#greatgospell

@greatgospell . . . emoji headcanon meme. ↬ definitely accepting !

🥞 PANCAKE - what is their comfort breakfast?

in the bright moon royal family, standardized meals three times a day as per usual are really only enforced when micah is around. angella and glimmer don't necessarily need to wake up and eat in the morning like he does due to their angelic status, but they grow to enjoy it because it means spending time with him. one of glimmer's favorite memories of her father is making parfaits together in the kitchens.

                        radiant lights envelop her, casting a spectral halo of rainbow hues that cradle her within a space where reality bends and breaks. a circle of ethereal white spectres spin endlessly around her, their ghostly forms gliding in a rhythm that defies everything she knows. only moments before, she had been wandering the sector one plate, a basket of flowers gently tucked into her elbow and offering her wares to those willingly to meet her gaze. before, kneeling by an open stream of mako, trickling from a cracked pipe in a motion of prayer. only to now find herself here — looking towards a mirror image of herself.

❝ a bigger threat, than who?   ❞ her expression is one of bewilderment, and with hesitation, she dares to step closer to the eerily familiar image before her. her hands held steady at her side. ❝ than shinra?   ❞ she ventures, the first guess that rises to mind. after all, who else? than the corporation that drains the planet's lifeblood, the corporation that has haunted her existence, that stole from her someone she cherished most.

❝ d'you fancy some company? ❞ merryn, small pack on her back, swords at her hips, looks as though she's setting off away from the city — which would, in fact, be true. not forever, surely, there are things that need to be done, and she would miss the hustle and bustle of it, even as she so desperately needs to be able to breathe for a little while. a braid, flyaways already loosening, hangs over merryn's right shoulder; she fiddles with the end of it, her hands never able to keep still. ❝ you're going to pick flowers, right? i wouldn't mind coming with you. ❞

❝ me? ❞ balance fails to steady. brain l̶̟̰̙͖̠͖̥͆́̏̿̍̔̕ư̸͓̬̝͉̹̫̟̦̓̀͠x̸̳̺̘͚͋̆̕͝͝͠ͅȕ̸̥̾̇̊̋̚ lifts one leg and sets it down— like a child learning to walk again. unsteady, the body falls. knees hit unfamiliar cobblestones and palms outstretch to catch the fall. hazy, grey eyes settle on hands that hardly feels like his own. and it hurts. he sees red sprouting from calloused hands; feels the sting of the graze, and knows they're in fact his own. this body is his own.

IT'S  TRUE  ENOUGH  THAT  THEY'VE  BECOME  EFFICIENT  HERE  AT  THE  CAFE  —  don't  gotta  hide  the  good  under  dead  of  night  'least,  that  helps.  idgie's  been  packaging  baked  goods,  one  after  the  other,  extra  tossed  in  here  and  there;  end  of  the  day,  no  good  wasting,  is  it?  send  it  back  with  aerith  who  idgie's  got  no  doubt'll  make  sure  it  goes  to  a  good  place.  and  between  each  platter  cleared,  she's  tossin'  em  back  behind  her  where  sweet  buddy  jr.  is  certain  to  catch  them,  one  arm  or  not  he's  the  best  damn  catch  in  the  slums,  yesiree.  impressive  system  to  all  who'd  witness  it,  an  idgie  and  stump  special,  gets  all  sorta  comments  and  all  she  can  do  is  beam  with  pride. this time she comes  to  a  pause  with  chin  supported  on  her  hand,  brown  eyes  already  sparkling  with  mischief.

❝  why  miss  gainsborough,  ❞  begins  the  drawl,  lips  tilting  upwards  in  amusement,  ❝  you  comin'  onto  me?  you  know  i  heard  there  were  folk  that  were  into  an  organized  woman  —  never  been  one  myself,  'fore  ruth  anyway  —  but  maybe  i  shoulda  listened  to  my  momma  when  she  said  'imogen,  quit  hangin'  yer  undergarments  on  the  banister  for  the  world  to  see'.  really  thought  i  was  doin'  them  boys  down  the  street  a  favor,  you  know,  considerin'  their  dames  wouldn't  be  caught  dead  in  anything  less  than  one'a  them  full  body  hazard  suits  'round  em.  ❞  dead  serious,  or  so  her  tone  would  have  anybody  believe  as  she  spins  her  tales.  but  speaking  of  momma,  there's  a  big  heavy  shrug  and  she's  back  up  straight,  fingers  straightening  out  flour  covered  apron  as  she  does.

she's  pushing  the  stack  of  containers  atop  the  counter  aerith's  way  and  before  she's  off  and  running  to  the  next  thing,  SPEAKING  OF  MOMMA,  ❝  now,  you  take  these  and  do  what  yer  gonna  do.  but  whatever happens you be  tellin'  your  momma  to  get  her  keister  down  here,  alright?  haven't  seen  her  in  an  age  and  we  gotta  have  a  talk  about  them  ducks  again.  she  ever  tell  you  'bout  them?  ❞  and  so  soon  as  she's  made  to  make  herself  productive  again,  she's  leaning  back  in,  that  amusement  ever  present  —  isn't  it  productive  to  make  friends?  her  momma  always  said  she'd  talk  to  a  brick  wall  if  it  suited  her  whimsy  to.  ❝  freak  thing,  those old  ducks  ...  ❞

hilda bites the inside of her cheek to stop the smile creeping up, it was a bad idea, but the only one they'd had so far. she looks at the basket, from down here, it looked like the idea would work. the basket could have something heavy in it, and then they would spend time just throwing rocks without it budging. or, it could be empty, and the first hit would send it flying down... throwing a few rocks wouldn't hurt anyone, right?