Because my friends are huge Bellarke shippers, and I love my friends <3
somewhere in season 5...
--
Chest heaving with labored breathing, Clarke's blue eyes scanned the scene around her. There were bodies everywhere. She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. This wasn't what she'd wanted. This wasn't what any of them had wanted.
The blood drying on her face was itchy, pulling at the skin in that perfectly irritating way. When she lifted her hand to wipe it away, it was still sticky to the touch. Her stomach churned at the feeling, a soft groan slipping from her lips as she let her gaze drop to the ground. Blood from the bodies around her was pooling at her feet. Her head snapped up as her eyes looked around, her expression frantic. "Madi," she shouted, worried her companion had been lost in all of this."Madi!" This time the name tore from her lips more desperately. Clarke began to move, tripping on lifeless limbs as she hurried to move away from the slaughter.
A familiar sting prickled behind her eyes, and she willed herself not to cry. Not now. She had to be strong, just like always. Steeling herself against her own selfish emotions, she clenched her jaw and kept moving, wading through the bodies. At the edge of the battlefield, her foot caught, tangled in the limbs of one of the fallen. Clarke was afraid to look down. Just as she began to turn her head, someone grabbed her hand.
"Don't." The voice was all too familiar. That rough, confident sound had filled her dreams, her nightmares, for 2,199 days before she'd heard it again. She had thought she'd been dreaming, but it was really him; it was really Bellamy.
Clarke looked up at him as he helped her out of the sea of bodies. For what it was worth, she was glad he was here - she didn't want to do this alone. His face was covered in blood, as she imagined hers was, too. "Have you seen Madi," she asked, not able to keep the worry from creeping into her voice. That same concern was tightening in her chest, gripping at her heart.Until finally...Bellamy nodded, "she's safe." An audible breath of relief poured from Clarke's lips, shaky at best.
"Oh, thank god," she muttered, her whole body finally relaxing. Pulling her eyes back to his face, she looked at him, silence stretching between them. The lump was growing in her throat, and she knew it was only a matter of time before her tears fell whether she wanted them to or not. When Bellamy turned, his eyes meeting hers, she could see the same on his face, the tears behind his eyes he was trying so hard to will away. Heart hammering in her chest, she realized she was still holding his hand, clinging desperately to the warmth that seemed to radiate from him. Blinking, she looked down at their hands, focusing on what was important right then and there.
"Did Octavia-?" As she asked, she looked back at him. Her question was cut off by his response, a shake of the head. Her stomach lurched; she felt sick. Clarke squeezed his hand gently as she pulled him into her, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, fingers tangling in his blood-matted curls. It took a moment, or maybe two, but soon enough, she could feel his arms wrapping around her waist.
When Bellamy pulled away, Clarke's cheek brushed against his. It was such a soft touch, it was almost enough to make her forget they were standing at the end of the world. Again. Looking at him, Clarke could see that he'd let the tears out. She wiped one away with the pad of her thumb, but she only smeared more blood over his freckles. A small wrinkle formed between her brows as she looked at him, wishing she could make things better. "Bellamy, I-" She didn't know what to say, though, and as she cut herself off, they both leaned in.
It had been ages since she'd kissed anyone like this. This felt right, natural. And yet...
Clarke pulled away, her eyes searching Bellamy's face as she took a small step away from him. A smile tugged the corner of her lips upwards, and she found she couldn't stop it. The smile spread over her face, and she glanced away, feeling suddenly shy about it. When she looked back at him, though, he was smiling, too.
It didn't seem to matter that they were both disgusting - sweaty, covered in blood and dirt and grime - because they had finally found one another. It had taken them over six years, but here they were. The tears started sliding down her cheeks, trailing through the blood and mud. For the first time in a long time, Clarke let herself be selfish, and she hoped Bellamy wouldn't mind: She kissed him again. This time, it was on purpose, this time it was fueled by desire rather than their shared pain. The warmth in her chest, spreading, made her wonder just how long she'd loved him and never realized it.
Showing posts with label drama. Show all posts
Showing posts with label drama. Show all posts
Saturday, January 27, 2018
Thursday, March 23, 2017
Anxious
It starts out like anything else
easy, approachable
it's not until you get there you realize:
nothing about this is easy.
how are you supposed to do this on your own
everyone expects you to do this, and
do it well, with ease
your heart pounds
your head swims
your lungs are tight as you try
to not gasp for air
the first tear falls, and you hastily
brush it away
before anyone can see that you
are not okay
if you ask for help, they'll see
you're struggling
they'll offer pity you don't want,
solutions you can't use
you'll smile politely and thank them
even though they've only made it
harder for you
you inhale deeply, ignoring the pounding
in your chest
this is your last chance to turn away
you almost do
then you remember
this is your dream
you build yourself up, use your friends
for support
you turn back to face it, and
it's not so scary anymore
even if your heart still pounds
your head still swims
your lungs are still tight as you try
to not gasp for air
the support of your friends feels
weak
but you know it's strong
tears fall like rain
and even though your friends
are there to support you
no one is there to help
wipe away the tears
you have their support but
you're always alone
easy, approachable
it's not until you get there you realize:
nothing about this is easy.
how are you supposed to do this on your own
everyone expects you to do this, and
do it well, with ease
your heart pounds
your head swims
your lungs are tight as you try
to not gasp for air
the first tear falls, and you hastily
brush it away
before anyone can see that you
are not okay
if you ask for help, they'll see
you're struggling
they'll offer pity you don't want,
solutions you can't use
you'll smile politely and thank them
even though they've only made it
harder for you
you inhale deeply, ignoring the pounding
in your chest
this is your last chance to turn away
you almost do
then you remember
this is your dream
you build yourself up, use your friends
for support
you turn back to face it, and
it's not so scary anymore
even if your heart still pounds
your head still swims
your lungs are still tight as you try
to not gasp for air
the support of your friends feels
weak
but you know it's strong
tears fall like rain
and even though your friends
are there to support you
no one is there to help
wipe away the tears
you have their support but
you're always alone
Character Study - Gina Martin, The 100
**the following contains spoilers for season 3 of The 100**
A smile passed over Gina's lips as she thought about Bellamy. Shaking her head, she tried to free herself of the thoughts; she had more important things to do right now, like find those launch codes. But there was nothing helpful anywhere easily found. Guess today wasn't exactly their lucky day. There had to be a silver lining, though, didn't there? They weren't about to drop a missile on a Grounder city, for one.
A smile passed over Gina's lips as she thought about Bellamy. Shaking her head, she tried to free herself of the thoughts; she had more important things to do right now, like find those launch codes. But there was nothing helpful anywhere easily found. Guess today wasn't exactly their lucky day. There had to be a silver lining, though, didn't there? They weren't about to drop a missile on a Grounder city, for one.
"Gina to Raven, come in."
"I got nothing, no launch codes. Guess our luck is still holding."
Keep looking. It should have been easy, shouldn't have been a problem. As she leaned forward over the president's desk, over all the papers she's scattered there, a hand clamped over her mouth.
Fear gushed through her veins in that instant. No, this wasn't how things were supposed to go. The assassin was supposed to be in Polis, not here in Mount Weather. Gina's mind and heart raced. That was when the first stab of pain wrenched through her body. She was being stabbed. Over and over again. She screamed against the hand clamped over her mouth. No one could hear her. She was alone.
The stabbing stopped, so did her screams. Gina could feel the life draining from her body as she dropped to the floor. But she wasn't dead yet. There was a fire in her eyes as she watched the Grounder open the panel on the desk, watched as she lay sprawled on the floor, pain seizing every nerve in her body. Gina coughed and sputtered, blood slipping over her lips.
And yet she did nothing but stay there on the floor, watching this Grounder, listening to Raven hail her on the radio over and over. It didn't end like this. It couldn't.
Her mind wandered to Bellamy, and she worried. If she died here today, would he be alright? Would he let the guilt consume him? Would he miss her?
Tears fell from her eyes as she tried to stop herself from crying out in pain and fear. She was still alive, though. She could still do something. The fight hadn't been knocked out of her just yet, even if she could feel herself dying with each drop of blood that left her body.
Forcing herself to move, Gina knew it was a death sentence, but she had to do something. She dragged herself over the floor, around the desk. Propping herself up, she looked at the panel. Self-destruct Initiated.
"Raven, we got a problem. A Grounder set off the self-destruct sequence. He has the codes on his arm. You have to get them."
Only the code could stop the sequence now. With the radio in her hand, she waited, she hoped. Bellamy had fallen for the Ice Nation's trap, but maybe, just maybe, they were good enough to stop this.
More and more blood was spilling from between her lips as she grasped the desk, begging it to support her, to hold her up. She believed in Raven, one of her closest friends. Raven would get the codes, they would stop the self-destruct. Everything would be okay.
Raven's voice reached Gina's ears over the radio, "How much time, Gina?"
"Forty-five seconds, Raven." She tried to keep the pain, the death out of her voice as she spoke. Even if they managed to stop the self-destruct, Gina felt pretty certain she wouldn't survive this.
Gina watched as the time ticked away, waiting for Raven to radio with the codes, but everything was growing so dim. Darkness was creeping in, and Gina knew she would die before she could save the lives of everyone left in Mount Weather. I'm sorry, Raven... I wanted to be there for you.
Tears came unwilled as Gina slumped over the desk, her blood everywhere. As the darkness consumed her mind, as she sat there dying, her last thought was with Bellamy: Bell, I'm so sorry. I couldn't save them. I couldn't be a hero. The light of the countdown reflected in her unseeing eyes as it ticked down to the death of all the innocents still inside Mount Weather.
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
Writing Doodle 034 - Once Upon A Time
Once upon a time, there lived a princess. She grew up, dreaming of true love, with hope in her heart. One day, she met a prince, and she thought that she must have been in love. He was so confident and wonderful! He took her away, and locked her in a tower.
For a time, the princess was happy in her tower. She felt safe and protected. Oh how the prince must love me, she thought, for he cannot bear to see me come to harm, and so he keeps me locked away safe in this tower! And she was happy.
A year passed, and the prince threatened to leave the princess, throw her from the tower. The princess was terrified, and horribly saddened. She spent more and more time outside the tower, and just as she was getting used to being out in the world alone again, the prince begged her to come back. Thinking it was destiny that had pulled her back to the prince, she agreed, and back to the tower she went, locked away from the world, and safe.
Another year rolled by. The princess, and the tower, were moved to a new kingdom with the prince. It was beautiful there, and the princess began to long for the things outside her tower. Yet the prince kept her there. Thinking the prince knew best, and that he was only trying to protect her, she stayed.
It was the middle of the princess's third year locked in the tower when she got a message that her father had gone missing. The princess's mother was devastated, as was her younger sister. But the princess could do nothing to help her grieving family. The kingdom the prince had moved her to needed her so badly, that were she to leave, even just for a day, the kingdom would crumble, and the princess would be held responsible. She wrote to her mother and sister constantly, reassuring them that they were better off, that the wounds would heal in time. Oh, how she longed to leave the tower.
The princess felt as though she were wilting, locked away. The prince had broken her. He had made her believe that she was nothing with him and the protection his tower provided her. Then one day, the prince brought another princess to the tower. The princess was surprised and hurt. The prince did not hide the second princess, but the princess wondered why she wasn't enough for him. It wasn't until that moment, when he'd made her truly feel worthless, that she realized she was better than this.
She knew she had to escape from the tower.
Leaning from her window, she met a young handsome man. He claimed he was a knight, and he made the princess smile. She had not smiled for quite some time. He was going to help her from the tower, he had promised. She waited for him. Days passed, weeks passed, and soon it had been over a month, and the princess had not heard from her knight. He had abandoned her. She wept for herself then, thinking the worst of herself, yet knowing she did not belong in this tower.
Another month went by. The prince had taken the second princess away, but she had written the princess, claiming to have escaped. The princess took a deep breath and lept from the tower, leaving behind only a note for the prince, telling him she no longer loved him, and wasn't sure she really ever did.
It was a surprise to the princess to find that the leap from the tower was nothing to be afraid of. She landed in a warm pool and swam for some time before leaving the water behind. A smile had come to rest on her lips as she walked freely through the kingdom, making friends. One night, as she was spending time with her new friends, the prince came to her, begging her to speak with him. Being the kind-hearted soul she was, she obliged. The prince tried to convince her she had made a mistake, that in a few months time, she should return to the tower - just to be sure. Seeing no harm in the deal, the princess agreed and sent the weeping prince on his way.
Months passed. The princess was finally beginning to feel good about herself. She had even gone dancing with a man from the village. But, as she promised, she returned to the tower. The prince had paintings of other princesses hanging on the walls. He told her that he was over her. Really, he was just trying to make her jealous. The princess did not fall for the prince's trap, however. The next morning, she left, happier than even the day before.
The man from the village brought her a rose, asked her with a hand-written note to be his. The princess, feeling nothing for his kind man, turned him down. She had decided she wasn't ready to belong to someone again. But she didn't see the harm in sharing a dinner here and there with a man who fancied her.
That was when she met the knighted prince. She had dinner with him just once, but everything felt different. It was just so wonderful, and she felt like she could have spent all night just talking about nothing, if he had only stayed. None of the others gave her the same feeling. In fact, they were all rather dull in comparison.
The princess followed the knighted prince as he smiled down at her from atop his horse. He was everything she had ever dreamed of. They began seeing one another in secret. It was nearly three months before they announced their engagement to the kingdom, but in those three months, the princess had fallen quite deeply in love with the knighted prince. She imagined what their wedding would be like, and hoped it would come quickly.
The princess was happy with the knighted prince. He was kind to her, and so supportive. She began to feel like she was valuable, and was able to be happy. Really, truly happy. It didn't matter if he were by her side at all times, as long as he loved her, she knew she would be the happiest princess in the world. Her confidence was building, and she even went out and did things she never thought she'd be able to. She had even gotten a position in a small kingdom supporting the ruler, and all this while her knighted prince was away for three long months.
It felt like it had been forever when he returned. The princess was so glad to see him, and she asked him to stay the night with her. They talked quite a bit, and the princess asked if he would be returning to the land of snow - where he had been for those three months - at the end of the next harvest. The knighted prince explained that he hoped he would be asked to return, and permanently, but he did not want the princess to follow him. The princess felt her heart shatter. The confidence she had been building up, the happiness she'd learned to cultivate in herself withered. She couldn't understand why he would not want her to go with him, but he refused to talk more on it.
Months more passed, and the princess could only feel herself growing sadder and sadder. She missed the person she had been when she'd met her knighted prince - so warm, kind, and optimistic! But she didn't know how to fix herself. The knighted prince spent less and less time with her, and she began to wonder if he loved her at all.
Finally, the harvest came to an end. The knighted prince had been called to a hearing in the land of snow, and the princess knew he was going to leave her behind. She sobbed, and he held her. Finally, she turned to him, asking him why? Why didn't he want her to go with him? That was when he'd made it very clear that he did not love her. He never had.
The princess felt her heart shatter then. Of all the terrible luck she could have had, she had never expected this. She wondered why he had spent so long courting her if he did not love her. He claimed it was hope - hope that he would love her as deeply as she loved him. And yet, he did not. The princess felt her optimism draining away, and wondered if she were unlovable. If her knighted prince could not love her, then who could?
A month passed, and the knighted prince spent a lot of time with the princess. She knew it was meant as a parting, but then the knighted prince heard from the land of snow that they had found someone better suited to the position. He was devastated, and the princess did all she could to console him despite how miserable she felt herself.
The days dragged into weeks then, and still the knighted prince did not break off his ties with the princess. It was beginning to be very painful for her, watching him from afar, watching him avoid spending time with her. All she really wanted was one last touch, one last kiss, one last tender moment, but he would not oblige her.
Finally, she asked him to dinner, and it was there that she told him he did not need to worry about her any longer; that she was leaving. She said she hoped he'd be happier this way, and perhaps they could still be friends.
With a broken and heavy heart, the princess returned to her home, alone. There, she sat for days, crying and screaming, wishing for nothing but the knighted prince's love, and knowing it would never be hers.
For a time, the princess was happy in her tower. She felt safe and protected. Oh how the prince must love me, she thought, for he cannot bear to see me come to harm, and so he keeps me locked away safe in this tower! And she was happy.
A year passed, and the prince threatened to leave the princess, throw her from the tower. The princess was terrified, and horribly saddened. She spent more and more time outside the tower, and just as she was getting used to being out in the world alone again, the prince begged her to come back. Thinking it was destiny that had pulled her back to the prince, she agreed, and back to the tower she went, locked away from the world, and safe.
Another year rolled by. The princess, and the tower, were moved to a new kingdom with the prince. It was beautiful there, and the princess began to long for the things outside her tower. Yet the prince kept her there. Thinking the prince knew best, and that he was only trying to protect her, she stayed.
It was the middle of the princess's third year locked in the tower when she got a message that her father had gone missing. The princess's mother was devastated, as was her younger sister. But the princess could do nothing to help her grieving family. The kingdom the prince had moved her to needed her so badly, that were she to leave, even just for a day, the kingdom would crumble, and the princess would be held responsible. She wrote to her mother and sister constantly, reassuring them that they were better off, that the wounds would heal in time. Oh, how she longed to leave the tower.
The princess felt as though she were wilting, locked away. The prince had broken her. He had made her believe that she was nothing with him and the protection his tower provided her. Then one day, the prince brought another princess to the tower. The princess was surprised and hurt. The prince did not hide the second princess, but the princess wondered why she wasn't enough for him. It wasn't until that moment, when he'd made her truly feel worthless, that she realized she was better than this.
She knew she had to escape from the tower.
Leaning from her window, she met a young handsome man. He claimed he was a knight, and he made the princess smile. She had not smiled for quite some time. He was going to help her from the tower, he had promised. She waited for him. Days passed, weeks passed, and soon it had been over a month, and the princess had not heard from her knight. He had abandoned her. She wept for herself then, thinking the worst of herself, yet knowing she did not belong in this tower.
Another month went by. The prince had taken the second princess away, but she had written the princess, claiming to have escaped. The princess took a deep breath and lept from the tower, leaving behind only a note for the prince, telling him she no longer loved him, and wasn't sure she really ever did.
It was a surprise to the princess to find that the leap from the tower was nothing to be afraid of. She landed in a warm pool and swam for some time before leaving the water behind. A smile had come to rest on her lips as she walked freely through the kingdom, making friends. One night, as she was spending time with her new friends, the prince came to her, begging her to speak with him. Being the kind-hearted soul she was, she obliged. The prince tried to convince her she had made a mistake, that in a few months time, she should return to the tower - just to be sure. Seeing no harm in the deal, the princess agreed and sent the weeping prince on his way.
Months passed. The princess was finally beginning to feel good about herself. She had even gone dancing with a man from the village. But, as she promised, she returned to the tower. The prince had paintings of other princesses hanging on the walls. He told her that he was over her. Really, he was just trying to make her jealous. The princess did not fall for the prince's trap, however. The next morning, she left, happier than even the day before.
The man from the village brought her a rose, asked her with a hand-written note to be his. The princess, feeling nothing for his kind man, turned him down. She had decided she wasn't ready to belong to someone again. But she didn't see the harm in sharing a dinner here and there with a man who fancied her.
That was when she met the knighted prince. She had dinner with him just once, but everything felt different. It was just so wonderful, and she felt like she could have spent all night just talking about nothing, if he had only stayed. None of the others gave her the same feeling. In fact, they were all rather dull in comparison.
The princess followed the knighted prince as he smiled down at her from atop his horse. He was everything she had ever dreamed of. They began seeing one another in secret. It was nearly three months before they announced their engagement to the kingdom, but in those three months, the princess had fallen quite deeply in love with the knighted prince. She imagined what their wedding would be like, and hoped it would come quickly.
The princess was happy with the knighted prince. He was kind to her, and so supportive. She began to feel like she was valuable, and was able to be happy. Really, truly happy. It didn't matter if he were by her side at all times, as long as he loved her, she knew she would be the happiest princess in the world. Her confidence was building, and she even went out and did things she never thought she'd be able to. She had even gotten a position in a small kingdom supporting the ruler, and all this while her knighted prince was away for three long months.
It felt like it had been forever when he returned. The princess was so glad to see him, and she asked him to stay the night with her. They talked quite a bit, and the princess asked if he would be returning to the land of snow - where he had been for those three months - at the end of the next harvest. The knighted prince explained that he hoped he would be asked to return, and permanently, but he did not want the princess to follow him. The princess felt her heart shatter. The confidence she had been building up, the happiness she'd learned to cultivate in herself withered. She couldn't understand why he would not want her to go with him, but he refused to talk more on it.
Months more passed, and the princess could only feel herself growing sadder and sadder. She missed the person she had been when she'd met her knighted prince - so warm, kind, and optimistic! But she didn't know how to fix herself. The knighted prince spent less and less time with her, and she began to wonder if he loved her at all.
Finally, the harvest came to an end. The knighted prince had been called to a hearing in the land of snow, and the princess knew he was going to leave her behind. She sobbed, and he held her. Finally, she turned to him, asking him why? Why didn't he want her to go with him? That was when he'd made it very clear that he did not love her. He never had.
The princess felt her heart shatter then. Of all the terrible luck she could have had, she had never expected this. She wondered why he had spent so long courting her if he did not love her. He claimed it was hope - hope that he would love her as deeply as she loved him. And yet, he did not. The princess felt her optimism draining away, and wondered if she were unlovable. If her knighted prince could not love her, then who could?
A month passed, and the knighted prince spent a lot of time with the princess. She knew it was meant as a parting, but then the knighted prince heard from the land of snow that they had found someone better suited to the position. He was devastated, and the princess did all she could to console him despite how miserable she felt herself.
The days dragged into weeks then, and still the knighted prince did not break off his ties with the princess. It was beginning to be very painful for her, watching him from afar, watching him avoid spending time with her. All she really wanted was one last touch, one last kiss, one last tender moment, but he would not oblige her.
Finally, she asked him to dinner, and it was there that she told him he did not need to worry about her any longer; that she was leaving. She said she hoped he'd be happier this way, and perhaps they could still be friends.
With a broken and heavy heart, the princess returned to her home, alone. There, she sat for days, crying and screaming, wishing for nothing but the knighted prince's love, and knowing it would never be hers.
Friday, July 01, 2016
Writing Doodle 033 - Sacrifice
Imagine you're in love. Imagine you've loved that person almost the entire time you've been together. Imagine it's been a couple years, maybe even almost two and a half. Imagine the person you love explaining to you that they don't love you - that they've never loved you. Imagine asking why they've stayed with you for so long if they don't feel the same way about you as you do about them, and imagine they say they had hope that they might just wake up and feel that way one day. Imagine that you believe that wanting to love someone is really the first step towards being in love with them. Imagine you cry. A lot. Imagine the person you love is going to get a job far away and move. Imagine they don't want you to go with them. Imagine how hurt you feel when you remember the one time, over a year ago, when you asked and they said, "well, you'll have to come with me!" and you were so happy that things felt like they were working out the way you'd always imagined. Imagine that you'd decided years ago you wouldn't leave your job and move for anyone unless you were sure they were "the one." Imagine having decided you'd move for this person you love. Imagine realizing you never loved anyone before, not like this. This is different. Imagine being on the brink of depression, and that person being the only bright spot in your life, keeping you from teetering over the edge and losing yourself completely. Imagine they don't get that job. Imagine them devastated, and you feel like it's somehow your fault because you wanted to stay with them so badly. Imagine they still want to break up because they still don't love you. Imagine that they don't know how to do it, so they keep putting it off, avoiding you more and more. Imagine wanting to spend one more night in their arms, but they won't stay at your place anymore. Imagine sobbing harder than you ever have before in your entire life, your whole body in pain, and you don't know how to deal with it. Imagining feeling so alone that you almost believe no one else has ever felt this much pain and heartbreak before in the history of the universe, even though you know that can't possibly be right. Imagine deciding you'll be the one to end things because you can't take being avoided by your love any longer. Imagine you go to dinner as a couple one more time. Imagine it's basically perfect. Imagine you stop at the store before parting ways. Imagine you get in the car, and as you're driving back, you do it. You end the relationship. Imagine wanting someone else's happiness so badly that you sacrifice the only happiness you have. Imaging wanting to stay friends, but hoping you never have to see the person you love with someone else, even if you do just want them to be happy. Imagine never regretting a single moment they spent with you, but wanting to forget every second of it. Imagine being alone the night after you've broken up, and no one's around. You're completely alone. Imagine crying harder still, so hard that you're actually screaming. Imagine you're so unhappy that you've lost the will and the desire to do anything. But at least the person you love is happy now, at least you could do that one last thing for them. Imagine hoping that they appreciate your sacrifice, and that they don't realize just how much it ruined you.
Sunday, May 01, 2016
Writing Doodle 032 - Broken Heart
May 25, 2158
Dearest Diary,
Relationships are funny things. Two people (or more, I suppose, but for me, just two) come together and sort of agree to be more than friends. Like, yea sure, I'll always be there for you... or somesuch.
Or not.
I loved him deeply, ferociously... with a passion he probably would have preferred to see me drive my career with instead. But I loved him. After three months with him, I had fallen - hard, fast, however you want to describe it - and I kept loving him through everything.
But depression and anxiety have a funny way of making you see the worst in everything. I still love him, but all I think about is how he doesn't love me, that I'm just a chore to him, that he'd rather hang out with his friends than with me. I cry a lot. I don't want to, but I'm not sure how to stop.
I know I'd be alright without him, sure, but I don't want to be without him. He means so much to me now. I'm so terrified of losing him. But, you see... in my mind, he's already ended the relationship, and already shattered my heart into a million pieces, and it'll never be the same. Maybe it's worse because he's still here, still with me.
I am so, so happy whenever I get to spend time with him; I am so, so miserable when he leaves me behind. And I know it's all in my head, but...how do I get out of my own head? I don't know how to do this on my own. I don't know how to fix my broken heart - the heart that hasn't even been broken yet.
Love Always - yes, even when my heart is broken,
Dearest Diary,
Relationships are funny things. Two people (or more, I suppose, but for me, just two) come together and sort of agree to be more than friends. Like, yea sure, I'll always be there for you... or somesuch.
Or not.
I loved him deeply, ferociously... with a passion he probably would have preferred to see me drive my career with instead. But I loved him. After three months with him, I had fallen - hard, fast, however you want to describe it - and I kept loving him through everything.
But depression and anxiety have a funny way of making you see the worst in everything. I still love him, but all I think about is how he doesn't love me, that I'm just a chore to him, that he'd rather hang out with his friends than with me. I cry a lot. I don't want to, but I'm not sure how to stop.
I know I'd be alright without him, sure, but I don't want to be without him. He means so much to me now. I'm so terrified of losing him. But, you see... in my mind, he's already ended the relationship, and already shattered my heart into a million pieces, and it'll never be the same. Maybe it's worse because he's still here, still with me.
I am so, so happy whenever I get to spend time with him; I am so, so miserable when he leaves me behind. And I know it's all in my head, but...how do I get out of my own head? I don't know how to do this on my own. I don't know how to fix my broken heart - the heart that hasn't even been broken yet.
Love Always - yes, even when my heart is broken,
Jo Mosser
Monday, April 11, 2016
Character Development - Arthur Weasley
AU - age 29 - first wizarding war
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Being the middle child is not exactly easy. Everyone seems to think it is, but it's really not. You have to live up to the expectations set by your older siblings while still being a good example for the younger ones. It's really all about balance - finding the line and walking straight along it. Of course you'll probably wobble a bit now and again, but it's something you'll learn to live with. You'll never be the best, but at least you won't be the worst, either. You'll always be right in the middle. Average. It's just who you are.
That was Arthur Weasley's life. It was the life he was born into as the second son of a second son of a second son. All middle children who swore to break the chain of average middle children - should they have that many. They did. None had succeeded, however, in making their middle son feel anything other than, well, average. Of course, little Arthur had no idea that his father might have made such a vow, and in fact, would probably never find out.
For the first four years of his life, Arthur was in his elder brother's shadow, following in his footsteps with a goofy smile on his adorable face. His parents loved them both very much. But just two? It was far from enough children for this Weasley family. Septimus and Cedrella, who had been burnt off the Black family tree for marrying a Weasley, had intended to have at least five children. When Arthur was four, his younger brother was born, but due to some strange complications with the pregnancy, there would be no more Weasley children- or any children for that matter- born of Cedrella. Despite the rather depressing news, Septimus and Cedrella welcomed their third child into their family and their home, glad to have the three they had.
While Septimus and Cedrella loved each of their children, they never seemed to realize what it felt like for Arthur growing up. He had to be more like his big brother, who was showing strong signs of magic at the age of seven; he had to set a good example for his younger brother, always being the one to take the baby's hand and lead him forward. Now, it really wasn't so bad. Arthur had a very loving family, after all. He just tended to get a little bit overshadowed. His elder brother got the praise for doing everything the first time - it was therefore less impressive when Arthur managed it. His younger brother was, well, the baby, which meant he got a lot of extra attention as babies tended to receive. Which left Arthur right in the middle of it all.
Arthur could remember the day his elder brother got his Hogwarts letter nearly perfectly. It had been raining and very grey. Not one of the boys were allowed to go outside. Might catch cold their mother had said. Which meant they only had the option to play indoors for the day. Arthur had been watching the window when the owl came with the letter. He had been almost as excited has his elder brother had been, a wide grin on his face. There had been so much excitement throughout the household that day. The first son of the current generation of Weasleys was about to go off to Hogwarts! There was a trip to London, ice cream, and they even bought an owl! It was so much excitement Arthur was nearly falling asleep on the way home.
It was September first. Arthur was holding the hand of his younger brother on the platform as they waved the eldest off to his first year at Hogwarts. Arthur patted his crying baby brother on the back, promising they'd see the eldest again and not to worry; before long, they'd both be at Hogwarts, too.
Christmas finally came. Arthur's eldest brother came home with stories upon stories upon stories to tell to his two younger brothers who sat, enrapt by his words. He pulled something out of his bag and handed it to the youngest. It was a small wrapped box. He did the same for Arthur. Upon opening the box, wrapping paper strewn about, Arthur found a most curious item. His brother told him it was a "rubber duck" and he had gotten it from his muggle-born friend. Arthur was more than a little fascinated with the item. In fact, one might even have said he'd grown obsessed with it. It was there, in that moment, that Arthur knew he wanted to study muggles, to somehow work between the magical & Muggle worlds. He wasn't sure how he was going to do it yet, but he knew he would get there one day. It was his dream.
Two years passed and all that happened was Arthur's love for all things Muggle growing deeper and deeper. Well, and he got his Hogwarts letter, of course. Now, with his elder brother's hand-me-downs and a wand of his own, Arthur waved goodbye to his family as he stepped foot on the Hogwarts Express. It was even more incredible than he could have imagined. It would be four more years before his youngest brother would get to experience this, but Arthur was still looking forward to that day.
Upon arriving at Hogwarts, Arthur could hardly contain his excitement. His elder brother was no where to be seen, but that wasn't much of a surprise, really, considering the difference in years. The boats, though! Arthur loved the boats. He could recall a commotion coming from one of the other boats, but other than that, it had been perfect, like a dream. The way the lights played on the surface of the pristine lake. It was something Arthur would never forget - a story he would be sure to tell his younger brother, and, eventually, his own children. Arthur wondered how anything could be as amazing and perfect as that boat ride, and honestly, never expect anything to match the wonder he'd felt on the lake that night.
The Sorting Hat had barely touched Arthur's ginger hair before it had shouted out GRYFFINDOR! With a wide grin on his face, Arthur joined the Gryffindor house table - his elder brother was there, cheering the loudest. A few more first years were sorted before Arthur heard the name of the woman he subconsciously decided he was going to marry: Molly Prewett. His jaw dropped, his heart fluttered. He didn't really know it yet - because he was only eleven years old - but he was really in love. She was just so perfect, more so than the boat ride across the lake, and now, now he knew for sure, nothing else would ever be as beautiful.
Arthur tried several times throughout his first year at Hogwarts to talk to Molly, but she never seemed to notice him. Perhaps he was just too quiet, or maybe it was that he was just too...average. But it didn't matter. There were still years ahead of them in which he would be able to finally find the perfect way to talk to her.
Year two, and nothing to show for it. Well, aside from having a bit of a spat with a few other purebloods. The Weasley family were known to be blood traitors. Arthur, as it turns out, felt very strongly about this. He stood up for a couple of his (mostly) new muggle-born friends, and it sure got a bit messy. Luckily, almost no one was around to see it all. Arthur knew that, from that day onwards, he would never give a second thought to blood purity. Sure, he'd been told to treat all wizards equally by his parents, but he had never encountered such venom and bitterness all because of blood, and he knew that the purebloods were wrong. It was a belief that would come to shape much of his later life.
Third year arrived with much excitement from Arthur. This was the year. It had finally come! It was the first year he would be able to take the Muggle Studies class, and he could hardly wait. It was strange, though, because despite his excitement, it still seemed as though he blended into the background, hardly noticed by anyone - save when they needed someone to pick on or cheat off of. He was, after all, still a middle child. Yes, of course he had friends, but he was never special. He didn't seem to stand out in his classes, despite being rather clever, and he certainly didn't stand out in the looks department considering his tall, lanky, gangly appearance. But it really didn't bother him. He was happy with his life, and he knew, eventually, that he would talk to Molly Prewett, and, somehow, win her heart.
Muggle Studies was not quite what Arthur had imagined it would be, but it was amazing nonetheless. He learned a lot more than he might have expected, but that comes with growing up in a pureblooded family, he supposed. In fact, he was fairly certain no one he'd ever known in his entire family had ever really had contact with a real Muggle. Muggle-borns, sure, but not a Muggle. He wondered if he'd ever get the opportunity to meet a Muggle in real life - he had so many questions already! He dug deeper than probably any previous student in the Muggle Studies class, forsaking some of his other classes in order to do so, even. Muggle Studies had captured Arthur's mind. It was all he could think about, and he knew that he would, one way or another, work with Muggles and their interesting culture - whether it be directly or indirectly.
At the start of his fourth year at Hogwarts, Arthur's youngest brother joined Gryffindor. Arthur cheered the loudest - even louder than their eldest brother. It was incredible to be able to be there to answer whatever questions his little brother had. Granted, a majority of them seemed to be asked in secret - the youngest didn't want to look uncool in front of his new classmates. Arthur had simply chuckled to himself before turning back to the Muggle book he was reading - it was about electricity! - and staring over the top of the pages at Molly Prewett, laughing with her friends.
Arthur tried talking to Molly again. He didn't do any better at the age of fourteen than he had at the age of eleven. He knew now, though, that when his heart raced as he thought of her, that it might be love. Then again, maybe it wasn't. One Hogsmeade weekend, Arthur was asked to visit Madam Puddifoot's with a rather awkward Ravenclaw. She was a nice enough girl, and of course Arthur had said yes, but he knew, even from that one little date, that she wasn't the one for him. It only made him yearn for Molly all the more.
It was time for Arthur to study for his O.W.L.s. Boy, was he nervous. He knew he wanted to get into something relating to Muggles, but he had never really taken the time to figure out what sort of field that could be. Wizard-Muggle relations? But that sounded so...stiff. Would he be able to be the same person if that were his career path? This required some serious thinking. And perhaps some serious studying. As long as he got high enough marks in Muggle Studies, and most of the other classes he might need a N.E.W.T. level class for, well... he'd be alright.
Arthur went on a few more dates with the rather awkward Ravenclaw. She was nice, but Arthur felt wrong about it all. He knew he had to put an end to it before she started thinking things were getting serious and got hurt more than she already would be. He made sure to end it gently, away from crowds and the like. But, of course, she was still hurt, still claimed she'd never be able to forgive him.
With sixth year starting, Arthur realized he was running out of time. He needed to get Molly to notice him, to fall for him as completely as he'd already done for her. But the question was how. He still had several classes on his plate, too: charms, potions, transfiguration, defense against the dark arts, and muggle studies, having just squeaked by on most of them. And yet, somehow, his classes seemed so dull now that time was running out on his Molly problem.
It was the middle of the year when Arthur finally got his chance. There was a party. Molly was there. And thank Marlin for liquid courage, eh? He remembered inhaling deeply, thinking about how he really needed to just...talk to her...and then his memory went blank. Well, until the two of them were in the hallway. Molly was wobbling rather ferociously. She even fell and scraped her knee. Arthur was sorry he hadn't been able to catch her in time. He didn't laugh - that would have been rude - he simply helped her up. The next thing he knew, she had kissed him - was kissing him. And it was everything he had hoped it would be. His heart skipped a beat, it felt like he had wings. He knew that if she were by his side, he could do anything. And as much as he loved that kiss, the taste of her lips, he pulled back shyly, wrapped his arm around her shoulders and helped her walk a bit more steadily. Who knows if she'd really wanted to kiss him or if it had just been the alcohol. Whatever the case, he wouldn't take advantage of her. They walked the grounds for hours that night, just talking. He told her all about his love of Muggles, his family...everything; and he wanted to know every little thing about her, drinking in her every word as though he were dying of thirst. It was four in the morning when they returned to the Gryffindor common room, and Arthur was sure he'd never had a better day at Hogwarts than this one.
The next day was in competition with Arthur's night out with Molly for a long time. The only reason was because Molly was no longer ignoring him. He had done it! The way she waved to him, the smile on her lips... It distracted him for the entire day. It was no use doing his homework - he'd only end up scribbling her name all over the parchment. The next chance he got, he asked if she would go to Hogsmeade with him - to Madam Puddifoot's. He was over the moon when she agreed. If anyone were to ask Arthur, it had been a perfect date. Arthur figured Molly had liked it - and him - well enough since she kept talking to him after the fact. And she didn't seem to mind the nickname he'd come up with for her after the night of the party, either: Mollywobbles.
By the time they were leaving Hogwarts, the threat of war was coming. It loomed like a dark cloud on the horizon. Who knew what could happen tomorrow? The future was being tossed about like a ship in a storm, always uncertain. Arthur had turned to Molly one afternoon when they were having a quiet lunch together during the Christmas holiday, when she had said "Let's elope, Arthur." Despite the surprise, Arthur was more than overjoyed that she would want to marry him. He agreed, and soon after leaving Hogwarts, they ran away together. Of course Arthur wrote to his family later, explaining everything. They weren't upset, really. Rather, they seemed rather excited to meet Molly, and Arthur couldn't wait to introduce her.
Arthur was only twenty years old when his first son was born. William, they named him - Bill for short. He was a beautiful baby boy, and Arthur couldn't have been more proud. He had a good feeling that everything was going to go very well for the family he and Molly were growing. He was working at the Ministry, a junior assistant in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office. It was everything he could have dreamed of in a job! And he'd been hired just after he and Molly had eloped. It was perfect timing, too. The signing bonus was enough for them to buy an adorable little home with - The Burrow, they called it - and when little Bill was born, they began adding on to the house - as they would do for years to come with each new child as they needed more and more space.
Charlie was rather unexpected. Not that Arthur minded, of course, as he was looking forward to having a family - a real, and large, family with the love of his life. But two children, and so close together, made things difficult. Arthur found himself spending entirely too much time working in an attempt to make sure ends would meet - that his wife and two wonderful sons - would have all they could ever dream of. Arthur knew Molly needed him, but he also knew he had to provide for her, and he was torn. He never let Molly see the anguish he felt at being away from her so much; instead he always greeted her with love and warmth whenever he made it home.
The next four years were rough, but they evened out. Things were alright in the Weasley household. Arthur was making enough money to support his wife and two sons, himself, and own a home. Things were looking up. Aside from the looming cloud of war rolling in faster and faster. Arthur worried about his family. Would they be safe? He knew his own family had been labeled blood traitors long ago, and with the purists seeming to come out, Arthur was terrified that his family would be in danger. He would spend hours at work, worrying about it all, trying to see a way to protect them while still taking a stand against the purists and their backwards views. With all that weighing him down, the birth of Percy was a welcome distraction. Percy was just as perfect as his two older brothers, but it meant another mouth to feed. Arthur worried that he and Molly had made a mistake bringing another child into the world - this world in particular, one where someone would be thought of as less simply because of who their parents were. Still, Arthur believed his son to be a bright spot in a darkening world, and he was glad he and Molly had made the decision they did.
Two years passed. It was 1977, and the world was dark and full of terrors. Arthur and Molly had been talking about having another child - she really wanted a daughter, and who was he to deny her? Arthur had been in bed beside a sleeping Molly, trying to figure out their budget for the next baby, when the owl came. His parents had been murdered. They weren't sure who had done it, but Arthur had his suspicions considering the rising tensions between the purists and, well, everyone else. Arthur had never felt so infuriated in his entire life. First, they - whoever they really were - were creating a world in which Arthur was terrified for the futures of his children; second, they murdered his parents. It was too much. Arthur knew he had to do something. Arthur kissed his sleeping wife's forehead, wrote her a note explaining what had happened, and met his brothers at his parent's house to deal with the aftermath.
It wasn't long after his parents' deaths when Arthur was contacted by Albus Dumbledore. The elderly wizard explained calmly about a group he was building to fight against The Death Eaters. The group was called the Order of the Phoenix, and Albus was asking if Arthur would join the battle. Arthur said he needed some time to think about it. He didn't mention it to Molly at all. Now was not the time.
Molly and Arthur had decided on another child - might as well fill the world with good, if they could. Much to their surprise, one child turned out to be two: twins! Arthur had nearly fainted at the news. This would require a whole new budget - and a decent amount of overtime. At least Arthur had just been promoted from junior assistant to assistant - that would give them a little bit of extra money for sure, but it would still be rough. It was a miracle, to say the very least, that Arthur was actually home the very moment that Molly went into labor with the twins - and early, at that! It was a long labor. So long that Arthur found himself leaving in the middle to finish up some work and returning before it was over. But when it was, Arthur could hardly hold back the joy he felt at being a father once - or rather twice - again.
After the twins were born, Albus approached Arthur again. He thought about his family and how worried he was that his children might grow up in a world where hating muggle-borns was considered right. He agreed to join the Order, even shook Dumbledore's hand. That night, when he came home, he explained it all to Molly. Of course, it had resulted in a fight. The biggest one they ever had. Arthur was firm in his belief that joining the fight was the only way to ensure that their children were raised in a safe, happy, non-discriminatory home. Molly begged him to reconsider, but he would not budge on this decision. Any other time, he would have willingly given into his wife's wishes, but this time...this time was different.
With the fight behind them, and Arthur on an incredibly rare holiday from work, he looked at his beautiful wife. He wanted to give her everything, and he knew how badly she wanted a daughter, and it made him want a daughter just as much. Arthur dreamed of the day a little Weasley girl would be born into the world - she would be the first for generations! - and the look on Molly's face at holding a daughter? Arthur would have given almost anything to see that look. He managed to convince Molly that the...fifth time would be the charm, really.
With Molly pregnant once again, Arthur is doing all he can at work to pull ends together, to provide for the family he's always wanted, that he has now. On top of all of that, he goes out, night after night, fighting with the Order against the Death Eaters, hoping for a better tomorrow. And Arthur knows, that somewhere out there, it's possible that his father is smiling, knowing that he finally raised a middle child who was more than just average. Arthur Weasley knew he was more than just a middle child: he was the hope for the future of his children.
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for a site called Infinite Arms
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Being the middle child is not exactly easy. Everyone seems to think it is, but it's really not. You have to live up to the expectations set by your older siblings while still being a good example for the younger ones. It's really all about balance - finding the line and walking straight along it. Of course you'll probably wobble a bit now and again, but it's something you'll learn to live with. You'll never be the best, but at least you won't be the worst, either. You'll always be right in the middle. Average. It's just who you are.
That was Arthur Weasley's life. It was the life he was born into as the second son of a second son of a second son. All middle children who swore to break the chain of average middle children - should they have that many. They did. None had succeeded, however, in making their middle son feel anything other than, well, average. Of course, little Arthur had no idea that his father might have made such a vow, and in fact, would probably never find out.
For the first four years of his life, Arthur was in his elder brother's shadow, following in his footsteps with a goofy smile on his adorable face. His parents loved them both very much. But just two? It was far from enough children for this Weasley family. Septimus and Cedrella, who had been burnt off the Black family tree for marrying a Weasley, had intended to have at least five children. When Arthur was four, his younger brother was born, but due to some strange complications with the pregnancy, there would be no more Weasley children- or any children for that matter- born of Cedrella. Despite the rather depressing news, Septimus and Cedrella welcomed their third child into their family and their home, glad to have the three they had.
While Septimus and Cedrella loved each of their children, they never seemed to realize what it felt like for Arthur growing up. He had to be more like his big brother, who was showing strong signs of magic at the age of seven; he had to set a good example for his younger brother, always being the one to take the baby's hand and lead him forward. Now, it really wasn't so bad. Arthur had a very loving family, after all. He just tended to get a little bit overshadowed. His elder brother got the praise for doing everything the first time - it was therefore less impressive when Arthur managed it. His younger brother was, well, the baby, which meant he got a lot of extra attention as babies tended to receive. Which left Arthur right in the middle of it all.
Arthur could remember the day his elder brother got his Hogwarts letter nearly perfectly. It had been raining and very grey. Not one of the boys were allowed to go outside. Might catch cold their mother had said. Which meant they only had the option to play indoors for the day. Arthur had been watching the window when the owl came with the letter. He had been almost as excited has his elder brother had been, a wide grin on his face. There had been so much excitement throughout the household that day. The first son of the current generation of Weasleys was about to go off to Hogwarts! There was a trip to London, ice cream, and they even bought an owl! It was so much excitement Arthur was nearly falling asleep on the way home.
It was September first. Arthur was holding the hand of his younger brother on the platform as they waved the eldest off to his first year at Hogwarts. Arthur patted his crying baby brother on the back, promising they'd see the eldest again and not to worry; before long, they'd both be at Hogwarts, too.
Christmas finally came. Arthur's eldest brother came home with stories upon stories upon stories to tell to his two younger brothers who sat, enrapt by his words. He pulled something out of his bag and handed it to the youngest. It was a small wrapped box. He did the same for Arthur. Upon opening the box, wrapping paper strewn about, Arthur found a most curious item. His brother told him it was a "rubber duck" and he had gotten it from his muggle-born friend. Arthur was more than a little fascinated with the item. In fact, one might even have said he'd grown obsessed with it. It was there, in that moment, that Arthur knew he wanted to study muggles, to somehow work between the magical & Muggle worlds. He wasn't sure how he was going to do it yet, but he knew he would get there one day. It was his dream.
Two years passed and all that happened was Arthur's love for all things Muggle growing deeper and deeper. Well, and he got his Hogwarts letter, of course. Now, with his elder brother's hand-me-downs and a wand of his own, Arthur waved goodbye to his family as he stepped foot on the Hogwarts Express. It was even more incredible than he could have imagined. It would be four more years before his youngest brother would get to experience this, but Arthur was still looking forward to that day.
Upon arriving at Hogwarts, Arthur could hardly contain his excitement. His elder brother was no where to be seen, but that wasn't much of a surprise, really, considering the difference in years. The boats, though! Arthur loved the boats. He could recall a commotion coming from one of the other boats, but other than that, it had been perfect, like a dream. The way the lights played on the surface of the pristine lake. It was something Arthur would never forget - a story he would be sure to tell his younger brother, and, eventually, his own children. Arthur wondered how anything could be as amazing and perfect as that boat ride, and honestly, never expect anything to match the wonder he'd felt on the lake that night.
The Sorting Hat had barely touched Arthur's ginger hair before it had shouted out GRYFFINDOR! With a wide grin on his face, Arthur joined the Gryffindor house table - his elder brother was there, cheering the loudest. A few more first years were sorted before Arthur heard the name of the woman he subconsciously decided he was going to marry: Molly Prewett. His jaw dropped, his heart fluttered. He didn't really know it yet - because he was only eleven years old - but he was really in love. She was just so perfect, more so than the boat ride across the lake, and now, now he knew for sure, nothing else would ever be as beautiful.
Arthur tried several times throughout his first year at Hogwarts to talk to Molly, but she never seemed to notice him. Perhaps he was just too quiet, or maybe it was that he was just too...average. But it didn't matter. There were still years ahead of them in which he would be able to finally find the perfect way to talk to her.
Year two, and nothing to show for it. Well, aside from having a bit of a spat with a few other purebloods. The Weasley family were known to be blood traitors. Arthur, as it turns out, felt very strongly about this. He stood up for a couple of his (mostly) new muggle-born friends, and it sure got a bit messy. Luckily, almost no one was around to see it all. Arthur knew that, from that day onwards, he would never give a second thought to blood purity. Sure, he'd been told to treat all wizards equally by his parents, but he had never encountered such venom and bitterness all because of blood, and he knew that the purebloods were wrong. It was a belief that would come to shape much of his later life.
Third year arrived with much excitement from Arthur. This was the year. It had finally come! It was the first year he would be able to take the Muggle Studies class, and he could hardly wait. It was strange, though, because despite his excitement, it still seemed as though he blended into the background, hardly noticed by anyone - save when they needed someone to pick on or cheat off of. He was, after all, still a middle child. Yes, of course he had friends, but he was never special. He didn't seem to stand out in his classes, despite being rather clever, and he certainly didn't stand out in the looks department considering his tall, lanky, gangly appearance. But it really didn't bother him. He was happy with his life, and he knew, eventually, that he would talk to Molly Prewett, and, somehow, win her heart.
Muggle Studies was not quite what Arthur had imagined it would be, but it was amazing nonetheless. He learned a lot more than he might have expected, but that comes with growing up in a pureblooded family, he supposed. In fact, he was fairly certain no one he'd ever known in his entire family had ever really had contact with a real Muggle. Muggle-borns, sure, but not a Muggle. He wondered if he'd ever get the opportunity to meet a Muggle in real life - he had so many questions already! He dug deeper than probably any previous student in the Muggle Studies class, forsaking some of his other classes in order to do so, even. Muggle Studies had captured Arthur's mind. It was all he could think about, and he knew that he would, one way or another, work with Muggles and their interesting culture - whether it be directly or indirectly.
At the start of his fourth year at Hogwarts, Arthur's youngest brother joined Gryffindor. Arthur cheered the loudest - even louder than their eldest brother. It was incredible to be able to be there to answer whatever questions his little brother had. Granted, a majority of them seemed to be asked in secret - the youngest didn't want to look uncool in front of his new classmates. Arthur had simply chuckled to himself before turning back to the Muggle book he was reading - it was about electricity! - and staring over the top of the pages at Molly Prewett, laughing with her friends.
Arthur tried talking to Molly again. He didn't do any better at the age of fourteen than he had at the age of eleven. He knew now, though, that when his heart raced as he thought of her, that it might be love. Then again, maybe it wasn't. One Hogsmeade weekend, Arthur was asked to visit Madam Puddifoot's with a rather awkward Ravenclaw. She was a nice enough girl, and of course Arthur had said yes, but he knew, even from that one little date, that she wasn't the one for him. It only made him yearn for Molly all the more.
It was time for Arthur to study for his O.W.L.s. Boy, was he nervous. He knew he wanted to get into something relating to Muggles, but he had never really taken the time to figure out what sort of field that could be. Wizard-Muggle relations? But that sounded so...stiff. Would he be able to be the same person if that were his career path? This required some serious thinking. And perhaps some serious studying. As long as he got high enough marks in Muggle Studies, and most of the other classes he might need a N.E.W.T. level class for, well... he'd be alright.
Arthur went on a few more dates with the rather awkward Ravenclaw. She was nice, but Arthur felt wrong about it all. He knew he had to put an end to it before she started thinking things were getting serious and got hurt more than she already would be. He made sure to end it gently, away from crowds and the like. But, of course, she was still hurt, still claimed she'd never be able to forgive him.
With sixth year starting, Arthur realized he was running out of time. He needed to get Molly to notice him, to fall for him as completely as he'd already done for her. But the question was how. He still had several classes on his plate, too: charms, potions, transfiguration, defense against the dark arts, and muggle studies, having just squeaked by on most of them. And yet, somehow, his classes seemed so dull now that time was running out on his Molly problem.
It was the middle of the year when Arthur finally got his chance. There was a party. Molly was there. And thank Marlin for liquid courage, eh? He remembered inhaling deeply, thinking about how he really needed to just...talk to her...and then his memory went blank. Well, until the two of them were in the hallway. Molly was wobbling rather ferociously. She even fell and scraped her knee. Arthur was sorry he hadn't been able to catch her in time. He didn't laugh - that would have been rude - he simply helped her up. The next thing he knew, she had kissed him - was kissing him. And it was everything he had hoped it would be. His heart skipped a beat, it felt like he had wings. He knew that if she were by his side, he could do anything. And as much as he loved that kiss, the taste of her lips, he pulled back shyly, wrapped his arm around her shoulders and helped her walk a bit more steadily. Who knows if she'd really wanted to kiss him or if it had just been the alcohol. Whatever the case, he wouldn't take advantage of her. They walked the grounds for hours that night, just talking. He told her all about his love of Muggles, his family...everything; and he wanted to know every little thing about her, drinking in her every word as though he were dying of thirst. It was four in the morning when they returned to the Gryffindor common room, and Arthur was sure he'd never had a better day at Hogwarts than this one.
The next day was in competition with Arthur's night out with Molly for a long time. The only reason was because Molly was no longer ignoring him. He had done it! The way she waved to him, the smile on her lips... It distracted him for the entire day. It was no use doing his homework - he'd only end up scribbling her name all over the parchment. The next chance he got, he asked if she would go to Hogsmeade with him - to Madam Puddifoot's. He was over the moon when she agreed. If anyone were to ask Arthur, it had been a perfect date. Arthur figured Molly had liked it - and him - well enough since she kept talking to him after the fact. And she didn't seem to mind the nickname he'd come up with for her after the night of the party, either: Mollywobbles.
By the time they were leaving Hogwarts, the threat of war was coming. It loomed like a dark cloud on the horizon. Who knew what could happen tomorrow? The future was being tossed about like a ship in a storm, always uncertain. Arthur had turned to Molly one afternoon when they were having a quiet lunch together during the Christmas holiday, when she had said "Let's elope, Arthur." Despite the surprise, Arthur was more than overjoyed that she would want to marry him. He agreed, and soon after leaving Hogwarts, they ran away together. Of course Arthur wrote to his family later, explaining everything. They weren't upset, really. Rather, they seemed rather excited to meet Molly, and Arthur couldn't wait to introduce her.
Arthur was only twenty years old when his first son was born. William, they named him - Bill for short. He was a beautiful baby boy, and Arthur couldn't have been more proud. He had a good feeling that everything was going to go very well for the family he and Molly were growing. He was working at the Ministry, a junior assistant in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office. It was everything he could have dreamed of in a job! And he'd been hired just after he and Molly had eloped. It was perfect timing, too. The signing bonus was enough for them to buy an adorable little home with - The Burrow, they called it - and when little Bill was born, they began adding on to the house - as they would do for years to come with each new child as they needed more and more space.
Charlie was rather unexpected. Not that Arthur minded, of course, as he was looking forward to having a family - a real, and large, family with the love of his life. But two children, and so close together, made things difficult. Arthur found himself spending entirely too much time working in an attempt to make sure ends would meet - that his wife and two wonderful sons - would have all they could ever dream of. Arthur knew Molly needed him, but he also knew he had to provide for her, and he was torn. He never let Molly see the anguish he felt at being away from her so much; instead he always greeted her with love and warmth whenever he made it home.
The next four years were rough, but they evened out. Things were alright in the Weasley household. Arthur was making enough money to support his wife and two sons, himself, and own a home. Things were looking up. Aside from the looming cloud of war rolling in faster and faster. Arthur worried about his family. Would they be safe? He knew his own family had been labeled blood traitors long ago, and with the purists seeming to come out, Arthur was terrified that his family would be in danger. He would spend hours at work, worrying about it all, trying to see a way to protect them while still taking a stand against the purists and their backwards views. With all that weighing him down, the birth of Percy was a welcome distraction. Percy was just as perfect as his two older brothers, but it meant another mouth to feed. Arthur worried that he and Molly had made a mistake bringing another child into the world - this world in particular, one where someone would be thought of as less simply because of who their parents were. Still, Arthur believed his son to be a bright spot in a darkening world, and he was glad he and Molly had made the decision they did.
Two years passed. It was 1977, and the world was dark and full of terrors. Arthur and Molly had been talking about having another child - she really wanted a daughter, and who was he to deny her? Arthur had been in bed beside a sleeping Molly, trying to figure out their budget for the next baby, when the owl came. His parents had been murdered. They weren't sure who had done it, but Arthur had his suspicions considering the rising tensions between the purists and, well, everyone else. Arthur had never felt so infuriated in his entire life. First, they - whoever they really were - were creating a world in which Arthur was terrified for the futures of his children; second, they murdered his parents. It was too much. Arthur knew he had to do something. Arthur kissed his sleeping wife's forehead, wrote her a note explaining what had happened, and met his brothers at his parent's house to deal with the aftermath.
It wasn't long after his parents' deaths when Arthur was contacted by Albus Dumbledore. The elderly wizard explained calmly about a group he was building to fight against The Death Eaters. The group was called the Order of the Phoenix, and Albus was asking if Arthur would join the battle. Arthur said he needed some time to think about it. He didn't mention it to Molly at all. Now was not the time.
Molly and Arthur had decided on another child - might as well fill the world with good, if they could. Much to their surprise, one child turned out to be two: twins! Arthur had nearly fainted at the news. This would require a whole new budget - and a decent amount of overtime. At least Arthur had just been promoted from junior assistant to assistant - that would give them a little bit of extra money for sure, but it would still be rough. It was a miracle, to say the very least, that Arthur was actually home the very moment that Molly went into labor with the twins - and early, at that! It was a long labor. So long that Arthur found himself leaving in the middle to finish up some work and returning before it was over. But when it was, Arthur could hardly hold back the joy he felt at being a father once - or rather twice - again.
After the twins were born, Albus approached Arthur again. He thought about his family and how worried he was that his children might grow up in a world where hating muggle-borns was considered right. He agreed to join the Order, even shook Dumbledore's hand. That night, when he came home, he explained it all to Molly. Of course, it had resulted in a fight. The biggest one they ever had. Arthur was firm in his belief that joining the fight was the only way to ensure that their children were raised in a safe, happy, non-discriminatory home. Molly begged him to reconsider, but he would not budge on this decision. Any other time, he would have willingly given into his wife's wishes, but this time...this time was different.
With the fight behind them, and Arthur on an incredibly rare holiday from work, he looked at his beautiful wife. He wanted to give her everything, and he knew how badly she wanted a daughter, and it made him want a daughter just as much. Arthur dreamed of the day a little Weasley girl would be born into the world - she would be the first for generations! - and the look on Molly's face at holding a daughter? Arthur would have given almost anything to see that look. He managed to convince Molly that the...fifth time would be the charm, really.
With Molly pregnant once again, Arthur is doing all he can at work to pull ends together, to provide for the family he's always wanted, that he has now. On top of all of that, he goes out, night after night, fighting with the Order against the Death Eaters, hoping for a better tomorrow. And Arthur knows, that somewhere out there, it's possible that his father is smiling, knowing that he finally raised a middle child who was more than just average. Arthur Weasley knew he was more than just a middle child: he was the hope for the future of his children.
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for a site called Infinite Arms
Saturday, April 09, 2016
Character Development - Gwendolyn Tully (AU Game of Thrones)
15 - 283AL
Born in Riverrun, Gwendolyn was the second daughter of Edmure and Allyria Tully. The maesters and septas have told her that she was such a happy baby: red-faced with laughter more often than tears. Gwen would simply smile at the stories, continue with whatever it was she was doing, and wonder to herself if it were really true. She certainly didn't feel like someone who had been a happy baby-- not that she really knew what that felt like, though. Allyria doted on the infant in a way she hadn't quite done with her first born daughter. Not that the infant noticed, and, in fact, had she not later noticed the difference in the way her mother acted with her as opposed to her elder sister, Gwen might never have known at all.14 - 284AL
The first year of little Gwen's life was uninteresting, to say the least. Nothing much happened. There was no plague, no anything, really. Yes, there were still people dying, but the plague was dying as well. Gwen was only one year old, and none of this really meant a thing to her. Generally speaking, Gwen simply laughed at everything and tugged on the skirts of those older than her. More importantly, at the tender age of one, Gwendolyn became a princess. Rhaegar split the seven kingdoms, and, being the second daughter of the now King of Riverrun, Gwen was a princess. And yet, she was still a child that did not understand the meaning of the words being told to her.What did mean something to her, however, was the birth of another baby. Gwendolyn became a big sister. Sure, she might have only been one year old, but she loved the new baby. It wouldn't have come as shock to anyone to find out that the little princess thought the baby was her own personal doll, made just for her. It really was a wonderful time to be little Gwen.
13 - 285AL
Two years old and already a trouble maker. Well, sort of. Having already learned to walk-- and run-- little Gwen found her greatest pleasure in making everything a game of Hide & Seek. She would play with anyone willing to let her play with them, stranger or no. This was the year the last person infected by the plague died, ridding the world of the disease. All that meant to the two-year-old princess, though, was that she was no longer kept only within the confines of the castle, and was once carried out by her father on a visit to commonfolk. All little Gwen could see was a great deal of new people to play Hide & Seek with. It was a good thing her father did not put her down that day.10 - 288AL
By the time she was five years old, Gwendolyn had become quite the little lady. She was almost perfect at her curtsy, and was able to recite a couple of short poems. On top of all that, she was learning how to sing, do needlepoint, and everything about all of the other houses and the history they all shared by being in Westeros. Gwen enjoyed learning, but she wanted to be able to do the things her elder sister was doing, too. There, growing deep down, was the seed of jealousy. Gwen knew her mother favored the eldest- perhaps it was the way her mother spoke of Alora, or perhaps it was something else, but somehow, Gwen felt sure she was correct. And while she was jealous, she did not let it bother her.When it came right down to it, Gwen knew she would never be anything like her elder sister. Alora was tough, rigid, and inspiring. Gwendolyn was a romantic at heart, soft, and would likely find herself terrified were she to be in Alora's shoes.
Whenever she was not required to be indoors, Gwendolyn would find her way to the garden. There she would glance around before taking off her delicate shoes and dancing around in the dirt and grime. She would always come back indoors with a handful of flowers picked specially for her mother. Gwendolyn loved her mother, loved her sisters, and her father, too. Family, Duty, Honor. It was already engrained into her every day thoughts and actions, even at the tender age of five.
7 - 291AL
Gwendolyn was eight years old when she had her first dream about her future wedding. It was lovely and perfect. There had been cherry tarts, lemon cakes, and even apple crisps! She had looked stunning in her wedding gown, and her betrothed had been the most handsome man in all of Westeros. Upon waking, she could hardly wait to tell her younger sister and their handmaidens. Romance was all the little princess could think about nowadays. It was in all the stories - or so it seemed anyways. Gwen could hardly wait for the day when she would become a woman and have a beautiful wedding to a handsome man- perhaps a knight!- and they would live together in a castle, with several children, and a lifetime of true love.It was a warm day when Gwen decided to slip out without permission. She found herself wandering around the garden, a soft smile on her lips. Stumbling upon a person she'd never met before, she greeted him kindly and asked what he was doing. The man explained to her that he was planting some new flowers. Interested in the idea, Gwen asked the man to teach her. He seemed rather nervous, but he hesitantly agreed once she began almost begging him.
Upon returning inside, Gwendolyn got quite the reprimand. She was covered in dirt- it had likely ruined the gown she'd been wearing- and she'd forgotten to bring her shoes back inside with her. Afterwards, Gwen was sitting alone on her bed, studying silently as she had been told to do. She had already been scrubbed clean after her gardening adventure, and there seemed to be no trace left of what fun she'd had that day.
5 - 293AL
Two years after the garden incident, Gwen finally asked her father to allow her to visit with the commonfolk. There was some deliberation between her father, her uncle, her mother, and her teachers. In fact, there was a couple days worth of deliberation before Gwendolyn was finally told she would be allowed to visit the commonfolk- but she was to remain under close supervision. Luckily, the person doing the supervising would be her uncle Bryndyn. Despite generally being afraid of the man, Gwen found she really did love her uncle, and this just proved it all the more.The day they went out, he did not watch her like a hawk watching its prey. Instead, he gave her simple guidelines, and she found them easy enough to follow. It seemed everyone knew who she was, and she wondered if it was because of her hair, but she guessed it was more likely the fact that she had come riding in with her uncle on a horse waving the Tully banner, surrounded by a few good guards...and her dress was of a finer- and cleaner- material than anything they were wearing. She smiled at everyone she met, asked them a few questions about their lives, their flowers. In the whole day, Gwen found one person in particular whom she admired: a painter. He made such beautiful images using dyes, and it amazed Gwen. She wondered if it was a skill that would be easy to learn. Then again, considering the mess the man made, Gwen doubted she would be able to convince anyone that this painting skill would be better suited to a lady than learning needlepoint and weaving for tapestries.
3 - 295AL
The morning that Gwen woke in a pool of blood, she screamed. Loudly. It caused quite the commotion, really. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and it took her mother's soothing to calm her down. There was no need to be afraid, not really. It was simply the mark of womanhood. Gwen spent the rest of the day in bed after the sheets had been taken to be cleaned, that is, and replaced. She wondered why it was such a big deal if all she was going to do would be to stay in bed feeling like she was going to die. She asked her mother if it would always hurt this much. For the life of her, she could never recall her mother's answer, but Gwen liked to imagine her mother had said it would get better.Lying there, in bed, gwen tried to imagine what this meant for her now. She was no longer a child, and it was time for her to stop acting like one. In the morning, she promised to act like a proper lady from then on. She was sure that within a few years time, she would be betrothed, anyways, so why not start acting like someone the knight in her dreams might be proud to call wife? Twelve was a good an age as any to be a proper wife, after all!
2 - 296AL
Ever since she had been granted her first adventure to visit the commonfolk, Gwendolyn took it for all it was worth. She visited as frequently as she could, talking with the people, smiling, laughing, singing, and, on occasion, dancing with them. She never told her father about the dancing- he would be sure to never allow her to return if he ever found out. There were a couple of farm girls, her age, whom Gwen had taken a particular liking to. She enjoyed their company, and were it not for the difference in their statuses, she might have called them friends. She wondered if she might be able to convince her father to bring at least one of them on as a new handmaiden. That way, at least, Gwen could spend all the time she liked with at least one of them. She made a note to ask about it later.The jealousy that had started to grow years earlier finally buds. Gwen watches her elder sister with a doting look of anger. Gwen feels certain that Alora will be Queen of Riverrun one day, and it makes her want to scream, want to shout. Gwen was never as close to Alora as she was with Laisa, so she cannot be certain that her elder sister actually loves Riverrun as much as Gwendolyn does, and she believes that a queen that does not love her home should not rule it. The only person Gwen ever mentions her envious feelings to is Laisa. Laisa means the whole world to Gwen, and being only a year apart in age, they grew up doing just about everything together. Gwen made Laisa promise to never tell a single soul. So far as Gwen was ever aware, Laisa never did.
1 - 297AL
Fourteen years old and still without a betrothal. Where a good number of girls her age would see this as a terrible curse, Gwen looks upon it with optimism. That means she still has a chance to find her true love! Perhaps at the next tourney she'll meet themost handsome knight in all of Westeros, and he will ask for her hand. It is simply a lovely story she had made up in her head, and she sighs as she sits, staring out the window at the rivers, running fingers through her curls.It is the middle of the year when she met a boy. She couldn't recall which house he hailed from, but she was certain it was one of the houses pledged to her father- Erenford? Wode? Perhaps Mooton? He was a few years her elder, but he had been so perfect- handsome, kind, strong... Gwendolyn was certain he had liked her just as much as she'd liked him. They had spent a short while talking, but never alone. When he had left, Gwen knew she would always be able to recall what his lips felt like against the back of her hand. She dreamt of him that night, and many nights afterwards. In fact, it was not uncommon that his was the face she now saw in dreams of her wedding day. He had said he would return, and Gwen wondered, with hope in her heart, when that day would come.
0 - 298AL
As the days came and went, Gwendolyn was beginning to believe the boy in her dreams would never come back to her. She wondered if perhaps she had simply imagined him the whole time. Her heart was heavy, but she went on living. She was fifteen now, practically an adult.
Being an adult, when Gwendolyn got the news that she was to wed Theon Greyjoy, of the Iron Isles, she managed to act like it was the best news she had ever gotten in her entire life. It wasn't. Truth be told, Gwen was excited that she was finally betrothed, that her wedding day was now only just around the corner; but she was not excited about to whom she was betrothed. She knew the reputation of the Iron Islanders- she had been a good student.
Gwendolyn sat in the window, looking out at the rivers she loved so dearly, thinking about her new betrothal, about the boy who would never come back for her, and about a home far away that she might never love. Would it really be as bad as she was making it all out to be? She hoped not, hoped she would be proven wrong. Whatever the outcome, Gwen promised herself to stay optimistic about it all. It was all she could do.
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for a site called A Call To Arms
Saturday, January 16, 2016
Writing Doodle 031 - Hopeless Romantic
As I sit here, watching my rom-coms and reading my racy romance novels, I realize something: I will never have this. All of my relationships, one after one, have been horrible failures. I will never be the person who has someone to love them. I'll love, like I always do, with my whole heart and soul, and every single time, I will be torn apart when it's over. But I will never have the happiness I desperately want.
At best, I'll have one of those tragic romances. I'll find the perfect woman, and she will love me with her whole heart and soul, but just when we both realize our love, and profess it, she'll die. I'll be left, a broken man, alone in this world until Death comes for me.
At best, I'll have one of those tragic romances. I'll find the perfect woman, and she will love me with her whole heart and soul, but just when we both realize our love, and profess it, she'll die. I'll be left, a broken man, alone in this world until Death comes for me.
Sunday, November 15, 2015
Writing Doodle 028 - Weight
It was impossible to move. The weight was almost too much to bear, and it made it harder and harder to breath. Where it had come from was one of the biggest mysteries, possibly never to be solved. The weight pressed down heavier and heavier. Tears still trickled, but the sobs had stopped due to the lack of air, the inability to breathe. At least the hyperventilating had stopped.
"Why," the word forced it's way out with what little breath was left.
"Why," the word forced it's way out with what little breath was left.
Thursday, June 11, 2015
Writing Doodle 027 - Homeless
A sign lay abandoned on the grass unnoticed. Somehow, it wondered where it's person had gone, and why he had left. No one passing seemed to notice or care. The sign, asking for just a little piece of kindness, stared up at the sun, the sidewalk so close, and cars racing by just beyond that. But it was just a sign, unable to do much of anything on its own.
Had the sign been psychic, it would have known that it's man had given up. The voices in his head kept him low, kept him depressed, and it had all finally gotten to him. The sign had slipped from his unwashed, uncared-for fingers to its final resting place in the grass. The man, staring at the ground as he tottered down the sidewalk, found a decent place under a bridge, off the beaten path. Better than the side of the road, he'd figured.
The sign wished for someone to notice it, notice that it was alone, without a person. It wanted someone to help. Someone? Anyone?
It was three days later when someone finally noticed the sign on the ground. Finally! The sign had almost given up hope! But the person simply made a face that clearly exhibited disgust, picked the sign up as though it were dangerous, and muttered something about littering before tossing the sign in the nearest trash.
The sign cried out, but no one heard.
The man's body was found far too much later.
Had the sign been psychic, it would have known that it's man had given up. The voices in his head kept him low, kept him depressed, and it had all finally gotten to him. The sign had slipped from his unwashed, uncared-for fingers to its final resting place in the grass. The man, staring at the ground as he tottered down the sidewalk, found a decent place under a bridge, off the beaten path. Better than the side of the road, he'd figured.
The sign wished for someone to notice it, notice that it was alone, without a person. It wanted someone to help. Someone? Anyone?
It was three days later when someone finally noticed the sign on the ground. Finally! The sign had almost given up hope! But the person simply made a face that clearly exhibited disgust, picked the sign up as though it were dangerous, and muttered something about littering before tossing the sign in the nearest trash.
The sign cried out, but no one heard.
The man's body was found far too much later.
Friday, April 10, 2015
Writing Doodle 025 - Selenophile
He loved her.
To those that knew, it was obvious, but to those that didn't, well, they simply didn't see the signs. Really, though, he loved her with his whole heart, with every piece of himself. Everything he did, he did for her.
And yet, they hardly saw one another. It was as though their lives were on complete opposite schedules. Still, he did what he could.
When he looked at her, she was radiant. Always glowing silver and fair, but never obscene in her beauty. She was perfect.
What he didn't realize, though, was that she would only glow beautifully when he could see her. He was the reason she shone. It was his light that caused hers. Perhaps he would never realize it. He was far too much in love to be reasonable, to see the reality.
She was the moon, and he the sun, and still he loved her like no one had ever loved before.
To those that knew, it was obvious, but to those that didn't, well, they simply didn't see the signs. Really, though, he loved her with his whole heart, with every piece of himself. Everything he did, he did for her.
And yet, they hardly saw one another. It was as though their lives were on complete opposite schedules. Still, he did what he could.
When he looked at her, she was radiant. Always glowing silver and fair, but never obscene in her beauty. She was perfect.
What he didn't realize, though, was that she would only glow beautifully when he could see her. He was the reason she shone. It was his light that caused hers. Perhaps he would never realize it. He was far too much in love to be reasonable, to see the reality.
She was the moon, and he the sun, and still he loved her like no one had ever loved before.
Thursday, January 22, 2015
Writing Doodle 018 - All My Fault
She squeezes her eyes shut as if it could keep out the guilt.
It's clear before her, the accident. And it's all her fault, too. She asked him to drive her to work. It would have been just as easy for her to take the bus like she normally did, but no, she had to go and ask for a ride.
Now they were dead.
Not her and him-- no. Him and their friend who'd come along. The ride to work was uneventful, really. A few jokes here, laughs there. Normal. It was after they had dropped her off that it had all happened.
That damn intersection.
It was a confusing intersection, to say the very least. Not safe, really. Five-way intersection, no lights, just stop signs. No one ever really seems to know who's turn it is. The intersection has always been an accident waiting to happen. Well, it happened.
He was turning, and someone else decided to go at the same time and smashed into the side of his car. Their friend died on impact. He didn't die until the ambulance got there.
If it hadn't been for her, they'd both be alive right now. Now she'd never get the chance to tell him how she really felt. Now their friend would never be the godparent of her child.
She inhaled deeply, trying to keep back tears she didn't want everyone on the bus to see.
There was a vibration in her pocket. Must be her phone. A text, maybe. Opening her eyes, she pulls out the phone and looks at the message.
It's him. Of course it's him. He must have been really busy to not text her back after so many hours. She checks her messages and sees that their friend just read the last text she sent to him. She want to laugh, cry tears of relief, but knows the people on the bus would think she's crazy. It was all in her head.
That's what she gets for having an over-active imagination, though.
It's clear before her, the accident. And it's all her fault, too. She asked him to drive her to work. It would have been just as easy for her to take the bus like she normally did, but no, she had to go and ask for a ride.
Now they were dead.
Not her and him-- no. Him and their friend who'd come along. The ride to work was uneventful, really. A few jokes here, laughs there. Normal. It was after they had dropped her off that it had all happened.
That damn intersection.
It was a confusing intersection, to say the very least. Not safe, really. Five-way intersection, no lights, just stop signs. No one ever really seems to know who's turn it is. The intersection has always been an accident waiting to happen. Well, it happened.
He was turning, and someone else decided to go at the same time and smashed into the side of his car. Their friend died on impact. He didn't die until the ambulance got there.
If it hadn't been for her, they'd both be alive right now. Now she'd never get the chance to tell him how she really felt. Now their friend would never be the godparent of her child.
She inhaled deeply, trying to keep back tears she didn't want everyone on the bus to see.
There was a vibration in her pocket. Must be her phone. A text, maybe. Opening her eyes, she pulls out the phone and looks at the message.
It's him. Of course it's him. He must have been really busy to not text her back after so many hours. She checks her messages and sees that their friend just read the last text she sent to him. She want to laugh, cry tears of relief, but knows the people on the bus would think she's crazy. It was all in her head.
That's what she gets for having an over-active imagination, though.
Sunday, October 12, 2014
Writing Doodle 011 - Split Personality
The movies never really prepare you for anything. In this case, the movies were far from the truth. The zombie apocalypse was nothing like anyone had ever really imagined it would be. Not in the movies, anyways. They don't just change. They die, something takes over their bodies, the reanimated corpses hunt down the rest of us. I mean, I guess it kind of sounds like some of the movies...maybe, but it doesn't feel like it. We have to bury our dead in coffins made of steel. Steel. It's crazy. Their eyes don't turn that milky blue like you see in movies, though. They look normal. Bloodshot, sure, but normal. And something-- I guess it's whatever takes over the bodies-- keeps them from rotting, as if they were still alive. All of 'em. So, yea, it can be a little bit difficult to pick out the zombie ones sometimes. Until they start following you, chasing you...killing you. Y'know.
The worst thing I saw, though, was this kid. Must've been only four or five, and one of the cutest kids I ever saw. Anyways, he was with an officer who'd saved him from being eaten and all that, but the kid slipped away while the officer's back was turned. The kid walked right over to one of the zombies and tried to hold it's hand, calling it "Mommy." The officer noticed too late. Kid got massacred by the thing that was originally his mother. Terrible, huh?
So anyways, I've never really been one to believe in things like supernatural and all. These zombies have some definite scientific explanation-- I think I read that it's some crazy parasite born from some virus or other. I don't know. I'm not a scientist, so I didn't really understand what all the words meant. So, really, I always thought those people that claimed to see ghosts and things like that were insane. Actually insane. So when everything started happening, I really thought I'd lost it, too.
I was living in this shelter compound with at least a dozen other people. Honestly, though, I think we had about fifty people living there. It was a decent group-- enough of us to get all the work done and then some. And pretty much all the lazy ones had gotten picked off by the zombies, so we were doing okay. Anyways, there was this one girl-- she was gorgeous-- her name was Georgia, but everyone called her Jo. I was totally in love with her, but I never imagined anything would come of that, what with it being the middle of an apocalypse and all. Not to mention, with only about fifty of us living there, I hardly expected any of them to be like me. Queer, that is. But that's beside the point. Jo and I, we really had something, y'know? Something that makes people uncomfortable because they're jealous that they haven't got it as good. But it didn't seem to be a bother to anyone. Life went on as usual-- just that me and Jo usually got to work together from that point on.
We were put on scavenging duty a few months after we became a public..."thing." Wasn't the first time we'd been put to the task, either. And, actually, it was one of my favorites. We went out into the town, searching for anything that might be useful. Batteries, food, clothes...whatever. Anything that might help. So we were exploring this old house-- could tell it used to be real nice, too-- and we run into a kid. She must have been maybe eight years old? I don't know-- I'm no good at telling kids' ages. Anyways, Jo, with her gentle heart, calls out to the kid, telling her it'll be alright. Course, we both got this feeling in our guts that this kid is a zombie, but neither one of us wants it to be true. So Jo's trying to get the kid to come out of the corner she's huddled in, and when she's close enough, the kid rips Jo to bits, pretty much. Eats some parts of her and all that. I was bolting. We'd made a pact-- if either one of us got killed, the other one couldn't just stand there and wait to die, too. Had to run, had to live.
So with tears streaming from my eyes, I raced back to the compound with my bag full of the stuff I'd collected. I told 'em all what happened and they did their best to comfort me. I mean, really. They really tried. That was when I started to feel like I was part of a massive family, and I loved all of 'em.
Couple days later, I'm sitting in the compound mourning the loss of my girlfriend, when I think I hear her voice behind me. I turn and look, not expecting to see anything, expecting it just to be my grief getting the better of me. And there she is. A bit bloodied and pretty....transparent. I blink, I rub my eyes, I shake my head. Nothing I do makes the image go away. I even tried throwing something at her, but it did nothing. She smiled the way she used to and floated-- that's right, floated-- closer. I muttered aloud about seeing things and going crazy. Then, I remember, clear as day, she said, "You're not goin' crazy, Bug. I'm here. I'm really here." I was terrified of going insane, so I ran. I ran away from her for the second time, tears streaming all over again.
That night, as I tossed and turned on my bed pallet, I saw her again. She seemed to glow as she moved towards me. An eerie, otherworldly sort of glow. I knew I had to be dreaming. Until Moose, the big guy on the pallet next to mine woke up and freaked because he saw her, too. It was Jo. A ghost, but it was Jo. With just about everyone in the room stirring at Moose's rather loud and terrified chattering, Jo disappeared. I jumped up, reaching out for her, but she was gone. The ghost sighting was the talk of the compound for the next two days.
A week after Jo's death, I was back on the duty roster. I had elected to be put on scavenging duty. People thought I had a death wish after seeing my dead girlfriend and all that. I didn't-- not really-- I just liked scavenging. So I was out and about with Moose, of all people. He's not exactly graceful, y'know. Big and lumbery, makes a lot of noise. Good guy, though. Anyways, we're looting this corner store when Jo just sort of...appears in front of me. She smiles, says hi. I kind of smile back. Moose comes 'round the corner and yelps at the sight of her. She rolls her eyes in that adorable way and tells him that "if he's just gonna keep screamin' everytime he sees her, she'll stop showin' up" or somethin' like that. Moose quiets down and tries to touch her, but I swatted his hand away. No one gets to touch my girlfriend without her permission. But she turns and says the real reason she's here now is to warn us-- there's a group of zombies headed for right where we are.
So we grab what we can and scurry out of the store. As we do, we see the group Jo was talking about. At the head of the group? Jo's body. Pristine in it's beauty. I mean, yea, there's some blood splatters all over her, but I mean, it's Jo. It's really Jo. And I think it saw me-- recognized me. 'Cause it stopped in it's tracks, staring at me. Beside me, Jo's ghost is telling me I need to run, to get out of there. Moose is yelling the same thing from a ways away-- he's already started running. Jo's body is suddenly bolting towards me, her face distorted with something like rage. I run like hell, leaving Jo's ghost behind to face the body she came from.
I make it back to the compound about five minutes after Moose. They thought I'd let myself be killed. I grin and tell them I would never do something stupid like that. Then I go on to tell them about how Jo's body is still out there, and it's weird 'cause her ghost is out there two. It's like she got split into two people when she died. We wonder if it happens to everyone or if Jo's just a special case, but none of us are scientists, and ghosts aren't really science anyways.
As the years go on, I age. Jo stays the same. Her ghost as pretty as the day she died. Even her body, which I run into every now and then, is still young and perfect. I don't know how it does it-- the parasite virus thing, I mean. How does it preserve them all so perfectly? At least we've finally found a way to kill them now-- and keep 'em dead. It was kind of funny to see everyone going for headshots and all that-- damn zombie movies. I mean, yea, if you can cut off the head, that seems to work for the most part. The body's still animated, but it rots-- slowly, but it rots. Y'see, what you gotta do is burn 'em. Cut off the head, keep it away from the body, 'cause there was a couple cases a few years back where the heads reattached themselves, and then you gotta burn 'em. Set 'em on fire. And make sure they burn up all the way.
We were twenty-three when Jo died-- well, I was. She was twenty-one. Now I'm reaching fifty-five. It's been a long apocalypse, but it's almost over now. Just a few more of 'em left out there. One of 'em's Jo. And it's my job to burn her. I won't let just anyone do it. So out I go-- these kids with me, they never knew the world before the apocalypse, and it's crazy to think they were born into this shithole of a world, but they're good kids. I spot Jo, and we stare one another down, just like that day thirty-someodd years ago. She runs at me, finally. I tell the kids to get ready-- they do. I yell the signal, and they grab her just in time. They've got these crazy hazmat suits on-- gotta make sure they all stay uninfected. Anyways, I chop of Jo's head, her perfect hair now glistening with her own blood. One of the kids grabs the head the way we taught him, and two of others drag the still moving body. They throw the pieces into two pits-- one for the body, one for the head. I douse each with some gasoline, strike the matches, and toss 'em into the pits. We all stand back and watch as the fire licks at the sky. Through the flames, I can see Jo's ghost. She smiles at me the way she used to, blows me a kiss. I swear she almost looks like she's crying, but maybe that's just my vision blurring from my own tears. But I do know that she's saying goodbye. This is the last time I'll ever see her.
Years later, I die in a hospital. A hospital. The world is slowly going back to what it was before the apocalypse. Well, same but better, really. As the light fades, I see Jo. She's waiting for me, a smile on her face. I wish I would hurry up and die faster so I can get to her quicker. Finally, the world disappears, the pain slips away, and I'm standing there, hand-in-hand, with Jo.
The worst thing I saw, though, was this kid. Must've been only four or five, and one of the cutest kids I ever saw. Anyways, he was with an officer who'd saved him from being eaten and all that, but the kid slipped away while the officer's back was turned. The kid walked right over to one of the zombies and tried to hold it's hand, calling it "Mommy." The officer noticed too late. Kid got massacred by the thing that was originally his mother. Terrible, huh?
So anyways, I've never really been one to believe in things like supernatural and all. These zombies have some definite scientific explanation-- I think I read that it's some crazy parasite born from some virus or other. I don't know. I'm not a scientist, so I didn't really understand what all the words meant. So, really, I always thought those people that claimed to see ghosts and things like that were insane. Actually insane. So when everything started happening, I really thought I'd lost it, too.
I was living in this shelter compound with at least a dozen other people. Honestly, though, I think we had about fifty people living there. It was a decent group-- enough of us to get all the work done and then some. And pretty much all the lazy ones had gotten picked off by the zombies, so we were doing okay. Anyways, there was this one girl-- she was gorgeous-- her name was Georgia, but everyone called her Jo. I was totally in love with her, but I never imagined anything would come of that, what with it being the middle of an apocalypse and all. Not to mention, with only about fifty of us living there, I hardly expected any of them to be like me. Queer, that is. But that's beside the point. Jo and I, we really had something, y'know? Something that makes people uncomfortable because they're jealous that they haven't got it as good. But it didn't seem to be a bother to anyone. Life went on as usual-- just that me and Jo usually got to work together from that point on.
We were put on scavenging duty a few months after we became a public..."thing." Wasn't the first time we'd been put to the task, either. And, actually, it was one of my favorites. We went out into the town, searching for anything that might be useful. Batteries, food, clothes...whatever. Anything that might help. So we were exploring this old house-- could tell it used to be real nice, too-- and we run into a kid. She must have been maybe eight years old? I don't know-- I'm no good at telling kids' ages. Anyways, Jo, with her gentle heart, calls out to the kid, telling her it'll be alright. Course, we both got this feeling in our guts that this kid is a zombie, but neither one of us wants it to be true. So Jo's trying to get the kid to come out of the corner she's huddled in, and when she's close enough, the kid rips Jo to bits, pretty much. Eats some parts of her and all that. I was bolting. We'd made a pact-- if either one of us got killed, the other one couldn't just stand there and wait to die, too. Had to run, had to live.
So with tears streaming from my eyes, I raced back to the compound with my bag full of the stuff I'd collected. I told 'em all what happened and they did their best to comfort me. I mean, really. They really tried. That was when I started to feel like I was part of a massive family, and I loved all of 'em.
Couple days later, I'm sitting in the compound mourning the loss of my girlfriend, when I think I hear her voice behind me. I turn and look, not expecting to see anything, expecting it just to be my grief getting the better of me. And there she is. A bit bloodied and pretty....transparent. I blink, I rub my eyes, I shake my head. Nothing I do makes the image go away. I even tried throwing something at her, but it did nothing. She smiled the way she used to and floated-- that's right, floated-- closer. I muttered aloud about seeing things and going crazy. Then, I remember, clear as day, she said, "You're not goin' crazy, Bug. I'm here. I'm really here." I was terrified of going insane, so I ran. I ran away from her for the second time, tears streaming all over again.
That night, as I tossed and turned on my bed pallet, I saw her again. She seemed to glow as she moved towards me. An eerie, otherworldly sort of glow. I knew I had to be dreaming. Until Moose, the big guy on the pallet next to mine woke up and freaked because he saw her, too. It was Jo. A ghost, but it was Jo. With just about everyone in the room stirring at Moose's rather loud and terrified chattering, Jo disappeared. I jumped up, reaching out for her, but she was gone. The ghost sighting was the talk of the compound for the next two days.
A week after Jo's death, I was back on the duty roster. I had elected to be put on scavenging duty. People thought I had a death wish after seeing my dead girlfriend and all that. I didn't-- not really-- I just liked scavenging. So I was out and about with Moose, of all people. He's not exactly graceful, y'know. Big and lumbery, makes a lot of noise. Good guy, though. Anyways, we're looting this corner store when Jo just sort of...appears in front of me. She smiles, says hi. I kind of smile back. Moose comes 'round the corner and yelps at the sight of her. She rolls her eyes in that adorable way and tells him that "if he's just gonna keep screamin' everytime he sees her, she'll stop showin' up" or somethin' like that. Moose quiets down and tries to touch her, but I swatted his hand away. No one gets to touch my girlfriend without her permission. But she turns and says the real reason she's here now is to warn us-- there's a group of zombies headed for right where we are.
So we grab what we can and scurry out of the store. As we do, we see the group Jo was talking about. At the head of the group? Jo's body. Pristine in it's beauty. I mean, yea, there's some blood splatters all over her, but I mean, it's Jo. It's really Jo. And I think it saw me-- recognized me. 'Cause it stopped in it's tracks, staring at me. Beside me, Jo's ghost is telling me I need to run, to get out of there. Moose is yelling the same thing from a ways away-- he's already started running. Jo's body is suddenly bolting towards me, her face distorted with something like rage. I run like hell, leaving Jo's ghost behind to face the body she came from.
I make it back to the compound about five minutes after Moose. They thought I'd let myself be killed. I grin and tell them I would never do something stupid like that. Then I go on to tell them about how Jo's body is still out there, and it's weird 'cause her ghost is out there two. It's like she got split into two people when she died. We wonder if it happens to everyone or if Jo's just a special case, but none of us are scientists, and ghosts aren't really science anyways.
As the years go on, I age. Jo stays the same. Her ghost as pretty as the day she died. Even her body, which I run into every now and then, is still young and perfect. I don't know how it does it-- the parasite virus thing, I mean. How does it preserve them all so perfectly? At least we've finally found a way to kill them now-- and keep 'em dead. It was kind of funny to see everyone going for headshots and all that-- damn zombie movies. I mean, yea, if you can cut off the head, that seems to work for the most part. The body's still animated, but it rots-- slowly, but it rots. Y'see, what you gotta do is burn 'em. Cut off the head, keep it away from the body, 'cause there was a couple cases a few years back where the heads reattached themselves, and then you gotta burn 'em. Set 'em on fire. And make sure they burn up all the way.
We were twenty-three when Jo died-- well, I was. She was twenty-one. Now I'm reaching fifty-five. It's been a long apocalypse, but it's almost over now. Just a few more of 'em left out there. One of 'em's Jo. And it's my job to burn her. I won't let just anyone do it. So out I go-- these kids with me, they never knew the world before the apocalypse, and it's crazy to think they were born into this shithole of a world, but they're good kids. I spot Jo, and we stare one another down, just like that day thirty-someodd years ago. She runs at me, finally. I tell the kids to get ready-- they do. I yell the signal, and they grab her just in time. They've got these crazy hazmat suits on-- gotta make sure they all stay uninfected. Anyways, I chop of Jo's head, her perfect hair now glistening with her own blood. One of the kids grabs the head the way we taught him, and two of others drag the still moving body. They throw the pieces into two pits-- one for the body, one for the head. I douse each with some gasoline, strike the matches, and toss 'em into the pits. We all stand back and watch as the fire licks at the sky. Through the flames, I can see Jo's ghost. She smiles at me the way she used to, blows me a kiss. I swear she almost looks like she's crying, but maybe that's just my vision blurring from my own tears. But I do know that she's saying goodbye. This is the last time I'll ever see her.
Years later, I die in a hospital. A hospital. The world is slowly going back to what it was before the apocalypse. Well, same but better, really. As the light fades, I see Jo. She's waiting for me, a smile on her face. I wish I would hurry up and die faster so I can get to her quicker. Finally, the world disappears, the pain slips away, and I'm standing there, hand-in-hand, with Jo.
Sunday, September 28, 2014
Daddy's Girl
To My Father-
I never thought this would happen. I never even imagined that anything like this was a possibility.
You know, I can still remember all those years ago, when I was nothing more than a baby. You were, along with Mom, the center of my universe. You were my world, and you meant everything to me. Everything I did, I did for you, to impress you. For both of you, sure, but for some reason, I needed you to be the one that was proud. I always knew that Mom would love me unconditionally, no matter what, always be proud of me, but I needed to prove myself to you, needed to make sure that you would always love me, too.
It's not that I ever thought you didn't love me, of course-- I knew you did-- but there was something unstable, volatile, in your love. Maybe I was looking too deep. Maybe I was seeing your love for someone else, somehow.
Do you remember holding me on your lap? Do you remember how I worshiped you? Did you even notice that I did?
Once Quinn was born, I knew things would be different, knew I would have to share you. And for a while, it was okay. We were all happy, and everything was perfect. Then there was favoritism. It wasn't hard to see. I could tell, even at so young an age, that you would do anything-- absolutely anything-- for me, but for her, it wasn't nearly as likely. That's why you always bought her everything she ever wanted. Because you loved her differently. That's what it seemed like, then and now. Did you feel bad? Did you know you were spoiling her in a way that would ruin her? Did you care if you did? Or maybe you thought she didn't love you the way I did and you were trying to buy her love. Sometimes I wish I could read your mind. Most of the time, I'm glad I can't.
I remember missing you. Those nights you didn't come home from the office, those weeks you spent working away from home. I never expected things to go the way they did, but I can remember seeing the signs of it even back then. I had ignored them all, though. I wanted to pretend that everything was okay. Sometimes I still want to pretend that everything is okay.
I remember worrying about you. Once I had gone off to school, you seemed to sink into depression. You let it take over, cloud your judgments. Sometimes, I was sure it was my fault. I can still see, in perfect detail, the nightmare I had that first year I was at college. The nightmare about you. You had killed yourself, and when I woke up, I called Mom in tears to make sure it had only been a dream, nothing more.
Then things really started to change, you really started to change. There was a time when I was so sure you would have done absolutely anything for me, but when I desperately needed you the most, you refused to help. I didn't know how to handle your rejection-- it was something entirely new to me-- so I did nothing.
When I moved away, you seemed to grow worse, more depressed. But I was farther away, farther than I had ever been before, and I couldn't do anything.
I remember when I visited that last Christmas. I never would have thought then that it could be the last time I saw you. But you were so happy to see me. Maybe things weren't really as bad as they had started to appear-- I could hope, anyways. And it was almost like having the old you back again, but I knew something was wrong. It was like a sixth sense. Something just beneath the surface was different, and you were trying to hide it from me. When I left after that Christmas, well, that was when everything changed. Really changed. That was the beginning of the end.
It was only a few months later when I got that email. It was odd, very odd, and I didn't know what to make of it. It wasn't like you at all-- not the you I liked to remember, anyway. It was like you had gone insane, and I was scared.
Not long after that, you really messed up. You actually went insane, more insane than the weird email you had sent me. You weren't the Dad I had grown up with, had known, had loved. Mom wanted you to get help. All she did was care about you. And you refused. If it had been a simple refusal, though, things might have been different, but instead you told her you would never do anything for her, told her to get out if she didn't like it. You hit her. She took Quinn and ran-- not far, but she ran. You got yourself arrested, got a restraining order from Mom. I don't even remember how many times you violated that order and got yourself in trouble again and again. You scared them, Mom and Quinn. You hurt them. And you hurt me.
I had always believed you were someone I would always be able to trust, always be able to rely on. Then you went and did all that, all those things, and you changed. How am I supposed to trust you again? I don't know if I ever can.
But I still love you. I have always loved you-- you're my father. And I'm certain I always will love you, but I can't trust you. And I want so badly to forgive you for everything, but it's so difficult. You ruined our lives, made us hurt so bad we didn't know what to do.
Most of all, you hurt me. I loved you in a way I will never love anyone else because you are my father, and you've always held a special place in my heart. I trusted you to always love and protect and support me, and you haven't. I don't know if you could even manage to protect me from yourself.
In the end, you'll always be my Dad, and I'll always be your little girl, but I don't know if I'll ever see you again. I don't know if I'll even ever want to see you again. I don't know if I'll ever trust you or be able to rely on you again, and when I think about my future, I worry about whether or not I'll want you to be a part of it at all.
So what I really want to say is this: you've hurt me, you've broken me, and I feel like I should hate you for it, but I don't. I can't.
I love you, Dad.
Then things really started to change, you really started to change. There was a time when I was so sure you would have done absolutely anything for me, but when I desperately needed you the most, you refused to help. I didn't know how to handle your rejection-- it was something entirely new to me-- so I did nothing.
When I moved away, you seemed to grow worse, more depressed. But I was farther away, farther than I had ever been before, and I couldn't do anything.
I remember when I visited that last Christmas. I never would have thought then that it could be the last time I saw you. But you were so happy to see me. Maybe things weren't really as bad as they had started to appear-- I could hope, anyways. And it was almost like having the old you back again, but I knew something was wrong. It was like a sixth sense. Something just beneath the surface was different, and you were trying to hide it from me. When I left after that Christmas, well, that was when everything changed. Really changed. That was the beginning of the end.
It was only a few months later when I got that email. It was odd, very odd, and I didn't know what to make of it. It wasn't like you at all-- not the you I liked to remember, anyway. It was like you had gone insane, and I was scared.
Not long after that, you really messed up. You actually went insane, more insane than the weird email you had sent me. You weren't the Dad I had grown up with, had known, had loved. Mom wanted you to get help. All she did was care about you. And you refused. If it had been a simple refusal, though, things might have been different, but instead you told her you would never do anything for her, told her to get out if she didn't like it. You hit her. She took Quinn and ran-- not far, but she ran. You got yourself arrested, got a restraining order from Mom. I don't even remember how many times you violated that order and got yourself in trouble again and again. You scared them, Mom and Quinn. You hurt them. And you hurt me.
I had always believed you were someone I would always be able to trust, always be able to rely on. Then you went and did all that, all those things, and you changed. How am I supposed to trust you again? I don't know if I ever can.
But I still love you. I have always loved you-- you're my father. And I'm certain I always will love you, but I can't trust you. And I want so badly to forgive you for everything, but it's so difficult. You ruined our lives, made us hurt so bad we didn't know what to do.
Most of all, you hurt me. I loved you in a way I will never love anyone else because you are my father, and you've always held a special place in my heart. I trusted you to always love and protect and support me, and you haven't. I don't know if you could even manage to protect me from yourself.
In the end, you'll always be my Dad, and I'll always be your little girl, but I don't know if I'll ever see you again. I don't know if I'll even ever want to see you again. I don't know if I'll ever trust you or be able to rely on you again, and when I think about my future, I worry about whether or not I'll want you to be a part of it at all.
So what I really want to say is this: you've hurt me, you've broken me, and I feel like I should hate you for it, but I don't. I can't.
I love you, Dad.
-Your Loving Daughter
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