a-whimsical-writer

[a-whimsical-writer]

who else wants to keep drake the fuck away from millie bobby brown?

for starters, just so you have some background, drake is currently dating an 18 year old girl he met when she was 16, he is 31.

also here’s a tweet from drake himself talking about fucking young girls

and noww let’s talk about how he’s preying on Millie.

At the Emmys, when asked about her friendship with him, she said he regularly texts her things like “I miss you” and that they’re very close, also, that they talk about boys/dating advice. He is a 31 year old man and this is a 14 year old girl. He’s talking to her about boys and dating and sending her “I miss you” texts, there’s a word for this. It’s called grooming. (Grooming is when someone builds an emotional connection with a child to gain their trust for the purposes of sexual abuse, sexual exploitation or trafficking. Children and young people can be groomed online or face-to-face, by a stranger or by someone they know - for example a family member, friend or professional.)

He met his current girlfriend at sixteen talked and flirted with her, groomed her like this, and is now in a relationship with her. It is so disgusting to see people claiming this is normal, the industry she is in is highly pedophilic and she’s a child. This is not normal or okay, a 31 year old grown man has no business texting a 14 year old girl like this.

[a-whimsical-writer]

Starving

I find myself

Licking my lips for the taste of you that’s long gone

Some memories remain but darkness has inked them, cloaked them heavy in past smiles I feel slipping away

Forgettable

I am nothing

Not a thought, not even a mere afterthought, not even a shred of me seems to have survived

But then again you are hardly

Surviving

You were thriving

When we met you were enthralling, enticing and now I’m icing your bruises over distance

Is all that remains

Distance, distant kisses, washed pale by the screen’s white glow that I’ve come to hate and crave and wish it were your warmth that seeped into me instead, again, as it did when you were

Pressed against me

Quiet and bare and laughing soundlessly

Shoulders shaking

Quaking on the bed

Breaking

Daylight, breaking into tears that run down my cheek as I wish I were cradling yours, as I wish it were your warmth seeping into me instead of this icy pain that somehow burns brighter

Inside me

Where I wish you still wished to be

With me

But you can’t form the words and how would you, how could you, when can is a thing you don’t

Feel

You feel unreal

To me, to you, you

Are neither here, I fear, nor are you merely just you

Not anymore

You aren’t you

aren’t true to yourself anymore

Too jaded, faded, you play dead, as each waking moment races passed you evade it, avoid it

A void it

Overpowers you cower like a child at its feet as it towers

Over and devours you

Break

And it breaks my heart as it takes

You

Away.

You’re unreal

You aren’t here, nor there, nor anywhere, you

Aren’t you any

More

No.

My endless cycles of circling thoughts have somehow mixed you, have somehow broken you apart, torn you up and picked up the pieces, mending and bending them together to make you more you

Are less

You’re less

As you feel

Nothing.

Long passed are the days of twirling weightlessly through crowds with ballooned swords so

Beautiful

No, you hate that word

Ethereal

I feel deliriously appalled

I’m taken

For granted, but I can’t help it, I’m taken

For ransom by you and by the way

You’re so

Handsome.

You’d hide your face behind your fingers, and my smile it lingers, it grows and glows inside me and like me it feels too much

Like the pain, the icy prison that burns through a heart that’s already riddled with holes, that’s already

Bleeding

Slowly

Feeding

Solely

On crumbs, on fucking broken off pieces of these goddamn shadows of once glorious  feelings of

You

You sit there

Now

With your sunken eyes and pale complexion

You

Look haunted, you haunt me

Taunt me

You still look the same

To me

You look

Perfect

Like broken glass

You show your strong edges, like broken glass not a mural, but merely a chaos of unfinished sketches, it scratches

Inside your mind, unkind, along your body, along your spine, you wind

Yourself, searching for the light

Inside

It’s dark

It’s a stark

Contrast

To who you were, who you used to be, to me, to you

Mourn

Yourself.

You seek out the sun or maybe it seeks out you

Break it

Break me

Like the rays reflecting in your eyes, no deflecting, shaking

Breaking into a million pieces, a million more shining streams

Shimmering colours, seeping dreams, seeping unseen scenes in streams, streaming down, down, down, and drown

Drowning out noises, voices that cry for you

That whisper

But you’re an awful listener

You listen

Only to your own pitch black hatred

And maybe it's fated that you

Should walk this path alone

Find once again what so brightly shone, what so lightly emanated before it faded, before it was ripped away and cascaded

Down

Down, down the waterfall where at the foot you drown

Your sorrows, your soul, in liquid hatred, yes

You still smile but most times you fake it

Breaks like cracks from your face and you tiredly take it into your hands and shake it

So desperately trying to rearrange what once was you

Will be okay, you'll find your way and yes, sometimes you'll stray

But hey, isn't life always this way?

We find our path, find it then lose it and cry and cry before we laugh

We build and rebuild and try to keep what we have and feel it's always just half

Of what we want, of what we need to keep breathing air, breathe in deep and let it seep

Into our bodies, into our dreams as we sleeplessly wonder and ponder what to do what to say

How to rally again, how to want to stay

Alive

When you feel that you've peaked

You say you’re weak, but baby you are powerful

One look, one word and baby, you devoured me

Whole.

I was yours and I'll always be

A part of you like you're a part of me

But every good story has more parts than one

And I've realized there's no need to be sorry. I was only a small part of your whole life story, but you know what will always be true, why I'll never wish our story undone?

Having shared just one part of our story is better than none.

[a-whimsical-writer]

The Exiled Ones (you're in me.)

Jahahaga (I stare at my autocorrect. Cruel. Cruel. Cruel. I flee to tumblr.) b99 (gifs are the first thing I see and I quickly scroll down but) Atla (and) Pjo (are the next things on my screen and suddenly it’s all you. You’re everywhere.) Bebe, I appreciate you. (I want to scream but I don’t. This time it’s different. This time it’s real. Final. The echo still hurts.) (I want to stop now. I can’t. Flood.) Ya feel me? (my eyes tear up. And suddenly I see) Orange. (I used to hate that colour. Now I hate the reason why I don’t hate it anymore. No. Not hate. I hurt.) You fear me. (the first teardrop falls because now I can hear your voice and it’s sad and tragic and beautiful how rich those words are. Rich with past and truth and you. I fear you.) Mhmhmh (my chest constricts at the melody, my throat closes up, I see your shoulders shrug. I know their feel now. They know my touch.) Cuddddlleee meee (one more memory breaks through the wall and I start sobbing. Loneliness tries to suffocate me but I fear closeness more now so it’s okay.) I cuddle you (my own voice is smol and cutesy and I like the person I was. I know her. She feels warm. But so did you. Even when you were cold.) CuddlesTM (it sounds proud and it smirks at me and i am reminded of the beginning. I ache and I ache and I ache.) Idiot (I hiss to myself, my voice not as sharp as I want it. Wet and broken instead.) Cute (is a whisper in my ears at the same time and all other people who say they find something cute are just imitating you.) Kisses below ears (sneak up on me next and I hug myself because it’s okay when it’s just me. I push it away. Far away. I can’t.) Coolbeanz (your voice is back and I wish I could remember it better and I wish I couldn’t remember it at all.) London (flashes join the dance of torturing memories and they’re the brightest, the strongest, and I am not. I am weak.) (I hate London.) Mh, debatable (you argue in my head and I can't get you out. I can't, I can't, I can't.) Canada (is tainted as well, but I already know it won’t be for long. Too beautiful, too kind, too important, too much already a part of me. Like you.)

Pat pat (I whisper to myself in the dark.) (I close my eyes. It’s a mistake. I see you better now.) (i open them. Relief.) (I cry for a while. It comes in waves but stops sooner than I expected. The ache in my throat always lingers the longest.) (I look down at my own) Hands (they really are beautiful and I can breathe easier now.) Just a little bit. (I sniff and sigh and then finally my heart is open enough and I can say)

80, Thank (you for everything. You will always be in me. You will always be loved. You will always be such a beautiful part of my life.)

No more goodbyes (was utopia. I’ll see you there someday.)

[a-whimsical-writer]

Our inside jokes and those little quirks you have. Those are the things that linger the longest. I can’t and can’t and can’t get them out.

I think I will be happy about that some day. That I couldn’t get you out for good.

[a-whimsical-writer]

"I like that." "Like what?" "When you just turn around and kiss me like that."

A bittersweet memory

[a-whimsical-writer]

Once more

“And if I’m not enough? ” she asked. “Well, is it you?” “Is what?” “Do you not belong to yourself, I ask.”

She sat down. Quiet. Lifted her right foot. Quiet. Gently sat it down on the golden tongue that would lull and lull and lull her again. Sweeping her up in her memories.

“I’m afraid.” She whispered. “It will lead you. Has it ever hurt you?”

A beat.

“I don’t know. I’ve hurt in its presence.”

A click of the tongue.

“Are you so stubborn to believe anything but yourself, your own doings and dwellings and doubts could have such power over you?”

She declined her head in surrender.

“Go on. See for yourself.”

A shaking hand was raised. Then another. Slowly fingertip for pale fingertip sank onto the black and white plains that could, would, transform again. Into a jungle. A playground. A cloudy sky. A starry night. A child’s laughter. A lover’s tears. A mother’s warmth.

Into music. Into music she sank.

Once more.

[a-whimsical-writer]

“they/them” has been used in the singular since Chaucer and Shakespeare. criticism of it has only existed since the 19th century. punch transphobic grammarians in the face

[a-whimsical-writer]

Just something I drew up for my tutor kid. He gets the first paragraph and has to finish the story. I couldn't help myself and needed to complete it for myself as well.

Frost

  As the days became shorter and the temperature dropped below the freezing point outside, Dylan’s mood improved more and more. He had been feeling restless and indecisive the last view weeks of autumn, never quite knowing whether he wanted to go out of the house or not. But now that it seemed like winter had finally arrived Dylan couldn’t wait for it to snow.

No. Especially snow storms. Just something about their power and ruthlessness fascinated him.

Of course, if they messed with his time on the piste he wasn’t quite so fond of them anymore, but fortunately that happened almost never.

Looking outside his bedroom window one Sunday morning, Dylan took in the slight frost that had gathered on the window pane and felt excitement grow inside him at the prospect of a white Christmas this year. Maybe the snow would even lay thick enough for him to build a snow fort with his little brother by the time New Year’s Eve rolled around, just like they used to do with their dad when they were kids.

The warm blanket slipped from Dylan’s feet as he turned away from the window and struggled out of his cosy bed. He wondered if his little brother Ted was already awake and had noticed the signs of oncoming snow as well. Quickly his feet shuffled over the wooden floor before his bed, feeling for his slippers. Once he had found them, he put them on in a haste and then made his way across the dark room. He opened the bed room door as quietly as possible in case his parents were still asleep and crept through the narrow hallway towards his brother’s room. He didn’t want to turn on the light either and so he felt his way along the walls, careful not to accidentally knock down one of his mother’s paintings that she loved so much.

Once he had reached the door that read ‘TED’ in big red letters on it, he pushed the handle slowly and peaked his head inside his little brother’s room.

“Ted?” Dylan called in a whisper, stepping one foot inside. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah!” came the answer a little too loudly and Dylan hastened to slip in and close the door, shushing his little brother to lower his voice.

The smaller boy was sitting upright in his bed, one of Dylan’s old comic books in his left hand, while the right held a flashlight, that was now pointed painfully at Dylan’s eyes. He squinted and drew a hand up to protect his eyes from the light, frowning. “What are you doing? Why don’t you just turn on your night light?” he asked. He was still careful not to talk too loudly, but as the door was now closed he didn’t think they had to whisper anymore.

“I like it better like this.” Was Ted’s simple answer. Dylan merely nodded and then crossed the room and sat down on the bed next to his brother, who had once again started reading the graphic novel.

“Did you look out the window?” Dylan asked, not able to hide his giddiness. “I think it’s about to snow!” he continued, smiling down at his brother’s red head of hair.

He himself was blonde now, although when he had been seven like Ted had just turned, his hair had been more ginger as well. For some reason he had apparently grown out of it though. His mother said that lay in the family.

Ted looked up from the comic, his eyes big and shining full of excitement. “Really?”

“Mhm” Dylan nodded emphatically. “We might even get a white Christmas this year, Teddy!”

The younger boy closed his book and beamed over his entire face. “That’s be so awesome!” he exclaimed and once again Dylan had to remind him to keep quiet in order to let their parents sleep.

[a-whimsical-writer]

Slipping.

"Don't do that!" I growl annoyed, although I'm not realy angry. Just a little. Maybe.

"I'm sorry." She laughs, her eyes squinting together in that adorable way that I can't seem to get out of my head. I watch her arms as she reaches them out for me. Her muscles moving smoothly under the shimmering skin.

She looks hot when she's sweaty.

I look away, feeling myself blush, but let her take my hands into hers nonetheless.

She giggles lightly, intertwining our fingers, and pulls me closer with a swift movement until my body is practically pressed against hers.

I'm not that good at poker faces and whenever she gets this close to me there is this one moment where my face just slips. It just slips from my control and as it falls, for just a second, it feels like I'm falling as well. Free falling. Missing a step. Being pulled upside-down.

It's happening now too. It's like slow motion, but way too fast at the same time. I know it's happening but I can't process it in time before it's over. I can feel my lips tremble. Slipping from a frown to barely touching, my breath trying to push through. I feel my eyebrows relax reflexively but my ears pull back at the same time. It's a weird feeling. Like something cold and shocking lightly punched me in the back just beneath my shoulder blades. It makes my chest expand and my head shoot up just a fraction of an inch. It's like my body is righting itsels as my mind - or is it my heart? - expects a blow. 

No. Not a blow. But something. Something... new.

But it isn't new, is it? I'm slipping all the time. Whenever i'm around her. Whenever she does that thing. That pulling-me-close, breathing-the-quietest-laugh-against- my-neck thing.  No, it isn't new at all.

Her breath tickles against my earlobe. Or are those her lips? I can't tell it's so soft and I'm slipping. My eyes close and everything intensifies for a second. Her scent, her warmth, her body. I can feel her breathing against me.

I'm slipping.

And then I'm not. And she gives me a kiss on the cheek, grinning slightly in that lopsided way.

"Sorry." she repeats a little calmer. And of course I forgive her, but that's always our game isn't it. 

She scares me. Jokingly. And I forgive her. Also jokingly.

It's childish really. Like two girls playing a game in elementary school. Hiding behind corners and jumping out, yelling some insignificant phrase like 'gotcha!' or 'there you are!'.

...

People must think we're insane.

I don't care. I really don't. What people think about me has stopped bothering me a long time ago.

But somehow I find myself caring. Not about the people. But about this. About our game.

Why do we do it? It makes no sense. It has no purpose. It never ends up...anywhere. It's just there. Us. Our game.

Why?

She notices my silence and her smile grows smaller. Still there but more wondering, contemplating, than sheepish.

She bows her head to catch my eyes that are staring somewhere between the ground and her face.

"Hey.."

It's soft. Something moves in me.

"You okay?"

I meet her eyes. They're so beautiful. So ... light and shining with warmth. She has every colour in them. Every goddamn colour eyes can have and it scares me. Because they capture mine so easily. They capture me. All of me. And it always, always takes me a second to adjust.

They're inquisitive. Open.

I smile. Because, how could I not?

But I don't say it. My part. My line.

It'd be a lie.

It's not fine. And I'm not okay.

I'm slipping.

[a-whimsical-writer]

Life line.

She hasn't called.

Why?

You stare at your phone and it seems so ... alien. It taunts you. It keeps you alive and kills you at the same time.

Why?

It's too quiet. You pull your laptop closer to you on the bed and turn on some music. You don't notice it's Joshua Radin for a while. When you do, you frown.

Then you frown again.

The first frown was because you don't like it.

The second one was because you do. Usually. So why don't you now?

You don't like the words. You don't like them at all. What words? You don't think you even listened properly. You can't tell what he's singing. You just know you don't like it.

You change the song. The Neighbourhood. Way better. You love The Neighbourhood.

Usually.

Now you turn your head to both sides, trying to get the tension out of your neck. Annoyance creeps up your back and chest. The words still aren't right. They still ... make you squirm.

You blow out an exasperated breath and close your laptop in frustration.

For a few moments you just sit there again. On your bed. In the silence. Your phone in your hands on your lap.

You start humming a random melody. You need a minute to realize where you know it from. And suddenly you understand why the words bothered you so much.

They remind you. As the melody reminds you. As the suddenly-alien-phone reminds you.

That there's this girl. And that she has almost everything.

A brilliant smile, searching eyes, beautiful hands and an even more beautiful neck.

Almost everything that girl has.

Except call you. That she hasn't.

Why?

[a-whimsical-writer]

A moment.

And then I sat there.

Silent.

The world hadn't moved. Had I?

Quiet.

I blinked.

The world moved on.

A moment.

Gone.