emma's reference tag

adler cosplay masterpost for my own purposes but you can totally use if you want!! not sure how useful it’ll be though

HAIR

yeah okay irene what the FUCK is up with that hair

how to french twist

adler tutorial i just found this and WOW IT’S REALLY HELPFUL

so it seems like some sort of french twist but with tube curls on the sides????i guess

CLOTHE

bolero sheath i guess :/ i can’t find anything online, but if you do, please please tell me!!

SHOES

black stilettos, or pumps if you prefer, easy easy

PROPS

;^)

if you cant find or get a riding crop, a belt will do!!

JEWELRY

cheap fake pearl necklaces, no need for authenticity unless you literally want to become this fabulous woman; also a pear shaped diamond, an d bright red nail polish heuuhe

MAKEUP

tut here

beautiful wow

LASTLY

have a sherlock with you! ;^)

yeah so that’s it have fun future self

Rules for Whodunnit Dangan Dinner!

Alright, I’m going to tweak the original setup a bit. This is going to be a little more…inclusive, I guess?

Alright, here are the rules. It’s mostly the same as usual:

-Dawn is reserved for that ooc time where you’re crying over a character you don’t like or getting used to your character!! 

-On D1, start being SERIOUS IC. If you’re a comedy role such as Hagakure or Monobear, please try not to bring everyone OOC. It’s fine to have some comic relief when things get tough, though.

-Celebrity is host! The backstory is basically that a character (celeb) has invited everyone over for dinner! However, in the middle of eating, it starts storming very hard. So, seeing as the celebrity is, well, a celebrity, they have plenty of rooms for everyone to sleep in. However, when everyone wakes up…someone is dead!

-On the first day, the celeb will DESCRIBE WHAT THEIR HOUSE LOOKS LIKE, as well as vaguely describe where the murder weapons are in relation to the people; such as:

     -are the knives on a rack on the wall or in a drawer?

     -what kind of statues/figures/bottles are where?

-The cop/investigative roles are just so that everyone has roommates, yeah. Masons, convert Celeb immediately but don’t mason anyone else. However, I’ll be getting to the investigation part in a sec!

-The Interrogator shall NOT out themselves to anyone, not even the celebrity—unless the celebrity is in on the plot, which is up to you. They try to keep hidden throughout the whole game, but…

-Here is the tweak, yeah! When the interrogater kills someone, They have to leave behind clues. Very vague or obscure clues, sure—it’s basically like the actual DR, save the school trial. During the interrogation, the interro will kill in a way that isn’t just random or out of their ability. For example, if it was Monobear, he wouldn’t kill with something that is too high for him to reach. The Interro should leave behind a murder weapon, somewhere, or at least give a clue as to what it is. The Interro, at the end, will tell the victim how everyone will find him or her, and the victim will leave it in their will. (if you need clarification, ask in pregame!!)

-After the body is found, everyone will go off in pairs to investigate, except the celebrity. The people will try to find the murder weapon, or figure out clues. The pairs should whisper to each other their findings—yes, you can make up clues to find, but ONLY if it makes sense. If you need to clarify whether it does, ask the celebrity.

-Celebrity, this game is up to you. It is within your imagination exactly what your house looks like! So, if someone finds a clue, they should clear it up with the celebrity to make sure it makes sense.

-Victim, cooperate with your interrogator, please.

-Ask for triggers in pregame!

-DON’T NIGHT KICK DON’T NIGHT KICK DON’T NIGHT KICK DON’T NIGHT KICK DON’T NIGHT KICK DON’T NIGHT KICK DON’T NIGHT KICK. 

-If you need to go, tell the celeb to have the interro kill you next, or lynch if it’s really urgent.

-Don’t suicide, it will break the game.

-If you need anything clarified, talk to me (rainekind) in the pregame!

Storybrooke Apocalypse

This scene wouldn’t leave me alone. In the interest of getting on with my other projects, I had to share.


There are a few things you’ll never understand until you’re a parent. My moms told me this numerous times growing up. Things like unconditional love, the superhuman, nigh-magical strength you’re imbued with when your child is in danger, and of course, my favorite, the ability to wake from a dead sleep when your offspring crouches by your bedside at an unholy hour and whispers, Daddy, wake up.

I groan, throwing back the unzippered portion of my sleeping bag as a small hand jostles my shoulder. “Emma Mackenzie Mills, there had better be a bear outside our tent or a fire in the forest.”

Not that I’m eager to add to our list of things gone wrong, but it’s the middle of the night and cold, and Mac, in the grand tradition of the women in my family, is as tenacious as she is sweet.

We’ve escaped ninety percent of the catastrophes I planned for when we organized this camping trip last month. Bears and fire are numbers two and three on that list, following grievous injury while out of cell tower range. We have less than twenty-four hours left on this trip. I’d like to keep the Big Three out of this year’s anecdotes. I’d also like a good night’s sleep.

“Dad, you have to see this.” She pushes her purple frames further up her nose and tugs on my sleeve as her flashlight beam hits me right in eyes, pulling a wince across my face. “Get up, get up.”

“Okay, I’m getting up. Give me room to breathe, Mac.”

She flounces back on her heels, scooting until she’s sitting on her own blankets, tapping her fingers on jean-clad thighs as I grope along the foot of my sleeping bag for my left sock.

“Why are you awake at…” I glance to my wristwatch, “Three in the morning?”

“Nature called and I was honor-bound to answer,” she says. The shadow of a smirk dances on her lips.

Moms would be so proud. And smug. I wish they’d had a chance to meet her. That’s the whole reason we’re out here this weekend, to remember them.

Eleven years ago, Mac’s mother, Melody, and I drove up the east coast from New York to Storybrooke for a visit and found nothing. No sign, no town, no orange line spray-painted along a now pothole-infested road. The entire city and all of the people, all of my family, had vanished as if they’d never existed.

My fingers close around the bunched sock, and I tug it over my heel, followed by my boots and jacket while Mac chews her lower lip. “Alright, what’s so important?”

“You’ll see,” she says, scampering out of the tent as I crawl behind her, yawning into my collar.

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