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Thistlegreen Manor App
Apr. 27th, 2018 05:52 pmPLAYER INFO:
Name: Amanda
Age: 35
Current Characters: Audrey Parker
Reserved: MM/Snow's Reserve
CHARACTER INFO:
NAME: Mary Margaret Blanchard / Snow White
CANON: Once Upon A Time
CANON POINT: Season One
AGE: 55ish (but more like 27)
HISTORY:
Once Upon a Time Wiki: Mary Margaret Blanchard / Snow White
Name: Amanda
Age: 35
Current Characters: Audrey Parker
Reserved: MM/Snow's Reserve
CHARACTER INFO:
NAME: Mary Margaret Blanchard / Snow White
CANON: Once Upon A Time
CANON POINT: Season One
AGE: 55ish (but more like 27)
HISTORY:
Once Upon a Time Wiki: Mary Margaret Blanchard / Snow White
Long Ago & Far Away (Or Snow's Index)
Apr. 20th, 2015 11:57 amImportant: Snow's visits to Milliways are in no way linear, but these are listed in the linear order of her own life.
Childhood Years
Timelines
Snow White | Mary Margaret
Childhood Years
CWDP 2012 (Mother) -- Done/PostedLiving in the Forest
Snow Introduces Red to MW -- Done/PostedMarriage Period Related
An Idea & Name Reveal -- In Progress
Shortly Before; Charming & Snow -- Done/Posted
Timelines
Snow White | Mary Margaret
1.05 (that still small voice)
Emma brings MM to Milliways -- Done/Posted1.06 (the shepherd)
Milliways Door Magic-- Done/Posted
During 1.05 -- Done/Posted
MM & Dr. Hopper -- Done/Posted
MM & David During Party -- Done/PostedBetween Space - 1 day
MM & Emma, Whiskey -- Done/Posted
MM & Michael in Milliways -- Done/Posted
MM & David at the school -- Done/Posted
MM & Emma at the station -- Done/Posted
EP -- ready for her date -- Done/Posted
MM & David at the bridge -- Done/Posted
OOM/MM, Ruby & Dr. Whale -- Done/Posted
Emma & MM dual-posted overlapping ooms -- One & Two1.07 (the heart is a lonely hunter)
Mid-day Updates -- Done/Posted
Emma & MM in Flowers of Guilt or Honesty
MM & Graham (???)
(The first Granny's coffee occurrence?)
Timelines
Snow White | Mary Margaret
Conversations with Dead People, Tale One
Oct. 31st, 2012 06:05 pmI am your mother
And I'm so glad you're here
You have a father
Who loves you, oh so dear
She knows this song. She has known it as long as she has known breath and life. It is her own, and it is her mothers. Same as the voice which sings it softly, is her mother's voice. Warmly soft and always peaceful, setting off a spangled set of bright fireworks in her muzzy head and her quiet heart.
There is nothing like these words, nothing like this voice, nothing like the absolutely ordinary nights that are filled with them. Not of the balls, or plays, or dinners, or the palaces. This is her very most favorite.
We call you baby
'Cause we don't know how to say
That you are love
That's come to live
At our house today
She could no more forget these words were written on the very fabric of her heart than she could forget the stars she courtesies goodnight to as her father laughs his deep belly chuckle of merry amusement before catching her up in his arms, and tucking her into her new big girl bed of the heaviest blankets and fhc thinnest sheets, of which she must learn to care for.
They are the sun and the moon of her sky, they dictate her walk through this great Enchanted Forest. There is no darkness in the sky, in her way, when she hears these words, like every holy candle they brighten her heart, and surround her in down. She knows them as well as she know - oh, yes - the fingers that start at her temple, brushing down the shell of her ear and her back, following her curls.
La, la, loo
La, la, loo
Oh my little star sweeper
I'll sweep the stardust for you
Of course. She isn't in her bed. She must have fallen asleep. She's here, laying with her head in her mother's lap. Like always. Sleep filling up her eyes the way the great waters and proud trees fill the horizon. The safest place in all the realms. Where no ogre or wolf would dare find her. Where if she is asleep, she will be rolled up, like a small snowy mouse and taken to her swaying bed. But if she can blink and be awake, she might yet get sung to all over again. Her mother smiling, and tapping her nose, before stroking her hair through it all over again.
“Are you sleeping, Snow?” The voice broke in, echoing, soft as a birds' wing.
La, la, loo,
La, la, loo
Little soft, fluffy sleeper
Here comes a pink cloud for you
Snow rubbed her cheek on her mother's skirt, warm and silken under her skin. Trying to rouse her eyelids, but they felt like they had grown heavier than even the kitchen doors and the brick walls combined.
She mumbled, one hand moving from the skirt to rub at her eyes. "'M not sleepy. Just once more, please?"
“You must listen close, for our time is short, little one.” Her Mother continued, soft and even. With only that smallest edge of pressure. Like when she left her shoes in the grand hall. Or the guests had stayed too long. “There is much coming for you, and you must be strong.”
La, la, loo
La, la, loo
Little wandering angel
Fold up your wings
Close your eyes
"I can be brave," Snow said through a yawn, her fingers tightening against her Mother's knee. Like the heroes in all the stories they read her, and in all the stories that traveled to her.
“I know you can.” There was a soft laugh as the fingers continued to card her curls so very delicately. “But you must carry so much more with you than that. Trust, and Friendship, to light the darkest of places. Duty and Honor, when they might be forgotten. Honesty and Forgiveness, when it might be most needed and least expected."
“And always, always, Snow.” The fingers moved from her curls to stroke her cheek, so very slowly, as though to make it last. “You will always have the two things that nothing can ever truly take from you, or be stood against: Hope and Love.”
La, la, loo
La, la, loo
And may love be your keeper
"I love you, Mother," Snow said, fiercely, even as it was a whisper into a winter's gale. Struggling, but unable to open her eyes, as though she was falling. Slowly, further and further away. Like the fireflies of evening, and the stars that slept at the call of dawn. Something was changing, and she could not wake herself to change it.
Felt it settling deep in her stomach. Deep and known. Like a promise, a spell, a choice, that could not be undone. That could not be unwished even when wished every night for as long as eyes could stay open on the second star to the right, as far until sleep might claim you.
But it didn't trouble her Mother, at all. No, it didn't seem it. She could feel the gentle brush of her mother lips so close to her ears, the breath on her skin, the warmth that came with her voice. With her rich, deep, true, “Do not fret, my little star keeper. You will always be loved. So very dearly and deeply loved.”
And I'm so glad you're here
You have a father
Who loves you, oh so dear
She knows this song. She has known it as long as she has known breath and life. It is her own, and it is her mothers. Same as the voice which sings it softly, is her mother's voice. Warmly soft and always peaceful, setting off a spangled set of bright fireworks in her muzzy head and her quiet heart.
There is nothing like these words, nothing like this voice, nothing like the absolutely ordinary nights that are filled with them. Not of the balls, or plays, or dinners, or the palaces. This is her very most favorite.
'Cause we don't know how to say
That you are love
That's come to live
At our house today
She could no more forget these words were written on the very fabric of her heart than she could forget the stars she courtesies goodnight to as her father laughs his deep belly chuckle of merry amusement before catching her up in his arms, and tucking her into her new big girl bed of the heaviest blankets and fhc thinnest sheets, of which she must learn to care for.
They are the sun and the moon of her sky, they dictate her walk through this great Enchanted Forest. There is no darkness in the sky, in her way, when she hears these words, like every holy candle they brighten her heart, and surround her in down. She knows them as well as she know - oh, yes - the fingers that start at her temple, brushing down the shell of her ear and her back, following her curls.
La, la, loo
Oh my little star sweeper
I'll sweep the stardust for you
Of course. She isn't in her bed. She must have fallen asleep. She's here, laying with her head in her mother's lap. Like always. Sleep filling up her eyes the way the great waters and proud trees fill the horizon. The safest place in all the realms. Where no ogre or wolf would dare find her. Where if she is asleep, she will be rolled up, like a small snowy mouse and taken to her swaying bed. But if she can blink and be awake, she might yet get sung to all over again. Her mother smiling, and tapping her nose, before stroking her hair through it all over again.
“Are you sleeping, Snow?” The voice broke in, echoing, soft as a birds' wing.
La, la, loo
Little soft, fluffy sleeper
Here comes a pink cloud for you
Snow rubbed her cheek on her mother's skirt, warm and silken under her skin. Trying to rouse her eyelids, but they felt like they had grown heavier than even the kitchen doors and the brick walls combined.
She mumbled, one hand moving from the skirt to rub at her eyes. "'M not sleepy. Just once more, please?"
“You must listen close, for our time is short, little one.” Her Mother continued, soft and even. With only that smallest edge of pressure. Like when she left her shoes in the grand hall. Or the guests had stayed too long. “There is much coming for you, and you must be strong.”
La, la, loo
Little wandering angel
Fold up your wings
Close your eyes
"I can be brave," Snow said through a yawn, her fingers tightening against her Mother's knee. Like the heroes in all the stories they read her, and in all the stories that traveled to her.
“I know you can.” There was a soft laugh as the fingers continued to card her curls so very delicately. “But you must carry so much more with you than that. Trust, and Friendship, to light the darkest of places. Duty and Honor, when they might be forgotten. Honesty and Forgiveness, when it might be most needed and least expected."
“And always, always, Snow.” The fingers moved from her curls to stroke her cheek, so very slowly, as though to make it last. “You will always have the two things that nothing can ever truly take from you, or be stood against: Hope and Love.”
La, la, loo
And may love be your keeper
"I love you, Mother," Snow said, fiercely, even as it was a whisper into a winter's gale. Struggling, but unable to open her eyes, as though she was falling. Slowly, further and further away. Like the fireflies of evening, and the stars that slept at the call of dawn. Something was changing, and she could not wake herself to change it.
Felt it settling deep in her stomach. Deep and known. Like a promise, a spell, a choice, that could not be undone. That could not be unwished even when wished every night for as long as eyes could stay open on the second star to the right, as far until sleep might claim you.
But it didn't trouble her Mother, at all. No, it didn't seem it. She could feel the gentle brush of her mother lips so close to her ears, the breath on her skin, the warmth that came with her voice. With her rich, deep, true, “Do not fret, my little star keeper. You will always be loved. So very dearly and deeply loved.”
La, la, loo
La, la, loo
La, la, loo
1.06, The Shepherd
May. 20th, 2012 09:05 pmShe was waiting. She could hardly hold still.
The whole world seemed full of colors she'd never seen before.
She could hardly remember ever feeling this happy, this free, before.
Even that he's, Mary Margaret checked her watch again, twenty-two minutes late can't touch it.
The whole world seemed full of colors she'd never seen before.
She could hardly remember ever feeling this happy, this free, before.
Even that he's, Mary Margaret checked her watch again, twenty-two minutes late can't touch it.
Her alarm went off, and she groped on the bed table for it, squinting to spot the red electronic numbers and sighed with relief with the jarring sound silenced. Her head felt like she rolled something over it, or through it, and as she curled up to her pillow the sleepy confusion about that fled too quickly.
She remembered.
( Read more... )
She remembered.
( Read more... )1.06, The Shepherd
May. 20th, 2012 06:49 pm"Rough day?"
Dr. Whale's voice invaded her careful study of the Peridot ring on her finger. Not that she was actually looking at it. She rarely did. She was looking at it and turning it, because it helped her feel less like she was going to break into pieces that couldn't hold steady on the bar stool.
She'd been such a fool. To hope. To believe. That David, of all people.
And then to have him show up here, while she was like this?
( Read more... )
Dr. Whale's voice invaded her careful study of the Peridot ring on her finger. Not that she was actually looking at it. She rarely did. She was looking at it and turning it, because it helped her feel less like she was going to break into pieces that couldn't hold steady on the bar stool.
She'd been such a fool. To hope. To believe. That David, of all people.
And then to have him show up here, while she was like this?
( Read more... )1.06, The Shepherd
May. 20th, 2012 06:23 pmShe has to walk away before she falls apart in front of him, too.
(That's okay, she told David. It's everything but.)
( Read more... )
(That's okay, she told David. It's everything but.)
( Read more... )1.06, The Shepherd
Apr. 19th, 2012 12:24 amHer last hour had been entirely too confusing.
First Dr. Whale assuming that she'd resigned from the hospital due to their atrocious date and his lack of reaching out after. Then Mayor Mills threatening and then outright stating that she'd single handedly wrecked Kathryn Nolan's marriage. Only to end up in Milliways, by way of the school, with the greater conundrum of Michael, and whatever newest even more awkward event that had happened between him and Emma.
Leaving her with a clue further to her roommate who had been avoiding The Door and the whole topic, one red jacket and a very stuffed envelope. The last of which, unmarked, she kept turning over in hand. She'd even picked up the letter opener from her desk. But she was staring at both without the ability to move her hands closer together. She wanted to know, but Emma wasn't someone to get to through force.
A point she was beginning to note Michael had yet to see, and hoped he might before causing a third even greater space between them. Even if Emma wasn't and hadn't confided the happenstance of the second. Maybe that was part of not forcing someone to do anything. It was letting them have the space to not choose you and not choose to talk, too. To let them set their own boundaries, their own pace, their own comforts.
Conflicted, Mary Margaret set down the thick closed envelope and picked up a piece of her own mail, slicing through the top of it with a fast flick of her wrist, using a small golden sword letter opener, and taking some frustrated relish in the sound of the slicing paper that rent the silence of her classroom.
First Dr. Whale assuming that she'd resigned from the hospital due to their atrocious date and his lack of reaching out after. Then Mayor Mills threatening and then outright stating that she'd single handedly wrecked Kathryn Nolan's marriage. Only to end up in Milliways, by way of the school, with the greater conundrum of Michael, and whatever newest even more awkward event that had happened between him and Emma.
Leaving her with a clue further to her roommate who had been avoiding The Door and the whole topic, one red jacket and a very stuffed envelope. The last of which, unmarked, she kept turning over in hand. She'd even picked up the letter opener from her desk. But she was staring at both without the ability to move her hands closer together. She wanted to know, but Emma wasn't someone to get to through force.
A point she was beginning to note Michael had yet to see, and hoped he might before causing a third even greater space between them. Even if Emma wasn't and hadn't confided the happenstance of the second. Maybe that was part of not forcing someone to do anything. It was letting them have the space to not choose you and not choose to talk, too. To let them set their own boundaries, their own pace, their own comforts.
Conflicted, Mary Margaret set down the thick closed envelope and picked up a piece of her own mail, slicing through the top of it with a fast flick of her wrist, using a small golden sword letter opener, and taking some frustrated relish in the sound of the slicing paper that rent the silence of her classroom.
(no subject)
Apr. 18th, 2012 04:53 pm"-I don't think it's unreasonable," Snow White said, edging through the doorway, eyes only on the man behind her at first.
She'd only turned her head to catch the first flash of noise and movement in a room that was not The Conservatory, when her posture shifted quick as lightning. The straighten of her back, the broaden of her shoulders, the way even her the hold of her fingers might make a weapon of the object in her hand (a delicate pearlescent comb, the most recent of congratulatory gifts she felt compelled to use).
Realization and recognition of Milliways struck the next second, with a soft, "Oh," before she had turned her attention back to him. Surprised seriousness clearing as completely as a cloud having passed across the path of the sun.
Her eyebrows raised, standing in the doorway, almost leaning against the door, with a playfully teasing smile having taken back her mouth. "I've already agreed to let the fairies do something to my hair that makes it look like a bedecked pastry, I should be allowed to pass on the train."
"I'm sure you'll be beautiful," the man beside her said, his gaze fond and unwavering as his fingertips lightly brushed against the underside of her arm, cradling her elbow as they lingered in the doorway. He drew her close against him, pressing a kiss to her hairline.
"Pastry or otherwise." Prince Charming's smile remained long after he pulled back to gaze at his bride-to-be.
Snow's head ducked, first, and then cocked to one side. As if to point out compliments and kisses did not get you anywhere with this discussion, but her eyes had lightened, as her cheeks pinked, and her smile had become far more fair. "You're only saying that because no one has tried to make you wear an intricately beaded, ten foot, train yet."
Tiny Tags: Snow White & Prince Charming
[Also, an important Disclaimer]
She'd only turned her head to catch the first flash of noise and movement in a room that was not The Conservatory, when her posture shifted quick as lightning. The straighten of her back, the broaden of her shoulders, the way even her the hold of her fingers might make a weapon of the object in her hand (a delicate pearlescent comb, the most recent of congratulatory gifts she felt compelled to use).
Realization and recognition of Milliways struck the next second, with a soft, "Oh," before she had turned her attention back to him. Surprised seriousness clearing as completely as a cloud having passed across the path of the sun.
Her eyebrows raised, standing in the doorway, almost leaning against the door, with a playfully teasing smile having taken back her mouth. "I've already agreed to let the fairies do something to my hair that makes it look like a bedecked pastry, I should be allowed to pass on the train."
"I'm sure you'll be beautiful," the man beside her said, his gaze fond and unwavering as his fingertips lightly brushed against the underside of her arm, cradling her elbow as they lingered in the doorway. He drew her close against him, pressing a kiss to her hairline.
"Pastry or otherwise." Prince Charming's smile remained long after he pulled back to gaze at his bride-to-be.
Snow's head ducked, first, and then cocked to one side. As if to point out compliments and kisses did not get you anywhere with this discussion, but her eyes had lightened, as her cheeks pinked, and her smile had become far more fair. "You're only saying that because no one has tried to make you wear an intricately beaded, ten foot, train yet."
Two pups, Two muns, Have fun!
Tiny Tags: Snow White & Prince Charming
[Also, an important Disclaimer]
Ye Ol' Disclaimer
Apr. 18th, 2012 04:35 pmAs you'll have noticed, Snow White & Princes Charming are not at all surprised by the sudden appearance of an other-worldly bar appearing where some part of their soon to be shared castle should be. While their Storybrooke counterparts Mary Margaret Blanchard and David Nolan, who arrived in episode 1.05 (That Still Small Voice) and 1.06 (The Shepherd), will continue to move forward only in chronological order, this will not hold true for their Fairy Tale Land counterparts.
( Or at least for Snow White. )
( Or at least for Snow White. )(no subject)
Mar. 30th, 2012 12:51 amIt's easy enough to type the letter. The internet is full of form letters for this sort of thing.
What is not as easy is sitting there, finding the strength to press print.
If you asked people in Storybrooke to list Mary Margaret's characteristics, it would not be in the top ten. It might not even be in the top thirty. Quiet and unassuming, in the background. Easy to fluster, but quick to lend her support to most causes. They would not list the woman now, before a computer screen, unable to sit straight.
Who has to nearly close her eyes and clench her jaw to push a button on the small plastic mouse, that her hand curled over, barely touching, as if to do so any more than she already is might burn her.
It will be tomorrow before anyone can ask the question.
Her extra hours bled into the grave yard shift. There's no one here to ask her what she's doing. No one here to convince her she's strong enough. To not push the button. To not be who she almost was for five or ten seconds this evening.
And when they do, if they do, she'll tell them, It was time. That she wants to dedicate herself to some new endeavor. Something. She'll figure that out between now and standing to walk toward the printer that is now spooling ink as it prints and the sunlight that will make her wake up tomorrow morning.
STORYBROOKE
GENERAL HOSPITAL
Attn Administration;
Re: Letter of resignation
Please accept this letter as my official notice of resignation.
I have enjoyed my experience here at Storybrooke General Hospital.
She will not say
David Nolan; once John Doe; blue eyes; dirty blonde hair
David Nolan; coma patient longer than she can remember
David Nolan; husband of Kathryn Nolan this whole time
David Nolan; who lied about having any memories
David Nolan; once John Doe; blue eyes; dirty blonde hair
David Nolan; whom Henry calls Her Prince Charming
David Nolan; woke up because she read him a story
David Nolan; who she had to save more than
David Nolan; once John Doe; blue eyes; dirty blonde hair
Who told her she was the only real thing in the world
Who almost had her agreeing to the very same thing
anything else.
Emma & Mary Margaret's Magical Words OOM
Mar. 21st, 2012 05:38 pmMary Margaret's never been so glad to see her door. Yesterday, maybe, but not as much as this second. Because that time was a day behind her now. It had been one foot and then the other, and just turning the steering wheel. Taking the stairs. Not stopping to pick anything up, because she bought groceries not too long ago.
So that she can close the door behind her. Put the whole morning somewhere that isn't the entire space inside her chest that it keeps refusing to leave. Then, remember with some awkward surprise (and was that something like relief, too?) that she isn't alone here, when there's a blonde woman on her couch.
Even when she isn't sure she doesn't just want to be alone, Mary Margaret managed to find somehow a teasing tone for her voice. "Is this how my tax dollars are put to work? I thought it must be far more illustriously spent."
So that she can close the door behind her. Put the whole morning somewhere that isn't the entire space inside her chest that it keeps refusing to leave. Then, remember with some awkward surprise (and was that something like relief, too?) that she isn't alone here, when there's a blonde woman on her couch.
Even when she isn't sure she doesn't just want to be alone, Mary Margaret managed to find somehow a teasing tone for her voice. "Is this how my tax dollars are put to work? I thought it must be far more illustriously spent."
