#'Do It All The Time' is also irrevocably a Seven of Nine song to me

[bumblingbabooshka]

Talking Heads’ Once in a Lifetime is now exclusively a Tuvok & Janeway song to me and I just have to accept that

[chillyravenart]

Hi, I'm curious about your opinion on a seldom discussed asoiaf matter: Rhaegar Targaryen's relationship with his mother, Rhaella. It's bugging me since there's little to no mention of it in any of the books. Safe to assume that Viserys was close to her, her crown was his last joy according to Dany. Dany herself sadly doesn't count, she only has stories about their mom. But Rhaegar has plenty of years. He must have seen her misery as well. Surely he didn't just stand aside and did nothing right?

It's a seldom discussed matter for a reason, we simply don't have enough material on their relationship and only mere snippets on them entirely. I have opinions and views of my own, but none of them are fully backed up by canon- because the info just doesn’t exist :( 

Rhaegar was born to thirteen-year old Rhaella during the Tragedy at Summerhall- an event that was said to overshadow him throughout his life. As per royal etiquette, I can only assume that baby Rhaegar was brought up by wetnurses and tutored by maesters as a child, with limited access to his mother. This would have been exacerbated by the fact that within the first eleven years of Rhaegar’s life, Rhaella lost FIVE babies. Her role was to provide Aerys with heirs and spares, and for a very long time, it ended in grief. I’m sure Rhaegar would have known of his mother’s misery, but there’s literally nothing to illustrate that point. Royal children did not share the same maternal relationship as children today, and whilst I’m certain Rhaella loved her firstborn, I just don’t know if they were super close on account of her losses, as well as Aerys’ increasing madness. 

I’ve done some rambling below the cut just to try and explore this further. Hope it makes sense lol!

To start off with, Rhaella and Aerys’ marriage was never a happy one. Aerys was unfaithful, and Rhaella clearly disapproved.

Sadly, the marriage between Aerys II Targaryen and his sister, Rhaella, was not as happy; though she turned a blind eye to most of the king’s infidelities, the queen did not approve of his “turning my ladies into his whores.”

This led Rhaella to eventually dismiss her friend and lady-in-waiting Joanna Lannister, who as everyone knows, married Aerys’ Hand, Tywin Lannister. Her marriage suffered as did her health when she lost 5 babies in a ten year period.

Relations between the king and queen grew even more strained when Rhaella proved unable to give Aerys any further children. Miscarriages in 263 and 264 were followed by a stillborn daughter born in 267. Prince Daeron, born in 269, survived for only half a year. Then came another stillbirth in 270, another miscarriage in 271, and Prince Aegon, born two turns premature in 272, dead in 273.

This tidbit had escaped me entirely but when Tytos Lannister died in 267AC, Tywin returned west and Aerys accompanied him with Rhaegar.

Though His Grace left the queen behind in King’s Landing (Her Grace was pregnant with the child who proved to be the stillborn Princess Shaena), he took their eight-year-old son Rhaegar, Prince of Dragonstone, and more than half the court. For the better part of the next year, the Seven Kingdoms were ruled from Lannisport and Casterly Rock, where both the king and his Hand were in residence…

This highlights a period of almost a year where Rhaella and Rhaegar were separated. Again, I can only assume they missed each other- as any mother and child would- but nothing is written of it. It was also during this time that Aerys’ relationship with Rhaella began to show cracks.

At first His Grace comforted Rhaella in her grief, but over time his compassion turned to suspicion. By 270 AC, he had decided that the queen was being unfaithful to him…

Aerys began imposing restrictions on Rhaella at this stage, forbidding her to leave Maegor’s Holdfast and having two septas share her bed. This probably extended to her relationship with Rhaegar too, sadly.

The march of the king’s madness seemed to abate for a time in 274 AC, when Queen Rhaella gave birth to a son. So profound was His Grace’s joy that it seemed to restore him to his old self once again … but Prince Jaehaerys died later that same year, plunging Aerys into despair….

Nothing is mentioned of Rhaegar during these troubling times, but again, I can only assume he was kept separate from the inner workings of the queen’s court and wasn’t fully exposed to his mother’s troubles. We also know he was a solitary child during his early years and preferred books until the age of ten when he decided to take up arms too. He was seventeen when Viserys was born, and was “everything that could be wanted in an heir apparent” and yet it was still overcast by Aerys’ deteriorating mental health. It’s also worthy of note that once Rhaegar came of age, his role in the workings of the court would have increased; he may have sat at council meetings and been prepared for the role of heir. This paired with the fact that he continued to read, train vigorously, and travel to Summerhall on his own indicates that he didn’t really have much of a “family environment” to speak of. I always wonder where he got his love of music from, and I’d like to think Rhaella enjoyed his sad songs and harp skills- but again, WE DON’T KNOW :’(

The birth of Prince Viserys only seemed to make Aerys II more fearful and obsessive, however. Though the new young princeling seemed healthy enough, the king was terrified lest he suffer the same fate as his brothers… Even the queen herself was forbidden to be alone with the infant…

I don’t think Rhaella and Viserys were as close as could be hoped during Viserys’ early childhood. Aerys was extremely paranoid, particularly after the defiance of Duskendale which broke him irrevocably and turned him against his wife and heir.

Convinced that the smallfolk and lords were plotting against his life and fearing that even Queen Rhaella and Prince Rhaegar might be part of these plots, he reached across the narrow sea to Pentos and imported a eunuch named Varys to serve as his spymaster…

Similarly, when Rhaegar wed Elia in 280AC, Aerys did not attend, nor did he allow Viserys to attend. Since there’s no mention of Rhaella being prohibited, we can safely assume that she was in attendance.

They were wed the following year, in a lavish ceremony at the Great Sept of Baelor in King’s Landing, but Aerys II did not attend. He told the small council that he feared an attempt upon his life if he left the confines of the Red Keep, even with his Kingsguard to protect him. Nor would he allow his younger son, Viserys, to attend his brother’s wedding…

Rhaegar and Elia took up residence on Dragonstone after the wedding, presumably because Rhaegar and Aerys were definitely at odds at this stage and rumours and paranoia were rampant. There were talks of Aerys possibly disinheriting Rhaegar, Rhaegar deposing Aerys etc. Again, no clue on how Rhaella would have felt about this- but you can probably guess! The only slight snippet we have is when Rhaegar presented Rhaenys in court.

When Prince Rhaegar returned to the Red Keep to present his daughter to his own mother and father, Queen Rhaella embraced the babe warmly…

This certainly gives us an insight to how pleased Rhaella would have been to be a grandma, so I can imagine this reunion would have been very dear to her too. Fast forward to the Tourney at Harrenhal, neither Rhaella or Viserys were present, and had been left behind at the Red Keep. During the Rebellion, we know Rhaegar meant to win the war and bring about change- for his own family too, “... changes will be made. I meant to do it long ago, but... well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken…”

But when Rhaegar was slain at the Trident,

When the word reached court, Aerys packed the queen off to Dragonstone with Prince Viserys…

Nothing is mentioned of her reaction to her firstborn’s death (but we can imagine) nor the nine months Rhaella and Viserys spent together, but it must have been a time fraught with worry and fear as King’s Landing fell and House Targaryen was unmade. I feel most deeply for Rhaella’s life, and I wish we had more detail on her direct relationship with her children- particularly Rhaegar- but alas, there is not much to work with. All I can say is, despite her woes and losses and the abuse she suffered, Rhaella was a strong woman, she held her own and was dignified until the end. I’m certain she adored all her children, and the pain she suffered throughout her life affected her acutely, but she remained with her faculties intact and was able to possess the fortitude to carry Daenerys to full-term and deliver her safely, before sadly perishing herself. 

RIP Rhaella, your daughter is amazing and you would be so proud of her, and Rhaegar’s legacy also lives on. VIVA LA HOUSE TARGARYEN!!!! I really hope this answered your question, if not, it certainly made me sad AF to research all this.

[sherlollydramoine]

If You Only Knew

This is a request by @breadnbutternips thank you for recommending about six million songs before this one stuck and the ideas started flowing. You are my favorite music lady… and I seriously can’t thank you enough for the recommendations.

This is a song fic based on Shinedown’s “If You Only Knew”.. fic title taken from the song! :)

This immediately follows the song fic I wrote called Eyes Closed  so I’d recommend you read that one first if you haven’t already. Just like in the other piece the text messages are in bold and the song lyrics are in italics. 

Thank you to @xmxisxforxmaybe for your suggestions and edits. :) Love you! You have really been an incredible cheerleader for this piece and I don’t know if I have enough words to truly thank you!!

Warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST, sad Rami, alcohol consumption, cigarette smoking, depression, insomnia, and language.

Word Count: 3,445

If you only knew I’m hanging by a thread, the web I spin for you. If you only knew I’d sacrifice my beating heart before I’d lose you. I still hold onto the letters you returned. I swear I lived and learned. 

It’s 4:03 and I can’t sleep. Without you next to me I toss and turn like the sea. If I drown tonight, bring me back to life. Breathe your breath in me. The only thing I still believe in is you, if you only knew.

Laying in bed staring at the ceiling again. It’s another one of those nights, the kind where sleep remains elusive and the brain can’t slow down. I can’t help it really but I wish she was here right now because I’m still not understanding why she walked away four months ago and never returned. It wasn’t like we’d never fought before because we had, or did, and often. No matter what had ever happened though she’d never just disappeared after an argument because we’d never had a problem working through everything together. Sure things were never perfect  with us but we’d always managed to navigate our way through all of the hurts.

I find it increasingly difficult to manage my feelings about this entire situation. She’d not only left us behind, but also everything she owned, which left me trapped in a living breathing memory. Some days or nights depending on my work schedule I awake barely able to breathe and even now, on the worst nights, I still find myself reaching out for her. I hate the fact that I’m still so irrevocably in love with her and I’m barely hanging on. I miss her so badly the ache in my chest is always unbearable. 

I’ve barely been able to sleep since she left, all I can do is toss and turn in a way that reminds me of the sea during a storm. Oddly, that’s exactly what I feel like emotionally, physically, and mentally. Some days I feel like with just the slightest provocation I lash out at those closest to me with the anger and rage bubbling just beneath the surface. Other times I am constantly on the verge of tears, ready to break down and let all the hurt leave my body through my eyes. 

People in my life keep trying to tell me to move on, to let her and us go but I can’t. I often tell them that I’d rather carve out my own heart than allow myself to give up on her. I’m drowning without her. Absolutely drowning, and she isn’t here to save me. With a deep sigh I decide to get out of bed since there is no point trying to sleep when my mind is like this.

I stand up and stretch my aching muscles as it had been a long and physically demanding day at work, before I drop to my knees beside the bed and reach under it to pull out the box that I keep hidden there. It mostly just contains all the letters that I’ve written her over the last four months that all ended up being returned to me. I know she is still here in New York somewhere but her friends won’t tell me how to find her. I only wish she’d have kept these letters, the written words that were partially angry, partially sad, and mostly just pleading for her to come home. I want her to know that I’ve learned from my mistakes and how deeply I miss her. 

Taking the box with me I find myself in the kitchen where I locate a random bottle of liquor. At this point I don’t care what it is so long as I can feel the burn as it makes its way down my esophagus and into my stomach.

If you only knew how many times I counted all the words that went wrong. If you only knew how I refuse to let you go, even when you’re gone. I don’t regret any days I spent, nights we shared or letters that I sent. 

It’s 4:03 and I can’t sleep. Without you next to me I toss and turn like the sea. If I drown tonight, bring me back to life. Breathe your breath in me. The only thing I still believe in is you, if you only knew.

After a while I realize that I’ve probably consumed way too much of whatever the clear liquid was, because the tears start forming at the corners of my eyes. Lifting the bottle of the counter I take a long pull directly from the bottle because I couldn’t be fucked with finding a glass. Taking the lid off the box that contained all the letters I’d written her that had all come back to me. Return to sender in big bold letters, stamped on the front of it.

I don’t think she knows how often I replay the events of that night in my head. It’s like a bad song stuck on repeat-I’ll never forget it.

I can’t bring myself to let go of her and the memories of our years together. Why would I? But then again, why can’t I let go? Who wants to live in a cycle of never ending pain? 

I pull the first letter out of the box. Even if the date wasn’t stamped on the front of it, I’d still know the exact order of each letter I sent. Resisting the urge to tear it open and read it because I don’t want to relive those words. I know what each letter says. Every word. The first letter contains exactly five hundred words. The second letter has exactly six hundred and eighty-seven, the third letter has four hundred and eleven, and the fourth letter contains nine hundred and forty-five words, but the fifth and final letter only one has nine. I only know this because I counted every word I wrote. I’m not sure why I felt compelled to do it, but how does one say they are sorry? How many words does it take? In my case, two thousand five hundred and fifty-two words.

Two thousand five hundred and fifty-two words she’ll never read, she’ll never know about, and words that I so badly want her to hear.

Finding myself desperately trying to hold back the tears that I know are coming and I pick up my now almost empty bottle of liquor swallowing down the last bit of it. Releasing another sigh into the quietness of the apartment before I toss the shiny glass bottle into the sink. It lands with a loud clinking noise but thankfully doesn’t shatter. I doubt I would have cared if it did, it would have looked just how I imagine my heart does.

If you only knew I still hold onto the letters you returned. You help me live and learn. 

It’s 4:03 and I can’t sleep without you next to me. I toss and turn like the sea. If i drown tonight, bring me back to life, breathe your breath in me. The only thing that I still believe in is you. I still believe in you. Oh, if you only knew.

Glancing at the clock on the stove, I realize that it’s just after four am and I really should try and get to sleep but I’m drowning - in pain,anger, love; I don’t even know anymore. It kills me that she’ll never know how I feel but drunken anger begins bubbling to the surface and I pick up the first letter that I ever sent her. This one was part love letter, part apology, and part angry ranting. Moving slowly to the kitchen sink and picking up my lighter that was sitting next to my cigarettes on the counter I bitterly smile as the crinkled edge of the paper catches the flame.

I stand there mesmerized as I watch the flames dance up one side of the paper before it quickly spread to the rest of the envelope. My words now nothing but ash, falling away into the sink as if they never existed. Continuing to watch bitterly I suddenly find myself filled with panic and I drop the flaming mess into the wet sink. No! I can’t give up on her just yet. Not yet.

Suddenly my phone pings with a notification and the screen lights up and I feel like I did four months ago; hopeful. There was no fighting the urge to check my phone and I was unable to resist picking it up. Looking down at the screen my breath catches in my throat and I have to fight back a sob. It was her! 

The text that I’d been waiting for, for too long was now staring at me. 

“I’m sorry. I miss you.”

Five words. That’s all it took to completely wreck my already fragile and unstable emotional state. The alcohol takes over my body and with trembling hands I quickly type out a reply.

“Me too. I love you YN. Can we talk?”

Nine words. Simple right? Effective? Can those nine words really convey everything that I’m feeling?

I don’t wait for her to respond because I find myself listening to a dial tone, holding my phone to my ear with shaking hands and my head still reeling. I’m not even sure I’m fully comprehending exactly what is happening at this moment.

“Hello,” I hear her say. Her voice sounds quiet but there is a slight hopefulness to it. 

“Hey,” I manage to say. I bury my face in my hands and try to stifle a groan. Real fucking smooth Rami, real smooth.

“Soooo, how are you?” She asks this time, and now she sounds nervous. It was hard to hear what she was saying because there was some kind of commotion in the background.

I wanted to tell her, but I found myself unable to find the words, mumbling, “Not that great, Y/N.”

“Why?”she asks, sounding distracted and distant, and I couldn’t help but to scoff. 

“Are you fucking serious?” I ask. 

“Yeah. But I-” she stops herself. The speaker of my phone makes  a loud and strange crackling noise followed by what sounds like a car door slamming shut. Hushed voices are  muttering something unintelligible in the background as I stand  in the middle of my kitchen feeling crazy. What is  she doing? Who is  she talking to? 

Did she completely forget she was on the phone with me?

“YN-I- “ I try to speak, but again am unable to form anything comprehensible at the point.

“Rami, I’m sorry. I- look. How was your day?” she inquires, though her voice sounds strained.

“It was the same shit, different day like always. Today was a tough one physically, mentally and emotionally,” I mutter. I’m not sure she’s even listening and this conversation feels so weird to me. I thought that when we finally spoke again, it would be easy like it had almost always been.

“I’m sorry your day was so rough, mine wasn’t all that great either. They usually never are,” she says with a tone that is tinged with a sort of resigned sadness. 

“If there is one thing I understand YN, it’s how it feels to have some not great days. Do you want to talk about it?” I bravely offer, even though I’m not so sure I really want to hear it at this point.

“Not really Rami, not really,” she says again.

“It’s alright. You know you can talk to me about whatever is bothering you. 

She softly giggles for a few seconds before she speaks up and this time her voice belies the fact that she’d just been giggling, “I know Rami.”

 Her small little chuckle is music to my ears and I could swear I just died and went to heaven. 

“Rami, why have you not been great?” she asks again, this time her tone is one of curiosity and all I can think to myself is “Is she really fucking serious right now?” 

“YN. I-I-I just.” I try to say but trip and stumble over my own words. I’m floundering and I’ve barely been able to speak to her. Do I tell her the truth?

I take a deep breath before allowing myself to start saying what I’ve wanted to say since she asked me this question only a few moments ago.

“I’ve been fucking drowning, forcing myself to live in a fucking memory because I can’t escape you and–” I couldn’t help but to look down at the floor and I could feel my cheeks heating with embarrassment. 

“And?” her tense voice cuts in.

“And I don’t want to. All I ever wanted was you. I can’t sleep for shit and I can barely focus, even at work. Baby, I’m barely living. Nothing-nothing that happened that night made any fucking sense and I haven’t been able to bring myself to move anything or change anything here since you walked away.”

My eyes scan the dark living room and take in the blanket still draped over the back of the couch as she’d left it. A pile of outdated women’s fashion magazines on the side table, along with her well worn copy of Pride & Prejudice with her favorite tattered green book mark wedged between the well worn pages. 

I can hear her sharp intake of breath and I know I’ve hit a sore spot.I try to keep myself from crying because I know those words have stunned her into silence. Hating the fact that I’m drunk right now, and hell she might be too, but hating even more that I am no longer in control and cannot  stop the word vomit caused by all of these overwhelming feelings.

All I hear is white noise. The kind of buzz that comes from being in a car while it’s driving, or walking on the street while the traffic rushes by. This is New York City where the noise is never ending especially on a Friday or Saturday night. 

“Are you still there?” I ask, afraid I’ve said too much but angry she isn’t saying more at this moment. I know I’m the one that called her, but she texted me first, so that has to mean something right?

“I’m here,” she says, a little out of breath. “Rami, I-” she starts but gives up, and all I can hear is a sad sigh on the other end, and for some reason it causes the burning anger to resurface. I know I should quit while I’m ahead, but I can’t do that, I’ve never been able to do that with her.

“If you’ve got nothing to say baby, that’s alright. I’ve got a lot to say,” I deadpan. I can only hear her breathing now and it nearly sounds as if she’s crying. My heart breaks a little more but I continue. 

"My world crashed and burned when you left and I’m so angry. YN, so angry with you! ”

“I-I-understand. I guess it’s what I deserve. I up and left you. I just- fuck,” she stammers, and she sounds hesitant. Like she wants to say something more but she doesn’t know what.

“I am mad and hurt Y/N, but all I want is you. And I don’t care if that’s selfish-all I want is you here with me. Just for one Goddamn night so that I can find some peace again,” I say as I rub my face with my free hand. My hands feel fidgety and I hate the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach when the anxiety begins to claim its hold on me.

In my irritation, I swipe at the box on the counter that contains the letters and watch as the papers flutters to the floor and the box lands with a soft thud on the hardwood. The act was childish and didn’t serve any real purpose in the relief of my emotional crisis, but I took a small delight in it. My next move is as definitely more adult as I reach across the counter for my cigarettes, plucking one from the carton and lighting it up.

Still nothing but silence on her end and now I’m worried I’ve really gone and fucked this up. I take a deep pull from the cigarette before exhaling the grey smoke into the darkness of the kitchen. If she isn’t going to speak, I’ve got more to say. 

“YN, baby, I just want to hear your laughter again, see your smile. You-you haunt me. My dreams are filled with you and us, our memories. Sometimes my dreams of you are just fantasies or a hope for-” I cut myself off again. 

I feel so foolish right now as I’m spilling my guts, leaving myself open and bare for her to do with as she pleases and she hasn’t given me much. I’m stupidly clinging to a hope that was so easily triggered by five little words and a phone call that I initiated. 

“Rami I-. I’m sad too but I love you,” she says so quietly I can barely hear her. I don’t even know that I was supposed to. 

There is so much more that I want to say but suddenly I find that I can’t. My chest aches at her quiet confession and my head swirls with thoughts of what ifs, maybes, and whys. 

The quiet between us is tense, and if not for all the background noise blaring through the tiny phone speaker, I would have thought that she had hung up on me. 

Exhaling more smoke into the air,I lean towards the sink as I rid my cigarette of the excess ash. I want to say something to her but I hesitate with my hand halfway to my mouth. I stare at my hand for a moment before I put the cigarette to my lips and I take another deep pull then exhale; repeat.

I can hear her take a breath and it sounds as if she is trying to breathe through sobs as she begins to speak. 

“Rami I’m so sorry. Baby I’m so fucking sorry. I-I-I love. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Leaning against the counter in the kitchen, glowing cigarette in my hand, I glance up at the clock on the stove again, the glowing numbers read 4:25 am.  She probably just accidentally drunk texted me after being out with friends tonight and the last thing she was expecting was to have this conversation.

Finishing my cigarette I toss it in the sink and turn on the water for a few seconds before I let out another sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration. Why is she unable to say anything? I feel like I’ve bared my soul and she has still given me very little in return though she has uttered the word love. 

Honestly, opening my mouth is the last thing I should have done at this moment but apparently I have no impulse control tonight. I start to feel an overwhelming sadness due to feeling as if this conversation was futile and I’ve got my brain telling me I’ve likely ruined any chance of a reconciliation.

My voice almost breaks as I find the words I was searching for. I’m near tearfully scolding her now but I’m also ripping myself to pieces. I’m not an innocent party in all of this; I’m just trying to place blame because I’ve had a difficult time accepting my new reality. 

Loneliness. 

“You should be, but I-I’m to blame for this mess as well baby. I wasn’t listening to you and all you were trying to do was communicate how you were feeling. God baby, how could we have fucked this up so badly? How? Fucking five years together and it all came tumbling down over one stupid fucking moment. All because-” 

My speech is interrupted by a loud knocking on the door. My head snaps up and my mouth snaps shut as I glare at my door, the rhythmic sound unrelenting and only furthering my agitation. 

“Who the fuck would-” I complain as I make my way to the front door. Turning the lock and swinging the door open, I’m ready to give whoever it is a piece of my mind, but instead, my jaw goes slack and my phone clatters to the floor. 

There she is in all her glory, at nearly 4:30 am, wearing one of my old hoodies; the one she’d been wearing the night she left me.

Tag List: @txmel @free-rami @warmommy @mrhoemazzello @itsme690 @ramimedley @safinsscar @ladyr0b0t @youthtea @ramisgirl512 @hissom1933 @spacedustmazzello @sassystrawberryk @ramimalekpan @doing-all-write @itslula1991 @imnottiredofgettingoveryou @alottanothing @mezzomercury @theultraviolencefan @the-real-ramimalekpeen @hazeleyedbeth @w0lfglrl17 @adoremalek @rawmemalek @lunasasylum @lablanchett @diasimar @zodiyack @sasha–1996 @rami-malek-trash​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ 

[witherins]

・  。  ◟   ⟨  🥀  ⟩   *    ──            so  ,  it  only  took  me  three  whole  days  to  write  this  ,  but  i  did  it  nonetheless  .  pls  focus  on  what  matters  most  :  the  dumpster  fire  of  an  intro  that  i'm  calling  my  own  .  i'm  cc  &  this  is  my  lil  thief  ,  pip  .  she's  a  mess  ,  not  a  cool  guy  &  entirely  based  off  of  the  song  her  by  chase  atlantic  ,  i  linked  it  :)  go  listen  to  it  :)  B  U  T  ,  if  u'd  like  to  plot  ,  react  to  this  or  lmk  if  u  prefer  d*scord  .

ʻ   /   wow ,   i  am  so  excited  to  introduce  philippa  ‘  pip  ’  kwon  to  our  current  students  at  cape  coral .   she  is  extremely  excited  to  join   women’s  tennis .   coming  in  as  an  20  year  old  sophomore ,  they  shouldn’t  worry  about  fitting  in .   the   cis  female  scorpio   has  always  reminded  me  of  ha  sooyoung  ,  but  some  people  don’t  see  it .   trying  to  keep  the  fact  that  she’s  been  breaking  into  the  homes  of  the  wealthy  to  steal  for  profit  from  getting  around  this  school  is  going  to  be  tough .  no  worries ,   though ,   cape  coral  will  create  a  new  life  for  them ,   i  assure  you .  ʼ    

𝓲.     𝕒𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕕𝕘𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥   .

birth   name   :   philippa  kwon current   name   :   philippa   bae nickname(s) :   dumbass   ,   pip   ,   pippa age   :  twenty gender   /   pronouns :  cis  gendered   female   /   she  /  her  /  hers orientation   :  pansexual   /   panromantic hometown   :   portland  ,  maine faceclaim :  ha   sooyoung

fun facts :  significant  dumbass  ,  ruled  &  directed  by  money  –  meaning  she's  ecstatic  to  be  here  because  she's  trying  to  marry  rich  i  can't  lie  ,  has  a  third  degree  black  belt  in  taekwando  ,  has  sticky  fingers  &  thoroughly  enjoys  stealing  from  people  ,  can  knit  really  well  &  will  knit  her  friends  cute  sweaters  ,  also  !  is  good  at  fencing  but  doesn't  do  it  as  often  ,  really  good  at  drawing  &  theoretically  could  make  a  career  out  of  it  but  nah  .

aesthetic :  feet   planted   firmly   in   dark   soil   as   roots   do   ,   perfectly   imperfect   day   old   curls   ,   salty   tears   while   crystal   eyes   look   into   the   moonlight   ,   skipping   unabashedly   through   puddles   after   the   rain   ,   fingerprints   lingering   on   hot   skin   belonging   to   others   than   her   ,   framed   paintings   worth   millions   hanging   on   bony   shoulders   &   flushed   cheeks   accompanied   by   a   rosy   red   nose   .

𝓲𝓲.     𝕔𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕟𝕚𝕔𝕝𝕖   .

mom  doesn’t  want  her  ,  dad  thinks  there  are  too  many  kids  already  .  youngest  of  seven  ,  hues  filled  with  life  are  quickly  extinguished  when  she  grows  up  with  not  enough  love  .  siblings  are  hard  working  ,  fingers  calloused  from  hustling  on  the  streets  while  her  parents  wipe  sweat  from  their  brows  breaking  their  backs  to  barely  make  end’s  meet  .  five  &  left  on  a  crowded  street  ;  her  fingers  get  dipped  in  tar  for  the  first  time  as  she  lifts  a  wallet  from  a  protruding  pocket  .  she  thinks  she’ll  get  in  trouble  ,  but  she  gets  a  swift  congratulations  from  an  elder  sibling  as  they  collect  green  paper  from  the  wallet  .   doesn't  get  told  no  ,  so  she  doesn't  stop  .

moves  across  the  country  at  six  –  her  mom  is  chasing  a  career  that’s  going  to  fall  through  ,  but  none  of  the  nine  kwons  know  it  .  they’re  eager  &  pip  is  told  she  won’t  have  to  dip  her  fingers  into  full  wallets  anymore  ,  but  one  month  in  a  real  home  ,  the  walls  are  thin  enough  that  she  can  hear  someone  crying  in  the  next  room  .  hauntingly  ,  they  come  every  night  &  naivety  fills  her  mind  as  she  imagines  a  ghost  –  the  boys  at  school  have  called  it  a  weeping  woman  ;  they  don’t  know  how  right  they  are  .

she  says  goodbye  to  her  own  bedroom  that  fall  ,  moving  into  a  trailer  down  the  road  as  she  watches  another  princess  move  into  her  home  .  crystalline  tears  hide  behind  small  hands  and  as  an  outlet  ,  her  parents  gather  up  as  much  as  they  can  to  make  sure  she  never  has  to  be  like  them  .  they’ve  found  out  about  her  extracurriculars  ,  the  fights  she  gets  into  &  how  she  gets  extra  money  on  the  weekends  .  they  focus  her  never  ending  energy  elsewhere  ,  taekwando  ,  fencing  ,  soccer  ,  tennis  –  anything  the  rec  center  offers  for  free  ,  she  gets  signed  up  in  .  everything  that  requires  more  than  a  passion  ,  dad  works  extra  hard  for  her  .

grows  up  busy  ,  but  never  forgets  to  get  her  fingers  wet  .  the  art  of  pickpocketing  is  delicate  ,  but  it’s  one  she  has  mastered  before  she  hits  puberty  .  bracelets  are  sold  for  jewels  ,  sold  for  cash  ,  exchanged  for  food  .  spends  a  lot  of  teenagehood  looking  over  at  the  people  walking  on  the  clouds  .  they  walk  with  their  heads  held  high  ,  ignoring  a  girl  with  dirty  cheeks  as  she  steals  the  least  valuable  expensive  item  from  their  persons  .  she  wants  to  be  like  them  ,  but  she’s  barely  in  school  &  she’s  barely  making  it  .  will  she  even  be  alive  long  enough  for  an  opportunity  ?

her  parents  want  what’s  best  for  her  .  they  crave  a  child  with  success  &  they  know  her  potential  ,  even  if  she  doesn’t  see  it  for  herself  .  goes  to  community  college  ,  works  as  hard  as  she  can  while  discovering  a  life  of  crime  .  fate  is  the  reason  she  doesn’t  get  pulled  underneath  the  tide  ,  a  scholarship  presented  to  her  that  she  didn’t  think  she’d  win  .  doesn’t  know  how  she’s  chosen  ,  but  an  opportunity  to  rub  shoulders  with  the  people  she  so  despises  ?  she  won’t  let  it  pass  her  by  .

𝓲𝓲𝓲.     𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟   .

exterior  .  flitting  &  free  ,  she’s  a  lifetime’s  experience  of  adventure  &  a  lust  for  something  greater  .  pip  always  has  something  to  do  ,  someone  to  see  &  she’s  intoxicating  .  like  honey  ,  she  has  a  way  of  drawing  people  in  &  trapping  them  in  amber  .  doesn’t  stay  for  long  ,  never  stays  for  long  –  due  to  an  irrevocable  fear  of  commitment  .  lost  a  lot  of  things  ,  not  interested  in  losing  anymore  .

interior  .  a  mess  ,  a  jumble  of  thoughts  &  emotions  that  when  mixed  together  ,  cause  acidic  reactions  .  doesn’t  stay  still  for  too  long  in  avoidance  of  the  things  inside  of  her  mind  ,  terrified  of  seeing  who  she  is  underneath  the  banter  &  the  laughs  .  always  wishing  for  better  ,  desperate  for  a  move  up  ,  doesn’t  want  to  be  like  her  family  but  has  always  known  deep  down  that’s  all  she’ll  amount  to  .

𝓲𝓿.     𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕔𝕝𝕦𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟   .

so  yea  it  took  me  24  hours  to  write  this  but  what  r  u  gna  do  about  it  ?  my  wc  include  :  ride  or  die  ,  a  lil  ...  slow  burn  ,  a  big  ol’  “you  stole  from  me  i  remember  you!”  thing  ,  someone  she  wants  to  open  up  more  &  corrupt  ,  crushes  that  go  either  way  BOTH  unrequited  &  not  &  a  squad  .  :)  thanks  .  love  u  .