th3-book-thief:

“Why do you always leave me?!”

fancyvance:

Little Black Dress, a drabble.

She’d seen it in the shop window, that afternoon in London. She’d gone alone, getting ready for a formal date with Remus. The last few months after Hogwarts had been filled with action. The summer had started off uneventful. Lazy days with the girls, lounging about on the lawn, drinking lemonade. Lazy days with Remus, stolen kisses in the summer sun. Another year at Mary’s cottage passed, another September began. But things had changed, and they were no longer students. She’d started her training as a Hit Wizard, and along with the rest of her friends she’d immersed herself in the Order.

The world was getting crazier by the day. You-Know-Who hadn’t taken a break during the holidays, and life got real much too quickly. Still, it was the times between the fighting, times between the spying and the training that special moments were made and treasured.

October 27th. Their one year anniversary. It was hard to imagine it had only been a year, as it already felt like she’d spent forever with him. Their first few dates had been simple, sunrises on Tuesdays, Hogsmeade trips, a broom closet or two and the stacks. Oh, the stacks. Just thinking back made her blush.

Their first year anniversary also meant remembering how they’d gotten there, the years of friendship, that confusing summer and the tense months to follow. No, getting there hadn’t been easy but they’d made it. And Emme wanted to commemorate that.

So she was downtown London, dress shopping when she spotted that little black dress. Strapless, with a simple cut and a pretty bodice. Something about it struck her, and she was stuck staring at it for a minute or two before she decided. Stepping into the boutique she quickly got one in her size and tried it on.

Stepping out of that changing room and looking in the mirror almost had Emme in tears. She’d let her hair dry naturally that morning, and the brown she’d dyed it before graduation had all but faded. She’d been planning on redying it soon, but looking at her reflection almost made her promise never to touch a dye bottle again. She looked just like her mum, and the memories were flooding her at an alarming rate.

At one time she’d worried that she couldn’t remember her mother anymore. The exact sound of her voice or the right pitch of her laugh. Every now and then she’d catch a whiff of something vaguely her, and it’d bring all of those afternoons back. Afternoons sitting on her bed, records playing in the background while her mother floated around the room, pencil in mouth, furiously trying to collect her thoughts for the story she was writing. Her mother had been a journalist, confident and feisty, with a distinct style and tone. Distinct. Her mother had been distinct.

It was one afternoon in particular that Emme was remembering vividly.

“Sweetie, zip me up?” Her mother was leaning back, almost precariously as she balanced on the backs of her feet, lifting her hair so that Emme’s pudgy hands could do up the zipper. She was maybe 6, 7 years old. It was slow work but when it was done her mum straightened and turned around. A little black dress. Her parents were going out that night, and she was being dropped off at her grandmother’s. “Mum, you look beautiful.” And she had. Soft, curly blonde hair down and styled perfectly. Smile radiant. Her bracelet, the one her father had given her as a graduation gift, lay perfectly on her pale skin. The same complexion Emme had inherited.

Staring in the mirror, Emme tried to mirror that smile but couldn’t quite match it’s fullness. It’s warmth. Times are different. Still, the resemblance was uncanny and it almost knocked her off her feet. Oh, Mum. I wish you were here.

supinternets:

Doctor Who : I’ll Be Waiting

With all the sketching going on lately I am getting pretty fast. This one took around 2 hours.

adlocked:

if moffat wasn’t the worst - au situations which would have greatly improved his writing

( r i v e r s o n g )

when the doctor asked who river song really was, he never got a straight answer. a woman of mystery, some said. a lone traveller, others. really fucking amazing, quite a few people. river song, however, was a human girl born to a normal family in a rural part of england. wild, adventurous, curious, she dreamed of stars. alther her life was changed by the mysterious man who sometimes came to whisk her away, it did not revolve around him. she had much more exciting things to see than blue boxes.

“How was she like?”
“Who?”
“Amy! How was she like?.”
“Oh, Amelia Pond. Mad, impossible, Amelia Pond. She was one of the best, you know? Very scottish, her heart was pure fire and she was my friend… My best friend.”
“So… Do I look like her?”
“More than you can possibly imagine.”