot," Tommy says, swinging their hands again. "So I guess you're alright for now, but girls always wind up gettin' 'em again. Jus' can't stay clean."

Callie wrinkles her nose at him. "I can," she says with as much confidence as she can muster. "I can stay clean all day, 'till I die even. You'll see, I'll show you, an' then you'll think I'm alright for even ever."

"Fine, you jus' try," Tommy scoffs, pulling another rock out of his pocket and throwing it at a passing car, hitting the back window with a loud crack. The car starts to spin out to skid to a stop, and Tommy lets out a whoop of laughter, tugs hard on Callie's hand, and starts to run.

Who: Tommy and Callie May
Where: Tennessee
When: once upon a time

Tom wakes up to the sound of sirens. He's still a little groggy from a bottle of Jack Daniels he stole earlier, but he pushes himself up from the floor and goes to the window, rubbing his head. Down the dirt road, he sees the bright lights of an ambulance against the evening sky, glinting off metal trailers. His eyes widen, his fingers grab the windowsill. It's Callie's. He inhales sharply and then barrels through the door, long legs carrying him fast down the road to her trailer, his heart pounding.

The paramedics make an awful scene in front of her trailer, waking up all the neighbors. Some of them stand by the windows of their trailers, or even step outside to watch. Some look surprised, but most of them shake their head like they'd known. Callie wants to apologize to them, because she's sorry all the noise and ruckus woke them up, but her voice still won't work, and she's sorry for that too. The paramedics have cluttered in front of her trailer, talking on their walky-talkies, looking at their watches, busy. They don't mind anymore that Callie's snuck off to the side, away from all the noise and medical talk. She can't answer their questions anyway. Sniffling softly, Callie reaches up to rub some warmth along her arms. She wonders why she never noticed it had gotten so cold.

Tom spots her first - she's all he's looking for. He almost collides with her, but he stops himself short, reaching out and grabbing her shoulders. "Callie? Callie, what happened?" He knows its her dad. He isn't surprised, either. He's just glad it isn't her. He'd always been afraid - when he saw her with bruises, when he saw her flinch around the man - that one day he'd snap and give her more than a black eye.

She doesn't see him at first. Her vision had blurred, because she's been thinking back again, and hating herself, so she doesn't notice him till his hands are on her. "T-Tommy--" She sucks in a breath, a tiny sob escaping her lips before she can stop it. Hastily she reaches up to wipe at her eyes, not wanting him to see her crying. But somehow that only makes her tears fall faster, and she hates that too. "It's- daddy. He, um. He wasn't breathin'.."

Tom nods, and then draws her in, pulling her against his chest. "It's alright, it's alright darlin'." Tom is sure her father is dead - it was only a matter of time. Still, he can't find it in his heart to be sorry for the man, only for Callie. She'll be better off, he thinks.

She breaks down a little more when he pulls her in, and this time she allows it. He can't see how fast her tears are falling if she's got her face buried against his chest. "The p-paramedics were real nice 'bout it," she starts to babble, her tiny hands reaching up to clutch the back of his shirt. "Let me say m-my g'byes an' everythin'. Real nice, them. Couldn't answer their questions, though." She hiccoughs on a sob, followed quickly by a shaky laugh. "Said a buncha' words I never even heard of."

"He been drinkin', wasn't he? Finished 'im off," Tommy says, stroking her hair. He doesn't think he's very good at comfort, but he wants her to know he's there. "They gon' ask if you wanna ride to the hospital with 'em. Ain't no use, jus' stay here with me."

"Never liked hospitals. Thinkin' that smell is permanent," sighs Callie. She'd been there only twice in her life, and neither of them had been very good experiences, despite what she tries to tell herself. She grows quiet for a moment, listening to the crackle of the two-way radios. "I don't much feel like sleepin' tonight," she says after a moment. Her tears have subsided but her voice has grown tiny. "Is that bad?"

"Naw. We'll stay up. I'll stay with you. You want me to?" Tom says, lifting his hand to wipe away her tears. His fingers are rough and clumsy, not used to such careful touches, but he tries to be gentle.

It doesn't matter to Callie that his fingers are rough and clumsy; it makes her smile just knowing that he's trying, and for her. She nods in answer to his question, but her words don't match. "Only if you want to," she tells him. She doesn't want to be a bother. She's hesitant to draw away completely, feeling safer standing close to him. "I'm thinkin' I'll just stay out here. Grab a blanket or somethin' and count stars." She and her daddy used to do it all the time, back when things had been better.

"I'll stay out here with you, then," Tom tells her, looking up when a paramedic approaches them and asks Callie if she wants to ride to the hospital with her father. Tom shakes his head, but he lets Callie answer for herself.

Callie musters a smile for the man, though it quivers around the corners. "Ain't no point in sayin' g'bye twice," she says softly, shakily. The man hesitates, darting a wary look towards Tom. "I'm better here," she tells the paramedic in a slightly louder voice. The man nods, finally, before turning away. It doesn't take them much longer before they're all gone, leaving in a blare of sirens and flashing lights. Callie sighs once they're gone, leaning to rest her forehead against Tom's chest. "I didn't cry when it happened to mama," she says quietly. Not that she had understood, then, being only four, but she still feels awful about it. She tries to remember, but can't be too sure if Tom cried for his daddy. She's too afraid to ask.

"You was young, you didn't know," Tommy says, shaking his head and resting his cheek against her temple. "Now you know was' what, you know he ain't comin' back."

Callie grows quiet, staring at a stain on his shirt. "I could've saved him, Tommy," she says after a long pause. "But I was too scared an' didn't come outta' my room till it was too late."

"You couldn't'a saved him, Cal. He dug his own grave and crawled right on into it. He wanted to die, I'll bet," Tommy tells her, winding a lock of her hair around his finger. "You can't save someone if they don't wanna be saved."

Tom's words don't affect Callie at all like he might have intended. Something sharp and heavy strikes at her chest, and it takes her a few moments to remember how to breathe. "You.. you really think he wanted t'die? To- to leave?" she asks him, voice so quiet it's barely a whisper.

Tom frowns and pats her shoulder a little heavily, blindly trying to comfort her. "Sure, 'cause he was a real fool. He wasn't thinkin' a you, only of himself. Real selfish, real mean. Shoulda stuck around for his baby girl."

Callie chews on her bottom lip, trying to understand that. "M-Maybe if I'd been 'round more, maybe. Or if. If I'd gone around tryin' t'make money like he did, maybe he woulda' thought 'bout me."

Tom pulls her into his chest, crushing her face against his shoulder slightly as he hugs her. "He's jus' a great big asshole, Cal. He's jus' an asshole. I won't leave you. I'll think of you."

Callie's trying real hard not to cry again, but he's squeezing her so tight the tears are just popping out. "Promise?" she whimpers, clutching the back of his shirt a little too tightly. "D'you pinky swear?"

"Oh, I ain't swearin' on my pinky, you girls are so weird," he grumbles, squeezing her tighter. "But I ain't goin' no where, promise."

Callie nods against his chest, squeezing her eyes tighter. He won't leave her. He's her friend. Friends don't do that to you. "Okay, Tommy," she says, the words shaky and muffled. "I believe you."

here's hoping this doesn't blow up in my face...

cindevillain@gmail.com — Sun, 20 Jul 2008 10:33:12 GMT

okay so i have all these random information about most of my characters, but i don't want to spam you all with all of them (also, i'm too lazy to write them all down), so instead--

Comment here with a character of mine, and I'll tell you five things you didn't know about him/her, as well as one thing even he/she doesn't realize!

i steals it.

cindevillain@gmail.com — Thu, 17 Jul 2008 09:58:05 GMT

Which scenarios would you like to see my characters get into? This could be anything from more interaction with another char, more emphasis on a certain character flaw they have, or something as simple as more happy scenes!

once upon a time, something happened.

cindevillain@gmail.com — Thu, 17 Jul 2008 06:21:01 GMT

okay so a while ago, ama and i decided to dig up our old OTP (one of our OTPs anyway) from the game, airplane fantasy. this is mainly for jessi, cuz she won't stop hounding me. XD ilu jessi~ ♥

"If you laugh at me," Molly threatens, pausing in front of her family's front door. It's a quaint little house just outside the city, made of red brick with white trim and forest green shutters. The Weasley family home is truly the picture of working-class dreams. There's even a low little white picket fence surrounding the neatly-groomed garden that comes with the house. Molly hates it. It's too cute. She narrows her eyes at Lorcan. "If you laugh at me, I will never forgive you. Okay?"

Lorcan widens his eyes, the hand that isn't busy holding their bags rising up in faint surrender. "No laughing," he says, nodding once. "Got it." He wants to ask, though, what reason he could possibly have to laugh at her for. Sure, never judge a book and all that, but Molly's house certainly isn't anything out of the ordinary, or even too ordinary, so unless she's got a circus of clowns running around behind that door he doesn't think he'll be snickering anytime soon. Besides, he's been with her almost a year now-- he thinks he knows when he shouldn't push his luck.

Molly takes a deep breath, shutting her eyes, and then pushes the door open. She steps into the entryway of the home, a kitchy, cluttered little area filled with smiling family photos, floral print furniture, and the faint scent of cabbage. "Momma I'm home!" Molly shouts. "And I brought somebody. DADDY YOU HAVE TO WAIT IN THE KITCHEN." She twists her fingers together nervously,

The very fact that even Molly is nervous about Lorcan meeting her dad makes him even ten times more nervous than he really is. He swallows thickly, back straightening in response, which really only makes him that much more taller than Molly. He passes a hand over his hair once, twice, then puts that hand over Molly's shoulder. A second later he decides tha might be inappropriate so he hastily stuffs that hand into the pockets of his jeans. Then he finally takes that breath he'd been needing.

"Momma's really nice," Molly whispers to him, snuggling closer for just a moment. "When she's not being terrible, of course, oh my God. Um. Let's sit on the couches." She takes Lor's hand and leads him over onto one of the overstuffed loveseats, sinking into it. Molly sucks on her bottom lip and tries to look encouraging.

Her mother enters a moment later, drying her hands on a plaid dishtowel. "Oh!" Mrs. Weasley breathes out, her mouth opening a little in surprise. She looks at her daughter, bewildered, and then recovers remarkably, giving Lorcan a wide smile. "Hello there, I'm Penelope, Molly's mom. I...had no idea she was bringing a boy home!" Mrs. Weasley laughs.

Molly, on the seat cushion next to Lorcan, groans. "Moooooom stop iiiiiiit." Her ears are beginning to turn pink.

Lorcan musters up his most charming smile for Penelope, straightening a little the seat (which is a feat, considering how badly those cushions seem to want to swallow him whole). Somehow, he manages to stand, and drops a little kiss to Penelope's cheek. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Weasley," he says, trying hard not to look like a deer caught in the headlights. "I'm.. sorry I'm such a surprise."

As Molly continues to squeal her protest, Penelope simply smiles. "Oh don't be sorry, dear," she says. "Save that until dinner. You will be staying, won't you?"

Lorcan doesn't responde for a few moments, caught off guard by her.. threat? "Er-- yes," he says, struggling to recover. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble." He wants to glance over his shoulder and send Molly a helpless look, but he can't decide if that would be too rude.

"Of course not," Penelope says with a smile in his direction before turning a stern look on Molly. "You, Missy, need to chat with daddy, first. You know the rules."

Molly rolls her eyes. "Oh my God, Mom, I'm almost seventeen! It's such a stupid rule." She pouts.

"It's still a rule, darling," Penelope points out. "Talk to daddy. I'll put in a word for you two." She turns her attention back on Lorcan. "It's always nice to meet a friend of Molly's. I'm going to go back and finish up dinner, but it shouldn't be too long. Perhaps Molly can tell you about some of our family photos!" Penelope gives them both one last parting smile as she leaves the room. Molly scowls at her retreating back and reaches out to tip a picture frame on the end table face down. cindulena (12:35:23 PM):Lorcan waits until he's sure Penelope wouldn't turn back around before finally turning back to Molly. "Rule?" he asks. He can already start to feel himself break out into a light sweat. "What rule? You didn't mention a rule. Molly. Molly." He stoops down, gently gripping his shoulders. "I think I'm coming down with something."

"No, no, no, no," Molly says, looking up with him pleadingly. "It's just a little rule. Little little rule. Baby rule. It's nothing. We can fix it. You'll stay for dinner. My daddy's just insane and hates me, oh my God." She looks up at Lorcan sadly. "You're not really sick, are you?"

"Well-- no?" Lorcan's too useless against those sad puppy eyes. "But Molly-- Molly, what if he kills me? I think he can kill me, he fought in the war, he can definitely kill me and it wouldn't even take much too, Ly's the more athletic one and I'd just trip over my legs."

"He won't kill you!" Molly's almost certain. "My daddy just wants to talk to you. Just a little talk. It's this stupid rule, I don't even know why, ever since Lucy got old enough to like boys, Daddy says that he has to meet them before they can come to the house. He's so embarrassing, oh my God."

Just a little talk. Lorcan tries to imagine what they'd talk about, but he can't get past walking through the door and getting shot in the head. Wizards and wands be damned, Lorcan's almost sure he'll get shot in the head. "So.. I have to talk to him? Alone?" He pauses to run a hand down his throat. "No witnesses?"

Molly giggles softly and reaches her hands out for a hug. "Oh you," she murmurs. "You're so funny. It's just a little talk. And I'll totally be eavesdropping outside the door. You'll be fine, my daddy couldn't hurt a fly." Which means yes. No witnesses. Molly just doesn't have the heart to put it like that.

Lorcan gives her a quiet, pleading look. He seems about five years younger and two feet shorter when he shuffles forward to take the offered hug. He buries his face against her neck, trying to remember how to breathe. "Tell Lysander he can have my books."

"No because when you go home he won't give them back," Molly laughs quietly, squeezing him nicely. "We can wait a few minutes if you wanna, though. Oh my God, don't look so scared!"

Lorcan gives her tiny body a faint squeeze. "No," he says, taking in a deep breath. "No, we should get it over with. Drawing it out will only make it seem worse." Quick and painless, quick and painless, please be quick and painless. He draws away from her, though his hands linger around her waist. "What should I expect?"

"A frumpy old man in glasses," Molly says with a smile that slowly changes into something more sheepish. "But I don't actually know. I mean. I'm not. I never. Y'know. Brought anybody home before." She fidgets and looks shyly away.

Lorcan gapes at her, his jaw slackening. "...Never?" he echoes. A sudden chill runs down his spine at just the same instant something warm blossoms in his chest. "So.. I'm. Your first." He takes a moment to digest this. Okay, he may need two.

Molly's ears are fast approaching fire engine red. "Yeah, well. Don't tell anybody. Okay?"

Lorcon deflates a little. He'd been hoping he could tell everybody, from the top of a mountain and all. "Do you think he'll go easy on me, since I'm your first?" he asks.

"Don't tell my daddy you're my first," Molly says around a little bit of laughter. "He'd throttle you. I'm still his little girl, oh my God. But he might be a bit bewildered that you actually admitted to it, so you might be able to get a running start."

"Fi--" Lorcan makes a faint squawking noise in surprise. "I don't mean that way!" he insists, his own cheeks flushing red. "Oh God I just shouldn't talk at all. I should just node and mime out my answers."

Molly laughs properly, giving Lorcan a rather amused little snuggle before reaching up as best she could to cup his jaw gently. "You'll be fine. You love me, right? Well then you'll be fine!" She tiptoes and whispers, "Besides, Momma liked you, so she'll tell daddy to behave."

"Really?" Lorcan looks at her with wide blue eyes. "You really think she liked me?"

"Yes! She invited you to stay for dinner! She might even make a pie! Are you allergic to pecans? It's not important." Molly smiled softly. "Yes she liked you. Oh my God, Lor, don't worry so much."

All the same, Lorcan passes a hand down the front of his shirt, hoping it's not wrinkled because he suddenly forgot the anti-wrinkling spell, along with just about every other spell he'd just spent seven years learning. "Okay," he says, nodding. "Okay I think I'm ready. No wait! No. No yeah I'm ready."

"Well you have to be sure," Molly says, making a small face at him. "Ready? C'mon." She slipped her hand into his and lead Lorcan out of the living room and down a hallway, stopping in front of a closed door. "This is my daddy's office," Molly whispered to Lor before knocking. "Daddy are you in there?"

A man's voice responded, "Yes I am, snowflake."

Molly winced at the petname. "Daddy do you want to meet my Lorcan?"

"Yes, snowflake. Come in."

She squeezed Lor's hand and opened the door, leading the way into the room, where a slight, underfed looking man with an impecable comb-over and glasses sat behind a paperwork-ridden desk. Molly smiled sweetly at him. "Daddy, this is my Lorcan. Lorcan, this is my daddy."

Lorcan tries to muster up the bravest smile he can, but it winds up looking more like the lovechild of a grimace and a flinch. "Mr. Weasley, sir," says Lorcan in greeting, tipping his head towards the man. He would have stepped forward to offer his hand in a shake, but he's rather too busy gripping Molly's hand like a vice.

Molly squirms awkwardly. Her father doesn't notice, or if he does, he doesn't say anything about it. "Pleasure," Percy says with an absent smile before returning his gaze to the paperwork in front of him, filling out his signeture with a quill. "How did you meet my snowflake."

"Daddyyyy," Molly whines like an unamused cat, "Don't call me thaaaaaaat."

"Ah," Lorcan laughs a little awkwardly, "we, um. We're both in Gryffindor, sir." He wonders if he should mention he's a year older than her.

"That's a good house," Percy says. He pauses to push his glasses up his nose, glance flickering up to Lorcan briefly. "Good house. Yes." Percy clears his throat and continues filling out forms. "And how long have you been, ah, her Lorcan?"

Lorcan suddenly freezes. He.. doesn't quite remember the exact date. Sweat starts to break out over his brow again. "Ah.. since.. earlier last school year, sir," he says, darting a quick glance to Molly, as if for confirmation.

"A while," Molly says, nodding her head. That's vague enough to be true, because privately Molly has always considered Lorcan to be hers.

The answer seems to satisfy Percy, who nods a few times. "What do you plan on doing for a future, Mr. Lorcan?"

"Ah." He darts another look towards Molly. "W-Well I thought I might.. consider a career in transcribing runes, sir." A lie, considering the only real probably future for him at the moment is caring for his mother, but... he doubts he should be airing out his dirty laundry so quickly.

Percy snorts faintly. "Runes. Real money's in arithmancy, you know. But do what you love, that's what they say. Do what you love..." He trails off into a flurry of his quill again, then looks up. "You know Molly gets her red hair from my side of the family. Long, thriving clan of Weasleys, you know."

Lorcan blinks, wondering if there's actually some sort of threat beneath those words... He thinks there is. "Yes, sir," he nods, his hand flexing around Molly's. "I'm good friends with some of her cousins."

"Good, good. That's good," Percy says, looking back to his work. "They like to ask a lot of questions, those Weasleys," he says. "You should probably practice your answers. If I hypothetically said 'what are your intentions for my snowflake,' for example, what would you say?"

Lorcan whips his head around to stare at Molly. His eyes are wide, and obviously asking for help. He swallows thickly, fidgeting. "Ah." His heart's pounding a little too fast, and he suddenly wishes Molly were somewhere else. "I would say.. I wouldn't be able to promise her much... but I intend to try and keep her happy as long as she'd let me."

Molly can't help it, she squeals and wraps her arms around Lorcan, burying her face wordlessly into his chest.

Percy looks up again and laughs quietly. "That's good, that's a very good answer," he says. "Practice that one. Extremely overprotective, some Weasleys can be. You're a fortunate young man that I'm not among them. Will you be staying for dinner?"

Lorcan remains as stock-still as he had been since Molly threw her arms around him, certain that as soon as Percy sees them, he'd be dead meat. But no, no dead. Not even meat. "If- that's alright with you, Mr. Weasley," he replies, gradually relaxing.

"I believe my wife would have a fit if it wasn't," Percy says with a smile. "She's really the one in charge around here, I'm afraid. If you see her, do ask her for a pie for me." He gestures around him to the pieces of parchment. "I'm afraid I'm tangled up in work."

Molly can't stop smiling to save her life. "We will daddy. I want pecan." Neither can she let go of Lorcan right now. This is all working perfectly!

Lorcan hesitates, wondering if they walk out now or stay and have a chat around tea. "I.. thank you, Mr. Weasley," he says with a faint exhalation of breath. He licks at his lips, absently reaching up to rest his hands on Molly's shoulders. "We'll do that. And. Yes. Thank you." He looks down at Molly. Go now please?

Molly giggles and doesn't even try to stop it. He's so cute. "Bye daddy, see you at dinner," she says, pressing forward to usher Lorcan out without letting go of him. Once they're through the doorway, Molly just burrows into his chest again, grinning like no one's business. "You," she says though her smile. "You are so wonderful, Lor', oh my God."

Lorcan just takes in a breath, and then another. "I thought I was going to have a heart attack," he admits. But then a moment later he allows himself to smile, glancing down at Molly and giving her shoulders a little squeeze. "That went well, I think."

"My daddy likes you," Molly says, beginning to pepper kisses wherever they happen to land. And then she pauses, scowls, and looks up at Lorcan. "Except I don't care what he says because I hate this family oh my God." Her smile shows through the face she's making.

"Oh yeah, I can tell." He smirks down at her, feeling relieved enough to gently poke her nose with a finger. "I'm sure if he disapproved you wouldn't have cared, damned them all, then whisked me off away to elope, right?"

"No," Molly pouts. "Eloping isn't a real wedding. Plus Gram would kill me with a knitting needle. Her and momma have already planned out all the fights they're going to have over my real wedding." She smiles and tugs his hand. "So what else do you wanna do before Momma calls for dinner?"

Lorcan doesn't answer. His face is frozen in an expression of half-surprise, half-fear. Weddings. No, of course Molly would have thought about her wedding, all girls do. But. Weddings. Would the Weasleys be expecting him to marry her? Did he even want to? OH GOD DOES HE? "Uh," is all he can think of at the moment.

Molly pulls away and looks up at him strangely. "Alright there, Lor? Oh my God, I didn't think there were that many options." Weddings are already brushed from Molly's mind. "We could look around the garden or go back to the sitting room or bug my mommy or I could show you the rest of the house?"

Lorcan gives his head a good, firm shake. "Last one," he croaks out, and somehow manages to give her a weak smile. "Definitely the last one." Except he's already forgotten what that option was.

Molly smiles and takes his hand. "Alright then. C'mon you. You've seen all the downstairs already." The Weasleys have a tiny home, really. Molly guides Lorcan down the hallway towards a steep, narrow staircase which she climbs carefully. The stairs squeak behind them, and when the get to the top, the floral theme of the home is continued with green carpetting and rose-patterned walls. "This is the upstairs!" Molly announces pointlessly. She opens a door. "This is the upstairs linen closet!" Another door on the other side. "This is the upstairs sitting room!" Molly giggles at herself.

Lorcan shakes his head, smiling at her. "Oh look!" he pauses to point at the wall. "The upstairs wall!" He turns around and gasps again. "Oh look! The other upstairs wall!"

She laughs and covers her face. "Don't make fun or I won't show you the most interesting upstairs place."

"Don't tell me," Lorcan puts a hand on her arm, the other hand over his chest. "Don't tell me there's an upstairs bathroom."

Molly tries to make a face at him but her laughter makes it hard. She shoves his arm in punishment. "That's not the interesting place!" Molly walks a ways down the hallway and opens a new door. "My room is."

Lorcan's smile freezes on his face, along with the rest of his body. Hastily, he darts a look down the hallway to the stairs. "Why Miss Molly," he says very quietly, "how very forward of you."

"You're the one being forward!" Molly says over her shoulder as she enters her room. "I'm just saying my room is a very pretty place. You can see it if you want. God, what is it with boys and their girlfriend's rooms..."

"Do you really want to know?" Lorcan asks as he appears by the doorway. He looks around, smiling faintly at all the little knick-knacks. "I have a pop-up book that taught me everything."

Molly raises an eyebrow at him. "What kind of pop up book?" She sits down on her bed and pets a teddy bear fondly.

Lorcan raises a brow at her. "The really informative kind," he replies, before stepping further into the room. He stands just beside her bed, smiling down at the bear in her hands. He imagines her curling up around it at night and-- oh wait, no, bad road.

She looks back up at him with wide eyes. "This is Cuddles," Molly says, introducing him to the bear. "He's mine. Not that I still play with stuffed animals or anything." Molly gives Cuddles a loving pat and then sets him back against the pillows.

Lorcan tries not to smile too big lest he embarrass Molly. Instead he leans down, reaching out to take one of the bear's limbs and shakes it. "Nice to meet you, Cuddles."

"Do I get to see your room someday?" Molly asks, smiling up at Lorcan. "I mean. It's only fair."

Lorcan straightens, pretending to look thoughtful about it. "I don't know..," he replies slowly, looking her over. "It might be a little overwhelming for you." He tries to hide his grin but fails miserably. "I mean, the ceiling's pretty tall."

"Be nice to me!" Molly commands, pouting. "I let you see my room. It's like, a huge deal, oh my God. Boys are never supposed to see in a girl's room. Duh."

Lorcan laughs at her pouty expression, but hastens to make nice. "You're right, you're right, I'm sorry." He can't help but lean down and press a kiss to her cheek. "This is a very big deal. I'm honored."

He's immediately forgiven of course. Molly always brightens right up at his kisses. "You should be! This is another first for me. Never been a boy in my room before."

Lorcan puffs up at that, unable to keep that triumphant smile from his lips. "I guess I'm just that awesome," he says, sighing like it's a curse. He thinks to drop another kiss to her other cheek, but he draws away before he gets tempted to do more.

Molly sighs along with him. "How do we live with it, really." She giggles then, reaching for his hand. "Do I want to ask how many girls have seen your room?"

"Do you?" Lorcan raises a brow at her. "Oh c'mon, Molly, it was hard enough for me to ask you out, you honestly think I was bringing girls to my room before you?"

She gives him a wry look. "You didn't ask me out. I made you ask me out. There's a difference." Molly smirks, though, vindicated. "So when do I get to see it? I'm curious."

Lorcan's face immediately pulls into a faint scowl. "As soon as you stop broadcasting that, thank you very much." He crosses his arms over his chest, pouty.

Molly giggles and tugs his shirt, laughingly apologetic. "Oh, Lor don't pout." She crawls closer. "I still can't believe it actually worked, anyway."

"Are you kidding?" Lorcan laughs, despite himself. He shakes his head a little, raking a hand through it. "It's a foolish man to ever deny you. Merlin, Molly have you ever seen yourself mad? You're like some kind of goddess of war."

Molly preens a little. "Well good. Because I really really like you, Lorcan Scamander. So you better be nice to me or I'll never forgive you." She eskimo kisses his shoulder.

Lorcan turns his head to hide a smile against her hair, giving her his own little eskimo kiss. "I'll try my hardest Molly Weasley," he replies, reaching up to cover her in his arms.

Molly sighs happily and winds her own arms around his waist. "You're doing great already, oh my God," she murmurs into his chest, relaxed and secure and loved against him. She lets a moment pass comfortably like that, and then says, almost regretfully, "Guess we better go down for dinner."

Lorcan, as if only realizing that he's hugging her in her room, hastily jerks away, eyes wide in panic. "Shot gun," he says, as if Molly would have any idea what he's talking about.

"Bwuh?" Molly asks, confused and missing Lor's presence. She feels a bit bereft without him, her lips slightly opened. "Shot gun?"

Lorcan licks his lips, nodding. He shoots a few paranoid glances over his shoulder. "Shot gun," he says again, just picturing Percy standing outside her door, armed and ready. "We should go," he turns back to her, nodding like a crazed man.

Molly makes a puzzled little face at him and shuffles after him for another hug. "Okay, if you say so," she shrugs. "Can I have a kiss first?"

Lorcan darts another glance over his shoulder. He turns back to her after a moment, then quietly leans down to give her a soft, tender kiss. The touch alone was enough to soothe most of his worries, that he's smiling again by the time he draws away.

She smiles back immediately and reaches for his hand again. "Okay then you." Molly gives his fingers a squeeze. "Dinnertime."

Lorcan draws in a breath, nodding. Ready. "Dinnertime." He lets her lead him back down the stairs, and had just reached the bottom step when he remembers-- "Pie." He looks at Molly with wide eyes. "We didn't tell your mom about your dad's pie, and now he's going to think I'm irresponsible and kill me."

Molly just blinks at him for a moment, having completely forgotten about the pie. "Oh!" she says as realization dawns. "Well she'll probably make one anyway. It's no big deal." Molly laughs and shrugs. "We're eating in the garden, okay? We do that in summer."

Lorcan thinks of a nice, cozy little garden. With a lot of escape routes. He smiles. "We used to do that," he murmurs idly. "Before mom found a nest of nargles in the bushes nearby." He gives Molly a very Serious look that says not to talk about it.

She shuts her mouth with a grin. "I love your mum," Molly says, opening the back door to a little cobblestone porch surrounded by brick planters full of a mossy, creeping vine. Molly's mother is just setting out the plates as they enter, and her father is seated already, scribbling his name on the last few bits of paper. "Dinner now?" Molly asks.

Lorcan smiles at the two adults, though his eyes may have darted to Percy's hands more than necessary, just to make sure it's actually a quill that he's holding. He inhales the scents of dinner deeply, suddenly remembering how hungry he is. "It smells delicious, Mrs. Weasley," he says as they step up to the table.

Penelope smiles. "You're sweet. It's just a simple casserole, of course. I'd have cooked better if I'd know we'd been having company. Please, please, sit down." She waved Molly and Lorcan towards seats. "Sit where you will, dear, and we'll make room around you."

Lorcan feels like it's a fairly big decision, and actually takes a moment to contemplate it. Eventually he decides to take the seat to Percy's right, drawing the chair out with a nervous smile to them all.

Percy looks up as Lorcan sits, giving him a quick smile before delving back in to finish signing off on those expense reports. Molly takes the seat next on Lor's right as well, slipping in quietly.

"Okay," Penelope says, taking another chair. "Percy, leave the work for now. Lorcan, dear, you're the guest, why don't you start with the casserole." She nudges the dish towards him.

Lorcan smiles at her, feeling a little more comfortable the most he gets settled. She kind of reminds him of Luna, way back when. "Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," he says, "it looks great." He scoops himself a generous helping, his appetite greater now that impending doom isn't too likely to occur within the next hour. He offers to scoop some for the others.

Molly just smiles sweetly at him and takes the spoon for herself, adding food to her plate as her father continues to scribble away hurriedly before Penelope can notice. "This is gross, Mom," she says, making a face at the casserole. "Oh my God." She wrinkles her nose and passes the dish on.

Lorcan lets out a short, nervous laugh, hastily taking up his fork. He glances around at all of their faces before shoveling a forkful into his mouth.

Molly rolls her eyes in disgust. "You're too good, Lor', oh my God. If it's awful just tell her so she'll stop making it." Nonetheless, she takes a bite of her own casserole without complaining.

Penelope frowns at her daughter, and then nudges Percy, who looks up from his quill to mumble, "Molly don't say all the bad things about your mother's cooking while we have company..." before slipping back into it.

Lorcan tries to offer his small, uneasy smile all around the dinner table. "I think it's great, Mrs. Weasley," he says, trying to play peacekeeper. "My brother and I love casserole. He'll be sad he missed it."

Percy looks up from his signature once more, patting Lorcan's back amusedly. "Such a yes-man. I like that about you." Penelope gives him an unamused little glance as well.

"Well thank you, Lorcan," Penelope says airily. "My family always likes it more after I've been away for some time, you see."

Molly looks guilty with the fork in her mouth.

Lorcan's smile falters a little, the tension weighing it down. "My dad was the cook in the family," he says after a moment. "Mom was always kind of hopeless in the kitchen because she was convinced the oven housed nargles." He laughs quietly, as if remembering a memory.

Penelope smiles politely, blankly. "Yes that must have been terrifically interesting. What an adventure." It's clear she has no idea what a nargle is.

"Muuuuuuum," Molly groans. "Nargles are bad! God, you don't know anything!" Penelope ignores her daughter's complaining and looks quite surprised.

Lorcan stares back a little blankly, still not used to dealing with people who don't have any idea what a nargle is. It's become so common in his household, that he hardly realizes it isn't quite so common in other's. "Oh it's- um. Well they're bad," he smiles weakly. "At least, that's what Mum used to say. Never really occured to my brother and I to ask why, heh."

Penelope slides an afraid little glance towards Percy, who doesn't notice as he takes a sip from his water glass. "And are...are there nargles here?" she asks. "Now?"

Molly rolls her eyes. "Daddy make her stop," she begs. "Mum's being weird again."

Percy looks up on command. "Penelope, please stop making Molly whine."

Penelope looks a bit wryly amused as Molly explains, "Mum's muggleborn, so she doesn't know about the HORRORS that are NARGLES oh my GOD Mum you're so embarrassing."

"Oh," says Lorcan, looking very suddenly embarrassed. "Well, no, I don't think so. Um. It's my mum who's always been able to find out where they are, and I don't think either my brother or I got that from her."

"What a charming party trick that must be," Penelope says with a smile, recovering. "I like to think Molly and Lucy got some things from me, but it's always so hard to be sure."

"I got your hands, Mommy," Molly volunteers helpfully. "And daddy's nose. Gram says so." Which makes it law, really.

The mention of Grandma Weasley sets a chill down Lorcan's spine, and he shivers in reflex. He still can't determine how he managed to get through her test. If.. that had even her The Test, at all. Oh Merlin. He's starting to think he's still got to deal with her.

"Have you met her grandmother?" Percy asks quietly. Penelope begins to take his quill and parchments away while he is distracted. "Molly's the spitting image of her. It's quite uncanny."

Lorcan gives Percy a faint, weak smile. "I haven't met her exactly, no. We, erm. We wrote letters to each other, for a while. She.. had some questions."

Percy returns the smile. His hand gropes around the table for his quill, but Penelope simply takes it in her own, now that the paperwork has been set aside. "Well I imagine so. I warned you about the protective Weasleys."

Molly wrinkles her nose at her parent's entwined hands. She leans over to Lorcan and whispers, "Don't worry. Gram'll love you."

"I hope so," he whispers back, an amused smile playing on his lips, "I'd hate for the spitting image of you to hate me. That'd be awful."

"I don't hate you," Molly says, still whispering. She'd kiss him if her parents weren't right there. "I don't think it's possible."

"I'll hold you to that, Molly Weasley," Lorcan draws back with a look that can only be considered as challenging.

She makes a tough little face at him that is quickly ruined by a blindsight snuggle into his side quickly before her parents notice. "I'll win," Molly promises with a smirk.

"I hope so," Lorcan laughs, before movement in the corner of his eyes catches his attention, and he suddenly realizes, oh right, her parents are here. Awkward.

Penelope clears her throat. "Yes, well. This has been a pleasent dinner, hasn't it?" She smiles and waits for support. When none arrives, she gives Percy's hand a squeeze. "Hasn't it? Dear?"

"Y-yes," Percy says quickly, trying to make up for his mistake. "Very pleasent. Why don't...ah..."

"You and I start the dishes? What an excellent idea, dear," Penelope finishes for him.

Lorcan glances back at Molly, smiling a little bemusedly. He very suddenly just had a flash of the future, of himself with an impeccable combover, of Molly looking like her grandmother, holding his hand like a vice, smiling sweetly while threatening him in some way or other to wash the dishes with her. It had been lovely, and frightening. A bit like Molly.

meme, remix!

cindevillain@gmail.com — Tue, 15 Jul 2008 08:30:02 GMT

because i'm a sucker for these kind of things. let's take that last character meme and REMIX IT shall we?

Knowing the types of characters I tend to play, what type do YOU want to see from me? Think I need a challenge? Think I have the potential? Well then don't just keep it to yourself, Greedy McGreedster! Spill! Spill!

o hay.

cindevillain@gmail.com — Mon, 14 Jul 2008 11:53:39 GMT

remember that meme from forever ago? i was finally struck with the inspiration to actually write one.

sorry for the luke overload guys. it must be getting really depressing by now. :/

His breath is quiet when he strings the pages together. Black silk woven through porcelain white. The papers blend against his fingers, just as white, but dirty, tainted. Moon pale fingers dance over the words, cut out and pasted with careful precision. Every letter he's made count, every word to spin a story. It's a sad one, echoed in the dark splatterings of ink and tears and crushed petals. A story that sprouted sad, blossomed happy, then wilted in betrayal and death. He's memorized every twist and turn of the tale, from every sigh, every moan, every sudden shock of the unknown. The silk in his fingers mimic those twists, knotting up where sadness bloomed the most. Or was it happiness. He can no longer tell. When he finishes, he holds the scrapbook up to his chest, and when he's quiet enough, he thinks he can hear a heart beat.