I'm exactly where you want me to be.
I was feeling rather miserable today and I'm glad tearstreak was around to help me. I feel so much better now! And contrary to what I wanted to do previously, I'm going to stay on this journal. Even though this username has many resentments attached to it, I'm going to make some new, happier memories. I'll be afterthefray forever ♥
/sappy content over.
This is something that made me feel really happy (ironically, actually, once you get around to reading this) and I thought I'd share it with you guys. It's a crack fic written by my ex-classmate rapelips and it features my classmates from freshman and sophomore years.
Characters:
Cindorabelle - toukasa (Adorabelle)
Mother - me
Father - mannequinboy (Denise/Dennis)
Stepmother - avoidspace (Nishanti/Nishunty/Nini)
Firstborn - Anisha
Second-born - indianerthanyou (Amaris)
In a distant forest skimming the edge of a sandy cliff there was an intricately beautiful house which withstood the salty storms for years on end. In it lived the kind of people fairytales were made for, a family of three if you didn’t count the cooks and the gardeners and the cleaning staff.
The parents were an odd pair. They were close, but there were often squabbles and name-calling, and cross-dressing. Sometime or another the lady of the household got pregnant and she was excited because pregnancy issues fascinated her.
Her husband was supportive but a bit apprehensive, and when that happened she would say his name “Den-nis!” in a disapproving motherly voice.
When the child was born both parents adored it; it was a girl with porcelain skin and the black hair combed with starshine. Her mother called her a “meat snack” and her father pushed up his spectacles affectionately.
She was simply too adorable to be called a normal name like plain old “Sarah” or boring “Rachel”, and her parents decided on “Adorabelle” so that if not adored on first sight her namesake might prompt strangers to grovel down to their daughter like they ought to.
Life happened, and Adorabelle grew up a healthy, bright and slightly perverted child. Life would have continued happening in its delightful little fashion if not for a terrible summer during which Adorabelle’s beloved mother got a serious case of a new strain of virus called chickenpox which came from eating pork from pigs born in the year of the chicken.
For nights on end, Adorabelle knelt at her mother’s bed and wept as she watched chicken shaped sores spring up on her mother’s body. That night her mother wheezed her last words, “Bwok bwok geh!” and Adorabelle and Dennis hugged each other and cried and would remember those words for the rest of their miserable lives.
After the funeral the head of the household was never the same and without his one and only soul mate Dennis sought solace in polygamy and orgies.
During one of these orgies Dennis came upon his new wife. Her hairline was behind her ears and her tongue long enough to poke through one nostril and out the other, and she was ten times more muscular than Dennis.
She introduced herself as Neenee and said she had 2 children from a past marriage, but Dennis was past caring. He did not even care about the gender of his orgy-frequenters as long as they brought with them delicacies like trotters’ pudding and oyster jam.
With Adorabelle’s new hulking, balding, and burping mother came her two new stepsisters. One was conceived with a retired Bollywood actor and had eyelashes long enough to snare flies with, and the other conceived with a chi-chi portrait painter who had agreed to do a nude portrait of Nishunty for her hand in marriage. They were horrible and vain brats and Adorabelle spent all her time hating them with all her willpower.
The brats were telepathic and spoke fluent Hindi (the firstborn’s native tongue) and French (the second-born’s mother tongue) to baffle Adorabelle to no end.
The firstborn would piggyback her younger sister around Adorabelle’s room and the young anorexic sister liked to flail her legs around and smack Adorabelle with the Manolo Blahniks she bought with Adorabelle’s vitamin C money.
When they realized that complaining to their parents would not work (Dennis would stare blankly with glazed eyes and their stepmother would curl her hair around a stubby finger and sigh with her nose), the two scheming sisters decided to expand on their elaborate expansionist policies.
First they stole her wardrobe filled with the most beautiful clothes in the town, and then her vanity table so they could gaze at their reflections for hours on end while cooing compliments at each other.
Then all of a sudden both of them developed back problems and usurped her bed because it was ergonomically correct. Before long, most of Adorabelle’s possessions had been gleaned off and all she was left with was a tremendously ugly dress with pictures of strawberries and shortcakes.
Adorabelle bore it all, but the final straw came one day when Dennis was found dead in his bed he shared with his brawny wife, dead from over consumption of pig trotter pudding and physical exhaustion from a marathon orgy. But then, he’d been dead for a long time already, ever since he began to lose interest in the passive occurrence called life.
The young girl attended her second funeral, and immediately after the final prayers were uttered the widow announced new changes which would be implemented as soon as possible.
Due to the unexpected death of the main breadwinner of the household, the stepmother decided to do away with one or two things - mainly the cooks, the gardeners, and the cleaning staff.
And because my daughters are simply too magical and princessy for menial tasks, the stepmother grunted to Adorabelle, I suppose you’ll have to take over these tasks, it is what your father would have wanted. Adorabelle nodded numbly, and she hid her tears behind a trembling hand while her stepsisters hid identical smirks of triumph behind their silk fans.
As the years wore on the two sisters began to forgo piggy backs and silly games for boys and the latest carriage models, but they never lost their narcissist streaks. As the years wore on Adorabelle was banished first to the walk-in closet, then to the cellar, and then to the cinders where she sat after scrubbing the floors and washing the dishes and humming for the two sisters while they practiced some foreign bending exercises.
Before long, and no one really could remember when, she became so insignificant there was no need to use her name and no one did, for they had begun to call her a new name: Cindorabelle.
/sappy content over.
This is something that made me feel really happy (ironically, actually, once you get around to reading this) and I thought I'd share it with you guys. It's a crack fic written by my ex-classmate rapelips and it features my classmates from freshman and sophomore years.
Characters:
Cindorabelle - toukasa (Adorabelle)
Mother - me
Father - mannequinboy (Denise/Dennis)
Stepmother - avoidspace (Nishanti/Nishunty/Nini)
Firstborn - Anisha
Second-born - indianerthanyou (Amaris)
In a distant forest skimming the edge of a sandy cliff there was an intricately beautiful house which withstood the salty storms for years on end. In it lived the kind of people fairytales were made for, a family of three if you didn’t count the cooks and the gardeners and the cleaning staff.
The parents were an odd pair. They were close, but there were often squabbles and name-calling, and cross-dressing. Sometime or another the lady of the household got pregnant and she was excited because pregnancy issues fascinated her.
Her husband was supportive but a bit apprehensive, and when that happened she would say his name “Den-nis!” in a disapproving motherly voice.
When the child was born both parents adored it; it was a girl with porcelain skin and the black hair combed with starshine. Her mother called her a “meat snack” and her father pushed up his spectacles affectionately.
She was simply too adorable to be called a normal name like plain old “Sarah” or boring “Rachel”, and her parents decided on “Adorabelle” so that if not adored on first sight her namesake might prompt strangers to grovel down to their daughter like they ought to.
Life happened, and Adorabelle grew up a healthy, bright and slightly perverted child. Life would have continued happening in its delightful little fashion if not for a terrible summer during which Adorabelle’s beloved mother got a serious case of a new strain of virus called chickenpox which came from eating pork from pigs born in the year of the chicken.
For nights on end, Adorabelle knelt at her mother’s bed and wept as she watched chicken shaped sores spring up on her mother’s body. That night her mother wheezed her last words, “Bwok bwok geh!” and Adorabelle and Dennis hugged each other and cried and would remember those words for the rest of their miserable lives.
After the funeral the head of the household was never the same and without his one and only soul mate Dennis sought solace in polygamy and orgies.
During one of these orgies Dennis came upon his new wife. Her hairline was behind her ears and her tongue long enough to poke through one nostril and out the other, and she was ten times more muscular than Dennis.
She introduced herself as Neenee and said she had 2 children from a past marriage, but Dennis was past caring. He did not even care about the gender of his orgy-frequenters as long as they brought with them delicacies like trotters’ pudding and oyster jam.
With Adorabelle’s new hulking, balding, and burping mother came her two new stepsisters. One was conceived with a retired Bollywood actor and had eyelashes long enough to snare flies with, and the other conceived with a chi-chi portrait painter who had agreed to do a nude portrait of Nishunty for her hand in marriage. They were horrible and vain brats and Adorabelle spent all her time hating them with all her willpower.
The brats were telepathic and spoke fluent Hindi (the firstborn’s native tongue) and French (the second-born’s mother tongue) to baffle Adorabelle to no end.
The firstborn would piggyback her younger sister around Adorabelle’s room and the young anorexic sister liked to flail her legs around and smack Adorabelle with the Manolo Blahniks she bought with Adorabelle’s vitamin C money.
When they realized that complaining to their parents would not work (Dennis would stare blankly with glazed eyes and their stepmother would curl her hair around a stubby finger and sigh with her nose), the two scheming sisters decided to expand on their elaborate expansionist policies.
First they stole her wardrobe filled with the most beautiful clothes in the town, and then her vanity table so they could gaze at their reflections for hours on end while cooing compliments at each other.
Then all of a sudden both of them developed back problems and usurped her bed because it was ergonomically correct. Before long, most of Adorabelle’s possessions had been gleaned off and all she was left with was a tremendously ugly dress with pictures of strawberries and shortcakes.
Adorabelle bore it all, but the final straw came one day when Dennis was found dead in his bed he shared with his brawny wife, dead from over consumption of pig trotter pudding and physical exhaustion from a marathon orgy. But then, he’d been dead for a long time already, ever since he began to lose interest in the passive occurrence called life.
The young girl attended her second funeral, and immediately after the final prayers were uttered the widow announced new changes which would be implemented as soon as possible.
Due to the unexpected death of the main breadwinner of the household, the stepmother decided to do away with one or two things - mainly the cooks, the gardeners, and the cleaning staff.
And because my daughters are simply too magical and princessy for menial tasks, the stepmother grunted to Adorabelle, I suppose you’ll have to take over these tasks, it is what your father would have wanted. Adorabelle nodded numbly, and she hid her tears behind a trembling hand while her stepsisters hid identical smirks of triumph behind their silk fans.
As the years wore on the two sisters began to forgo piggy backs and silly games for boys and the latest carriage models, but they never lost their narcissist streaks. As the years wore on Adorabelle was banished first to the walk-in closet, then to the cellar, and then to the cinders where she sat after scrubbing the floors and washing the dishes and humming for the two sisters while they practiced some foreign bending exercises.
Before long, and no one really could remember when, she became so insignificant there was no need to use her name and no one did, for they had begun to call her a new name: Cindorabelle.