#I’m picturing a funeral —- don’t know whose yet | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

anemic-comedienne · 2 years

Text

If you give a mouse an almond croissant

I have been home for a little over a week now, and all I’ve done is attend a funeral, get two jobs, and quit one. Both the job search and the funeral (whose attendees included many, many Starbucks employees) are making me miss my barista era, and so I thought I’d write a little about the people I’ve been missing the most – a little sendoff, if you will – starting with some of my regulars.

Jay, venti no water cold brew with caramel syrup and a venti vanilla creme. Jay is the manager at Acme and on weekends sometimes we would visit each other right in a row, him coming to Starbucks early in the morning and me finding him in the cereal aisle restocking my favorite oatmeal when I stopped by the grocery store after my shift. When I broke my wrist, he started calling me Lefty and signed my cast. Losing his sharpied signature was one of the main reasons I felt a pang of disappointment when the nurse threw out my Ladybird cast before I had the chance to take a picture.

Michael, venti latte. Michael called me Mighty Quinn, like the song. He always asked about my dad, even though my dad lives halfway across the country and they’ve never met, nor will they ever meet. One day, Michael told me he and his wife were trying to decide whether they should move to Canada or Mexico, and then I never saw him again. So I guess they moved to either Canada or Mexico. And I guess I’ll never know which.

Carla, grande nonfat latte. One day, Carla came in without her little hat because she “wanted to see if I would recognize her” (I did not!) Carla is the reason I’m looking for a physical therapist now. When I told her the story behind my hot pink cast, she told me that she had gotten into skiing late in life, but that she had also broken her wrist skiing, and wished she had gotten a physical therapist sooner, because now it always ached a little bit. Every time she saw me, she asked if I had a physical therapist yet. After the third time I told her no, not yet, I’m waiting to go home before I do so that the insurance is less complicated, she pulled me out from behind the bar and told me, very earnestly, that she was insisting because she worries about me. It was genuinely very sweet and honestly I did tear up thinking about it later because it makes my heart ache a little (in a good way) that people who barely know me can think of me so tenderly and dearly! I love Carla. And I know that she would be very disappointed to hear that I still don’t have a physical therapist.

Claire, venti nonfat latte with vanilla syrup. Claire was a bitch the first time she came in and I was so nice to her that she completely changed her tune. It was my greatest success as a barista. She could have been 30 as easily as she could have been 50, and she had a wry little smile I felt so proud to coax out. I made a point to memorize her order, and it worked – she knew me by name, she said hello to me wherever I was in the store, and she always stopped to ask how I was. Every time she did, it felt like a little badge of honor to know that at some point, I had taken her by surprise.

Mark, grande half caf and egg bites toasted twice. Mark always wore a suit and tie and very round glasses. He was the first regular to announce himself as such when I started working there, and the first customer to ask for my name. When old men call me sweetheart, especially while I’m working, it makes my skin crawl, but when Mark called me sweetheart, it made me go aww, Mark. This is how I know that Mark is gay. Mark loves his wife more than anything. But Mark is also gay. These two truths exist wholly, fully, and without compromise. I’m absolutely sure of it.

Alex, turkey bacon sandwich. Alex wore paisley maxi dresses year-round. I always thought it was fun that Alex never got a drink. Who comes to Starbucks exclusively for the food? Alex, I guess.

Shana, tall blonde roast with hazelnut syrup and vanilla sweet cream cold foam. Oh, Shana. Her order was so fucking annoying and I put up with it, without complaint, because that’s just how much I love her. So many adorable little Shana stories, stories I’ve told a million times each because I love my adorable little Shana stories. Like when she told me I was an inspiration to her “as a woman,” or when she got me out of pushing a very heavy warmer down the block on May Day (”you look out for me, so I look out for you,” she said with glittery eyes.) Like Carla, thinking of Shana makes me a little emotional. They embody a certain type of kindness that is extended without knowing someone deeply, but at the same time is extended because you do know them deeply, but in a weird little way that is impossible to explain to anyone who doesn’t work with you, or who doesn’t frequent a particular Starbucks. There’s a little love language between coworkers, between baristas and regulars, between people who only know each other at dawn, or on the hot line, or in passing. People are so sweet, so kind. Sometimes, the world is gentle.

Sarah once explained coworker relationships as knowing every detail about someone’s life without knowing any of the context. So the next few bullet points are for the people who told me about their details (and who let me ramble on about my own.)

Symira, triple blonde ristretto shot over ice with oat milk and hazelnut syrup. Symira famously welcomed herself back onto the floor after her ten because our manager, who always said welcome back after our breaks, wasn’t working that day. Symira talked to every customer like they were her best friend, by which I mean that she talked to everyone quietly, brightly. She knew they were listening to her, and she knew that they knew she was listening to them.

Danielle, who I never saw get her drink because she always got off later than I did and she always marked her stuff out at the end of her shift. Danielle started a couple months after me and at first I didn’t like her, because I was very jealous of her. She came in so confident and learned everything so fast and I wished I’d been able to come in that strong. Instead, I was nervous much longer than she was. Danielle and Soo and I opened together on Fridays and Saturdays, and so Danielle and I always waited together when Soo overslept. One particularly cold Friday morning, Danielle invited me to wait in her car, and we talked about what we were other than baristas (an actor and a writer, respectively.) We bonded not over making art, exactly, but over the fact that making art means making and making and never having anything to show for it. Never having anything to say when people ask what you’ve been in, or what you’ve written. And we bonded over loving it anyways – loving it more than anyone who doesn’t make art will ever love whatever it is they do, maybe because they’ll have something to show for it, whatever that it may be.

Lydia, I literally don’t know, because she, like me, insisted on making her own drink. Amelia called Lydia her work mom, which was apt – her long braid and tiny-framed glasses were endearingly motherly. Lydia woke up very early, which I say because I feel absolutely certain that Lydia would have woken up very early even if she hadn’t worked 4:30am opening shifts.

Jeff, tall iced latte with oat milk (he’d switch up the syrup.) Whenever Jeff handed me my tips, he did a little dance, and I would do a little dance too and our little dances went together. One time I came in to get a latte when I wasn’t working, and Jeff had me do a coffee tasting while I was in line. We didn’t usually work together, but every time we did, he’d say “it was so good to see you!” while I was clocking out. Sometimes it’s just so nice to have fun talking to someone and not know them at all.

Zoey, impossible sandwich without cheese. I’m pretty sure Zoey didn’t like me at all, which is fair, because when I first started Zoey was the one I bothered with every question I had. But Zoey and I also laughed together a lot – over playing Jingle Bells on the steamer wand, and how much we hated making almond milk cappuccinos. She had studied astronomy in school, and told me about black holes and faraway galaxies when I asked about them. She had dyed hair and beautiful tattoos and extremely cool eyeliner, which customers were always complimenting. “I always want to do cool makeup like that, but it’s like, I’m just going to work my boring job,” a customer said once. “Honestly, that’s kind of why I do it,” Zoey responded, and I knew like I knew like I knew that person was going to put on eyeliner the next morning.

Soo, tall americano and a chicken bacon panini. I love Soo so much. Soo and her infinite car problems, who was indefinitely suing Hyundai, who let me pour out my drink and remake it as many times as I wanted, who was so excited for me when I found out I was going to Italy. I loved that Soo overslept and always turned off delivery orders. She used tongs to pull boxes off too-high shelves and told me stories about how she and a coworker who had been there before my time once put a banana in the oven, just to see what would happen. She didn’t like the taste of oat milk and rolled her eyes when I tried to make oat whipped cream, but she let me keep trying anyways. She was the one who checked in on me the first time a customer really yelled at me. Soo is one of the only people I know for sure will be there when I get back to Bryn Mawr, and seeing her again is one of the few genuine reasons I have to be excited about my eventual return.

Amelia, double shot over ice (make that an iced brown sugar oat milk shaken espresso when she came in on days she wasn’t working.) Amelia was my first friend at Starbucks. Whenever I saw her I’d say “how are you?” and she’d say “well, I’m here,” and I’d say “so it goes.” And then she’d say “how are you?” and we’d rinse and repeat. It was a bit but it was also true. One day in the fall, someone left a tree branch at a table, and Amelia and I were the ones who grew emotionally attached. “Don’t forget your stick! I know it’s really important to you!” we kept telling each other. Finally, Jeff decided it was his duty as supervisor to remove the stick. We whined, we moped, we feigned devastation – and we crowed triumphantly when a couple of frat guys and their frappuccinos took up residence at the stick table (still boasting the stick.) “The customers love it!” we told Jeff. On my last day, the Friday before I left campus, goodbyes came to be that were sweet in a way things can only be sweet when you don’t really have anything to lose. One of these goodbyes was with Amelia. “Who said you could leave?” she said, pulling a pair of egg bites out of the oven. “You don’t have to go home for the summer, I’ll keep you in my basement.” I didn’t have anything to say back – she was always funnier than me, cleverer. I don’t know much about her, other than that she was on a gap year this past year, and so she most likely won’t be there when I get back. But we were a part of each others’ routines, a nice part. I’ll miss her, and it feels good to know that she’ll miss me in exactly the same way.

And last but certainly not least: the titular mouse, almond croissant (make that a cheese danish if we were out of almond croissants, as we often were.) The Starbucks mouse was the sweetest mouse I ever knew. Everyone who knows me knows the story of the Starbucks mouse, and everyone who reads my tumblr surely knows me, but I’ll repeat it just the same. He was so polite – free reign of the pastry case every night, and he’d only ever help himself to one treat. Every day, I’d find the singular almond croissant with a torn package, with a nibble in its corner, and I’d throw it out. When we didn’t have almond croissants, I’d find the open cheese danish, but it was absolutely a matter of preference – there was never, never a day that a cheese danish was eaten if an almond croissant was available. And the little nibbles were the only trace he left behind. I appreciated that he stayed out of sight, out of mind. In fact, I only ever saw him once, during my last week, when he scurried across the floor while we were opening. Which, I can’t lie, did make it a little easier to leave.

And that’s it. Goodbye, Starbucks. I’ll be back in January, or else I won’t. Some of my favorite characters will still be there, or else they won’t. The world keeps on turning, and I keep waking up at 4am because my sleep schedule has been permanently altered. It’s funny. I really earnestly loved my little coffee shop job. It was one of the few consistently bright spots of my sophomore slump. I miss seeing bunnies everyday on my walk to work and I miss eating breakfast in Darpan’s room. The mundane sweetness of having a routine is something that feels so good, maybe even better because it isn’t particularly good, and so it feels stable. And when the seasons change, and your routine is gone, you don’t hurt so much as you ache, dully, in a way that’s forgettable until you go searching for what’s gone and you find the places where all these little moments used to be every day. I don’t know. I think my point is, as it always is, that I love when things feel stingingly human. And this did, and it does, and so I’ll miss it.

6 notes · View notes

nostalgiaispeace · 8 months

Text

2349.

[joybucket @ bzoink] What does the shirt you are wearing look like? It's a harry potter shirt. What was the last thing that stressed you out or upset you? my daughter wouldn't stop throwing a fit.

How do you stay positive with all that life throws at you? I don’t lol What quality do you admire most in other people? courage What is the highest level of physical pain you have ever been in? rate 1-10 a 10 …same question, but with emotional pain? a 10 What is your most prized possession? my stuffed frog Which youtuber do you feel like you could be friends with easily? idk Do you like your natural hair color? i don't have any feelings about it Do you think you will dye your hair when you start going gray? I'm not sure. Are you pale right now, or do you have a tan? I’m tan Do you think you look best with a tan? sure What is your favorite app on your phone? i don't really have one

How old were you when you got your first smartphone? 23.i think Do you ever meditate on Scripture? no Are you living a life you want to escape from? or do you love your life? some of it When was the last time you felt that life was good? idk Do you have one big mistake that you’ve made that you want to fix? oh god so many Do you wish people would forgive you for your past so you could move on? yeah Do you wear green on St. Patrick’s day? If i remember Are you Irish at all? mostly Do you pray to God every day? No What are three things you are currently looking forward to doing soon? having a break from school Do you ever dance in the rain? No. Have you ever sat on a rooftop? yeah Who is that last good musician or band you discovered? cannons Do you like to watch talent shows like America’s Got Talent and X Factor? no Have you ever tried avocado toast? i think si Name three items on your wish list right now. books Are you more talented musically or artistically or neither? musically Are you better at English or math? English. What were your best subjects in school? English. What was your favorite subject in school? theatre Have you ever visited a teacher at their home? no How many windows are in your bedroom? one Who was your first roommate? my husband Who was your first best friend (besides a sibling)? brandon Do you have a sibling who looks like you? yeah Name three women you know who have lost a child. i won't name names Whose was the last funeral you attended or watched? my grandma :/ What types of cancer are in your family, if any? I don't know Do you have big dreams for your future? yes Do you feel alone? sometimes What is this month’s calendar picture? marilyn What is the theme of your wall calendar for this year? marilyn monroe Have you ever seen a double rainbow? Yes. How old will you be on your next birthday? 33 Which nationalities have you been told you look like? (i.e., Asian, Irish) asian Have you ever had an outstanding library fine? no What book are you currently reading? the night swim Are you poor/broke right now? no Do you hate social classes? yes Have you ever received any scary, threatening messages on social media? yes Who was your first kiss? darcy Do you feel you have found your soulmate yet? yes Are you single or in a relationship? married If you’re single, do you want to be, or do you wish you weren’t? - Ever collected shells at the beach? Yeah. Would you rather paint or carve a pumpkin? paint Who are three of your favorite youtubers to watch? I have so many favorites. What year did you graduate high school? 2009 What do you miss about high school? being young What do you miss about college? Im in college rn What color was your first car? grey Do you have a car now? yes What color was the house you grew up in? i grew up in several houses Growing up, what floor was your bedroom on? 1st What is your birth order in the family? i'm the oldest What would your name be if you were the opposite gender? michael

What were you almost named? amber Does your bedroom have carpet? Yes. Best camping experience? girl scouts What are the top three travel destinations on your bucket list? london, paris, ireland Do you get heartburn? yeah. What are three things you are known for in your town? i'm not sure What are three things you are known for on social media? nothing What is your Instagram account name? nostalgiaispeace Have you ever used Snapchat? Yeah Did you want to be famous when you were younger? i did What show did you most want to be on as a kid? Lizzie mcguire First celebrity you were obsessed with? emma watson

First celebrity crush? leonardo dicaprio What was your first favorite stuffed animal? my frog What was something unique about you as a kid? I don't know Were you ever goth/emo? still am Do you want any more piercings? no How many tattoos do you have? 9 Do you want more tattoos? Im getting one soon If you had to get a tattoo, what would you get? I'm getting a pomegranate with a snake Do you mostly write in cursive or print? a mix

Were you ever homeschooled? for part of 10th grade Describe your dream wedding in five words. I dont have one

Pick three animals that you think resemble you, and why? noen Are you unique? arent we all? Do you get called a free spirit? No. What day of the week were you born on? a monday How are you feeling right now? sick

#survey #me

1 note · View note

pressmmorg · 2 years

Text

Just the two of us song lyrics bill wither

#JUST THE TWO OF US SONG LYRICS BILL WITHER HOW TO#

#JUST THE TWO OF US SONG LYRICS BILL WITHER MOVIE#

#JUST THE TWO OF US SONG LYRICS BILL WITHER DRIVER#

The phrase “lean on me,” which he attributed to his West Virginia upbringing, popped into his head and he simply spun out the lyrics from there. It’s a song that Withers says he divined from playing around on a Wurlitzer electric piano. Through it all, Withers is there offering a shoulder to lean on and asking for one in return. E.L.īill Withers’ piano line in “Lean on Me” ascends and descends, resembling hills and valleys - times of hardship and times of grace. A lesser singer would end the track here, but Withers rips into one final verse. The key moment takes place around 2:32, when Withers stretches the word “gone” into something shivering and nearly unbearable. The lyrics are brutally straightforward: “I can’t believe that she don’t want to see me/We lived and loved with each other so long/I never thought that she really would leave me/But she’s gone.” He sings just four sets of four lines, which is probably for the best - how much more could we take? The sparse backdrop brings extra attention to the texture and control in his remarkable voice. The song consists of little more than Withers’ disconsolate wails and a simple motif on guitar sustained organ lines add a funereal air. “Ain’t No Sunshine” gets all the credit as a tragic high point in Withers’ catalog, but “Hope She’ll Be Happier” is really his most bereft moment. “If I get to heaven,” Withers sings, “I’ll look for grandma’s hands.” “Out of all the things that I might have written,” he said on the BBC show, “my favorite thing has to be about this favorite old lady of mine.” H.S. In a somber and reverent tone, the brief yet quietly shattering song catalogs his memories of the woman whose hands did everything from clap in church to “ a local unwed mother” and “ me up each time I fell.” The poetic detail that the same hands used to “ache sometimes and swell” shows the toll her compassion took.

#JUST THE TWO OF US SONG LYRICS BILL WITHER HOW TO#

“In my case, I learned how to really love somebody from … just a nice old lady who used some very nice old gnarled hands to make life kind of nice for me at that time when I really needed somebody.” Withers stuttered growing up, and took solace in his grandmother’s steadfast care. “Most of us at some point in our lives have somebody that means more to us than anybody has ever meant before or will ever mean again,” Bill Withers said when introducing “Grandma’s Hands” at a 1973 BBC performance. He documents the brutally hot summers and bitter cold winters the crooked landlords and crooked preachers and, as the song reaches a fever pitch, captures the way so much of life seems to hinge on that universal tension between Saturday night and Sunday morning. Jones builds into a resounding march of orchestral soul as Withers paints a wide-lens picture of life in the titular New York neighborhood, peppered with just the right amount of close-up detail. The track is centered around a steady stomp that producer Booker T. “Harlem” opens Withers’ debut album, Just As I Am, and served as one of the LP’s early singles (though DJs ultimately took more to the B side, “Ain’t No Sunshine”). It’s just something that crossed my mind from watching that movie, and probably something else that happened in my life that I’m not aware of.” K.G. Sometimes you miss things that weren’t particularly good for you. It’s like going back for seconds on rat poison. “They were both alcoholics who were alternately weak and strong.

#JUST THE TWO OF US SONG LYRICS BILL WITHER MOVIE#

“I was watching a movie called Days of Wine and Roses, with Lee Remick and Jack Lemmon,” he once said of what inspired the song.

#JUST THE TWO OF US SONG LYRICS BILL WITHER DRIVER#

Withers sings “I know” an astonishing 26 times, and it registers like a lyrical pile driver - you feel the loss right along with him. Its power is the pure emotion the artist pours into the vocals, as he laments the fact that “this house just ain’t no home” since a lover has left. One of Withers’ most moving, elegiac meditations, “Ain’t No Sunshine” feels like a mini movie with its sparse arrangement and occasional cinematic strings. But his modest body of work still stands as a gold standard of R&B excellence. He continued to notch hits till the mid-Eighties, when he became fed up with meddling from his later label Columbia and walked away from the business altogether. A demo he made caught the ear of Clarence Avant, head of indie label Sussex, and Withers went on to cut some of the most enduring albums of the Seventies, filled with intimate, slow-burning songs that packed a serious emotional wallop. “I figured out that you didn’t need to be a virtuoso to accompany yourself,” he told Rolling Stone in 2015. He was nearing 30 when he began writing songs on a cheap guitar between shifts at an aircraft-parts factory.

#Just the two of us song lyrics bill wither

0 notes

starburstman · 2 years

Text

Sing incorrect quotes

Majority are just the teenagers because I love them

~~~~~

Meena: Hey, Ryan? Can I get some dating advice? Ryan: Just because I’m with Johnny doesn’t mean I know how I did it.

~~~~~

Meena: Let me show you a picture from last night that really upset me Nooshy: Okay, but in my defense, Ash bet me 50 cents I couldn’t drink all that shampoo. Meena: That’s not what I wanted to- you drank SHAMPOO?!

~~~~~

*The squad right before Meena's wedding* Nooshy: Well I have to go, I have a wedding to attend. Ryan: Wait... Oh! I have a wedding to attend too! Johnny: Oh, I have a wedding to attend as well Porsha: I THINK WE ALL HAVE WEDDINGS TO ATTEND Ash, panicked: I THINK I HAVE A WEDDING TO OFFICIATE

~~~

Meena: bitches b like “im baby” but have childhood trauma and neglect like wtf do u know about being baby u were forced to grow up from an early age anyways I’m bitches

~~~

Buster: I’m sick and tired of being called 'mortal' like, you don’t know that. Neither do I. I have never died even ONCE. Nothing has been proven yet. Stop making assumptions. It’s rude.

~~~~

Ash: I was arrested for being too cool. Johnny: The charges were dropped due to a lack of supporting evidence.

~~~~

johnny: If you were to vacuum up jello through a metal tube, well I think that’d be a neat noise Meena: I beg to differ johnny: Then Beg

~~~~

johnny, setting down a card: Ace of spades Meena, pulling out an Uno card: +4 Nooshy, pulling out a Pokémon card: Jolteon, I choose you Ash, trembling: What are we playing

~~~~

Porsha: Are you the big spoon or the little spoon? Ash: I'm a knife. Nooshy, from across the room: They're the little spoon.

~~~~

Porsha: Whaddya call a fish with no eye?

Johnny, not looking up: Myxine Circifrons Porsha: Porsha: fsh

(Johnny is a fucking know it all we know this)

~~~~

Meena, watching the news: Someone tried to fight a squid at the aquarium today! Nooshy: *walks in covered with ink* Well, maybe the squid was being a dick.

~~~~

Meena, texting groupchat: Ash! Help I’m being kidnapped Ash: Where are you? Meena: I’m with some strange person. In a car. Help. Ash: I’ll call Johnny. Johnny, answering their cell: Y’ello? Ash: Where’s Meena? They texted me that they were being kidnapped. Johnny: Meena? Whaddya mean, they're right next to me- Johnny: Johnny: I’ll call you back. *hangs up* Johnny: THE NEW HAIRCUT ISN’T THAT BAD! Meena: WHO ARE YOU?!

~~~~~

Meena: I told Ash their ears flush when they lie. Johnny: Why? Meena: Look. Meena: Hey Ash! Do you love us? Ash, covering their ears: No. Johnny:

~~~~~

Ash: When someone points at your black clothes and asks whose funeral it is, having a look around the room and saying 'Haven’t decided yet' is typically a good response.

#sing 2 #sing 2016 #sing movie #sing 2021 #sing meena #sing ash #sing johnny #sing porsha #sing nooshy #buster moon #sing incorrect quotes

122 notes · View notes

peralta-guaranteed · 3 years

Note

Jake and Amy single parents AU.

Pretty please! :))

oh! Oh, I strangely love this one!

- Amy is a police-widow with little Mac (no, Teddy was not the father, it was a non-canon detective), while Jake is at the better end of a really messy divorce from Sofia, who very quickly handed over all alimony of Maya to him to focus on her career.

-Amy tries her best to juggle the newly single parent life with her full-time position running a bookshop, while Jake is not too happy about having to bring Maya in to the precinct all the time, but it can’t be helped (and Scully makes a surprisingly good babysitter). The squad’s had his back through the entire break-up, and they all love his little girl to bits, so at least she won’t be missing the family aspect in her life - and will always have an amazing female role model in her Auntie Rosa, who’s already planning to teach her Spanish just so she can trashtalk her dad with her without Jake knowing

- Mac + Maya meet at daycare and absolutely hit it off, despite the age difference of two years. Mac has apparently seen another curly headed toddler and immediately decided to brother the sh*t out of her. He takes her along to all his games and helps her pick colours for her pictures and shares his apple slices with her in exchange for a bit of sandwich (which is much nicer anyway).

- the daycare workers absolutely adore the little duo, and can’t help remarking how much they look like siblings anyway. So of course Jake has to meet the mom of the adorable little boy who always bring his daughter over to him for pickup by holding her hand.

- he’s a bit afraid of having to deal with the usual “Aw they’re little boyfriend and girlfriend” comments he’s expecting, but obviously Amy is having none of that. Instead, she tells him how glad she is that Mac has found a little friend to protect. “He’s always trying to protect everyone so much, ever since his dad... well...”

- (Jake knew, distantly, that she was the widow of one of his colleagues from another precinct, but apart from the usual condolences they’d all sent it had never really registered in his mind that there was a wife and a child left behind.)

- “Oh well Maya is so happy too. She’s a bit shy and scared at the moment, so having a big friend help her get out of her shell is great. Your little boy is a sweetheart, too.”

- Amy smiles at him, and he’s pretty sure his heart should not be doing what it’s doing, so he beats it down and tries his best to ignore it. Which is hard, because she smiles at him a lot in the coming months when they meet up for playdates, Mac over excited to show Maya all his favourite spots at the park or the coolest fish at the aquarium.

- Jake moans during one of their meet-ups about a case that has been dragging on forever and is going to need an allnighter to finally be solved, and his partner Boyle is really trying his best alone, but he’s the primary on it and- it feels great to talk about it with someone who understands, outside of his squad, even if Amy sometimes nods with the saddest look on her face when he mentions parts of his job. But she offers him last minute babysitting if he ever needs it, considering her job finishes promptly at 5pm each day, and he can’t help but take her offer when another case hits that needs him on a stake out at 10pm.

- so Maya gets a lovely sleepover with Mac, and Amy gets the biggest box of her favourite pralines as a thank you, because Jake has never, not once, given Maya to a babysitter to go to his job without feeling remorse and guilt, not even his own mom, but he had to deal with none of that when Maya gladly ran up the stairs to Amy’s place where Mac was already shouting her name.

- needless to say that Amy and Jake become the great friends they always are over time. He brings coffee and muffins to their park playdates, and she brings over frozen meals from Mac’s abuela for kid movie marathons at Jake’s place. They know each other’s schedules to help out with the kids, Jake has convinced everyone in his friend group and workplace to only buy books at her store from now on, and Amy is already planning the christmas gift she needs to pack for Maya and her daddy.

- it would be a nice, supportive friendship of equals, and a good help in their single parent life, if it wasn’t for the fact that Jake realised about three playdates in that he was falling for Amy faster than a shooting star. It took her a little longer, but realisation hit when she was packing Mac’s lunchbox, her own lunchbox, and Maya’s lunchbox too after a sleepover, and subconsciously already wanted to bag up a fourth set of sandwiches with some gummy bears and a soda thrown in for good measure.

- Rosa tells him to ‘grow a pair and ask her out, she sounds perfect for both you and Maya’ when Jake confides in her. And that is rare praise coming from Diaz, because no one is good enough for Maya in her eyes, sometimes not even Jake himself. But he can’t take advantage of Amy’s friendship like that, not when it risks losing both her and Mac for Maya... and there is always the underlying fear that Maya will bond with a new woman in her life and be left behind yet again if they don’t work out, just like with her mom, whose biggest contribution to her life since the divorce has been the alimony payments each month.

- Kylie, meanwhile, warns Amy not to risk too much when she confides in her. She sadly remembers the many days she had to spend at her friend-coworker’s side after the funeral, cleaning out half of a closet and half of a shared home, basically. She’d been hoping that Amy would find love again, maybe in a few years time, but when she heard the news about her ‘great new friend’ being a detective himself, her heart dropped because she knew what that might be heading towards, and Amy very much shares her fears. She’d vowed to an absolute ‘no cops’ rule for her planned restart of dating in two years, perfectly scheduled with Mac’s start of school.

- as it is, both of them dance around their emotions in a perfectly synchronised waltz while still getting closer and closer as friends and parents, to the point that the daycare workers don’t even bat an eye anymore when Amy brings both Mac and Maya in, or when Jake picks both of them up into his arms with an excited ‘ready for ice cream and games?!’ before they meet up with Amy for a Coney Island afternoon.

- until one day, when the daycare offers a ‘star gazing sleep over’ event after the story of the stars and night sky was the theme of the week, and it falls right on the day Amy and Jake were planning to take the kids to a movie. “We could still go.” Jake mumbles while Maya runs into the daycare center, not shy at all anymore, and Mac follows her. “You want to go see Paddington’s Big Adventure... without the kids?” Amy jokes, but he looks so serious. “No, of course not, but I mean - we - uh - we both got the evening off now, don’t we? I told my captain I won’t be in no matter what. Seems like a waste of time just going home. We could see that period drama you talked about, that will definitely get an Oscar?”

- Amy hesitates only for a second, but they do go. They watch the drama that Jake has to admit is pretty damn good for a movie where nothing explodes or is set on fire, and that praise does not only come from the fact that Amy grabbed his hand with a gasp during a particularly emotional scene, and then kind of forgot to let go afterwards.

- but then the movie ends and Jake still doesn’t want to go home. Neither does Amy, apparently, because she offers up an ‘amazing 24h diner’ around the corner for some late night snacks, during which they laugh and flick chocolate chips at each other and end up blushing like mad when the waitress comments on what a ‘cute couple’ they are.

- he walks her to her front door, and they both kinda don’t know what to do as they say goodbye, because this kind of date night should usually end on a kiss, but it wasn’t really a date, was it, they would’ve taken the kids along if it hadn’t been for the day care event, and-

- “Ames, I’m - this is terrifying, but I think I’ll hate myself even more for not ever saying anything - and, and, I kind of, maybe, I think you might also-” She takes his hand again, a lot softer than she did in the cinema. “I think this is the kind of talk that needs a coffee and a good couch.”

- That’s how they end up at her place that Jake already knows so well from bringing Maya over, from the perfectly styled bookcases down to the absolute mess of a playroom that is Mac’s kingdom. They both grip their coffee cups tightly as they talk it all out, about what they’re afraid of, what they would risk if they gave ‘them’ a try.

- “I wouldn’t ever want to put Mac through losing another cop-dad even if it wasn’t from work, and I won’t let Maya lose another mom.” “Me neither. And I promised Mac I’d never forget his papa, but... I can clearly see him love his new daddy, too. He already looks up to you so much. He wants a flannel shirt for christmas.” “Maya introduced you as Mama Amy to one of my aunties. Which was quite a thing to explain.” Amy laughs, and then smiles at him, and his heart does that thing again, like it has been doing for months now, but this time he doesn’t beat it down. This time he lets it lead him to lean in for the most careful kiss, a kiss that Amy gladly returns, just as carefully.

- they agree to take things slow, be mindful, not drop it on the kids immediately or rush into things from the pressure of friends or family.

- and then three months later Amy finds the perfect apartment for the four of them, and Jake aks Gina and Rosa for ring preferences and proposal tips, and ‘slow and mindful’ has flown out the window the second Maya brought home a picture she did with Mac at daycare showing their little ‘family’ before Amy or Jake had even talked to them about their possible dating.

- Maya grows up with her Mama teaching her Spanish along with Auntie Rosa, and an abuela and abuelo who love to spoil her with Cuban sweets just as much as her big brother. Mac gets to ride along in his Daddy’s police car sometimes, and hears stories about his brave Papa from his colleagues. His auntie Gina is so proud of him for taking care of his little sister the way she took care of her little brother too. And Jake gets to see Amy smile all the time now, and knows it’s him and their kids that is making her smile so much.

#B99 #Brooklyn 99 #Peraltiago #Jake Peralta #Amy Santiago #headcanons #mac peralta #maya peralta

63 notes · View notes

wyn-n-tonic · 3 years

Text

Baby, Let The Games Begin -- Part I

Hiiii. Okay, I've decided to jump back into the fanfiction game because sometimes I just can't focus on my own characters and need a respite from them. I am a little bit sickly in love with Dave York and, no, I have not spoken to my therapist about it. Second person isn't typically my writing style and this was definitely an experiment. There will be a few parts to this, I'm not sure how many.

Word Count: 1,000 Warnings: Talking about death, killing, masturbation (not explicitly), choking (not explicit... yet). If you see anymore that I don't know about, just message me and I'll amend the warning.

Summary: Cat and mouse between two psycopaths.

His diligence is ghostlike. He moves through walls and people and the world blending in. He’s flat and close cropped. Broad but not overwhelming. Confident in his movements but he doesn’t take any room that’s not easily gifted to him.

But he’s gotten… sloppy. He’s been in South America for over a month now and the Spanish that usually gets better with time and immersion is slipping. He’s fucking up in all the small ways that will blow this mission to shit if he doesn’t get it together.

It’s another rainy night somewhere in Ecuador and he’s losing his fucking mind half drunk off sleep deprivation, half off a fifth of whatever brown liquor is stewing in his system tonight.

Yeah… sloppy.

But he’s never had a target like you.

Your pictures are peppered over his walls, papered down from hotel to hotel. He’s chased you through three goddamn countries and he is no closer.

He’s beginning to think you’re in his head. Just a figment of his imagination. If he’s a ghost, you’re a phantom and he is losing his fucking mind. —

You laugh in the darkness as his frustrated grunts come through the thin walls. You take another sip of the same shit he bought only hours ago—expensive—trying to figure out if tonight’s activities are vigorous pushups or if he’s spilling himself again. Thunder rolls and so does he, silence settling over the rooms once more. You wonder which picture it was tonight but you know he’s already got you plastered behind his eyelids.

It’s pissing down in Zamora again tonight and he is losing his fucking mind. But you’re not exactly making it easy for him.

Except… you are.

He’s trying too hard, that’s the problem.

He’s on the right track but, god, he’s stupid. He’s looking for the girl in the pictures, the stone faced widow mourning yet another husband. A man bought your ass. Another one bought your tits. Hell, one offered to buy you new legs when you complained about your height. That’s the woman he was looking for, a multimillionaire who went to yoga every day and fucked her instructor every night. He wasn’t chasing you, he was chasing his imagination. That’s the problem with men, they’re easily manipulated.

And this one? He’s no different. You’ve got him wrapped around your little finger, he just doesn’t know it yet. —

There’s something he’s missing, he knows it. He’s pacing around the room but he knows he needs to carry himself out the door. He thought the presents you were leaving were the answer at first. Propped up in the rental car, he watched his hotel room all day but nobody ever showed. No woman in sight, certainly not the one in the photos.

Either you’re close or he’s losing his grip on reality.

But… No. He’s trying too hard. That’s the fucking problem.

Maybe he just stops giving a shit and it’ll all fall into place. —

He sent his men home two weeks ago.

“Five guys for one woman is excessive, go home and get started on other jobs, I can handle this.” He didn’t give them a choice, he was so confident. That’s when you decided to start fucking with him.

It was little things at first. Moving the pictures around, the furniture. Then it escalated. You cut the drapes in half, that was fun. But one day you were worried about all the alcohol so you snuck in with a different purpose.

You filled his small fridge with empanadas from a local vendor with a note to take care of himself. That wasn’t the first night you heard him cum but it was the first time he came with your name on his lips.

He found your tube of Ruby Woo waiting the next day. It didn’t exactly match the new hair you’d picked up in Medellín but he didn’t know that.

His groans came audible again that night while you packed, a small smile playing across your lips.

Those groans soundtracked your dreams from Cali to Quito as you hoped the two swipes of your credit card were enough for him to come running. —

As you leaf through his belongings once again, you think of the man whose scent you caught in Venezuela. He’s younger than who you usually go for, that’s a given. But in playing this game? In hearing what you already do to him? Well…

He’s a killer. You knew one was coming for you the moment you caught Helen’s eyes at the funeral. Poor, beloved Charles. It’s not that you killed him so much as you made it easier. You’re not a killer, you’re a helper. This man, though?

Those flat black eyes have a body count much higher than yours.

You wonder, as you crawl into his bed, if he’d give you a choice in how you want to go. Quite honestly, you’ve been thinking about those hands around your neck since Caracas. —

He’s pacing again as his voice carries over, the soft sound of fabric being thrown into a suitcase.

“Helen, hi, it’s Dave.” He sounds… tentative.

He lets out a frustrated sigh and the pacing stops, “No, no. I didn’t find her s—“

Silence and then, “It’s been over a month, I can’t keep chasing somebody I’m not sure is even here anymore. I’ll keep alerts up, continue to track her movements but I won’t… I won’t be taking an active effort against this one anymore. She’s too smart.”

He closes the phone with such force that the sound echos, certain he’s broken it. He walks to the middle of the room and his voice comes back but this time it’s for you.

“I know you’re listening. Hell, you might even be able to see me. You win, I’m going home. Enjoy that island.”

#dave york #equalizer 2 #fanfic #dave 'drop it low pick it up slow' york #writing #dave york x reader #pedro pascal

175 notes · View notes

papers4me · 3 years

Text

Fruits Basket, Se03. ep 6.(Part 1)

The main female protagonist who, has been the “mother /psychiatrist/ fixer/curse-breaker” for 57 eps & 2 seasons, has finally had her own “I’m a real person with my own issues” ep !!!! YESS! So happy!!! also, so underwhelmed. Tohru has been painted to be this utterly selfless & altruistic character for long, that when she’s finally a balanced character it’s presented in half an episode? Don’t get me wrong, I like the ep, but there’s also the same feeling of bullet train that I felt in momiji’s ep! ugh!! I hated that feeling! Go away~ oh well.. I’ll quickly state what I didn’t like, before jumping into what I liked, in order to end with a happier note~

What I didn’t like:

Tohru’s monologue after leaving shigure & Isuzu felt more like a background exposition more than a true character’s thoughts. The reason is that It is quickly narrated with quick flashbacks from the past with intentional pieces missing from the flashback. Pieces like” how did Kyoko hurt tohru? She said to kyo, in se02, ep “ I feel like I’ve only caused her sadness” & tohru’s flashbacks in se02 of her mother leaving/ closing a door. All these things not included in tohru’s 1st ever personal monologue made it seem like quick fill in for the audience more than tohru’s main struggle. Compare it to Yuki’s 3 ep monologue in se02, filled with all his own background info, hence, we as audience sit back & just feel. With tohru a little brain work is needed of putting things together in the puzzle is needed because NOTHING abt her trauma has ever been explained to us prior to her monologue . Also, compare this kyo. A character who ONLY have 2 eps dedicated to him in 57 eps, yet even without monologues & with hidden secrets for climax purposes, his emotions are clear cuz his background was explained early in se01, ep24 & se02, ep9. Compared to them both, her monologue felt a bit lacking.

What’s up with the following scene? Her crying & kyo comforting her mid-street. He saw her crying, asked what’s wrong & she couldn’t say & he gave her a comforting advice. All good. Kyo always give the most needed advice for tohru to be herself & feel comforted. Se01, “complain more, be selfish” Se02, somen table scene & asking her abt her future plans & the hiro incident. Kyo has tried to guess whats wrong first. Here he saw her cry in the middle of the street & just gave her an advice? couldn’t he at least guess wrongly if it is her granpa? school? anything? This scene is AMAZING but it feels off a little.

Kyo’s “ now I remember” EXCUSE ME?????? se01, ep14, valentine ep, he got a nightmare, then when shigure talked to him, we saw a quick flashback that we didn’t now what it is but now it IS kyoko. se02, the entirety of ep9 & the “ I won’t forgive you” & the flashback of young him with kyoko talking abt tohru. se02, ep 22 his fight with yuki & the clear face of kyoko telling him abt something regarding the hat. His entire shutdown of tohru IS abt kyoko NOT abt him being a monster cuz tohru accepted monster kyo in se01 ep 24! so.. REMEMBER WHAT????? the accident?? I feel like being hit with a rock. I mean, it makes sense that kyo will get PTSD after seeing the hat, cuz he remembers the bloody accident vividly. But it is the dialogue that IS weird. “ I remember” ?? it makes no sense? unless it is another hidden secret & will be revealed later. If so, then forget this point.

Kagura (more on her below). Now, let’s talk abt what I liked!

-Grief (the most difficult theme to express in literature): Excellent writing!

Grief is one of the most diverse human emotions. ppl who grief a loved one either erase everything abt them in order to cope with the pain of loss & live on, or drastically engrave everything, not want any memory to slip away, or hold the deceased on a pedestal, or hate them irrationally in order to forget abt them, some deny that the loved one is gone, others talk to them daily, some act & live normally for years & suddenly it hits them that this loved person is truly gone & they breakdown. Others, direct their disbelief of losing a precious one into the envy that other bad ppl are still living, why my precious one is dead?. Thats why, it is a difficulty emotion to understand by others. Ppl watching you will always think that comforting you is enough & that the longer you take, the more impatient they are with you. Tell me, watching tohru this ep, didn’t you feel that:

Come on. tohru, you can love your mom & kyo! who says only ONE person can be your precious?

Umm, why she cries for her mom NOW? 2 years after her death? Is she over it already?

Tohru~~ your mom aint going no where cuz you loved a guy? she’s in your heart, girl. Ugh!

Compared to yuki who was abused by his parents & kyo whose mom commit suicide in front of him, tohru’s trauma is meh~

Feeling this way abt tohru is exactly how many feel abt ppl struggling with grief. You are NOT a bad person if you felt this way. It means that thankfully you weren’t struck by grief to tohru’s extent or that your grief went about differently than tohru. Grief is a crippling feeling. It is valid, strong, overwhelming, paralyzing & above all very unique to the person themselves. Tohru feeling that her mom is slipping away from her memory is so realistic & utterly heartbreaking. Grief hurts & moving on from grief hurts more!!!! The more you go on & live your life, the more you feel like you betray your loved one.

Tohru’s entire existence is for her mother & so her mother LIVES inside her:

Finishing high school cuz it’s her mother’s request.

Getting a job to sustain herself cuz she has no one to support her financially.

Giving her mom’s wisdom & teachings abt life to others.

imitating her dad’s speaking style to prevent her mom from “leaving”.

Being the perfect girl in order to portray that her mom, who is a gangster & is hinted by the ugly relatives to be unfaithful to her husband due to tohru not taking after her dad, actually raised a respectful girl!

Talking to a dead cold lifeless picture as if it is a living human being & going into panic attacks when she looses such pictures.

Suppressing all her true “ ugly, negative” emotions & only giving the fake smiles & positive attitude.

She fears that ppl will leave her if she isn’t “comforting, happy”, hence, the whole facade of “ i’m okay, I’m okay”.

Immersing her self in ppl’s issues so she won’t face her own feelings of utter loneliness, fear of the future, & being left behind when everybody moves on with their lives.

Thinking that having selfish desires contradicts the “ hopeful, kind” girl images, hence, the fear to actually wants sth for herself. Everything HAS TO BE for the sake of the others.

Tohru is deeply traumatized & her complex, unhealthy but extremely realistic attachment to her mom must be broken. Tohru must learn to LET GO.

-Kagura’s character’s assassination. aka (violence heals y’all!)

The show wanted to express the emotion that kagura is still in love with kyo, but is learning to let go & accepting kyo/tohru love. I love that. Her speech with kazuma abt not being able to face tohru cuz her face will show her emotions is so relatable & it hit ME personally. Loved that. Then, she learns that tohru truly loves kyo & should confess to him not talk to Isuzu & I get that, it make sense that she lashes on thru & teach her the value of being open abt your feelings & dont loose him. all cool & understandable. BUT:

How dare you slap tohru like that? you don’t know what she’s going through? tohru is wearing funeral clothes for God’s sake! she just visited her dead mom, you insensitive woman! How dare you assume that all tohru is struggling with is love love, romance romance yay~ confess, kiss, be happy?

Tohru & kyo’s issues are deeper than typical, normal, shallow shojo love. It is related to child trauma & abuse. To their own individual identity & self-image! Their romantic love is meant to guide them towards better choices for the future, not magically heal everything. Their mutual love is NOT the answer to their issues.

How dare you slap someone to make them go back to their senses? this is such an anime move! ugh!~ it cheapens the emotional weight of character’s emotions.

“ I’m not apologizing to tohru. We communicate thro fists” excuse me? you arent even communicating with kyo thro fists! he sees you & run! the only time he thanked you for, was when you didn’t “ communicate thro fists” & played with him as a child! Not only make her hit tohru but not apologize??

No one told her off? are you foreal?? Isuzu pouting lips is no match for Isuzu powerful emotions when she’s embarrassed, & kazuma! where you at? Happy at the “ open confrontation”? Why do you kill kagura’s character like that?

Side Notes:

I hate how this went by in half an ep like they did with machi!! tohru is THE main character for God’s sake! But it looks like the show is not so fond of the true tohru who wants stuff & screams & talks to herself, alas she isn’t the angelic, innocent girl that is saturating the heck out of all shojo amines. Oh well~ perhaps tohru’s issues will be visited again in the finale?

Kyo gets PTSD reaction in front of tohru. great. Now what’s next? I won’t ever forgive the anime if next ep, kyo & tohru are all normal or worse the episodic theme prevents the continuation & jumps elsewhere. Nearly all the eps that didn’t end with a happy note, started the next ep somewhere & totally forgot the cliff hanger. such as, Isuzu’s ep in se02, it ended with tohru’s nightmare & next ep started yuki’s issues with tohru all smiley & bright. Another example, the Cinderella play ended with kyo/tohru torn symbolism where each is awkward with the other, next ep machi !!!!!! & kyo/ tohru all normal in kazuma’s house. But this time, it will be an epic mistake to do the same. Kyo going full traumatic in front of tohru to the point of her screaming is not sth you skip & start over erasing. Don’t disappoint me show! you can’t screw that, can you?

I love the symbolism of kyoko disappearing from the picture & the crack of her framed pic at the end with it still continued in he ED. Good job.

They are building for a hug clashing scene between kyo & tohtu. it must hurt. It is designed to hurt. I wanted it to hurt. It is not abt romance. It is abt mental & emotional trauma. I’m excited. But I’m scared. After today’s ep, I can confidently say I don’t trust the director. I’m an anime-only, but tohru’s part in the story is the least touched upon, the quickest to get over with & has the wackiest animation. They just don’t know how to depict an emotional tohru~ sigh~

Tohru is written to be a unique protagonist in the sea of innocent, selfless & always happy shojo heroine & opposed to the badass, physically strong female protag in shonen. She is the most realistic, but so much of her potential is wasted so far~~

“ saving the sohma’s. breaking the curse for others is a lie, in reality I wanted to do it for kyo” This line is supposed to be liberating for tohru cuz for once she is putting herself FIRST! It is not abt kyo. It is abt herself! it is cuz SHE wants him. See the difference? See how this line gives tohru the biggest character development!! but still sth is missing. I duno..

I have lots to say abt tohru, kyo, shigure, the grandpa, kyoko, Isuzu & even kazuma! I’ll do that in part 2.

I still liked the ep tho. It is solid. I”ll like it MORE if they continued from here & didn’t cut it cold.

#Fruits Basket #Anime Only #Exhausted paper #final season #Tohru Honda

39 notes · View notes

the-crows-typist · 3 years

Text

Time for the 3rd installment of our Valentine’s Event with none other than, Vil Schoenheit and the word: Kiss requested by @twstdaydreamer This was very fun to write and I hope all of you enjoy this as much as I did.

CW: Alternate Universe: Cinderella and The Beast, OOC, Dark past, and discussion of the death of a loved one.

This ficlet features characters singing certain songs so links will be provided for added experience.

While some lyrics are gendered, the reader still remains gender-neutral.

Word count: 7843

Other works: Chocolate Feat. Jade, Cards Feat. Floyd

A Heart from Me to You

There once was a house as beautiful as those who lived in it. Its Lord and Lady produced a beautiful heir who, at a young age, strived for beauty unequaled to anyone in the mortal plane but at the price of the beauty of his own heart. One day, an old woman with a face aged approached the manor to seek shelter from the blistering snow…Only to be turned away with looks of disgust. This angered the lady, removing her form to reveal herself as a powerful goddess who cursed all who lived in that house with an enchanted rose.

This selfishness was what brought upon the family’s curse that when night fell should the family follow. The beautiful boy suffered from the curse the most, in his transformation did he end up killing those loved.

Now, cursed and alone, the beautiful boy lived in a husk of his own home waiting the days for the earth to take him whole.

“How tragic.” You whisper, sitting by the fire with a book on your lap. You enjoyed break times by the fire and being able to read by your lonesome especially when the winters became bitter in Pyroxene. You closed the book just as the head maid came in.

“Oh look at you, you’ve got cinder marks in your uniform. Come here. You must be careful, dear. The cinder marks are harder to wash off than you think.” She said and wiping the still fresh marks off your sleeves. “It was getting cold,” You explained. “But I’ll be careful next time, I promise.”

“Please and thank you.” She smiled at you the way a mother would to her child. “Come along, Vil will be coming home soon. We should go ahead and greet him.” You follow her towards the door just as you thought about Vil. His father was a famous actor that traveled but it wasn’t often that the two of them were in the same house at the same time.

“Welcome back, Vil.” Said the maid and you, bowing your head. “How was the trip?

Vil Schoenheit stood before you, his winter coat shining with fresh snowflakes and noise a sore red. “It went as it should. May I ask for some hot tea with honey?” You could hear the pulled-back shiver in his voice. “Bring it to me in the bath.” His footsteps were quick even in those high-heeled shoes.

“Can I leave it to you?” The head maid asked. “I still need to finish cooking dinner.”

You nod your head and smoothing out your uniform, ready to take on another task as well as the scrutinizing eye of one Vil Schoenheit.

Three knocks on the door and Vil halted in his actions. “Come in.” You opened the door, pushing the tray carrying tea and small biscuits carefully into the warm room. Vil had already exited the tub and dressed in a robe. Just as you had been taught, you poured a cup of tea mixed with honey and presented it to him.

“Thank you.”

Vil was a beautiful being, he really was. The way his body was sculpted and toned made you think he was carved out of fine marble by the finest artisans. His gaze towards you made you realized you were staring too long. “I-I’ll be on my way, Mister Vil. Please enjoy the night.”

“You’re the new one here, aren’t you?”

Vil set down the cup and stood up, the robe seemed to act like a flowing dress that flowed at the floor as he drew closer and closer to you. “I believe you’re the one whose mother passed last autumn.” You nodded your head with a sigh, remembering the stressful days after your mother was laid to rest.

Times were hard for you and your family, after the sudden passing of your mother, all of you had to make ends meet whenever and wherever possible. Your step-father, Mozus Trein, got a position as a professor in a known school while your step-brothers, Angelo and Donovan, set for the Rose Kingdom.

Angelo became a baker’s apprentice while Donovan became a tailor for an apparel shop. You stayed behind in Pyroxene, snagging yourself as a position as part of the staff of the well-known Schoenheit family. While the pay was good, appearances needed to be kept at all times thus why the head maid was often uppity with you especially on your first days.

“Yes.”

“I offer my condolences to you and your family.”

“Thank you…” You say and you look down at your shoes, your chest feeling heavy and empty at the same time. “But the tears have already been shed. All I want to do now is take care of my father and help my brothers.”

There was a smile on his face and he reached over, patting your shoulder with a damp hand. Up close he smelled of clean soap with a hint of citrus. “You have a strong foundation to keep yourself stable. That’s what I want in the people who work here.” He pats your shoulder again with eyes of judgment. “But these marks on your uniform…”

Ah, crap.

“I stay by the fire during my break times.” You admit quickly and Vil only shakes his head. “It would do you good to stay further away. These cinder marks are unsightly.”

“I will keep that in mind, sir.”

He pulled back his arms and turned around as you were about to take your leave. “By the way, I would like to reiterate something while you’re here because I know the other staff will neglect to tell you this one important detail.”

The mirror before him reflected his serious expression, you gulped feeling as if you broke a rule. “When the sun begins to set. Don’t go to the second floor.”

“What’s so special about the second floor?”

All of you ate on a table, the head maid serving up some warm cream stew. “Ah, that.” You gave your bowl to ask for seconds and she much obliged you. The old lady smiled to herself. “Nighttime is the only time Vil can rest,” She explained. “He’s quite the light sleeper so even the softest of sounds will wake him up.”

The look in her eyes was distant and smile knowing as she handed the bowl back to you. “Do you need anything else? We still have some sweet corn and roasted chicken,” she asked, pushing some more food for you to take. You sip at the hot morsel of food after shaking your head. “No, I’m fine.”

The howling winter winds that rattled your window was something you could never shut out of your mind. For as long as you could remember, you had always sought refuge in the beds of your family whether it be your annoyed yet caring brothers or the understanding tiredness of your parents.

Your mother was the best at calming you, though. She always knew exactly what to do…She was your first teacher, your first friend, your primary protector after the split and she became all the more lively after meeting Mozus, your step-father. And while life adjusted itself perfectly for you and your new family, it didn’t hesitate to strike tragedy at the calmest of times.

Your mother, after all the years she had been fighting and keeping her sickness at bay, succumbed one day in front of your step-father. Even with all the magic remedies and medicines in the world to keep her alive, there was no reversing what had already been done.

“I love you.” She said on her death bed, Trein’s hand never leaving his wife’s. “I love all of you very much. I’m sorry I had to leave so early.”

You and your brothers dealt with the grief differently, all three of them going off to their little corners for days and never showing their faces to you. It was days after the funeral when you saw your father cry, holding a picture of your mother close to his chest.

Since then, you and your brothers always needed to remind each other that they needed to be strong for their father’s sake. Angelo and Donovan spared no time in snatching every opportunity that they could while you stayed behind.

Vil’s words to you repeated like a record in your head, reminding you of how he viewed you. “You have a strong foundation to keep yourself stable.” The winds rattled and you brought your knees to your chest. Was your resolve, your foundation as strong as Vil saw??

Cutlery colliding against each other broke you out of your thoughts and startling you back to reality. Slipping out of bed and into your shoes, you made your way into the kitchen with your hands holding your coat tightly for warmth. The plates clattered amongst themselves and you hear the tap opening and closing.

You listen in the dark, waiting for the next noises. The footsteps were erratic and almost cobbled, the clicking of plates loud and sudden as if something was trying to walk. Had someone tried to break in? You hear the door to the living room open and shut and you poise yourself to follow but grabbing a nearby frying pan to defend yourself.

Opening the door, you hear the pair of footsteps climb up the stairs and you begin to panic. Vil’s room was up there! Whoever it was, was targeting Vil. Your movements hesitated, remembering the rule Vil himself told you.

“When the sun begins to set. Don’t go to the second floor.”

The dead of night had already come and everything around you was dark save for the lamps that provided little help in the snowstorm. You hesitated to move, weighing the options and their potential consequences. Should you stay and let Vil rest knowing a thief was roaming the halls or should you break the rules and protect him with all you had?

You bolted up the stairs without a second thought and the frying pan clutched tight, panting as you got to the top and looking wildly and trying to listen for the familiar intermittent footsteps. You turn to your side with you hear another door opening and closing and suddenly all the lessons you’ve learned grappling with your stepbrothers come back to you in a flash.

You inch towards the room in the door, turning the knob to open the door with a soft creek that makes your insides cringe. In the middle of the room was a floating flower protected by a glass dome, it was red-pink petals shimmering and lightings its vicinity in the same color.

It was mesmerizing to look at.

Setting the pan down to your side, you walked towards it with your hand stretching out to touch the dome that protected it. You dropped the pan entirely to take the dome off the rose, its glow, even more, hypnotizing up close. Just as your finger touched its soft petals, the window to your side blew open in a torrent of cold wind and unfurling the curtains that moved like the waves of a dark sea.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.”

From the darkness within the room, a pair of purple orbs glowed and a growl preceded a warning voice. The intermittent footsteps of a convulsing mannequin were not far off and its happy face brought a lick of terror to your heart.

The creature of the night crawled forwards, its sharp teeth jutting out of its mouth and form menacing and mangled. The windows were soon closed and the curtains dropped to the ground with your foot stepping on the soft fabric.

“Give me the dome.” The monster’s long claws reached out for you and before you stepped back, you slipped; hitting your head on the soft material behind you, the howling winds and the piercing orbs fading to black.

“…I told you not to come in here.”

You stood by the door of your step-father’s study with eyes facing the floor. Angelo and Donovan standing on either side of you. The yellow light gave off a sleepy and exhausted feeling in the realm of books and writing materials. In the very center was a diorama of your family, toys he wanted to surprise the kids with.

And now, the surprise was ruined.

You could feel shame boil in you, it had been only a few months since your mother remarried and you had new brothers to play with…And now your new dad was upset with you. “Come here.” He said, the man suddenly on one knee, your brothers coming over to him in a hug and you followed soon after.

“All of you, such curious little mice.” He said, patting each one of you on the back. “Next time, I want you to ask for permission before you enter the study, alright?” There was a laugh behind you, your mother smiling to herself while she leaned against the doorframe with a blanket over her shoulders. She never got used to the cold she was born in.

“Promise me that.”

“Yes, daddy.” All the children say.

And as you relished the warmth of your new father, something wet trickled down your cheek. Your brother, Angelo, was always the sensitive one of your step-siblings and would not hesitate to stop the sibling tomfoolery the moment things go awry. He held you close, his tears accidentally running down your cheek when you moved, while Donovan sat in the corner with shoulders hunched over. What was once your father’s sleepy study was now the empty hallway of a hospital.

The wind rattled against the windows of the hospital, your mother had succumbed to the sickness on a cold day. And your father was getting everything ready for the eventual end.

“Kids.”

Trein came out of the room, looking older than you remembered. “Your mother would like to talk to you.”

When you turned away from your brother’s embrace, you were seated on the side of your mother’s bed. Her body was sickly and the cold messed with what life remained in her. She smiled at all of you and your eyes began to sting.

“I love you.” She says, her eyes looking so tired. “I love you all very much.” And soon the tears began to fall from her face. I’m sorry I had to leave so early.” You blinked at the hand you held, your mother’s hand soon replaced with Donovan’s as he pulled you from your seat. In his suit, he looked more solemn and his usually long and wild hair was tied back with a ribbon.

“Let’s say goodbye.” He told you and tugged you to the coffin where your mother laid. “Where’s dad?” You turned your head, your hand now vacant and the space behind you a void of nothingness. The door of your father’s study slightly ajar and the familiar yellow light spilling through.

Your steps were echoed and slow, approaching the room slowly. When you were by the door, you peaked through the cracks; your father kneeling on the carpet and holding a figure to his chest. The diorama you once played with in your youth was set up on his table, your mother’s figurine nowhere in sight. There was a held back sob, Trein’s body shaking under his mourning robes.

You took a step back, letting him grieve in his own time.

You knew better than to come in there without permission.

You woke up with a start and a sudden sting to the back of your head. Above you was a chandelier you had no memory of seeing in your quarters and a bed your hands never recognized. Your chest heaved when you pushed yourself up the bed only to be pushed down by the head maid.

“Stay down.” She says, holding your shoulders. The light of the new day filtered through the large window of Vil’s room. Vil stood by the rose with his back facing you, holding the dome to himself just as your breathing leveled and normalized. “You hit your head pretty bad last night,” She explained and felt for the bump that made you hiss.

Last night…

“Was last night real?” You asked, your sudden burst of energy was off-putting especially when you remembered the events leading to the memories you wished to never relish again. “That rose. Was it really glowing? A-and that monster—!”

The dome was placed onto the rose with a loud clack, the glass roughly hitting the marble surface. “T-that’s beside the point!” The maid scolded. “Vil warned you never go to the second floor after the sunsets! Not only did you disobey one of the rules given to you, you hit your head while doing so.”

You bit back a hiss of guilt and opened your mouth to try to retort at your apparent rebellion.

“Elena.”

Vil’s voice was soft yet strict, eyes calm yet sharp. He regarded you for a moment while leaning against the marble table. “Let them be for the day, they’ve hit their head too hard.” You felt yourself shrink under his gaze. “See to it that they have little heavy activities as possible and prioritize that the bump is given care immediately.”

Elena bowed her head, her upset anger still very much apparent.

“Yes, sir.”

Elena’s nimble hands making quick work of dirty dishes. Your head had been bandaged with a compress pressed to where you hit your head. You stared at your meal with little appetite before poking at the grilled fish. “Miss Elena, why does that rose glow?”

The clattering of cutlery stopped and the head maid only sighed, shaking his head. “Always the curious one, aren’t you?” She turned around, leaning against the sink with arms crossed. “That’s one of Vil’s most treasured possessions. An heirloom that came directly from his grandfather then to his father then to him.”

Elena’s eyes looked to the side as if to remember. “I should know. I was there for every passing down. Vil is highly protective of it.”

It might have just been a coincidence, you thought to yourself, that the story you read by the fire had mentioned a rose but that was all there was to it. You ate your breakfast quicker after that. “I’m sorry for my behavior.”

“Next time, listen to your instructions.” She said, taking the plates from you before you could even move an inch to help her.

The feather duster slid against the books, your toes tipping to reach up for the shelves above your head. From there, you took your damp rag and swiped it across the polished wooden table. Yup, this was pretty much not so labor-intensive but it would get painfully boring unless you had some entertainment to go with you so you sang a small song taught to you in your youth.

“A dream is a wish your heart makes when you’re fast asleep.” Your mother loved to sing this song to you and soon, to your new family. Trein especially loved it when they danced together in the living room when the children were ‘seemingly’ asleep. “In dreams, you will lose your heartaches. Whatever you wish for, you keep.” You closed your eyes, feeling the memories of the past come with the melody of your song. You remember the first time you snuck out of bed with your brothers to see your parents slow dancing together. “Have faith in your dreams and someday your rainbow will come smiling through.”

You’ve never seen your mother smile so peacefully nor did you ever see her hug someone so intimately before Trein, in fact, you’ve never seen her do any of those things with your old dad. She was happy. “No matter how your heart is grieving...”

You only wished to see that happiness last longer than it should have. If only things stayed the way they did. “If you keep on believing…”

You envisioned your mother holding you close, singing to you one last time. Just like how she did when could still hold you to your chest. Just one last time…

“The dream that you wish…will come true.”

Sighing, you leaned against your broom saddened by what you made yourself remember. “Oh, I’ll never get my work done at this rate.” You say, taking your equipment with you and almost running out the library with a huff. Next to the fireplace, Vil lay on one of the long couches away from sight. It was only when you went out that he rose from his seat and hunched forward to let his hair cover his face.

He stayed silent, relishing the sound of your voice in his head.

During your break time, you decided to stay outside with a group of mice that decided to keep you company. You never understood why but the small animals around your area always seemed to be kind and almost human-like. When one mouse decided to sit by you while nibbling a small piece of leftover cookies did you begin to speak your thoughts.

“Is there something being hidden from me? Or am I being too nosey?”

One mouse approached you, listening to you at your feet. “I know last night wasn’t a dream, I know what I saw.” You say then feeling for the bump on his head. “It was real, I just know it.” There was a small squeak, one of the female mice touched your hand with her small paw as if to say words of reminder.

‘You’re stressing yourself out.’

Grimacing, you pushed yourself up and patting your uniform off the crumbs and dust. “I know.” You tell them and the mice look up to you in curiosity and concern in their beady little eyes. “I’ll be fine, don’t you worry. I’m a strong mouse just like you! I’m sure I can get to the bottom of this, I just…Need to find a better opportunity.”

The mice squeak in affirmation which makes you giggle. “Ahah, I’ll have to figure it out as I go along.” You tell them and look to the house, knowing that you had to get back in quickly. “I should get going, I’ll come back with some good food tomorrow.” You wave at the mice who give sounds of greeting as you leave.

What you saw on the second floor was real. You know it is. And you were going to prove it. You stopped by one of the mirrors, fixing your appearance quickly. “Huh?” Your hand touches the surface, small cracks brushed by your tips as if someone had driven something sharp into it. Looking up at the sky, you smelled frost in the air. Strong winds would accompany the night again, it seems.

The accompanying snowstorm was as fitting as it ever gave you a feeling of stealth. You always wanted to be a kind of spy when you were younger and here you are living the dream, though some nice gear and some goggles would have helped greatly. The wind blows and rattles the windows harshly when you brought yourself up the stairs.

“Tale as old as time, true as it can be. Barely even friends then somebody bends unexpectedly.”

You walk to the door you saw the beast. Placing a hand on the door to listen. “Just a little change. Small, to say the least. Both a little scared Neither one prepared. Beauty and The Beasy” Hesitantly, you open to turn the door to hear more of the beautiful voice. The room was dark and only the glowing rose giving light to the room around it.

“Ever just the same, ever a surprise,”

A mannequin hunches over a familiar huddle of fur and purple light. The movements of both almost unearthly yet the voice passionate and real…And so familiar. “Ever as before and ever just as sure as the sun will rise.”

The winds rattle harshly again and the beast bundles into a ball in Vil’s bed, the mannequin’s hands shakenly placing its hand on the shivering being. “Tale as old as time, tune as old as song. Bittersweet and strange, finding you can change; learning you were wrong.”

You open the door a little wider and watch the scene unfold. Somehow, it wasn’t your place to interfere at such a moment so vulnerable. “Certain as the sun rising in the east, tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme. Beauty and the Beast ”

The shaking beast’s form calmed itself and the mannequin leaned down, its monotonous face pressing against the mass of fur. A kiss goodnight. The cold of the wind blew through, the mannequin looking at you with its painted eyes. The silence was light and your eyes never leaving each other. Taking a step back, you pulled the door with you until it was shut. Everything was finally coming together.

Vil was the beast.

Breakfast was quiet and the wraps on your head were taken off. Elena made no move or sound to acknowledge you as you ate. “So the beautiful boy cursed by the goddess.” You could hear her hand grip the wet plates tightly and you knew what was coming but, at this point, you didn’t care if you got scolded. “It was Vil, wasn’t it?”

“You were given specific instructions never to go up there at night.” She said sternly.

“It’s him, wasn’t it?” You press again.

“Why are you so pressed on this? What good will it do for you?”

“The mannequin was you, wasn’t it? You were singing to that beast.” Elena fuming, slammed her hand onto the table and that was what made you pull back. “Don’t call him that.” She says and sighs, pulling away from you and straightening her back. “The next time I see you on the second floor, you are out of this house. Do you understand me?”

She takes your empty plates and splashes them into the water. Her breath was harsh and her skin almost sickly looking. A cough leaves her lips and her shoulders shiver. “Would you like some tea?” You ask softly and her shoulders hunch over.

“Yes, dear. Please.”

Just as you took the teapot from the cabinet, she spoke to you again. “Please follow that rule this time. Don’t make this harder for Vil than it has to be.”

You open the kettle and reach for the leaves, hearing the old lady cough.

You were back in the library before the sun began to set and adding wood into the fire for warmth. The snowstorm hadn’t let up since the last night and you were afraid that your quarters was not enough to warm you through the night. Using the heating pair of tongs, you adjust the wood in a way that it would burn properly and not caring if the cinders would cling to your uniform.

During the coldest of nights, you and your mother would love to cuddle by the fire and sleep until the morning. It only became a festive event with the addition of your brothers and your father. She loved the heat, the sleeping feeling it gave her and she loved it the most when Trein held her close.

Your shoulders sag, that was probably the only time you’ve ever seen him at peace. After that…Shaking your head, you push those memories away. You had to be strong, you had to be for the sake of your family. Reaching up, you swat the tears from your face. Your tears had already been wept the day she was buried.

“Stay too close to the fire and your uniform will get singed.”

Vil stood behind the couch, a warm blanket over his shoulders and hair despite being messy made him look immaculate. “I have a request.”

“What is it?”

“You can sing, correct? And sing well.” Ah, you’re not sure if you could answer that one wholeheartedly. Gulping, you nod your head. “I can sing, yes, but well, not really—.” Vil’s huff was hard and eyebrows furrowed. “Do not hide what good you have. It will not grow unless you expose it.”

“O-of course.” You nod your head and Vil closes his eyes. You noticed bags, his skin slightly paled. “Are you here because of the storm, Vil?” Nodding his head, Vil sank down next to you with a sigh. “The windows become too loud at night…I don’t like the sound of it.”

“I understand. I’m not much a fan of it myself.”

“We’re veering off-topic.” He looks to you, “Can you sing for me? At least for a moment.” The windows rattle and he closes his eyes again. You move, patting your lap for him to rest on and he gives you a look. “My mother used to do this to me. It beats having to lay down on flat ground.”

He is hesitant at first but follows after a few minutes of pondering. He lays on your lap, getting himself comfortable and you adjust the blanket on top of him. “Any requests?”

“Anything that will help me sleep.”

The winds rattle and his shoulders hunch. “Alright.”

“Oh, sing sweet nightingale. Sing sweet nightingale high above me.”

Vil’s eyes open ever so slightly, his violet eyes staring in the fire. Any moment, he would transform into the beast of the night. A curse passed down from generation to the next and yet, you stayed to sing. “Sing sweet nightingale, sing sweet nightingale high above.”

Elena had not been feeling well recently, her old age and the blistering cold made for one bad fever that she needed rest for. And while Vil was understanding of that, the winds that rattled the windows never ceased to let him sleep.

“Oh, sing sweet nightingale, sing sweet nightingale.”

But that soon changed when he heard you sing in this very library. It reminded him of the soft coo of a dove and the warmth of a wool blanket. “Oh, sing sweet nightingale sing…” His eyes felt heavy and soon his body became weightless, he yearned for the days he could walk out in the sun without fear of the night that was to come.

He yearned for the day he would no longer be afraid…

He yearned deep within his heart.

“Sing sweet nightingale…”

A black beast laid in the place where Vil once was, its gnarly teeth the same purple as Vil’s eyes. Your hands brushed the black fur as the fire crackled and spat cinders from within. The beast, no, Vil’s body laying peacefully on your lap. You move, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek and his body only moving to keep warm against you.

“High above me…”

The enchanted rose glowed dimly, its first petals beginning to fall to the countertop beneath it.

Your eyes open and the wood that once fueled the fire was reduced to ashes. Elena stood over you while Vil, in his human form, slept peacefully on your lap. The two of you shared glances and you immediately opened your mouth.

“I didn’t go upstairs this time.”

She knelt, adjusting the blanket over the sleeping boy’s long figure. You noticed how his body looked in this position, not too lanky and not too toned…but skin so pale from the days he never went out. Come to think of it, he never usually went out unless he needed to. And when he came back, he would stay in for long periods before taking his leave again.

Suddenly, you thought about his parents and wondering if they knew of his situation. Where were they? What happened to them??

Were they affected by the curse as well?

“I’ll bring the breakfast here,” Elena says. “You stay here and watch over Vil.”

Vil had no qualms about eating in the library, given that the fire was warm and the meal was hot. It helped after the bad snowstorm that passed the house for days. You noticed he had a small appetite and a big penchant for drinking lots of fluids. Well, he is a model so you don’t blame him for following the strict regimens.

“You have a nice voice,” Vil says, putting down his cup. “Thank you for last night. I hope that my beastly form wasn’t much of a problem to you.”

Shaking your head, you quickly swallow the stew you were eating. “No, no, it’s quite alright. I’m happy you think that but…About that form.” You feel Elena’s gaze on you and you force yourself to bite back a lingering question.

Vil himself was also silent. “If they’re going to stay here then they should know.” Elena’s shoulders relaxed but her expression remained unsure. “Vil, are you—.”

“I know a person with ulterior motives when I see it.” He looks over to you with a small smirk and boy does it match the messy hair and too droopy clothing. “What we have with us is nothing more than a curious little mouse.”

And you don’t whether that was an insult or a compliment but your squinting eyes only fueled his laughter, those shoulders of his bopping under the protective blanket. “Then what I saw…”

“Everything you saw was real, down to the very last petal of the rose.”

You knew it! You were right!! A smile graced your lips and you sat back against the chair you sat on. Vil took a sip and proceeded to ask more questions, some of which you didn’t have a direct answer to. “Now that you have all the information you need, what will you do with it?”

You looked down at your plate, mulling it over. “Nothing.” You answer. “You called me a curious mouse with no ulterior motive so I’ll do nothing with it.”

Vil hid his smile behind the cup of tea and Elena only sighed, a small burden lifting from her shoulders as the two of you spoke casually.

Vil was moved to the second floor, letting him rest on a real bed. You look around the room, seeing it with proper lighting for the first time. All the mirrors were covered in cloth, some cracked. The paintings that hung on the wall looked immaculate, beautifully painted…Except for one figure whose face was splashed with black. Your brows furrowed, trying to identify who this person was.

“I assume you still have more questions, little mouse.”

Vil sat up, motioning you forward to sit on the edge. “Who is he?” The family’s portrait hung as a centerpiece, you could identify a baby Vil, and his parents sitting across from each other…But that one person standing over them; you couldn’t make heads or tails of it with all the black paint in the way.

“My grandfather.”

A long sigh left Vil, his finger tucking a hair behind his ear. “Before my father went into acting, he was part of the family business led by my grandfather.” He closed his eyes, imagining the warm shop that housed many items and the many people coming in and out to buy supplies. A small Eric would clumsily put grocery items into a paper bag and wrap it, his father looming over him as he collected payments.

“He was strict when needed but his anger knew no bounds when it was released.” Vil slid down onto his bed. “Running a business is difficult, I understand that, but these fits were often quite scary to witness.” Staring into the rose’s glow, the light formed shadows of a figure hunching over a screaming beast. “It led him down a path of ruin, they went out of business and struggled during the bad brunt of the storm season.”

“He wasn’t the best at controlling his emotions, was he?” Vil shook his head at your question. “Not by a long shot. That was the very same anger that led to all this in the first place.” He looked up at the painting with contempt as if the painting stared back at him the same way. “Try as he may, my father could never outrun the curse…Even after I saw born.”

You remembered the book, the story you read by the fire. “Then…”

Vil’s hummed a laugh, eyes blinking slowly. The shadows formed by the glow of the rose moved to a scared family and a shaking figure holding a shadow of the rose. “He yelled at the wrong people, made enemies of those with magic far stronger than anyone could ever imagine.”

The shadows drew dimmer, the beastly form taking shape, roaring at the rose with all its fury and behind it was a weeping family. It all dissipated like a breaking film tape under Vil’s sigh.

Now, cursed and alone, the beautiful boy lived in a husk of his own home waiting the days for the earth to take him whole.

Your heart felt heavy, remembering the last line of the story. “I’m sorry.” That was all you could say to him but he hunched his shoulders with a dismissiveness. “What happened has passed. As you said before: the tears have already been shed.” The rose’s petals fall to the floor below it.

“Is there a way to reverse this?”

“An open heart.” he looked over to you with a smile unable to be read. “That’s all.”

You hung your head, unable to say anything. Vil only wraps his blanket around himself tighter while you stare at the glowing rose until its ethereal color was seared into your memory.

There was a splash of water, Vil sits in the tub with you preparing his robe and other items. “The snow should have receded by now. We could take a walk if you’d like.” As days passed through the house, you and Vil had grown closer. Now that either of you had nothing to hide, the tension that once felt between you was almost nonexistent.

“It has been a while since I’ve gone out. Some sunlight would do all of us good.” He said, leaning back on the tub with eyes closed. “A day in the sun…”

“Indeed. It would be nice to feel some warmth.” You learned that you and he weren’t very different. Both of you loved music, loved the theatre, just anything to dance to. And you also found out that Vil himself had a wonderful singing voice, almost like velvet.

“All those days in the sun, what I’d give to relive just one. Undo what’s done and bring back the light.”

You found out that his mother passed when he was young and his father, Eric, raised him all on his own after his mother was out of the picture. He was Vil’s first teacher, first friend, his support clutch in understanding why he was the way he was. “Days in the sun will return. We must believe—.”

“As lovers do…”

Your voices mingled together and while embarrassed to admit it, you had listened to it to his movies while cleaning. He may have caught you a few times, though. “That days in the sun…Will come shining…Through…” His deep beautiful voice echoed through the chamber, you imagined hearing it in a large theatre. Oh, you were certain Vil would love to do that.

“I always wondered why you never tried theatre.” You didn’t need to turn around to know his expression. “Do you think I’ll make it there, little mouse?”

“You’re Vil Schoenheit, son of Eric Venue. Of course, you will!”

A comfortable silence followed his laugh while you continued to face away from him. The Zen between you two almost unbreakable in the warm bathing room. The flower’s glow dimmed in the emptiness and losing more petals that piled beneath it.

With the music playing in the back, Vil watched from the balcony after getting his fair share of sunlight after the storm had passed. The voice of his father was rich and melodious as his role of a man finally falling in love after years of isolation.

He watched as you trudged around the snow before going back to his room, not once looking at the dimming rose and straight to his television. “I was the one who had it all,” His father sang. “I was the master of my fate. I never needed anybody in my life. I learned the truth too late.” The first time he had transformed into the beast he knew today, he had scared the recently hired help.

“I’ll never shake away the pain.” They were very cruel with their words, to the point that it was Elena, of all people, who told them to leave the house. Though the terror had left, it left Vil with uncertainty and fear of his appearance.

Eric’s character peered out the window just as the heroine pulls out a horse, the determination not hidden from even the viewer. “I close my eyes but she’s still there. I let her steal into my melancholy heart, it’s more than I can bear.” And now you took that place. From the get-go, Vil knew you have gone through hardships of your own. He could see it just by looking at your steeled expression and the aura you held on your shoulders.

“Now I know she’ll never leave me even as she runs away.” Not only had you defied the rule twice, your curiosity only spurred you further on with your investigation. And even when you had all the information you needed and cracked the code, you did nothing with it. “She will torment me, calm me, hurt me, move me…Come what may.”

Vil stands up just as Eric’s character runs up the stairs, the spiraling staircase almost hypnotic from above. “Wasting in my lonely tower, waiting by an open door.” He comes back to the balcony and opens the door, seeing you and Elena hauling in the bag of chestnuts. “I’ll fool myself, she’ll walk right in…” The two of you catch each other’s line of sight.

“And be with me for evermore.”

As the two of you smiled at each other, the rose begins to wilt and hunch over with each petal falling from the stem. The smell of spring drew close, Vil took a deep breath in then sighed it out. When he closes his eyes, all he ever sees are the days he’ll spend with you.

And the envisioning of a grand theatre, the same one he first saw his father in. He begins humming a small tune, thinking of the harmonizing violins, the beautiful costumes, and designs. The rose wilts more, only one petal remains on its dying stem.

The days had passed all so quickly, the winter giving its way to spring them to summer. You stood in front of the theatre, your family next to you. Trein takes you by the hand “Shall we?” entering the grand theatre, you and your sibling marveled at the beautifully crafted designs, the plush seating, and the long curtains.

“It’s beautiful.” Said your father, his smile soft. “Thank you for bringing us here.”

Angelo and Donovan pushed along, overly excited for the play. “Come on, come on.” One of them says. “It’s about to begin! Let’s sit down.”

The lights dim and the curtains open, droves of characters coming in their beautifully crafted costumes. You see Vil in his costume, waltzing with another character in yellow. The horns placed onto him were just as beautiful as him yet, after seeing his breast-like form…It never stood a chance.

The stage dimmed when he took the stage, a single rose in hand. His voice was loud, pure, perfect as he sang the song of a man who found love after years of isolation. His expression perfectly encapsulating the sadness he had felt.

“I rage against the trials of love. I curse the fading of the light.”

You remember the very first moment he bore his heart to you, the moment he asked you to sing for the very first time. “Though she’s already flown so far beyond my reach, she’s never out of sight.” Gone were the days he hid within the confines of his room and gone were the days he needed to hide out of fear.

“Now I know she’ll never leave me even if she fades from view!”

He twirls, his eyes searching the crowd until he finds yours in the crowd. “She will still inspire me, be a part of everything I do.” The background behind him changes, the spiraling staircase he walks one moved at his every move until he reaches the balcony, leaning his hands to sing his heart out with a hopeful look. The both of you stare at each other as he sings his heart out, saying the words he wanted everyone to hear with a voice he no longer feared. “Wasting in my lonely tower, waiting by an open door.”

He breathes, the wind and strings instruments beginning their strong ascend in a crescendo of harmonizing and accenting melody. “I’ll fool myself, she’ll walk right in.”

The rose glows in his hand and he hunched his back, readying himself. “And as the long, long nights begin.”

Vil looks up into the light, his expression one of pure passion and love. “I’ll think of all that might have been.” And the grip on the rose tightens but only for a moment.

“Waiting here…For ever—.”

Vil lets the rose float out of his hand and ascends up to the center of the room.

“—More!” The flower burst into a rain of petals that add to his last note and accompaniment of the instruments.

The last petal of the glowing rose falls, the stem falling on a pile of dried rose petals following the applause of the crowd. Vil regains his breathing, his eyes listless as he stares up at the ceiling when the music ends, the curtains fall, and the lights go out.

You pass through the crowds of colors and thrills, looking for the familiar mop of blond and purple hair. “Vil!” You yell out to him just as he comes to view in the sea of people. His arms are ready to take it in, “You were amazing out there!”

The sun begins to set during the embrace, Vil’s face continued to smile at you and soon giving a solemn bow to your father and brothers. “Mr. Schoenheit, it’s a pleasure to meet you. That was a wonderful performance.” He says, smiling at him with eyes trained to your hands holding the actor’s. Ah, gets it.

“Thank you, Mr. Trein. I’m glad you liked it.”

“Vil Schoenheit, you’re needed for a picture.” Says one of the stage crew and Vil reluctantly pulls away. “Coming. I’ll see you later?” He asks you and you tip your toes to him, pressing a light kiss to his lips. “I’ll wait outside. Bye Vil.”

You run out of backstage and yet he had a feeling that finding you won’t be that much of a problem. He touches his lips. “So this is love…” He whispered to himself and made his way to his troop, readying himself for the pictures.

#works from the typewriter #twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader #g/n reader #valentines event

81 notes · View notes

kojinnie · 3 years

Note

tis is ranon! i wanna try the twisted match-up eventho it'll probably hurts. my worst traits would be

1. Not knowing myself well enough, having to ask others how i actually am from their eyes instead of looking through my own lense because I care of other's judgement better than mine.

2. I suck at handling compliment. Everytime anybody says anything good about me, I always get defensive by saying no, change the topic of the conversation, or saying "thank you, but [insert why i don't deserve compliment]"

3. Similar to the 2nd one, I have horrible horrible self esteem. I never really look at myself in a good light, I think I am horrible. Sometimes I feel like "im the worst" yet some of the times I feel like "woah I'm a queen". Even worse, sometimes I don't have the motivation to better myself in order to raise my self esteem.

My favourite(s) would be reiner and jean, you can choose the one with the worst(or whoever you prefer) compatibility with my traits. tears up already as I slip 1 dollar to your hand, whispering happy ending please..

Pairing: Jean x Reader

Summary: You accidentally meet Jean, your high school sweetheart, thirteen years later. While he has turned into a successful man whose face you'd see on TV a lot, you think of your life and what could have been with him, if only...

Tags: Angst/Fluff, coming of age, slice of life

Word Count: 3.6K

A/N: Oh Ranon my sweet child, hereby I present to thee... hopefully an antidote to the despair Yams had given us with 138. Hope you like it love!

Song mentioned: Linger by The Cranberries

"It's nice to see a familiar face 'round here."

There was no word that could describe the feelings you had upon hearing that voice. A voice that was once the first sound you hear in the morning and the one you say goodbye to before falling asleep. A voice that you had not heard for what felt like forever.

You didn't have to turn around to tell who it was, "Jean?"

The two of you erupted in laughter, both surprised by the mere coincidence of meeting each other at this old and ran-down department store, on the outskirt of the town you both grew up in.

Jean was quick to pull you into a big embrace that you gladly came into. A familiar piece of warmth was his hug, and yet it had struck you as odd that it did not feel foreign at the closest, although it had been years since the last time you met him.

Jean had grown very tall. There was no longer his signature undercut as he had let his hairs to grow past his ear. His chiseled jaw hid beneath dark brown beard he now had. You pretended to check him out and be shocked with the view, "You really grew! Like grew, GREW!" as if you hadn't seen him on the news station or the daily mail. As if you didn't follow his Instagram with your second account. As if you never thought of him at all.

He held your shoulder and pulled away to look at you, "Thirteen years and you don't look any different."

Your face grew hot and the compliment sent an uncanny discomfort to your guts, "Ah the lighting sucks here - to my advantage, fortunately."

There was a disapproving look in Jean's eyes for a passing moment before he carried on with the conversation. He didn't expect to see you at the old department store the two of you used to roam in after school, he said. Neither did you to ever meet him again, especially here. A place so awfully ordinary for someone who had grown to be the best version of himself. Jean had finally achieved his dream to be a household name in the country as one of the rising young attorneys.

The celebrity status he had achieved, all the actresses and models he had dated - it all inflicted you with some kind of inexplicable pain. One that made you feel worthless, to say the least. Someone who used to be so close to your heart, had grown so magnificently, leaving you with the painful fate of being ordinary. Yet, still your face lit up in distant pride each time a mention of Jean’s name surfaced, be it from the passing conversation your friend had, or to see it announced by the news anchor for some big public case he was working on.

Jean said that he returned home for a funeral. His uncle died, and he needed a spare sandal. He didn't know any other store, as the area both of you grew up in had changed a lot. Leaving this old department store the only place he could remember.

You passed your condolence but he was more curious with what you were up to. You chuckled because he seemed so serious when he asked, "Didn't you move out to the city? Why the hell are you coming back?" as if the misplacement of seeing someone so glitzy in this boring, dilapidated town didn't apply to him.

So you answered, and Jean turned silent for a moment. He tilted his head downward, and you noticed that he was the same person with the same mannerism. Although he was no longer the 17-year-old boy who used to get all ruffed up in school fight, trying to defend you from some stupid jocks; nor was he still the tall, lanky kid from your Home Economics class that you gave your first kiss to.

Your mind couldn’t help but to race to all the what-ifs, and the presence of Jean before your eyes right now only made the wonderings more palpable.

Jean smiled faintly to your answer, “Congratulations,” he still made his way to pat the side of your head, something he used to do every time, “big step, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s scary.”

“So, who’s the lucky guy? Anyone I know from school?” Jean said, faking the enthusiasm in his tone, but you didn’t notice. Because in your mind, it would be an absurd idea to think that you would still have the tiniest bit of effect on Jean, for he had outgrown all the memories he ever had with you.

“No, no,” you tried to mask the bitterness that suddenly emerged on the back of your tongue, “we met at work. He’s a great guy.”

Indeed, he was. The reason why you returned home was because you were getting married, and your fiancée wanted to be close with your family, for he didn’t have one growing up. He was an exceptional man, he had this magnetism in him, with the way he perceived things, to the abiding tenacity he had in him.

Your fiancée was a man you knew you could lean on in the eye of adversity. That’s why you agreed to marry him. But then again, there was always a void inside your heart that had no resolve to it for so many years. Your fiancée was your foundation, and yet, perhaps selfishly, you still yearned for the childish laughter and the irreplaceable feeling of freedom you once had with the man standing tall before you. Whose glance never failed to make you feel the most at ease with.

“He must be a pretty great guy to get you,” Jean’s faint smile grew into a grin, he was trying to down play the commotion he started to feel within his chest, “what’s his name? So, I can picture him.”

You laughed, because it was only natural for you to do so in the presence of the first guy you had fallen for, the first guy to ever told you how pretty you were and how all your imperfections never mattered to him, the first one to bring your teary face into his embrace after a gruesome day, before saying, ‘I never thought it’s possible. But, crazy, seeing you cry hurts me too.’

However, you knew, that all those memories had passed by and you were happy with where you were now. “Reiner,” you smiled at the mention of his name, “my fiancée’s name is Reiner Braun. He’s… amazing.”

“Wow. Tough name. Probably someone I’d stay clear from in high school.”

Both of you laughed, and the two of you continued to talk, as you walked him through the desolated alleys to find the sandal that he wanted to buy, and Jean walking you to the towel aisle that you had meant to buy one for Reiner, only to find out that they had stopped selling towels since long time ago. The laughter and reminiscing persisted until the cashier row when Jean heard your stomach grumble. Both of you exchanged glances and broke into yet another laughter.

“Salerno’s?” Jean said, suggesting the pizza place off the highway, where you had spent so many dates with him back then.

“How could I ever say no to that?”

“Settled, then. Did you drive here?” Jean’s eyes gazed afar to the parking lot, strangely looking for the old car you used to drive back in school, before realizing that thirteen years had passed and there was no chance that sickly car could ever survive the time.

“No, actually Reiner dropped me and—” As if staged by the universe, your phone rung and Reiner was calling, “—right in time, it’s him!”

You walked away from Jean for a moment as he looked for his car key inside jacket. Across the line, Reiner was gruntling, his voice was hazy, “Babe—”

“Reiner, I bumped into an old friend!” there was a sing-songy tone in your words. Through the phone, Reiner chuckled, picking up the excitement in your voice, even though it was getting more apparent that Reiner was drowsy, “Anyway babe, can you get an Uber? I took the cough syrup your mum gave me, and now I’m sleepy as fuck. ‘Fraid I won’t be able to drive.”

You turned to Jean and saw him jingling his car key at you, before returning back to Reiner on the phone, “Rei, I think my friend can drive me home. I’ll be stopping at Salerno’s, do you want anything? The calzone maybe?”

Reiner yawned, “That sounds nice but—” yet another yawn, “I’m gonna pass out. Come home soon, okay? Tuck me in.”

You cackled at the buff man whining before you said goodbye and followed Jean into his car.

The trip to Salerno’s was nourishing with memories. The poplar trees along the avenue had been replaced by lines of billboards – from advertisement of real estate agent to divorce attorney, they all reminded you of how much the town had changed. Yet the sense of comfort you shared with Jean as you joked about all of the absurd things you saw along the way, had not changed at all.

If for one second you forgot that you were driving in Jean’s expensive car, and that you imagined he was wearing a shabby soccer jersey instead of a tailored-fit shirt – if you closed your eyes and thought that thirteen years hadn’t gone by between the two of you, it almost felt like you rode a time machine to a time when Jean was yours and you were his. And something about the thought of it just broke your heart.

When Jean pulled over at Salerno’s and found out that it’s past the time for dine-in, the two of you decided to eat at his car instead. Jean didn’t even ask what you want and he returned with exactly what you had in mind, the classic calzone, something you always used to have. He remembered.

The two of you laughed, bantered and joked at each other. It felt almost as if no distance had ever been laid out between the two of you, like you hadn’t lived an entirely different life, like he was the same person after all. He hadn’t once made you self-conscious like you thought you would, considering the amount of success he had attained for himself. You felt bad for accusing Jean of the worst, when all it was just a projection of your own insecurity.

“So, you’re getting married on the 15th, and your annoying aunt is not invited?”

“Yeah, thank God for the pandemic somehow. Legit excuse, when all I wanted was not to have her talk shit about Reiner on my wedding day,” you munched through your calzone, talking mindlessly, “as for you, sir, you’re invited. That’s a no-brainer. Hereby I invite thee to my humble dwelling. Bring your model girlfriend, please, so I can brag to my cousins.”

His grin subsided into a weak smile and then into nothing at all, as he sipped on his coke. Suddenly awkward silence loomed within the small space of his car.

“Jean,” you shifted in your seat as the guilt grew on you, realizing the error in your judgment, “sorry I was being presumptuous.”

“No worries, it wasn’t serious. None of it ever was.”

You nodded, engulfed in your own guilt for bringing a bad topic up. The silence let the radio’s murmur to become noticeable, and an old song had just been played through the local radio, a tune that you used to listen with him on the back of your old creaking car after a make-out session filled with enraging teenage hormones.

And I’m in so deep~

You know I’m such a fool for you~

You got me wrapped around your finger I—

Do you have to let it linger?

You sighed and finally looked at Jean with his head hanging low, “Do you want to settle down someday?”

“Eventually.” Jean answered nonchalantly, “Not even sure about the whole relationship thingy.”

“Oh.” An acknowledgment you voiced, before succumbing to yet another silence.

Jean called your name softly and when you turned to face him, he was looking at you. Even in the darkness of the parking lot, you could see his honey eyes gleamed in a look that was so familiar to you—a look of disappointment, “Tell me, how could you never end up working where you’ve always wanted to be?”

You were pulled even deeper into your silence as you looked away. Suddenly a hot rash of sadness started to swallow you whole, “I—”

You tried to voice out a tangible reason, but you had realized that all of it was your own doing. Your insecurity, your self-consciousness, the thought that you were never good enough for the thing you once wanted so bad; all of it led to a life unlived, and to have someone finally putting you in your place was embarrassing, if not painful, “—wasn’t sure if I really wanted it and—”

“—wasn’t sure if I was good enough to pass the test.”

“So, after college, you never ended up applying there? Not even a try?”

You shook your head embarrassed, looking down at your shoes.

Jean sighed and laid his food on the dashboard, before reaching for your right hand and held it warmly into his grasp. He called your name which propelled you to look back at him, “Weren’t you the one who talked me into getting into law school? Even when I thought it was impossible? Weren’t you the one who wrote on my yearbook to-my-future-attorney when everyone was convinced that I’d end up working a mediocre office job? Or a mechanic in my Dad’s shop?”

Jean carried on, “I just… I just don’t understand. How could you have so much conviction for other people but—but yourself?”

You passed a grim smile, as vulnerability started to catch up with you, “Nevermind Jean, it’s passed. I am where I am now.”

“But, wasn’t it your dream?” Jean grew antsy on his seat, it was obvious that he truly didn’t understand, “The pages and pages and pages of diary you wrote about wanting to work there? What happened?”

You sighed, running out of words to say, until you caved in, “Maybe I never knew what I truly wanted.”

“Is that why?” Jean shot another look at you, there was an intensity in his eyes that you had never seen before. There you wondered what had happened to Jean’s life in all those years passed at your absence, had he led a difficult life before getting the success he was enjoying now? “Is that why you left me—because you didn’t know what you truly want?”

Jean understood the consequence of his action, he was a well-accomplished attorney after all. He also understood the vivid pain painted all over your face, but he was taking his shot. Years of wondering where had you gone, what kind of live had you lived – you never ceased to haunt him, all the what-ifs with you he always thought about whenever he broke off yet another meaningless relationship with yet another woman he’d never cared for in his life. Over the years, he’d taken a close look at you. He’d find you on the internet, he’d asked about you to friends of a friend that was still in touch with you, he’d ‘accidentally’ found your legal documents just to see that you had gotten your college degree one year earlier than him. He didn’t know why the thought of you lingered, you just did. Arriving into his dreams where he was seventeen again and unassuming, only for him to wake up disappointed at seeing a woman that wasn’t you in his bed.

For the longest time, Jean had fended for himself to be where he’s now. When survival had finally bore fruits, what else could there be for him? Still, he felt lonely in the embrace of another woman, still he felt the void persisted even if he spent his money on things he didn’t need. Jean never thought, that after years of dreaming to be the person he’s now, all he yearned for was to have a piece of simple, ordinary and innocent happiness he once had with you.

You were, after all, the only thing that could remind him of the innocence Jean had lost after years of grueling work as an attorney—seeing how corrupt and insidious men can be. So, when his wearied eyes landed on the sight of you this evening, in the alley of that long-forgotten Department Store, Jean had no choice but to finally face his haunting.

“Jean, it’s a long time ago,” you smile, cupping his hand with your free hand, “besides, I’m no longer your type, right?” A grin, a playful grin, painfully fabricated and Jean saw right through it.

You could feel the air had gotten thick in his car, and you shifted closer to the door. Jean let go of your hand as he moved closer to you, running his long fingers through your hair. His voice had gotten deep and you could sense a hint of pain in his words, “Maybe I never had a type.”

He dragged his gaze all over your face; your eyes, your nose, your lips – the way he used to reassure that you were so beautiful in his eyes despite the self-hate you inflicted upon yourself, “Maybe all I ever wanted was you and all I ever did with those girls was to try finding you in them,” he forced a smile, so stale, so painful, “to no avail.”

You could feel the air into your lung was compromised as you battled the tears, “Jean…”

“Out of so many things that I have been brave for, I was never brave enough for one thing that I needed the most: to tell you that it’s always been you,” Jean slithered his hands through your waist and pulled you into his embrace. He laid his head, heavy with loneliness and exhaustion on to the nook of your shoulder. For lack of better term, Jean was finally back home, as he muttered, letting go of all his inhibitions, “Baby, it’s always been you. It’s always been you.”

Your whole body was weak with emotions. The thoughts, the persistent ones – the what-ifs you could have had with Jean, the life you could have lived and the dream that could have been fulfilled. Without your permission, the tears fell to your dismay as you thought of one last thing remaining in your heart: Reiner. The way he smiled and listened all through your nightly despairs, caressing you close until you fell asleep, exhausted with tears dried up all over your face. The way Reiner whispered on to your ear, amidst your drowsiness, that he loved you and that he promised to make you whole, to fill the void you had always feared for. All the little things he had done without you asking, or the way he loved your family as if they were his own.

You cursed yourself for being surprised at how much you realized that you truly loved Reiner, even when you were in the embrace of someone you wondered about often. You realized, the best way to prove to someone that you love them was to stick around. And Reiner had stuck around, as much as you stuck around for him.

You left Jean long time ago for reasons you only vaguely remembered now, but life went on and sooner or later you should make it in your heart to accept it. You smiled and thought of your life. Sure, there was a lot of thing you need to patch up, but what is life if not persevering?

You pulled away from Jean, surprised to see a beaten look on his face. Far away from the dandy and sharp young attorney you would see on the news. Once, you loved this man, but years had passed and the one he wanted was no longer there. You were no longer the person you were thirteen years ago. You were no longer the girl Jean longed for, all he wished for was a passing ghost that you have left behind in your adolescence.

You caressed his cheek for the last time and landed a kiss to his forehead, “Jean, I’m so proud of you. How far you have gone. I’m sorry I wouldn’t be the one you’d share your future achievement with, but for all the things you have done to me, for seeing the good in me when I could hardly see it… I want to say thank you,” you smiled although pain was searing within your chest, “there’s a world out there where this would work out. But not this world.”

The unexpected rendezvous you had with the man whom you had given your first love to ended with both of you crying at each other’s embrace, until Salerno’s closed and turned off their lights.

When Jean finally dropped you at your childhood home, the place he used to spend all the times in, Jean smiled and pointed at your room with the lights still lit, “He’s waiting?”

“I think he’s asleep. He’s a deep sleeper, he forgets to turn off the lights every time.”

“Does he even fit in your tiny bed?”

“Well, you did fit.”

“For a time.”

“Yeah, for a time.”

“So, you’ll be Mrs. Braun?”

“Yep, Mrs. Braun I will be.”

Jean scoffed, pretending to be annoyed, but smiling nonetheless, “Lucky bastard, that Mr. Braun.”

#jean x reader #jean kirstein #jean kirschstein #aot jean #snk jean #aot fluff #snk fluff #aot fanfiction #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #kojins twisted match-up

54 notes · View notes

waffle-lexicon · 3 years

Text

reading hamlet live updates: (method of reading: aloud, for the first time, with my 8 year old sister who cannot pronounce half the words or understand what's going on.)

you're laughing. they used the funeral pork as the wedding meal and you're laughing.

ophelia really said: thanks laertes <3 if you're mad about me having more of a sex life than you go cry to dad about it and stop bothering me <33

I love how ghosty hamlet daddy got a limited time to spend with the living and he spent half of it describing how the poison he got dumped in his ear turned his blood to chunks.

ooh idk why but it's giving me jane austen vibes with the "discredit my son's name but only a little bit"

wow king + queen just got their (adopted) child paid friends. how loving <3

POLONIUS;;; he's funny. but in a weird creepy old man way funny? I picture him looking like a less slovenly denethor (from LOTR), which is weird. "brevity is the soul of wit" is my favorite quote so far, however. and love how straight after that he goes into the whole "yo son crazy" speech.

hamlet's crazy really comes out with polonius, but not gonna lie this is where I start to like his character the most. ya boy's funny that's all I'm gonna say

"The world's grown honest." "Then doomsday's near." EPIC

I love all of Hamlet's interactions with people so far. the snark is on full blast and he keeps trying to have philosophical discussions that don't work out.

OH he's bisexual

"My lord, I have news to tell you--" "mY lOrD i HaVe NeWs To TeLl yOuuu"

ooh he sneaky sneaky. great plan u theater nerd (affectionate)

catch me shuffling off that mortal coil

GET THEE TO A NUNNERY;;;;; 😱😱😱😱 don't know quite what to feel about this scene yet but I feel like hamlet knew that the king and polonius were there so that makes it 10x funnier

not hamlet telling the actors how to do their job

"Here, sweet lord, at your service." I SEE YOU HORATIO

Wormwood, wormwood.

how DRAMATIC <3 hamlet really said "I'LL TURN INTO A PIPE IF YOU WANNA PLAY ME THAT BAD"

hamlet: darn he just prayed he won't be going to h-e-double hockey sticks if I kill 'im now the king at that very moment: hOW do I PRAY uhhhh MURDER MOST FOUL no that's not right ummm aaaa

wait a second hamlet WHO are you keeping in your heart's core? your heart of hearts, so to speak?

AND THEY WERE SCHOOL FELLOWS

HOW NOW? A RAT??

hamlet has no idea how to use a sword does he.

hamlet: *thrusts rapier wildly through big ol tapestry* polonius, aforementioned rat: oop he got me *falls and dies* hamlet: huh. what

does he just. carry around two pictures of his dead dad and his uncle in the random chance that he's in a broom closet with his mother so he can be like; DO YOU HAVE EYES. YOU MARRIED AN UGLY MAN DO YOU HAVE EYES

act 4.2 is the best thing that shakespeare has ever written fight me

PIRATES

where did the pirates go

I wish that Ophelia's death had happened on stage, but also the way that Gertrude described her death is just w o w. it reads almost like poetry, what with all the flower mentions and the imagery, and it's so so beautiful and really sad.

horatio and hamlet are just having a date in the graveyard huh? how romantic

WHY does this 'clown' keep throwing bones. how does he know whose bones they are. do they have lil stickers on them

part 1/?

#I am looking forwards to finishing it!! I will make a part two then #truly love this dramatic thespian so far #hamlet #hamlet live update #reading live updates #waffle lexicon #shakespeare #william shakespeare #playblr #plays #theater #thespian #acting #long post #text post

28 notes · View notes

thewritingstar · 3 years

Text

The Sun Sets With You

Pairing: Blossutch

Fandom: Powerpuff Girls

Rating: T

Word count: 6k

Warnings: Major Character Death.

Note: I am so excited to finish this fic! Thank you so much to @creativecilla for commissioning time and time again. She asked for a sad and angsty fic so I hope I delivered! (She also asked for a happy fic so dont worry that's coming soon)

Don't worry there will be a little bonus after this so don't come for my throat too hard.

Anyways, I hope that you enjoy this because I had the time of my life writing it while crying.

Thanks for reading <3

(the italicized is flashbacks just in case ya confused :)

✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼

“Your love is like a sunset, the longer I wait, it slowly fades into the sea, making a beautiful distraction, As loneliness and despair creep from behind like the shadow of the night.” -Albion Gremory

✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼

The gate waits patiently for her to cross. It's black and shiny as if it were polished just for her. She has been here for almost an hour and yet she hasn't moved an inch. The bouquet of flowers she spent just as long picking out are starting to get annoyed by her lack of movement and although they don’t have a voice or emotions, she can tell they are growing weary too.

She doesn’t understand. Why couldn’t she simply walk forward and make this easy? She was a trained assassin, a spy at the very core where nothing could challenge her except for this field of grass. Grass that is bright green and thriving yet underneath its healthy roots, is a minefield of bodies. It's odd to think about. The care and water used to make sure that the green is at its brightest and the stone looks nice but in reality, it won’t matter.

Nothing matters anymore.

Her grip tightens on the poor flowers. A frail red ribbon holds them together instead of being wrapped in her ginger hair where it belongs. The last time she wore it was the day...it's been a while.

The cemetery has a familiar feel to it. She’s been here before. She has been here many times and has even memorized the grounds. However, this time is much more...intimate. A much more personal experience.

It was never personal because in her line of work, this was normal and happened often. You would come into the office and hear about the poor sucker that got shot, stabbed or blown to bits, grab a hopefully fresh cup of coffee and make sure that you don’t end up the same as them. It was all a part of the job to join the unavoidable circle of life.

Before it was just people whose identities changed day in and day out to avoid this particular outcome. To avoid becoming worm food and having fresh flowers at the bottom of your name. Death never meant anything to her but an end we all have to face. It never meant to stop and think about your life because she didn’t have one to live.

There was no glory waiting for her back home as she finished another mission. There was no dream to achieve because she plagued those of her mind years ago. Warmth and desire from others could not be tolerated. It was dangerous to have anyone close to you but hurt even more when they were gone.

Her dreams had been swept into the night and burned like a fallen star. They were meant for rare quiet days where she could close her eyes and have a glimpse of another chance at life and then it would be over and she couldn’t allow anyone to hold her back. But just as there are dreams, nightmares will surface too.

This was a nightmare only for her eyes. It was common for members of their work to come and pay respects if they got time but for this, she asked that she would be the first. And only then was anyone else allowed.

The months that ate away at her aching heart caused her to be the opposite. She said she had gone, said her dues and the rest followed. Her lies now corrupted her normal life, if you could even call it normal.

So she became the last person and perhaps that's for the best. Even in death, she keeps him waiting. But unlike the other times, he couldn’t leave or say anything about it. The silence of the coffin was enough for her to know that she might get the last words like always but she doesn’t want them.

She would rather keep her words to herself, her mouth stapled shut than utter the last words. She also knew that he would rather listen to her all day than have a moment of silence.

So here she is. A little black dress that poofs out gently at the bottom just above her knees. It was the same dress she had worn on their mission in Italy years ago. It had ended up on the hotel bathroom floor much sooner than expected, however this time the smell of sandalwood and pine had been washed out.

She feels like a housewife ready to see her lost husband coming back from the war in the form of a corpse. The only difference is her vision won’t include the golden bands. Her thumb grazes her ring finger feeling nothing but bare skin and it pains her to think that she was so close. So close to a dream.

She inhales and exhales. Her ability to control her emotions is unlike anyone else. If she chooses to be a stone wall, then nothing will make her crumble. For years she had seen bloodshed and violence. Encountered dangerous people and never once had a hard time sleeping.

Steps take her closer and she feels herself start to decay brick by brick.

Every breath comes out colder and slower and she doesn’t have to look to know she's right in front of it because all the oxygen surrounding her has left and replaced with a frosted void she's grown used to over these past few months.

“Hello.” Her voice is firm and polite.

Formal. She’s too formal and she can practically feel him rolling in his grave to tell her to die it down. Die it down. She hums at that thought and complies with the request that wasn’t even asked but she knows him.

Her feet slip out of her heels, the ones he had bought randomly. The ones she had danced in as he spun her slowly. Her toes feel the dew on the grass. She hates the feeling, her exposed skin starts to itch and irritate her but that just reminds her of her beating heart. So she forces herself to rest on her knees but keeps her eyes shut. Bravery was never something she lacked.

But being brave with her vulnerable emotions had never come easy.

“Just open them.” She scolds herself. No one is around but she feels like the entire world is staring at her.

This isn't work.

This isn’t a mission.

This is him.

Slowly her eyes flutter open to reveal the truth she tried to conceal. The wall inside of her has fallen. There's a suffocating way about this all. She's a woman of logic, a see it before believe it kind-of-person. It's a crumbling mess that turns her into ruins.

And that's when it hits her.

Like the fall of Rome, there are no survivors. There is no happy ending here. Everything leads to Rome...everything leads to heartbreak eventually.

Tears overwhelm everything else. Blossom Utonium has cried for a fallen coworker but never once had she had to grieve and take in the burden of her heart growing dark and heavy.

Her fingers clench the soil. She didn’t want to cry. Didn’t want to sob, not at the risk of seeming weak, but to actually force herself to come to terms with it. To see it written in stone as literal as it comes.

Butch Jojo is dead.

There’s no other way to put it. No soft angle to come at. No lessening the blow because she was there and saw it with her own eyes. No one had to tell her because she relieved it every time her eyes closed.

How was she supposed to go on? He was the piece of her puzzle that fit so neatly and perfectly. She didn’t realize that the picture became indecipherable the moment he was removed. She clawed at that table trying to put back all the pieces. Trying to figure out where they all go but she's left with segments that don’t seem to fit any longer.

He was her sun and moon, the day and night and every other cliche slapped onto an overpriced Hallmark card. He was it all, and now he is gone. Gone too soon and she barely had him in the first place.

The gravestone itself is simple. It's the only one on the lot that isn't decorated by a three foot high statue or a giant cross. It's as basic as they come yet the man it was for was far from it. There was no luxury of filling the coffin with a body. So every bit of him was taken physically and metaphorically from her.

His name is in an elegant cursive and his birth name. Something most people didn’t know. Usually spies and assassins change up their name to make their identity untraceable. She had known him as many different names, but Butch was the only one who she cared about. The only one to ever make her feel like herself.

Her fingers hover above the engraving before setting on the coldness and tracing it with the tip of her index finger. It takes her breath away like an old candle finally burning out.

She wonders if a cruel joke is being played on her as she stares at the curls of the cursive. It was the same font she had chosen for their makeshift wedding invitations the moment she realized that he was the one. Of course he would have had comic sans or some heavy metal font on his tombstone if he was given the chance just to spite everything and everyone.

She's sure that this was already made far before his death. In fact, she's convinced that everyone already has a grave with their name stored somewhere in the back for fast and easy access. Hers is probably waiting and collecting dust.

“Hi.” She utters, less formal than the first time and that felt like ages ago. “For the first time, I’m speechless.” She confesses. “I’m not quite sure what to say.”

For days she sat underneath her flickering desk light writing a speech for a funeral that no one would attend.

The words never came into place even though she deemed herself a thoughtful writer. But what do you say when the person who gave you a reason to speak is gone? Was there anything worth uttering when she couldn’t bring herself to do it?

But she wrote. She wrote everything she had felt and ended with a flood of pages on her desk. Pens with tired ink cartridges littered her desk and endless chicken scratched papers were tossed away. It needed to be thoughtful and inviting but in reality, it just needed to be the words she never said.

The moment she finished writing them, she threw them into a box to never see the light of day. But when she finally had the courage to come and pay her respects, she became drawn to them. Her mind fought with her hands to take them even if she decided to keep them in her purse.

Her purse opens and she takes out a few pages. The ones that made her heart ache the most and that are decorated with stains of dried tears. She clears her throat. “The first time I met you, I thought nothing of it. It was in front of the coffee maker at work, you had just joined our firm and you walked by, glanced at me and then you were gone into the other room. That was it. That's what we were meant to be. A simple meeting of the eyes and then we don’t interact again.”

✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼

The coffee drips way too slow, she thinks. A state of the art facility full of lasers, guns and cars and they couldn’t be bothered to get something just slightly better. The mug finishes filling just in time for her patience to run out. She grabs it and turns to look out towards the rows of cubicles that make it seem like a simple office.

Instead of a bored coworker looking tired at a computer, she's met with green eyes and an emotionless face. For a second she saw his lips turn into a smirk. It's quick. A match striking the box with a flame igniting on impact. And then it’s dropped in water and out just as fast. He's gone by the time she blinks next and even though it was nothing, those eyes fueled a fire she wasn’t sure she had.

✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼

“But then I kept seeing more and more of you.”

✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼

“You clean up nice.” Blossom turned to see a guy. She recognized him from last week, a new transfer who she only caught a glance at. He was in a highly expensive tux and was adjusting the equally priced watch on his wrist.

“I assume you must be my new partner.” She said as she mentally analyzed him slowly. Slicked black hair, looks as if he goes to the gym quite often, hands looks steady for a firearm. Green. Forest green eyes.

He smiled. “Must be.”

“You can call me Amanda.” Her fake name suited her fine as she checked the time. “I hope that you read over the files of our mission.”

“I tend to skim and wing it.” He winked and that irked her. “Matts fine for the evening.”

Blossom, or Amanda for now, kept her eyes from rolling and walked to him and wrapped her arm around his. “You might be my husband for this mission but if you fuck up, you better be thankful this isn’t legally bounded.” She finished with a flutter of her eyelashes and a smile before pulling him along.

She didn’t get too far before he pulled her back and her bright pink eyes met deep green ones closely. “I take my job very seriously. But I wouldn’t dream of making you mad at me. But on the other hand, I admire strong women.”

She didn’t know why she didn’t smack him in the face. Usually every partner who has tried to flirt or mess with her learned the hard way that is a no no. Yet, even after moments of knowing him, there was something genuine about him that she couldn’t quite understand but became interested in.

“Glad to see we are on the same page Matt.”

“Of course Amanda.” Butch replied and held out his hand. “After you.”

✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼

The trees nearby moved in the breeze without a care in the world. They had nothing to care for except for their leaves changing in the fall and losing them in the winter. But leaves always came back, they always blossomed and started a new life and were the same tree no matter how many times the seasons passed.

She wondered if those trees ever felt heartbreak or if it was easier to lose something when you know it will come back to you with time. She envied those trees. Envied the way that they can continue their lives just growing and flourishing and it felt like her leaves were turning to dust as she was being cut down.

From her purse she pulled out a thermos and two plastic cups. She nestled one into the ground as she poured the wine into the cup and then one into hers.

“I never cared for this brand of wine before I met you.” She smiled softly and took a sip. “Never cared for a lot of things. Yet this was your favorite and everytime we had a mission, I could always find you relaxing with a glass. I guess it became an acquired taste over time. You became my taste.”

✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼

“Care for a glass?” He asked her as she sat in front of the fireplace.

Due to them working together for more than a year, the agency decided that personal rooms weren’t necessary and if anyone were to see them leave together and follow, it would fit with their stories.

Blossom looked up from the book she just pulled out. A dissatisfying glare focused on the bottle in his hand. “No thanks, that stuff is garbage.”

Butch, or well, Sebastian for the evening, scoffed. “Garbage?” He exclaimed dramatically. “This is some of the finest wine in the world.”

“I’ve had better.”

“It's from Italy!”

“I prefer local or even cheap box wine to that.” Blossom scanned her book.

Butch only huffed again but still proceeded to pour two glasses and joined her on the floor.

“I said I didn’t want any.”

“I think you just haven’t had it with the right company.” He smirked and offered her the glass.

She rolled her eyes and took the glass, her book forgotten now. Blossom brought the glass to her lips, took a sip and tried her best to hold back a grimace. “It's fine.”

He only shook his head and drank his own glass, the small smile on his lips never leaving. “Butch.”

She turned the glass in her hand then glanced at him. “What?”

“Butch. That's my name, my real name.”

Her heart started beating quicker. “Why are you telling me this? You shouldn’t be.”

It was a common understanding. You might know the face of your partner or colleagues but a name and identity was off the table. The only thing anyone needed to track down someone was a name. And the moment it's out there, you can start counting your days.

Butch shurgged and downed the rest of his wine. “Not sure. Never told anyone before. Well anyone who I didn't know beforehand. But there's something about you. I don’t think you fully trust me. I get it of course. I don’t trust people at all.”

“So why tell me?” She questioned.

His eyes met hers. Seriousness washed across his face and any hint of amusement was gone. “I have no one in my life who knows me as Butch anymore. Only myself and my thoughts. And after years in this shit business-you’re the only partner I’ve had that I trust with my life.”

Her fingers tighten around the stem of the glass. Her poor heart is beating much faster; she's sure he can hear it. She’s never had a partner like him. Never met a person who she blindly trusted like this.

“Blossom.” She blurts out. “My name is Blossom.”

And that smirk returns and his eyes soften. She's seen him kill a man before and yet he looks so incredibly soft and honest.

“That's a pretty unique name.”

“My father told me it was because of cherry blossom trees.” She smiles at the memory. She reaches and takes the brown contact from her eyes. Her main defying feature that no one but the higher ups knew about.

Her eyelashes flutter as she places them in the contacts case. She looks back at Butch and prepares for the intergation look.

It never comes.

Instead he's looking at her as if she's the most interesting thing in the world. Pastel pink eyes greet his own and he's taken back and tries to keep these emotions down.

“Its weird I know-

“You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met.” He interrupts. “And I swear I’m not drunk.

That flicker resurfaced. The match struck the box but the flame was held much longer this time. Her reaction surprised the both of them as she laughed and her smile reached her eyes, something they haven’t done naturally in years.

She controlled her laugh and hummed bringing the glass to her lips and taking another sip. It wasn’t as bad as the first. “And you are very-”

“Charming? Irresistible?”

“Interesting.” She finished.

The bottle poured more wine into his glass and he tapped it to hers. “I’ll take it for now.” He winked.

✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼

Her glass is empty now. She pours the glass for him into the soil, hoping to give him one last taste of what he loved.

“Over the years I forgot myself, you have to.” Blossom tells him. “I forgot my passions and hobbies. The simple pleasures of life were taken from me when I joined this path.”

The books on her shelf at home had collected dust over the years. The pages stuck as the days passed but only recently did she find herself opening them, even to just a random page and basking in the tiny shred of warmth it gave her.

“I felt those pleasures rise with you. Even buying a simple candle because you said you liked the scent brought me a joy I hadn’t noticed was missing. I was missing everything in life because I didn’t have a light to guide me.”

She bites her lips hoping to stop another sob. How many tears can a person shed in a short amount of time? When do they stop and allow the body to rest?

“That first time you kissed me.” Her voice cracks. “That's when I started believing that life could be more than what we were conditioned to do.”

✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼

Her feet ached. Her heels were in her hands and she was tired from another successful work day. After six months of locating and sniffing out an underground drug market, they finally caught the group of men.

She glanced at her shoes and dress, irritated that the blood ruined another perfectly good outfit. She wanted to just get into her room, take a bath and pass out on her bed and to not be distrubed for at least seventy two hours.

She got to her hotel door and started to search for her key.

“Oh shit.” She grumbled. Her purse was nowhere in sight.

“Here.”

Blossom turned to see Butch holding the desginer bag.

A sigh of relief left her lips as she took it and fished out the key card. He leaned against the wall, clearly tired and wanting to rest like her. Two years they had been partners. The longest partnership she’s had and she wasn’t complaining. Usually they shared a room on missions but they had separate rooms this time.

“Tired?” She glanced at him.

“No, I'm fully awake.” He said sarcastically. “I feel like I got hit by a freight train.”

“I’m sure those guys thought they did too when you punched them.” Her door clicked open but she didn’t move.

“Oh please, you did most of the heavy lifting. I mean who takes down a giant dude with a high kick in heels.” He was practically beaming with pride from the memory. “Badass stuff Bloss.”

She was sure there was a blush on her cheeks. Shaking those thoughts from her head she smiled and opened the door. “Goodnight Butch.”

“Night.”

…

“Isn’t this the part where you walk into your room?” He raises a bow that is answering the silent question she asked.

She straightens her back. “Shouldn’t you be walking to yours?”

He moves closer to her. Brushing the hair on her shoulders off and there's a buzz throughout her as his fingers graze her shoulders.

He's closer now. Their lips only inches apart and although her body is killing her and aching, she can’t help but let her mind wander.

“I prefer the view right here.” He says in almost a whisper that makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand. “And possibly even the taste.”

His lips press against hers. They have kissed many times in front of people on missions but it's never been like this. Never a sign that everything she had been feeling, wanting could be hers for the taking.

It's not fast and heated. It's slow as if he's testing out the waters that he can glady swim in. It's a sign that they know they shouldn’t be doing this but for once, she's playing by a different set of rules.

They break apart. The kiss wasn’t very long but the sparks linger and scorch through her body. She's afraid to look at him now. Afraid that rejection and everything she had told herself not to want, can’t be hers. The ground should just swallow her whole now.

She feels a hand softly touch her cheek and she looks up at him. This look on his face, she can't describe it. She can see the gears turning in his head, wondering if this was a mistake just as she thought.

But rejection never comes. He doesn’t pull or push away.

Instead his lips turn slightly up. “I know we fight for the greater good, but I’m starting to think I have a different purpose.”

“What?” She questions.

“You.”

✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼

She could have sworn it's only been a few minutes but the sky’s blue had morphed into a dusty pink. A wonderful sunset that she is surprised she can still find beauty in. She knows she’ll have to leave soon. She is afraid that when she does, she might not come back.

One of the final happy moments with him was weeks before his death. Five years they had known each other and it was all washed down the drain.

Her head turns towards the sky as she basks in the sunset. “I hope that wherever you are there are still skies like these.”

✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼

Sunsets in Hawaii were much better in person than any photo could capture.

“Another successful mission.” Blossom giggles as she takes a sip of her mai tai. Her feet are swaying above the water and the breeze flows through her hair. She hasn’t remembered being this peaceful but she could get used to it.

“Yeah.” Butch says as he downs his drink.

Five years she's known him. Every action and mannerism he's done is burned in her memory. It's the most priceless information she has, the most important because it's all hers.

He seems calm, she admits. But something is on his mind. He's not thriving in the glory of another mission or running around crazy and jumping into the ocean like the days before. He seems to be in deep thought. Something she's not quite sure she likes.

The horizon catches her eyes. “The sky is pretty.” She adds.

“Runaway with me.”

The movement of the waves stops. The breeze halts and her eyes widen.

“What?” She turns towards him. “Runaway?”

He nods. “Runaway from this place and all its madness. We could get married, travel the world, anything you want.” He took her hand. “I don’t care where we go. I just want to be with you.”

“With me?” She's practically speechless.

Butch cracks a smile. “Only you. Imagine this.” He scoots closer to her and wraps his arm around her shoulder. “A house on private property, hell maybe even a beachfront. You have your own little library and I’ll even get you a nice espresso machine. A garden with all the flowers you could imagine and even a baby grand piano since I know how much you love to play.”

The images flood her mind. “That sounds lovely.”

“And you wanna know the best part?” He asks.

She nods her head. “Tell me.”

“I would get to wake up each morning with you in my arms.” He smirks and kisses her softly.

“That would be the best part.” She hums against his lips. Her stomach then drops. “But we can’t.”

“Three good reasons.”

She tried to think. How could she leave the agency she's been in since she was a kid? How could she throw everything away? These feelings she had were all muddled into a mess that she didn’t know how to get out of. That vision he told her sounded like a dream.

That's what this was. A dream. Something she wasn’t allowed to have. But she wanted it.

Butch sighed. “I guess it's easier for me cause I’m selfish.” He smiled softly at her and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Whatever choice you make, as long as I can still be by your side, is fine by me.”

✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼

Blossom looks at the notes in her hands then back to the stone.

“I’m sorry Butch.” She cries and crumples them. Tears overwhelm her once again but she doesn’t wipe them or try to stop it. She is a dam that's been holding it all for too long. Holding her emotions for years and she was tired.

“Everyone told me to come here to get closure, but I don't want that. I want to feel the emptiness and shallowness. I want to cry myself to sleep and wish I could hold you again. It's torturous and cruel to think like that but it means that it was real. And that it was mine. This-” She beats her fingers against her chest, against her heart. “This is yours.”

“I am sorry Butch. I vowed to never let my heart act over my head. And that is something I regret deeply. You were right. You always have been. You wanted me without hesitation and I’m sorry I was guarded. But I swear when I was with you I wasn’t.”

The laughter and joy he brought her. She felt like she was breathing for the first time around him and even in the most serious situations there was still an element of peace.

“I had hoped that I would never have to say this. Never had to face this reality because it's too painful. I tried to deny it all, even though I watched it happen. Maybe if I had never let myself be charmed by you, I could avoid all these feelings but we both know that you were just so-’ She bites a laugh. “Irresistible.”

Her voice got louder as her sobs grew. “Every single moment was worth it. Your eyes and your smile. The way you knew what I was thinking even though no one else could ever know. I treated it like our job but the truth is, I wanted you to figure me out so I could finally tell myself it's okay to be happy. That's what you were Butch. My happiness.”

✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼

This can’t be happening, she thought. Never in her entire career had she been kidnapped and captured. She was careful and guarded but they got the best of them this time.

The gag in her mouth was doing its job and her wrists were bound behind her back. The cold chill ran up her spine as she watched the men drag him in front of her. He was a few feet away and his face was covered in blood and bruises.

“Only one of you makes it out alive.” The man said.

She tried to pull against the restraints but felt the cool metal touch the back of her head.

“No moving sweetheart.” She heard behind her.

She watched as they removed Butch’s gag and he choked on the air before his hair was pulled and he was forced to look at her.

Those dark green eyes met with frightened brown but he knew that below the color was a brilliance of magenta that he adored.

He should be scared and terrified. And he was. But looking at her even in this state, he felt a sense of happiness wash over him. Everything he never thought he could have was right there in front of him.

Tears fell from her eyes as she watched the man stab him in the stomach. The knife plunged into his flesh and Butch let out a horrifc cry as she screamed into the gag.

“Dying words buddy?” The man laughed as he pulled out a gun and held it up to head.

Even through the pain shooting through his body, he looked at her with tears in his eyes.

His lips turned into a smile, even with blood coating his teeth. “Blossom-” He coughed.

No.

Please No!

She wanted to scream and tell him that she takes it all back. She wanted her dress and the ring. She wanted their own house and a piano where she could play for him.

Everything. She wanted everything.

She wanted him.

“I love you.” He says.

BAM!

✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼

Her breath catches in her throat as she sees it. The blood and the life leaving his eyes. It replays and she tries to stop the memory.

“Could you ever forgive me?” She sobs. “Forgive me for not telling you?”

Her hand presses against the gravestone. She's not sure what she's hoping for but it's cold.

“You said it moments before your death and I couldn’t even let you die with that. Yet through that you smiled at me. You fucking smiled as death was taking you faster than I could realize because you knew. I couldn’t say it. No matter how much I wanted to tell you, I was afraid that the moment I did, this would happen. I wasn’t prepared to lose you. I wasn’t ready to face a life where I would spend every waking moment wondering if waking up next to you was truly real or a dream.”

Anger rises in her. Anger at the world and the men who killed him. Angry at the agency who turned the other eye when he died. There was nothing for her there anymore. She realized it way too late that she was robbed of everything from this life. Robbed of having him because she was afraid.

“I don't get it. How did you make me want that so bad? How you took my heart and made it beat faster than ever before. You told me to be selfish so here it is. I want you. I want you back and alive so that I can go and buy that white dress. I want everything you said.”

The anger bubbling shifts. It lingers but she takes a deep breath. It won’t help her to be angry or to bring him back. That sorrow takes its hold over her again. It's sad but calming as she tries to reason with herself that he is gone. She knows closure won’t come but she's okay with that.

“But that's not the reality anymore. I can’t change the past but I won’t change the future either. I am deeply and madly in love with you Butch. You gave me a glimpse of what a normal and fulfilling life could be and I thank you for that. Thank you for giving me slices of happiness and making me feel like I was worth loving.”

She reaches into her purse one last time and pulls out a letter and a box. “I resigned and I bought myself a ring.” She opens it and slips on the silver band with a small opal. “It's silly I know, not even a wedding ring. I hope you don’t mind. I stole one of the gems from your watch to make it.” She cries.

“They took all your stuff you know.” Her hands quiver as she stares at her ring. “They took every part of you like it was nothing, like you didn’t exist at all. The watch was all I could get.”

The sun is now setting and the breeze picks up. She's not cold anymore, and can't feel anything.

“They’ll kill me, I'm sure of it. That's what happens when you leave. And when they do, I better see you on the other side. A place where we can watch the sunset and have our little home. A place where this emptiness inside me can be whole again. I just want a place where I can love you.”

The glasses and letters go back into her purse. The flowers lay with her ribbon at the base as she stands and dusts off her dress.

She finally wipes her tears and forces a wonderful soft smile. “You were the most charming and wonderful man I have ever had the honor of working with. But most importantly, you were proof that dreams could come true.”

She touches the stone one last time. Feels the coolness but it's not as frightening. She's not afraid anymore. Blossom takes a step back and her eyes dance over his name one last time. She slips on her heels and grabs her purse.

“Goodbye my love.” She says and makes her way across the grass to the black gate.

✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼

I hope you enjoyed!

#blossutch #blossom x butch #ppg fic #angst #blossutch fic #thewritingstar

17 notes · View notes

cozy-the-overlord · 3 years

Text

Dances and Daggers

Summary: The Summer Festival is upon Asgard, as is the tradition of the dagger ceremony, where each unmarried gentleman chooses a lady to bestow with the honor of carrying his dagger for the night. As Prince Thor’s betrothed, Teki’s only goal is to accept his dagger with grace and hope that her violent stepfather doesn’t find fault with her in the process. But Prince Thor is unpredictable, and when he ignores his engagement on a whim Teki finds herself in a desperate situation. Luckily, Thor isn’t the only prince in Asgard…

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Chapter 18: The End

Previous Chapter |

Word Count: 1,793

A/N: Oh my goodness, we're here. We're at the last chapter. I can't believe it. Thank you all so much for reading and liking and commenting-- you've all made the last seventeen weeks absolutely wonderful, and I'm so grateful :)

TW: Mentions of violence, child abuse, description of a dead body

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @moumouton4 @berriemalfoy @whatafuckingdumbass @sophlubbwriting

if you want to be tagged, feel free to just send me an ask/message! :)

Read it on Ao3!

The Winter Festival was in full swing. Teki surveyed the crowd from her place on the royal platform. She still wasn’t entirely comfortable sitting so high above everyone else, but the spot wasn’t anywhere near as unnerving as she had first found it. Besides her, Brant munched contentedly on the meat she had chopped into tiny pieces for him. In the beginning, he had been so frightened of sitting atop the podium that he was afraid to even ask her to cut his food, but after several months he had grown quite at ease with the whole thing.

“Teki!” he’d whisper excitedly, pulling on her sleeve. ”You can see everyone in the hall from here!”

She couldn’t help but grin.

On her other side, Loki grasped her hand.

“Would you like to dance?”

Teki returned his eager smile. “Of course!”

People parted for them as he led her through the crowd, the skirt of her emerald dress billowing around her legs, a silky cloud of green. Loki’s dagger hung at her hip. She had been wearing it every night as of late. It brought a strange sort of tranquility to feel it at her side, something that she hadn’t thought was every possible. It had been hard to look at it at first, to hold it in her hands and know that it had allowed her to take a life. Osvald’s blank stare haunted her whenever she closed her eyes.

But … there was something powerful in it as well, something she couldn’t quite explain. For so long, she had been this helpless little girl who kept her head down and hands clasped in her lap, whose only defense had ever been to close her eyes and hope for the danger to pass, but now … she wasn’t. Everyone knew about her now, not as the fiancé to a prince who held no interest in her, but as a survivor who vanquished the monster who murdered her father. It was an odd feeling. Teki had never expected to command respect of any kind from her fellow Asgardians—even with a future as queen she had always known that she’d exist only in Thor’s shadow—but now, people bowed their heads when she passed.

Loki pulled her on to the dance floor with a twirl, grinning as her dress fanned out around her. Teki giggled.

“Remember the first time you asked me to dance?” she asked suddenly. It seemed eons ago that he had first found her crying on the balcony, and yet somehow it had only been less than a year.

The prince nodded. “I was so nervous,” he confided as he held her closer to him.

Teki laughed incredulously. “You were nervous!”

“I was!” he insisted. “You seemed so sad. I wanted to make you feel better, but I was afraid I was only making things worse.” He paused. “And you were meant for Thor, so I wasn’t certain I’d even be welcome.”

She sighed. That seemed eons ago too—a time where Loki didn’t know her better than she knew herself.

“Well,” she mumbled, cheeks burning. “You’re always welcome.”

He laughed. “Good to know.”

Teki laughed as well, but she hoped he knew how true her words were. She didn’t know what she would have done without Loki these past few months. He had been by her side throughout all the insanity that had followed her mother’s arrest and her stepfather’s demise, whether it was something as grand as testifying before the court that Osvald was killed in self-defense or as simple as sitting next to her at her piano as she played the first few lines of the piece she was composing herself.

He had been with her when she received word that they had found what they believed to be her father’s skeletal remains. Her mother’s confession had included the details of where and how Steinn’s body had been disposed of, down to the gory details that Teki had never wanted to know, how they dismembered him so Osvald could sneak him off world in a rugsack and bury him on Alfheim. Teki’s only attempt to read through the whole thing had ended with her coughing up her breakfast into a chamber pot.

But thanks to Áslaug’s description, they knew where to look, and within a fortnight they found him. Peeling back that blanket to look at her father’s remains had been an experience she couldn’t quite describe. The two felt so disconnected—how could a man so larger than life who she could picture so clearly in her memory be reduced to nothing but a box of dusty bones? For several hours, all she felt was numbness. It wasn’t until late that night that the reality truly struck her. Brant stumbled into her room to find hunched over on her bed, sobbing ferociously into her pillowcase.

They held a funeral for him. It was nothing elaborate, there wasn’t a big production or a huge crowd in attendance, but it was something. Teki didn’t know the next thing about archery, so instead of shooting a flaming arrow, she lit his pyre with a torch before sending it across the water. They probably could’ve gotten a professional archer for it—Loki had offered to shoot it himself—but it had to be her. Teki couldn’t explain it, but it had to be her.

She sighed as her father drifted across the waterfall, across the threshold beyond. It was as if an invisible weight she had carried with her since she was small had floated away as well. He could rest easy now, high in Valhalla. Perhaps she could too.

But there was one thing stopping her from embracing that peace.

Teki followed the guard down through the catacombs of ancient stone, head low. It seemed colder down here, far below the palace. At least, she told herself that’s why she was shivering.

Behind translucent shields of glowing light, prisoners loomed at her as they passed. Teki kept her eyes straight ahead. Based on their biting leers, she got the feeling that they didn’t see a lot of visitors around here.

Her mother sat on the cot in the corner of her cell, picking at her nails. For a moment, Teki almost didn’t recognize her. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, her dress plain and shapeless. She couldn’t recall the last time she had seen her mother without her face painted.

Her eyes had lit up when she noticed Teki lingering on the other side of the ray shield.

“Tekla!” she smiled, her voice hoarse. “I hoped you’d come to see me!”

She wasn’t lying. Áslaug had been sending messages to her daughter through the guards nearly every day since she had been arrested, begging her to pay her a visit.

“You realize you don’t have to do it, right?” Loki had asked her. “You’re not beholden to that woman in any way. If you never want to see her again, you don’t have to.”

Teki knew that. And a part of her would be perfectly content to live out her life without her mother ever being in it. But there was another part that wanted to know what Áslaug could possibly have to say to her.

At first, it didn’t seem like much. “How’s Brant?” she asked after a moment of awkward silence.

“He’s well.” Teki’s voice was stiff. When she first decided to visit her mother, she had told herself she’d be polite. But now, looking at her sitting there pretending as if she had ever given a damn about either of her children, Teki decided she’d settle for civil.

Still, her mother continued on in her bubbly, fake happy voice. “Lovely dress.” She gestured to her emerald gown. “So it’s true then? You’re marrying the other one?”

Teki nodded.

Áslaug breathed a chuckle, shaking her head. “All of that, and you’re not even going to be queen.” She let out a sigh. “I suppose the Norns need a good laugh every now and then.”

“I don’t see anything to laugh about.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Look, I know you hate me,” she paused, as if waiting for Teki to contradict her. Teki only stared ahead in stony silence. She huffed. “I want you to understand, everything I did, I did for you.”

Teki raised her eyebrows. “You killed my father for me?”

“I had to!” Her mother sprung to her feet, leaning as close to the shield as she could without touching it. “Tekla, he didn’t care about your future! We had the chance to make you the most powerful woman in the Nine Realms, and he wanted to let it pass by. Would you be able to forgive me if I hadn’t taken that opportunity?”

“It would have been easier than forgiving you for murdering my father.”

She huffed. “Tekla—”

“What about Osvald?” Teki interrupted. “Did you marry him for me too?”

Her mother sighed. “I didn’t realize what he was like. Had I known—”

“You knew damn well what he was like,” she snapped. “He was willing to kill—”

“For me!” Áslaug pressed her hands to her chest. “He was willing to kill for me. That’s hardly something a woman should pass up.”

“No.” Teki inhaled. Her mother seemed so desperate to convince her, to convince herself that she believed what she was saying. She almost pitied her. “He was willing to kill for what you could give him. He loved you as much as you loved my father.”

Her mother frowned at her. “You’re angry with me now,” she said. “But one day you’ll understand. You’ll wake up and realize that everything you have today, everything you are today, is because of me.”

“You’re wrong,” Teki retorted. “I am what I am today in spite of you, not because.” She let out a shaky breath, motioning towards the guard that she was ready to leave. She met her mother’s glare with a firm stare of her own.

“Goodbye, Mama.” There was nothing else left to say.

The song was changing, morphing from the upbeat strings to the more somber piano solo.

Loki pulled her closer. “Do you want to go to the lake?” he whispered in her ear.

She laughed, cocking her head. “Are you going to push me in?”

“Of course not! Believe me, I learned my lesson with that one.”

“Uh-huh.” Brant was waving at her from the podium. She waved back with a grin. Loki stood beside her, eyebrows raised expectantly. Teki grabbed his hand. “Well, what are you waiting for, my prince? Lead the way!”

This is it, she realized as they scurried through the hallways, giggling like a pair of toddlers.

This is what happiness feels like.

#dances and daggers #loki x ofc #loki marvel #loki fanfic #dances and daggers chapter 18 #the end #cozy writes

35 notes · View notes

notquitetwilight · 3 years

Note

What are your headcanons about Alice's personality before vampirism? Once she became a vampire she was able to choose who she wanted to be, or maybe deep down she was able to recognize things she liked from her past and maybe built off of that? For example, if she liked helping her mother sew dresses (that didn't actually happen) then maybe that's why she has such a strong desire for fashion even if she doesn't know why. Something like that. I hope I'm making sense!

This makes perfect sense and I love this! Thank you for letting me fire up my actual brain cells lol. Smeyer is kinda contradictory when it comes to Alice — on one hand Alice only gets visions based on people’s decisions, but on the other she bases her whole vampire life on a vision of Jasper saying her name. Jasper would’ve only known her name from Alice telling him, but Alice only knows her name from the vision of Jasper calling her by it. That doesn’t make sense to me because she makes the decision to find Jasper and then the Cullens after her vision, not before it, so how’d she even have the vision of that happening in the first place if she hadn’t made that decision yet? Does that make sense? I don’t get it lol

I like to think she has some subconscious sense of her human self. Alice was her middle name after all so clearly she didn’t pull that out of the sky when it became her forename as a vampire. I can picture her human self being similarly spirited to how she is as a vampire, as well as her having a very strong sense of self or of trust in her own instinct. We know she had visions as a human and I’m sure when she woke as a vampire she knew to trust in those visions because of how her human self had been right about her mother’s murder etc, even if she had no conscious recollection of that. So, if we go with this theory, here are some possible aspects of her human life that might explain Alice’s current personality/interests:

- From the moment she was born, Alice shared a close bond with her mother, unlike her daddy’s girl of a sister. This is why Mrs. Brandon believed in her visions when nobody else did.

- Her mother was beautiful, and Alice inherited not only her pixie-like features, but her eye for fashion and beauty. She’d often be all dressed up with nowhere to go as she tended to the house while her husband travelled and worked.

- Mrs. Brandon would let her play dress-up in her wardrobe from a very young age, and little Alice would beg her to do her makeup so she could feel as beautiful as the woman she admired so much looked. She always eventually gave in, but told Alice she wasn’t allowed to look until she was finished. She’d then lead her over to the mirror, her hands over Alice’s eyes, and do a big reveal each time. Alice would always gasp and hug her in delight, and her mother would kiss the top of her head and say, “my beautiful little doll.”

- As Alice grew older, she loved helping out at her father’s jewellers so that she could people-watch. The shop was always filled with rich southern belles getting their husbands to buy them expensive jewellery. She loved fantasising about being able to afford what those whose style she admired bought, while also silently judging those she felt had more money than taste.

- Her father usually kicked her out after an hour or two of her starting work because she was so daydreamy, and he’d impatiently tell her she made the customers uncomfortable.

- But one regular, an elderly widow, would always request Alice’s assistance specifically. She’d have the girl trail around after her, accessorising a diamond necklace here with a diamond bracelet there. She had a rather harsh way of speaking, but she’d always shake Alice’s hand and slip her a $50 note after purchasing from her father at the register. The lady had very little time for Mr. Brandon, and when she came in and asked for “the short young lady” after Alice had been institutionalised, he told her she would not be returning but he’d be happy to assist. She gave him a long, hard look before leaving the store, and he never saw her again.

- Her mother taught her to sew. She’d stay up practicing until all hours, and eventually started sketching her own dress designs. The first piece of clothing Alice ever designed and made from scratch was a surprise dress for her mother, made from an expensive, pale blue fabric she had bought from the saved $50 bills. Her mother was in so much awe of her daughter’s talent and thoughtfulness that her eyes welled up as she ran her fingers over the garment.

- When others began speaking about Alice’s visions, accusing her of being a witch, a changeling or simply cursed, Mrs. Brandon would comfort her and tell her to ignore them. “You’ll never lead yourself wrong, Mary,” she told her firmly. “Always count on yourself.” Alice occasionally overheard her parents arguing about her throughout her childhood and teenage years, her father insisting she be sent away. But her mother always came to her defense, and the last time she heard them argue, the usually gentle woman was so infuriated she yelled that she would discuss it no further — that Alice would be sent away over her dead body.

- Alice was thereby sickened to forsee her mother’s murder, and was so hysterically panicked she struggled to tell her of what she saw in a coherent manner. Her mother tried to reassure her that she’d be cautious — that nothing would happen, that she’d never leave her — but the pit in the girl’s stomach never went away.

- Mrs. Brandon’s death left Alice feeling very strange. She took it hard, but it had also felt like a nightmare inevitable to come true. She imagined herself standing on a train platform, watching two trains headed for a collision and powerless to stop it. People whispered about how she wore a pale blue dress instead of black to the funeral, but she couldn’t hear them through her grief. She also foresaw that nobody would believe her when she claimed her mother had been murdered, but she tried to tell them anyway to no avail. For the first time, despite years of being mocked and ostracised for it, she began to hate her gift.

- She was grateful for it again just a few months later though, having envisioned her father and his new wife attempting to kill her. The vision gave her just enough time to make her escape, ultimately saving her life. She swore she’d only ever follow her late mother’s advice from then on and always trust in herself and what she saw.

- When she woke as a vampire, the first vision she had was Jasper saying her name. The next was of the pair of them surrounded by the rest of the Cullens. She was resolute that these visions were leading her to the life she was destined to live, despite having no recollection of her past.

- About a month after she joined the Cullens, Alice stood at the door of Esme’s studio, where her already maternal figure was painting inside. She didn’t know what had possessed her to do what she had done for this person she barely knew, but something about it felt right.

“Esme?” she called as she knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Esme said absentmindedly, concentrating on the landscape she was working on. Alice burst through the door excitedly, causing her to look up in alarm.

“I have something for you. And I’ve already seen: you’re going to love it!”

Esme’s shoulders relaxed. She smiled and set her paintbrush down. “I’m sure I will. What have you got there?” She gestured to the material folded over Alice’s arm. “Spoiling me already?”

Alice proudly held up her latest creation from its hanger. “I designed a dress, just for you.”

92 notes · View notes

iampikachuhearmeroar · 3 years

Text

sometime in this last week, or this week coming, my blog has turned/turns 10. god. a decade old. a whole ass chunk of my life i’ve spent on this hellsite. when i began on here, i was a kid. a lost, lonely, depressed and anxious 15/16 year old kid. a kid scared of her future. a kid confused about her future. what to do for uni. to change schools or not??? to do drama/acting at uni or english/philosophy or to move 8hrs away to another regional uni to “escape” her “washed up, dead end hometown” that was so typical of all the pop-punk music that she was listening to at the time.

she was a tad overdramatic, loud, “funny” (as described by her school friends) and terribly forgetful in regards to homework and school assignments. she was angry at the world, most especially the catholic school she was fucking sick and tired of attending. but she was convinced that since she was the so-called “funny girl”, that she simply couldn’t be depressed or anxious. she believed herself unloveable because she didn’t look like a weird mixture of hayley williams and emo-pop queen lights. but now, i no longer believe that i have to look like the women that i looked up to in the ~emo scene~. fuck beauty standards. i am loveable.

in the years since joining tumblr, i’ve managed to get through business college, my undergrad degree and, well, failed out of postgrad due to obvious burnout and health issues amongst other things. although i’ve lost many friends irl and many followers/mutuals online on here. for those who’ve stuck around to see me get through all of this, thank you. to all the friends/casual mutuals that have since deactivated or only followed me for a short time then unfollowed; thank you.

like obviously i was never/have never been a massive popular blog on here, like thebootydiaries or vampireapologist (who has since deactivated a couple of months ago) with tens of thousands of followers. my follower count is still close to the 8,000 range at 7,892. obviously that’s still a lot of people (and of course, porn bots lmao and many, many non-active blogs), enough like one super old post from like 2012 tumblr pointed out, enough for a small to medium sized city or town, or something like that. i don’t know how many people i’ve really reached. i really don’t know how i actually amassed this small army of people.

i am aware though, that on other platforms like snapchat (lmao does anyone even use it anymore in 2021???)/instagram/youtube/tiktok etc, i’d PROBABLY be considered as some type of ~micro influencer (🤮🤮)~. hell, i actually had a bot slide into my notes about being one on here on this hellsite back in 2019. i don’t know if i’ve ever actually ~influenced~ anyone on here with my shitposts (when i started making some) or my personal posts. i don’t know my reach. even though, now, i do occasionally get featured on buzzfeed listicles (although pay me buzzfeed along with the OPs of those original embedded posts), i still don’t know how many people i’ve reached… and even with my very occasional checks of google analytics lmao. on top of this, grappling with the loss of followers at times is much, much easier than it was when i began on here and the first few years following that. i know that my follower count doesn’t determine my worth and stuff.

but over these 10 years, i have grown. i turn 26 this year. back in 2011, 15/16yo me never thought she’d be here. she was partially down the suicidal thoughts hole, with things about ~picturing her funeral and wondering who’d bother to turn up. if only she could pretend to be dead for a day to see who’d give a fuck~ and 16-18yo me was defs down it with her HSC hellscape thoughts in 2012/2013. that 3rd floor tafe/tech women’s bathroom window drop and the thought of scarring her class for life (and that cool dude from catholic school that she crushed on who ended up at tafe with her) with jumping out of it onto the concrete below. instead, she just posted on fb about ~being a failure~ etc which ultimately did lose her a bunch of facebook friends lmao. it was practically the same thing. her mental breakdown after the end of her hsc, where she let her earrings go green and get infected in her ears because “fuck self care, bc what the fuck is it??? i’ll never get better! let me fucking wallow in my self loathing bc it’s the only thing that i’m fucking good at!!!” so i no longer have my ears pierced. oh! it was just all too fucking much!!

i am happier today. i no longer have those semi-suicidal thoughts. hell, i almost died in 2020 from a fucking bowel aneurysm, after my stomach tumour excision surgery. that forced me to put things into perspective. i appreciate the little things . i appreciate the very few friends that i actually have. yes. i’m still depressed and anxious. some days are still shitty and hard. but nowhere as hard and shitty as they were back when i began on here 10 years ago.

how the fuck last 10 years have gone past, with my ass on here; clearing out my blog and caring more about doing that than my uni work (lmao whoops); having made some lifelong friends both internationally (from the US) and long distance domestically in australia, it’s been a long ride; i honestly have no fucking idea. obviously over these past 10 years, i’ve debated with myself over and over and over again whether i should delete/deactivate this account or not. would it make me healthier??? more than likely. but then when i have meltdowns or just inner ramblings i have to get out somewhere, where else to post??? on fb?? obvs not. it’s “attention seeking” or the like on there. no one will read them. no one will resonate. but on here??? even if i got/get one “like” in the notes or one “yo i feel this” response in the tags or replies, it feels like i’ve reached someone??? okay yeah. i know this place IS NOT therapy and i’m not using my followers as amateur (or probs even actual professional) armchair psychologists…. which is a thing i think people need to stop doing internet-wide: but that’s a whole other post that i reblogged a few days ago lmao. i really need to get another therapist, actually lmao.

but it’s the community i’ve found hard to leave. i have what feel like friends, when i’ve never been employed (still as of yet); and when all of my irl friends/acquaintances are working and doing the whole ~adulting~ and ~grown up life~ thing right. it’s also the frenzied rabidness of spite with hating staff’s godawful ideas. the memes. oh the memes. and also the RaWrInG 20s XD emo scene reemergence on here that’s kept me here. the messy petty drama from time to time of big blogs fighting it out.

this place really is bizarre and fun sometimes. and also the fact that i can still hide behind the ridiculous “roaring pikachu” URL that i made all those years ago. i am anonymous. it’s freeing. but on fb it’s all like “WHY WONT YOU ADD A BANNER IMAGE AND TELL US 20 FUN FACTS ABOUT YOU!!!!!???? LET PEOPLE WHO HAVENT SPOKEN TO YOU IN 10 YEARS KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU BECAUSE WE’RE ALL FRIENDS HERE!!!” and the same goes for Corporate Hellscape Facebook™️ (linkedin) but in the professional sense instead. y’all know fuck all about me really. besides my posts. and i love that and live for that. okay yeah. y’all know more about my mental health than my fb feed obvs… which is probably a terribly unfortunate thing. but still.

over the last 10 years then, my superiority complex for being ~so original and intelligent~ or whatever the fuck i had in high school, has all but ebbed away. i’m not that smart just because i went to uni. hell, i literally did NONE of my in-class work and none of my philosophy readings in uni….. so i have fuck all idea of how i got through undergrad like that lmao. i’m not original when so many people can articulate the same thoughts that i have, but like, sometimes better, on a post (even though sometimes/most of the time the Tumblr User Hot Takes Tuesday™️ takes on here are fucking awful lmao). but still. originality is not something i really have anymore. or really had in the first place lmao.

so will i deactivate after these 10 years, like i’ve been saying for so, so long??? i honestly have no idea. but just know. thanks guise. have a nice gpoy selfie day XD. grab your wands. your tardises. grab your war paint. grab your whatever the fuck other fandom specific stuff that was one that hella cringe post from 2011 til 2015 random tumblr. that relic is as old as time itself. just as this mysterious roaring pikachu is for someone whose too loyal to leave this W E B B E D H E L L S I T E that’s just as much of a train wreck as she is. lmao.

#life #about me #shut up ilona #tumblr is legit my fucking life now #motivate me to deactivate this blog to leave the hellsite forever 2021 #trigger warning: suicide mention #tw: suicide mention

10 notes · View notes