#I DID look up the hex code for Pantone Flame Scarlet to highlight my answers

[ourladyofmaplemurder]

ooh!! Cheryl of course for your unhinged character bingo please 🙏!

Explanation under the cut, as is custom. <3

Cheryl Blossom really checks all the boxes for me. Every single one.

Daddy issues. Mommy issues. Same, bro. I want her to be happy forever, but I will also torture her in fanfic because I love her and hate myself. (It's more love than self-loathing though, I promise. I just need her to fight my demons so we can both fucking heal.)

I'm putting her in a snowglobe and SHAKING IT. I am casting her in bronze and admiring her in my garden. I'm chewing on her leg.

She is the saddest, wettest cat in a cardboard box and I'M TAKING HER HOME to cherish her forever. I'm putting her in a blender and bloody is splattering everywhere.

I would take a COMET to the face for her.

When people talk shit about her (beyond reasonable criticism or outside of a funny joke) I genuinely see red. Ba dum tsssss. But also, Cheryl-haters should steer clear. I have violence in my heart about this woman.

You already KNOW I'm working on a dissertation about her to be completed later this year. It could easily be 10 hours, but I'm editing it down because I am applying for sainthood and it's my first miracle. <3

All joking aside (not really), Cheryl Blossom is one of a kind to me. She captures everything I love and hate about myself. I see so much of myself in her that I can't help but love her and I can't help but roll my eyes and laugh at her.

She's the clown in me. The woman-fucker. The firestarter. The bitch. The broken bird. The ice dancer with a plan. The witch no one believes. The madwoman and the saint. We're the mothers we never had and the fathers we flinch away from. We're unrelenting and utterly doomed. We're obsessed with ourselves in way that's deeply exhausting but utterly inevitable considering "she's just like that" and "no one listens to her". We're processing through art. We also both mellowed out over the years after a period of self-imposed isolation. We're both so tender with those we love. Neither of us know how to show it very well sometimes. We're both WAY too much.

The biggest difference is that she's high femme and I am the dyke version of Skrillex (Not intentional, but it's been said several times now). She uses fashion as her shield. I use piercings. I am both envious of her femme aesthetic and hopelessly attracted to it.

The other big difference is that she is moneyed and I grew up with nothing. Amazing how similar we are considering that. Childhood trauma really IS that powerful.

When I was in my early 20's, I suffered a drug-induced psychotic break where I genuinely believed I was a prophet sent from God to save the world. (I recovered and have since learned that maybe my proclivity for madness, drama, and drugs should no longer mix.) But god damn it, I understood exactly when she suggested that even though she probably wasn't a living saint, wouldn't that be miraculous?

When I was a kid, my "proverbial" twin died suddenly and I have carried the weight of his death ever since. We live two lives. Our own and the expected one of the dead other. Twice the pressure and, shockingly, twice the disappointment, but never twice the love. (Not a literal twin, but one of a pair.)

If she were real, we would fuck each other to death and leave nothing but a pile of ash.

#Sorry this is so so long #I have a lot of feelings about this messy queen #OH AND YES #I DID look up the hex code for Pantone Flame Scarlet to highlight my answers #I've edited this like 4 times with additions