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registry
| POSITIVE | NEUTRAL | NEGATIVE |
|
▷ meeting riley ▷ maya hart enters the scene ▷ becoming a prefect |
▷ finding fluffy ▷ MEMORY :| ▷ MEMORY :| |
▷ parents fighting take one ▷ first christmas alone ▷ realizing they'll be separated |
|
▷ stuart at the train station ▷ MEMORY :) ▷ MEMORY :) |
▷ first day of primary ▷ lucas friar and a boat ▷ MEMORY :| |
▷ stuart's dismay ▷ MEMORY :( ▷ MEMORY :( |
|
▷ MEMORY :) ▷ MEMORY :) ▷ MEMORY :) |
▷ running away to the matthews ▷ MEMORY :| ▷ MEMORY :| |
▷ MEMORY :( ▷ MEMORY :( ▷ MEMORY :( |
| 0/? | 0/? | 0/? |
no subject
Received: Day 221
You're huddled on the staircase watching the front door with wide eyes. You hear your mother saying something, but for some reason she doesn't register. Come down here--Why? He'll be here soon. Yes, but watching the door won't make him show up faster. You know that. Even so you remain perched on the first flight of steps. An already well-worn screenplay in your hands, Pippin.
You're seven.
Your dad's been gone for weeks now on some business trip. Your mother had only come back last week, having left to "recoop" after a fight with your father. Already you're far too used to being left to yourself without your parents around. But you want to see him and them together, even if it means you'll hear them fighting by tomorrow.
Your mother calls for you again but instead of answering you notice the clicking of the door knob and are instantly on your feet. The man that enters doesn't look worn from his businesstrip. He's dressed professionally, hair styled, and a smile on his lip. Only, by now you've watched it enough to know it's not a happy smile--Those moments when you've accomplished something and he takes pride in it.
"[REDACTED]," he says with a tone that's just borderline amused as you launch yourself downstairs.
"Father," you return with barely contained excitement and nervousness, clutching the thin book by your side.
You see your mother come out of the living room with fold arms but try to keep your parents occupied instead of noticing each other.
"I want to be Pippin," the words sound so forced and firm to your little ears.
"What was that, [redacted]?" Your father asks with uncertainty.
"I want to be Pippin," you recite once more, your father finally laughing while you mother smiles slightly. "And why is that, son?" Stuart asks.
A beat as you consider the comment before piping up, "Because I want to rule the world!"
Your father laughs once more, rubbing the top of your head. "Don't you want to the family business?" He questions lightly, "That's what I've taught you so far."
It's your turn to make a face as you shake your head rapidly. "No," you say just as firmly, "I want to be Pippin."
You watch the way your father's features seem to flatten in disappointment. Somehow you know you said something wrong. He's always taught you to take after him and to take over his business when you're older. He started as far back as you can remember. But as much as you like it you want to rule the world. Is that a bad thing?
"Well," he says after a moment with another forced chuckle, "that's certainly ambitious. We'll see how far you go, okay?"
You don't like those words either. The small smile fades from your lips and you keep your eyes downcast. "Did Cory teach you that?" he inquires and just as rapidly you shake your head. You shift the book just somewhat behind you as your mother says your father's name a bit more tersely. He straightens himself out and looks at her more firmly.
"[Redacted]," she says with a too gentle tone that you've already categorized, "dinner will be in an hour, why don't you go upstairs?"
You nod knowing that meaning, too, and race up the stairs before you can hear your parents start talking. You keep going until you reach the rooftop that's already been made yours. A telescope stands proudly looking up into the blossoming night sky and you shuffle towards it taking comfort in the horizon.
no subject
Received: Day 222
Type: Significant neutral
This was a long thread so I'll give a brief rundown of it here:
-Farkle gets a message early from a girl named Elle. She's complaining about having to wear plaid and inevitably a fancy dinner party she doesn't approve of (As her aunt is a Pureblood supremacist and talks about that).
-He laughs at her so she decides he needs to come with her. As his family is equal in power/money in hers it'll make her Aunt more okay with her skipping the meeting.
-Farkle tells her he'll do it but she owes helping him make it up to Riley. So definitely knowledge they're dating at this time, welp.
-He tries to look presentable because rich adults are rude.
-He spends most of the day feeling guilty
-Farkle decides to take one of the few cars his dad owns since he likes technology. They're also still underage to use magic outside of school, so it's easier (both of which he explains to Elle later).
-Elle decides to kiss him on his cheek when she arrives which just about kills him.
-Reveals his love of astrophysics even though it's a "muggle field". States that no matter what anyone says he plans to go to the moon and eventually Mars.
-Teases Elle about the knowledge of car crashes so she just needs to trust him. But she was already panicking at the idea so he tried to reassure her. Even as she shouted that someone was coming at them too fast.
-They discuss their magical and non-magical counterparts and their history.
-Immediate knowledge that he's kind of scary smart.
-The memory will end just as they're arriving at their location.
(no subject)
(no subject)
no subject
Type: neuneu
what it is:
link here
This memory does have very light mentions of light mentions of child neglect and abuse. It takes place at the very beginning of their fourth year of school and he's still self-conscious of bruises. He's reflecting on some mentions healers made about him at the end of third year. There is no real emotion in this memory and his thought process remains logical and factual. Overall in spite of his consideration of Riley it's kind of cold from himself.
no subject
Type: tripos
What it is:
+messing with maya's head
+friendship
The small blonde walks into the Great Hall, broomstick still in hand, with windswept hair, rosy cheeks, and an unusually bright smile. She plops down on the bench next to her friend, drops her broomstick onto the floor, and starts piling her plate full of food.
“So,” she begins, though pauses to take a long drink of pumpkin juice – just to add suspense. Maya smacks her lips and places the cup back down. Finally, she announces, feigning nonchalance: “Guess you’re looking at the new Slytherin Seeker.”
Well, he had been reading over the new Daily Prophet when she’d approached. He knew try-outs were recently and the announcements were soon– he knew too much– but hadn’t had time to get up and go look yet when she approached.
So he looks up from the article he’s reading and then shakes his head. “Great,” he tries nonchalantly, “so could the new Seeker pass me the toast down there?”
You may have taught them too well, Maya.
His nonchalant reply, though she knew was teasing, offended her a little bit; she wasn’t gonna lie. Maya’s eyes narrowed slightly at Farkle.
“No,” she sasses. “A Seeker’s job is to catch the Snitch. If you’re looking for someone whose expertise lies in passing from person to person, you may want to consult a Chaser to pass you that toast.”
No way would Maya let Farkle out-sass her. Out-smart her, maybe. But out-sass? Never.
“If you’re wanting to be technical shouldn’t it be that the Seeker’s job is first to locate the snitch. In this case: the toast. Then they catch it and bring it back to their team for a win,” he comments slyly, “I may not be a fan of quidditch but I know that much.”
“If you’re not gonna congratulate me for making it onto the team on my first try over fifteen other hopefuls,” she replies coolly. “Then you can get your own damn toast.”
“Hey, I just have doubts I’ll finish breakfast before all the vultures eat it,” he comments easily, turning back to his paper, “however, I did not have any doubts you’d make seeker.”
“Yeah, well there are some things that are more important things than –” Hold on. Did she hear him correctly? Maya blinks. “Wait – What did you just say?”
“You mean the toast?” He responds slyly, “yeah, teveryone’s been eating it in five minutes lately.”
“Shut up,” she snaps, though her mouth twitches at the corners with a slight grin. “No, not that. You said that you knew I’d be Seeker. But, Farkle.. have you ever actually seen me play Quidditch before? How could you possibly know…”
“Because I know you,” he says quickly, reaching for the toast for himself, “if there’s something you really want to do you’ll always accomplish it.”
He doesn’t say he believes in her it’s implied.
Pausing to munch on the bread he shrugs, “Besides, I know everything, remember?”
no subject
Type:
Canonly, Farkle is seen as something like a profiler in Criminal Minds, as a baseline. He's capable of figuring out people in seconds as well as the general plotline/purpose of things. It may take longer in more complicated situations, but he does figure it out within a day or two. This is also a "calculation" skill. Which means that he can figure out trajectories, where things will hit, etc. It's not a fighting ability, but still useful.
With this ability he also gains his observations and in depth knowledge of people around him. Namely Riley, Maya, Lucas, and Isadora.
no subject
Type: SigNeg
What it is:
You're back in your family home. Tomorrow is Christmas and you know the Matthews will be coming over and some your friends. There'd be a lot of people here and for the first time in weeks you'd get to see Riley. That thought is what helped you last through the long week of family activities. You would see your girlfriend-- you're practical fiance in all but name-- and even if the two of you couldn't be alone that was never important. Seeing her had always made you feel better and there'd be plenty of people here to do stuff with.
But now you dread the idea of tomorrow at all. Instead, you've found yourself in the personal library attached to your room. You're flipping through books, trying to pay attention to them, before snapping them shut and pacing across the room just to grab another one. You're head's pounding as you go through one too many thoughts. Categorizing elements, stars, trying to take in the new information, and trying to numb out the memory from the evening before that won't seem to sink away.
Because you know you'll pay for that. You're supposed to be obedient and never disagree. You knew it was stupid, but there was no way he was going to talk down about that.
You can't leave yet through magic. You'd be arrested for underage magic, but you hold on by telling yourself that's only two months away. You'll be seventeen then and you could run away-- even with a year of school left. But right now you were stuck here and your family home is far enough away from the city it would take a full day to walk there. He'd definitely find you by then and things would be worse.
So you wait and think. You force yourself to remember that you said the truth and it was important and your mind won't change--
"Farkle."
You suck in a breath. Closing the book in your hands shakily, you turn to the man in the doorway. It's your father, polished as always, and with the same tight smile. A smile that tells you everything: It's his smile that you've disobeyed with him and that he's unhappy with you. Your father is all about image, though, and aside from furrowed brows that smile is all he'll go to mere his features.
"Father," you try amicably, forcing the politeness into your tone. At least after your years of etiquette training you could do that effortlessly. He steps in, for the first time you don't step back. Your father notes that with an arched brow, but you continue to give him a steady look. So much of you wants to look at the floor, but now you're nearly an adult and you have to do this one day.
"About last night," he states coolly. Finally your eyes dart away and you continue with the same forced politeness, "Yes? Was something wrong?" Somehow you're speaking with sass. That should make things worse, but you've numbed yourself. You don't think or feel you're just there as you feel him come closer. "You know you did something wrong, Farkle," Stuart continues, tone borderline unimpressed.
You pause minutely. "I don't think I did," you recount and your father's face darkens, "It's my life. It's not as if I'd be destroying your image." Your voices weakens, but you try to keep as firm as possible. "Do you really think that, son?" He questions and you give a slight nod. Your father shakes his head. He takes another step forward and you don't even need to question where this is leading.
He would never hit you where anyone else could see. Or do anything too noticeable that people would notice. A sprained wrist or broken rib, maybe. And you could heal the former. Sometimes, he'd use magic if he felt you needed that punishment. But it was important to ensure no one could tell because Stuart Minkus was all about showing perfections. No one would believe you if you said.
"You're mother's out getting the rest of the presents for tomorrow," he keeps a tight-lipped smile, "why don't we talk about this?"
You lick your lips and hesitate. You can't combat this with magic, you're barely even physical, and it really would be worse. You know that, but you're body vibrates to do something and before you think about it you suddenly pipe up. "That's not what I'd call talking," you say voice quiet at first before picking up, "but I guess you have difficulties with intelligent de--" Suddenly you close your mouth with a wince but the damage is already done. You know he's pulling out his wand before you see it.
Even if you wanted to defend there's no way to do so before your body arches with a searing pain. The torture spell. Your eyes roll back and you seize up on the floor. You almost forget what breathing is as the world goes dark. But he casts another spell and you grow alert once more. He wasn't going to give you the comfort of going to bed just yet. And so it goes on, but at the end... At the end you can't help but feel satisfied at standing up for what you felt.
It was one of the first times you did so. And it was to him. Even as you force yourself to not get upset, the satisfaction remains. Even if you have to figure out how to tell the others not to touch you tomorrow.