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Sometimes my sims-and I'm not saying which sims (Byron & Liz) like to go to the fortune tellers in their pj's while it's raining, woohoo in the caravan, and then stand outside in the pouring rain flirting.
P.S; she's pregnant P.P.S; now she's gotten sick
I swear to god sims are really freaking stupid, but strangely accurate...
lemaleficeboiteux replied to your post:ooc; I manage to fix the colors on my nav page,...
(Your organization makes me jealous. It’s beautiful.)
//your writing makes me jealous.
lemaleficeboiteux
"Have I, now? And what would you suggest for further improvement?"
⊰✙∬ "I could suggest working on the attitude, but knowing you, I suspect that I may be asking for too much."
"Antigone, Demeter, Nike and Hera -- though more practical for I have great scores of papers, and several trips to make... all of which need your attendance and attention."
Antigone: What is the bravest thing you’ve ever done?
Fell in love. Married. Had children. Took a lover-and fell in love with him. Lived.
Demeter: What would you most grieve for if it was taken from you?
Objects are of no consequence to me, only people, whom quite sadly-or fortunately, perhaps, tend to lead shorter lives than that of objects. Why do you ask such a thing of me? How could I measure the grief of a mother with that of the grief of a wife, or a daughter, sister, lover? I could not.
Nike: What was your greatest victory?
Why-is that not quite obvious?
Hera: What are your views on marriage, and how - if at all - would you like to be wed?
The hope of any vow is that it will be lasting and permanent, and for that reason no vow should be taken that you feel unsure you could keep. We hope that we might marry for love, as well as fortune, and that that love will carry us through the long…long years, but the future is a great Unknown. The person you vow to marry will not be the same person in twenty years, for one reason or another, and can you love them still despite that? In the end, I’ve found, it is the strength of the friendship between you that remains when all else has faded or been lost. The world we were born to is no longer, and no one can tell us to marry this man or this woman or that-we must decide, and whether that makes things easier or not…heavens knows. Marriage is work that is often terribly tedious, and it is work from which there are no breaks, but…it is worth it. If you marry someone that you truly Like-as a person, with all their quirks and idiosyncrasies, that makes you laugh long and hard, that you want to throw down and ride hard, and whose key in the latch makes your heart beat a little faster-all of the struggles are worth it ten times over.
If this is a proposal, it will not do. Firstly, you must bend the knee and ask properly-we can dispense with my father’s permission. You would find it a great deal of trouble to do so and I am ever so wary about the judgement of the dead. Then we must book the finest location and begin to send out invitations (after choosing the right stationary) immediately. There is the dress to be considered, catering-
The how of it makes no difference to me, though I would prefer something more intimate than Las Vegas, to be sure. We’ve waited so long for this moment…what does it matter how or where we are wed? as long as I am with you, I am happy.
Thanks to johnpolidori for the tag! Rules: Rule 1: Always post the rules Rule 2: Answer the questions the person who tagged you asked and write 10(?)/11(?) new ones Rule 3: Tag 10(?)/11(?) people and link them to the post Rule 4: Actually tell them you tagged them (but don't people get a notification when they're tagged now automatically? or? Well maybe if you don't respond I will tell you) 1. Is there any one book/film/other piece of media you keep going back to? This would be a tie between I, Claudius and Brideshead Revisited. Both the books and the miniserieses. 2. What is the last movie you watched? A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum. (You guys, this movie (and the stage musical) is GOLD and if you don’t love it you are wrong) 3. What is one recurring thought you have about yourself? “Oh my God stop being so pretentious and awkward” 4. If you could pick any one person, real or fictional, to talk to for one hour, who would it be? Lord Byron. (duh) 5. If you could be really good at any one skill, what would it be? I would love to be able to sing – really, truly sing. Someday I will find a magic lamp and after I’ve gotten world peace and stuff out of the way I will become a star of either opera or Broadway. 6. What is the last film/book you’ve seen/read that you really, really disliked, and why? This is hard, because normally if I don’t like the way something looks I steer clear of it. We re-did The Glass Menagerie in class the other day and I just hate that play. I'm not sure if it's because it was first taught to me by a truly ghastly teacher or if I just hate it on its own merit. 7. Okay, now what is one piece of media you think is bad, but watch/read/listen to anyway? I might possibly be addicted to the show Once Upon a Time. Every week I watch it and say, “Oh lord! The writing! The acting! The special effects! Are you kidding me?” but I keep watching. 8. What’s the weirdest question anyone has ever asked you? This one time my regular harp teacher was sick and so the music college’s other teacher was filling in for my lesson, and of course I hadn’t practiced anything, because I never do, so everything sounded awful. She asked me why my Jewish heritage didn’t inspire me to practice harder, as the Jews are traditionally a very hardworking people, and didn’t I feel I was shaming my ancestors by my failure to maintain proper hand technique through Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring? To this day I have no idea how I should have responded to that. 9.How long have you been around on tumblr dot com? A year and...a bit? I think? 10. If you could high-five any one famous person (interpret “famous person” as you wish), who could it be? Conversely, if you could punch one famous person in the face, who would it be? I would high-five Aphra Behn. I have only just discovered her but from what little I have read so far she appears to have been a beautiful bisexual abolitionist poet playwright SPY, all as a woman in the seventeenth century. Google her. I would probably punch Evelyn Waugh in the face, I guess, for the way he ended Brideshead, and for being a bit of a jerk by all accounts. Right! My questions. 1. A genie has granted you one wish – but the wish must be 100% shallow and 100% selfish (e.g. good hair days forever, beautiful boys will always love me, etc.) What do you wish for? 2. What was your favourite childhood daydream? 3. What would an author write if she/he were introducing you as a character in a book? 4. If you could be an animal for a day, what would you be? 5. You’re going on a road trip with five fictional characters and five celebrities (alive or dead). Whom do you pick? 6. Aaaaaand where are you going on the road trip? 7. Name somebody (real or not) that you would wed 8. And someone you would bed 9. And someone you would behead 8. What is your favourite painting? Okay. I feel like I'm gonna do this wrong. But. I tag marygodwinning, fitzemingway, orilius, allieinarden, a-poet-and-other-things, lemaleficeboiteux, impeccablyeloquent-equallycrude, she-evelyn, twitchuponathread, and titanqueen13
Con: She would say no. || Pro: She would say no.
Send me one pro and one con you could see with having sex with my character.
ooc; The answer is always no… well, not always.
Did You Just Call Me Arthur? (October, 1814, London)
”—…Did you just call me Arthur?”
His lordship had not heard that correctly — no, his ears had picked up something on the whole erroneous for his ego was slighted. Perhaps more than it should have been in the circumstances… but dear lord, the insulting blunder! He was incredulous before he was furious, and the emotional leap spread over his face and his words met to a growl, pointing his finger in the kind of mannerism of the accuser to some capital crime:
"You did…!”
His face contorted then. No… He shook his head to abate the disgust. He was nothing like the bastard — he was reminding himself, — damn him, what the deuce was he justifying? He sat up, swearing under his breath, and moving with a vengeance to find his trousers, but it was dark and he hadn’t the mind to light a candle. What the hell was she playing at? Did she find it humourous to decorate him as her lobcock husband?
But what was the most ruinous was how she said it, like a mindless recitation from her recollections of pleasure… was it always such — but why did he care?
He pulled his trousers, holding them at the fall as he scoured the room for the rest of his wear in indignant silence for all but the whip of his brisk, vexed robing. His appetite was wrecked.
What could she say to that accusation? she very well must have, for what else would so disturb him? She sat up and drew her knee’s close to her chest under the blankets, eyeing him as he leapt from the bed.
Fingers pulled at the loose strands of fabric that hung from the blanket as she followed his progress about the room mostly by the sound of his muttered cursing and quick dressing. Why was he so upset, she wondered, worrying her bottom lip. He couldn’t possibly believe she had said it intentionally to wound his ego (or perhaps he did..) The last few weeks had been rather hectic what with only just returning from Paris, and If now she accidentally uttered the name of her husband, rather than her lover, could the lord not understand? What ever had him in such a fuss?
"Your shirt is on the arm of the chair," quietly she pointed in the right direction. Though she struggled to see in the darkness she didn't need sight to know where the furniture would be in a room she had lived in for some years now.
The bedroom was entirely more her own than that of her husbands, for the place had been bought only just before he left and he had only lately see it again upon his recent return. The room was tastefully feminine with pieces and baubles that tended to her own interests than his. Even the bed was a product of her own indulgence-for it was large and strong with luxurious silken sheets and a mattress that gave just enough to make sleep entirely restful. The blankets were warm and soft-no feathers poking through, and the throw over it was absolutely magnificent. Even the backboard was firmly rooted so it did not bang against the wall when they fucked, but provided something reliable to cling to in a fit of passion. Where later the bed would grow to smell more of him, now beyond the original clean scent, it also smelled like her. To say it was one of her favoured pieces would not be diminishing the truth.
With her sister returned to her husband, Arthur in Paris, Freese still away at Charterhouse and the rest of her children having long ago been put to bed, Hamilton Place was quiet. It was too late & too early for any servant to be awake, and so they were in their own little world.
"If you wish to leave-fine, but I'd like to know what has got you so worked up. Has no other woman cried out the wrong name? I did not intend to hurt your pride."
Her voice sounded entirely reasonable but she squirmed uncomfortably. It was another cool october and the breeze from the open window chilled her damp skin causing her to shiver slightly and bring the blankets up closer about her body. She wanted him to return if only to finish what he started.
