Silly little Pharmercy drabble because the world can never have enough flustered Angela (and I was bored in church this morning). Pre-relationship.
Angela knocked lightly on Fareeha’s door.
“Come in,” was Fareeha’s quick reply. Angela pulled the door halfway open.
“Did you want to tr—” Angela was cut off by her own choked squeak. Fareeha sat on her bunk wearing black, thin-framed glasses, a red book open on her lap. Angela was wordless—a sudden rush of affection took hold of her. The frames seemed to soften the lines of Fareeha’s face, contrasting pleasantly with her defined arms and shoulders. Angela thought about curling up in her arms and lying there for a while, maybe swapping places with the book in Fareeha’s lap.
Fareeha dropped the book on the bed, her frown equal parts concerned and confused. She pushed her glasses up on her nose. "Are you… okay?”
“Fine,” Angela said, voice an octave higher than usual. She finally tore her eyes away from Fareeha’s adorable face. “I just wanted to know if… if you wanted to train together.”
“Sure thing.” Fareeha smiled, and Angela was melting into the floor. “You can come in if you want,” she finished, and Angela realized she was still hovering in the doorway. She took a few slow steps toward Fareeha’s bed and let the door swing shut.
Fareeha started to pull off her glasses, and Angela was relieved she’d be able to act like a normal human being again, but then the little red marks the nose pieces had left on Fareeha’s bridge became visible. Endeared again, she groaned internally.
“I know the glasses are a little old-school,” Fareeha began. “I thought about getting my eyes corrected, but I only need them for reading, and they’ve never bothered me.”
“No,” Angela said quickly. Her face burned. “I mean, I agree that surgery would not be necessary in your situation.”
“I appreciate the professional opinion, Dr. Ziegler.”
Angela coughed. ‘Well. I’m not sure I’d call it that. In the sense that I’m a professional and it’s my opinion, maybe…”
Maybe he rather enjoyed listening to others than speaking. I just imagined Judicator Argo speaking how bored he was to stand in the Church like forever and Halflight listening to him quietly and it was kinda cute.
Yes, I feel sorry I did beat him with a strong bald friend…lol
Sadly one Sunday I waited and waited with flowers in my arms for the dream I’d created I waited ‘til dreams, like my heart, were all broken the flowers were all dead and the words were unspoken the grief that I knew was beyond all consoling the beat of my heart was a bell that was tolling
Saddest of Sundays
Then came a Sunday when you came to find me they bore me to church and I left you behind me my eyes could not see one I wanted to love me the earth and the flowers are forever above me the bell tolled for me and the wind whispered 'never’ but you I have loved and I bless you forever
Chapter Two: Lupus in Fabula
“When I was seven my dad killed my mum in front of me. I was shoved in a boys’ home for a few years before being sold to the Church. Five quid for a boy and a birth certificate. I did four more years with a man called Sean in the darkest little corner of the Church. I won’t bore you with that particular narrative, but the first time they locked me in a room with a demon I was 12 years old.”
Hi! I’m a a malagasy/central african girl. My dad is central african a physically typical tall black man, and my mom is malagasy. She is very light skin and has long curly hair who goes under her back. I’m almost 20 and live in France (3h from Paris) and was born and raised there. French is my first and only language. I was raised in a mostly white community and I never had POC friends before second year of high school.
Beauty standards: During my childhood, in my town (2000 inhabitants), I’m pretty sure we were the only black family. But even though most people were white, I never wanted to be one. Maybe because I’m light skin (my mother’s side). I used to think absolute beauty was to be mixed and have curly black hair. I also remember wasting time in the bathroom looking at the mirror trying to see how would I’d look if I had thinner lips (Not really proud of that).
Growing up, I started straightening my hair almost every day and was so envious of girls who had straight hair and could wake up in the morning not brushing their hair and still look good. My hair was and still is a big deal for me. On my mother’s side they mostly have straight hair so she’d always do our hair with simple hairstyles for straight haired people. We never knew exactly what to do with my hair : they weren’t too nappy nor straight enough to choose a suited hairstyle due to being mixed. And to this day she still does my hair.
Also every time I was in the same room of another black girl nobody could figure out who is who.
Culture: My parents divorced when I was little, and my mom made her best to impose her culture even before he left. So to be honest, I never felt central african. I don’t know their language nor could I recognise it. We only visit family from my mother’s side and went to Madagascar about four times for one time 10 months and the other times two months. Lucky for us, french is widely spoken there.I don’t speak malagasy. My mom said that when we were little we didn’t want to (which I think was really stupid). I only know some expression and words.
Our name sound very weird for non-malagasy. Like I have to repeat my name at least twice when I introduce myself. and I don’t even count the number of people who have mispronounced my name.
At home we use a bunch of malagasy tools, I’m glad they exist, and other african styled objects.
Food : Malagasy food is based on rice. Every meal we eat has rice, we use rice flour. I knew it was “odd” when I went to a friend house and they would just eat vegetables. Or worse : pasta and vegatbles. At home, it was vegetable+rice (and meat) and other meals were for special occasion and pasta is always spaghetti bolognese or with carbonara sauce. Also goose is for family gathering and very special occasions.
Home/Family life/Friendships: Home was my favourite place to be because there I could be who I was without being judged. Where things made sense. Like I said earlier my friend were almost all white so I never in the “black community”. Moreover, they would always lowkey make fun of my culture so depending with who I was with I would always sort of repress my culture. My best friend told that I wasn’t like the other black people (she’s upper class white) and I didn’t realise how problematic what she said was.
And my mom always says that french people are very racist so I must always on my best behaviour.
Speaking of behaviour, I’m very introverted, hate being late and pretty good at maths. My friend asked once if I did this to unfit the stereotype but I guess that’s just me?
Identity issues: I always felt french as share french pop culture references and media with most people here but of course I’ll always be seen as an foreigner in France. But at home I don’t really have any idea how do they do things. Like I discovered when I was ten that here they put their kitchen towel in sort of wood bracelet like it was normal and necessary.
And of course the fact that we have no clue of what our dad culture is. We would always sort of hide the fact we’re central african like it was shameful.
religion : We’re christians protestants. The only big difference it made was when I went to a catholic church it was always soo boring, but at the temple people were singing and debating it was way more fun. My mom had never wanted to pressure us into religion so we had the choice to be what we wanted to. But I’m still religious.
Things I’d like to see less of:
When people want to be as correct as possible so they write the most non stereotypical boring POC.
Things I’d like to see more of:
Author who focused their POC character on their personality because gender/race/sexuality isn’t one
What are your thoughts on people who still worship the Greek gods? And I mean like the ones on tumblr who are usually American, lol
Honestly I just don’t see the point? Like, it really feels like playing dress-up with someone else’s discarded religion. It’s a bit childish, really. And they really do treat it like a game, it feels very inauthentic. Like I understand that they’re bored with going to the Protestant church with grandma or whatever, but grow up. This is just a way to act special and different. Like the religion is dead. It’s over. There’s no real point in reviving it.
Not to mention, in Greece the only people who do this are like fascists who want to bring back a custom from thousands of years ago as part of their ultra-nationalist, ultra-traditionalist nonsense. Literal members of Golden Dawn were doing this shit until they figured out that they’d need to act Christian in order to get more voters. Americans refuse to be aware of that situation and its really obnoxious. So at this point, if an American is worshiping the Greek gods, they’re being corny, and if a Greek is doing it, they’re probably being a fascist.
Castiel was coming off an all-nighter (his philosophy paper was finally done, thank god…heh, pun) and was just about to pass out when some idiot, parked outside his dorm, decided that it’d be fun to blare rock music from his car.
With the way the noise was unfiltered, the person apparently had had the audacity to roll the windows down, not even attempting to shield it.