Lorelai Gilmore

independent. private. highly selective. lorelai gilmore from gilmore girls. as told by kendra_

[agirlingrey]

H P . L O V E C R A F T . S E N T E N C E . S T A R T E R S .

“The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear.”

”And the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.”

“The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents.”

”The world is indeed comic, but the joke is on mankind.”

”Ocean is more ancient than the mountains, and freighted with the memories and the dreams of time.”

”Searchers after horror haunt strange, far places.”

”I never ask a man what his business is, for it never interests me. What I ask him about are his thoughts and dreams.”

”Blue, green, grey, white, or black; smooth, ruffled, or mountainous; that ocean is not silent.”

”From even the greatest of horrors irony is seldom absent.“ 

“The process of delving into the black abyss is to me the keenest form of fascination.”

“But more wonderful than the lore of old men and the lore of books is the secret lore of ocean.”

"Unhappy is he to whom the memories of childhood bring only fear and sadness." 

“We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far.”

“I have looked upon all the universe has to hold of horror, and even the skies of spring and flowers of summer must ever afterward be poison to me.”

“Very few minds are strictly normal, and all religious fanatics are marked with abnormalities of various sorts.”

“ It is a mistake to fancy that horror is associated inextricably with darkness, silence, and solitude.”

[basketcasemp3]

When I was five, I had a really bad ear infection and I had been home in bed for a week and I was very sad. So I wished really hard that something wonderful would happen to me, and I woke up the next morning and it had snowed. And I was sure that some fairy godmother had done it just for me. It was my little present.

[aseagles-deactivated20170706]

Gilmore Girls: A Year in the Life (Starters)

“Wow. Winded!  Haven’t done that for a while.  Felt good.”

“I feel like this is the time to be rootless and go where life takes me.”

“Do you even know how Twitter works?”

“Why on earth aren’t you on Xanax? It was invented for you.”

“I don’t need a child, I have you.”

“I have fun. Look at all the chairs I get to put on tables.”

“Oh crap! I’m going to therapy with my mother.”

“There’s a lot being said in the silences.”

“He’s like a superhero, but his power is that you can’t remember him no matter how much time you spend with him.”

“You know, some people might say drinking coffee in the middle of the night could hinder your sleep.”

“People are dumb.”

“Explain to me again who that person is.”

“I don’t know how to do this.”

“Hanging out is not permanent. Marriage is permanent.”

“Sorry, did I accidentally step into 2003?”

“This adult stuff is hard, isn’t it?”

“I don’t have a great sense of humor. I know that. I’m working on it. I bought a joke book!”

“This is it. This is what I’m supposed to do!”

“Develop a creamy filling and I’m all yours.”

“My love life is a disaster.”

“Dial 911, I’m going insane!”

“I’m protecting you for some reason.”

“That’s it, we’re breaking up. Except we can’t break up because we’re nothing.”

“It’s never or now.”

“Basically I’ve been alone for 12 hours and I’m already nuts!”

“You never really needed rescuing … You know that.”

“I thought I knew exactly  what I wanted, where I was going, what I was doing and why I was doing. But lately, things seem hazier.”

“Everything in my life has something to do with coffee. I believe in a former life, I was coffee.”

“I don’t care what anybody says. Needing space is never a good thing, ever!”

“I think we should get married…it’s all set.”

“I’m gonna need some donuts for this.”

“Knowing when to admit defeat is one of my better qualities.”

“I’m not broken. Maybe just a little chipped.”

[daydreamsandwhispers]

I love you, did you know that? I always suspected it.

[infinitebabbles-blog]

defenestratio:

Crutches taken up– hard winces. The searing, solid pain shuddering up and down her spine. It’s tough and tougher, and she’s stiff. Her body is a betrayal, something entirely like it never was before, something that will never be again. She takes a second to deal with it, agitation abound, her bones thrumming with a hostile ache. She takes in a hiss of a breath and fidgets, gliding hard and tiresome on support. Her shoulders pang good and sharp as she adjusts. It sets her teeth on edge in a quiet clench, and no more sound is made. “Now I understand why all three of us grew up to be petty, angry children who hold grudges for an eternity,” her humor waxes and wanes, that’s the thing. It’s there and gone like a constant flicker-flash, a star that dies on itself every day without fail. And now she’s trying again, tired, tired as she limps into the kitchen in this old semi-colonial. It’s half rundown, the home they call their own, but it’s a home and that’s what counts. It’s a place to stay– a place that has held all their memories. Alana, Jesse, and Eddie’s height markers remain carved into the side of the kitchen wall, memories forever embedded. “I figured vegetarian stir-fry. I’m not sure how– ah– secure I feel with the concept of meat anymore, if that’s alright. And I don’t think I’m ready to cook it,” though she longs for the days of listening to a filet mignon sizzle in a pan, they’re far from here, “as much as I would love to set that challenge, I’m not sure I’m physically up for it. And I’d rather not attempt something I have no chance at.”

She keeps quiet about the vehement wince that slices her eardrums. The mother in her wants to lunge, to hold, to coddle. But the Bloom in her respects Alana’s independence too much. So she bites her tongue, catching that wriggly pink muscle between a set of teeth and squeezing. Hard. But her hands, however, have insisted on wandering to the space between a pair of shoulder blades. More so for comfort rather than actual support. 

“Um, you’re welcome, by the way. That level of petty isn’t easily achieved. And always remember, the longer you hold a grudge, the more calories you burn.” And now you know why scientists call her ability to both consume an obscene amount of calories and still be able to keep the weight off the Victoria Bloom paradox. 

“Vegetarian stir-fry,” she parrots with a single nod. There’s validation in her voice, discerning. “Low maintenance. Simple enough. Easy as pie.” Oo. Pie. “Which will be dessert later. --The pie.” Executive decision. “So do you want the pretty pink floral apron or the ‘kiss the cook’ apron?” She’s abandoned a side, but only to disappear inside of a pantry, just for a moment, just to retrieve those said aprons, her voice raising only just so that it carries over. “Or is the ‘kiss the cook’ apron reserved for only when Fiona’s here?” She couldn’t resist. You and her both know it was only a matter of time before she started to slip. 

[infinitebabbles-blog]

defenestratio:

The no humor zone is a place Alana is, accidentally, very familiar with. It seems that the catastrophe that her life has become makes her feel like evading humor entirely, dodging the very concept with a bitterness that there is no name for. And she doesn’t mean it– she doesn’t. But she hardly laughs and all her smiles are so thin and her eyes are so, so tired. And she doesn’t mean any of that, she doesn’t, but it’s so hard to feel like she’s alive sometimes. It’s so hard to feel like she can still laugh. “If there’s a handbook for maternal instruction a lot of my cases back at the Bureau could’ve used them,” her tone is almost-soft, the kind of sound that’s tired and trying at once. It’s a little push-through, a little shove against something that feels impossible, “You do a much better job, I promise that. There’s somehow been no homicide committed here.” Somehow, of these people in the room, there’s only one potential murderer. And it’s not Victoria. “–Three,” she adds, yet softer still, and pushes herself up and to the edge of the seat to place feet flat on the floor. Voice much calmer now, harsh edge lost, “You may help. With more than the bare minimum. Good lord knows you’ll never be able to keep your hands out of anything regardless. So I’ll choose to allow you the indulgence first before you break that rule and end up mixing, mincing, and pan-searing everything I intended.”

“Of course there’s a handbook. Where else do you think I get all of exceptional parental skills? Fifty percent comes from that book and the other fifty percent comes from The Real Desperate Housewives of Beverly Hills.” Honestly, Alana. But as for the homicide part, she leaves that to be remained untouched. Those jibs and jabs are reserved solely for Alana to make-- if she ever wanted to make them. If. 

“So what am I mixing, mincing and pan-searing tonight?” She’s already wandering into the kitchen and flipping on both sets of lights that illuminate the room and all of its entirety. “If I’m mixing, mincing, and pan-searing-- does that mean you’ll be folding, slicing, and sautéing?” She’s still trying to shine a few rays of light on the soleminty that is her daughter’s invariable mood. “Is this meal gonna be about seeing how many techniques we can fit into the actual cooking process? Because that’s one challenge you won’t see me backin’ down from.” 

Trying is the key word, here. So is perseverance. And optimism.

[thelorelais]

[infinitebabbles-blog]

                        ❛ WELL, YOU KNOW                                   MY BABBLING CAPABILITIES                                                          ARE INFINITE. ❜

                                                independent. private. highly selective.                                                                    lorelai gilmore                                                                  as told by kendra

[infinitebabbles-blog]

defenestratio:

“No,” She doesn’t mean to be short, but her eyes follow her mother’s voice like she can see the words and then they flick up, away, like she’s trying as hard as she can to find what she wants to say and then– poof!– like the worst disappearing act it dissipates from her vernacular. The sound of her frustration is a low hrn in her throat and then it dies away before she’s looking back at Victoria again.

“I meant… me making dinner. You don’t have to–” cook for all of us. I’m not a child anymore. I’m not a child. Don’t make me feel like a child. She’s all too aware of the bitter, rancid anger in her back teeth, settling into her molars. She remembers waking up from the coma and having no rational motor function and she remembers misreading everything and knowing, knowing she was not a child and yet feeling like she’d be treated like one. “–cook for all of us, mama. I’ve gotten very good. As per culinary practice. I’m at least half as good as you or Jess.”

She remembers all too well the days she wasn’t allowed in the kitchen. For being a mess.

Ah, yes. She can see they’ve entered the ‘no humor’ zone. Which is fine, honestly, she’ll keep going until she simply cannot go anymore. Which could be awhile, truthfully. She’s all for pressing limits and pushing boundaries. Jokes and endless wit used to mean something. Creating them used to be fun. Now, it’s more so a defense mechanism than anything. A coping mechanism. If she isn’t talking, then she’s left there to think. And everyone knows what happens when she’s left alone to think. 

“I know I don’t have to but in the Motherhood Handbook, it says that it’s highly encouraged and that I should. Or--” hands find hips, gaze wanders up to the ceiling and lips twist. “--was it the Motherhood Handbook? Or was it How To Successfully Torture and Maim Your Victims without Killing Them In Ten Easy Steps? I’m always getting those two mixed up.” But her eyes fall back down again, back onto Alana. And she’s immediately sucking in a sharp breath and raising both of her brows to blow past that terrible, terrible joke. 

“How about you cook and I help?” Compromise. Alana likes a good compromise. That, she remembers. “I promise to only do the bare minimum. Like sit at the bar and tell you how pretty you look on only on four hours of sleep.”

[chinuplittlepup]

[infinitebabbles-blog]

defenestratio:

Alana would love to laugh if she wasn’t eternally agitated by her mother’s perceptiveness and her ability to take stock of everything around her. Or everything that goes on with anyone whose last name is ‘Bloom’, anyway. So she’s not making a sound, kicking up the recliner gently, and very carefully to stretch her legs out. Her own back screams for that brief sense of relief and she gives it, gladly, settling out. (No more painkillers, she doesn’t want them.)

“Ha-ha, mama,” a roll of eyes, sinking, squiggling, settling lower into the plush cushion the Blooms have owned since the dawn of time, so beat up the leather may as well be material, “I don’t know when she gets home. I slip out in the morning to go for a short walk, sometimes. –I don’t like being–” a hand raises. She’s having difficulty thinking of the word– corralled?– but her fingers flick around to indicate– enclosed. Whatever. She can’t verbalize the word. “It’s not for the purpose of seeing Fiona. If I wanted to do that, I could just go to the diner. –Do you want me to make dinner tonight?”

“You don’t like being...” Bright blue orbs catch and study the flexing of slender fingers waving through the air, following the idle movements. “...A stress ball? A juicer? --Nutcracker. Am I getting warmer?” She’s always been terrible at charades. But she’s also joking, she knows what those twitchy joints are describing nonverbally, so don’t answer that. 

“If by you wanting to make dinner means me making dinner, then yes.” Palms flatten and press on the cushion beneath her thighs and push, rising to her feet. “But you can help. And by help I mean you can sit at the bar and tell me how pretty I still am running on only four hours of sleep and still managing to whip a perfect meringue and gasping every so often going, ‘how does she do it?’”

[thelorelais]

[infinitebabbles-blog]

defenestratio:

“–I’m not there for the anything, mama,” the jig is up– she can hear it in her mother’s voice. Like Tori wasn’t the first to sniff out the first girl she brought home. Her name was one of the things lost in time, the way so much else was after her defenestration. But Tori knew. Which was just fine, wasn’t it? It’s not as if anyone in the Bloom household has ever been typical. That’s just not in any of their genetics.

“I’m there because they’re the Gallaghers, and I’ve always been there, if ever I’m in the vicinity.” Fiona. She thinks her lips still tingle with the taste but she doesn’t say a word about it. Victoria’s always known, sure, but knowing and discussing are different. “Fiona’s fine. So is everyone else. Since she was working late and Carl had an essay due I thought I would help out and get everything in order until she got home. As for every other night–” she pauses, leaves crutches to lean by the door (she hates them, she hates them, she hates them), and peers over the couch, slides into the recliner across from, “–they’re the Gallaghers. I always like being around them.”

She remains somewhat still. At least, her body does. Her spine stays pressed and buried in a couch cushion but her head, however, tilts. Side to side, deliberately and steadily so, with lips pursed-- but that’s a bit subconsciously on her part, she doesn’t mean for her mouth to shrink in size. “You lost me at ‘because they’re the Gallaghers.’ Which, by the way, is from the first draft of ‘you had me at hello.’” 

But her eyes finally tear away from the flickering screen to catch Alana’s, to briefly squint and narrow before widening. “So are you tellin’ me that I won’t hear that front door creek open again in a few hours whenever Fiona’s shift ends?” Don’t think she doesn’t know. But also don’t think she’s gonna straight up call Alana out. She’ll pry a little at first. Then a lot. Until it becomes practically unbearable. But that could be awhile. It’s been literal years already, what’s a few more. They’re both masters at perseverance. “It’s three, right? That’s about the time when she usually gets home?” Because it’s about two forty-five when she usually hears footsteps.  

[jackpearscn]

[infinitebabbles-blog]

x || @defenestratio

“At least I know you’re not over at the Gallagher’s every night for the food.” She hears the front door swing open first and then the soft but uneven pitter patter of footsteps follow. She doesn’t even need to tear her gaze away from the television to know it’s her daughter, to know it’s Alana. 

“Not unless Fiona transformed into the Barefoot Contessa over the course of thirty days but even then, I think transforming into the Barefoot Contessa in thirty days or less would actually offend the Barefoot Contessa so I can only pray that Fiona Gallagher didn’t upset the Food Network Gods by trying to become the Barefoot Contessa doppelganger.” 

[gilmoresgifs]

lorelai gilmore + comebacks (1/?)

[infinitebabbles-blog]

                        ❛ WELL, YOU KNOW                                   MY BABBLING CAPABILITIES                                                          ARE INFINITE. ❜

                                                independent. private. highly selective.                                                                    lorelai gilmore                                                                  as told by kendra