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#sad girl hour
al-hekima-madara-blog · 2 months
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Not me thinking about Madara's loneliness throughout his century life while he's not even mentioned🥺💔
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sweetbunnicreations · 6 months
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yes
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youngeditor1999 · 4 months
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"I'm cold blooded." //
✨A Venetia Catton inspired moodboard✨
[Saltburn, 2023]
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Felix Farleigh Oliver
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More Venetia content!!
-Venetia and the moon
-Venetia goes West
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lightsout-lfg · 1 month
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i guess i could have loved you better. but i could not have loved you more. you have left an imprint on my soul, so severe that everyone after you had to know you in order to understand me. you shaped me. you brought out the worst in me, the ugly sides i wish i didn't have, but i do. every bit of spitefulness, you made it burst to the surface. and i think i did the same to you. it was part of the deal: we gave as much as we got. i'm not asking for your forgiveness. i just want you to know that you have mine. you had it all along. i'm not blaming you for the things you did. i'm just blaming myself for the ones i didn't.
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roseyskypeach · 1 year
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I’m really happy with this one tbh
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reticentfem · 1 year
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I don’t want a love that’s hard. I just want a love that is tender and delicate in just the way we hold each others heart.
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pleasebenakd · 7 months
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the idea of making friends right now is just... it doesn't feel appealing to me. a couple of weeks ago i saw a video on youtube about feeling lonely and friendless in your 20s and i just can't stop thinking about it. i have the same friends as when i was in primary school so i don't even remember what it's like to make friends, i don't even know how to make friends. and the thing is: i do love the friends that i have but i just can't help but feel a bit sad because i can notice how we are, little by little, growing apart. maybe it's the age idk. maybe it's me and my head. i'm 19 and i should be discovering new people and discovering myself but instead, i'm all alone, at home, scrolling on twitter and tumblr and drinking alcohol all alone in my room (i'm tipsy, oversharing and english is not my first language, if you can notice). i spent all my summer reminiscing my summer of 2018 and thinking about my 14-year-old self and how her and i feel the same exact way about life and the future. But the thing is that the future that my 14-year-old me was projecting should be her but now, but it isn't. it makes me sooooo sad. she was so hopeless but at the same time i had so much faith in myself. i'm sorry at myself, for failing myself. i guess it all comes back to listening to ribs by lorde at 3 a.m while looking at the ceiling.
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"Call me on the phone at three, I talk to you while half asleep
Complaining 'bout your mother so I take you to the cemetery
Rant to me I like the sound, I like your voice, I like your mouth
Oh, oh
Mm-mm-m"
Fool - Cavetown
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bruisedramblings · 9 months
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It’s ok if I get dragged to the depths. It sounds quiet and peaceful and I’m already alone
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you-wanna-know · 1 year
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This shit is coursing through my veins
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mellowxjane · 2 years
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Sex is cool and all but can I just get some deep soul level human connection
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irishseeeker · 9 months
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frozen.
their first and last dance.
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This fic contains spoilers for Francesca Bridgerton's story in Bridgerton and her book When He Was Wicked and upsetting non-graphic themes. Please be cautious when reading ahead.
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Aubrey Hall is the first place they dance, not the first place they meet.
Fran knew she loved him here.
It is cruel that she ends up here, alone, after all this time.
She is not alone, really. A Bridgerton is never truly alone, not in a family like hers. Her siblings, in-laws, mother and nieces and nephews are asleep a few hallways away. Even in Scotland when she had missed them terribly, there was always a letter or a reminder of her family.
But she is alone, in every other way.
In this empty ballroom.
In every part of her.
He is gone and Francesca is alone.
John had always loved it here at Aubrey Hall, it was the perfect middle between London and Scotland. Despite it being the countryside, it tended to drag their entire family and London with it.
He relaxed at Aubrey Hall. He loved the orangery, she could always taste the zest on his lips and the juice on his tongue. He loved to swim in the lake with her family and her after hours when everyone had gone to bed.
Francesca had grown up in London, their family didn’t return to Aubrey Hall for a long time after their father’s death. She had always preferred the countryside but Aubrey Hall had been too painful for a long time.
It had been Kate’s first time hosting at Aubrey Hall as Viscountess. .
They had been dancing circles around each other that season - they had spoken on multiple occasions, danced with others just never each other.
She met Michael before John, who was always front and centre. John was the Earl of Kilmartin, not Michael. The disappointment on ladies was evident, when the handsome and charming Kilmartin wasn’t the one with the title.
Not for Francesca.
Not at all.
She had grown fond of Michael, knowing he was quickly not husband material which he made evidently clear with his drinking, gambling and flirting. He would actually speak to her as a person and not a prospect. He still danced with her at every ball and flirted just slightly.
He also introduced her to his cousin, John.
John was the slow trickle of raindrops down a window pane, the warmth of a heating stone in her bed. He was her best friend. He was her entire world.
Fran had never expected him.
John snuck up on her.
He was elusive and extremely captivating. Yet, he was quiet. He didn’t dance much to the annoyance of his mother. He would observe and as they became more acquainted, usually due to Michael dragging him into their conversations, he would make dry, witty remarks that made Fran often choke on whatever she was drinking at the time.
Her eyes would widen and catch his, which were wide with amusement followed by a cheeky, small smile he was trying to hide.
He had caught her attention and it had bothered her to no end, at the beginning.
It had been their first time in London for the season and later she understood all he wanted to do was go home.
Anthony seemed to know which annoyed Fran to no end. Anthony always knew, as she knew him, in a way none of their other siblings knew them. They had always been a pair, even when he became her father when she was just five years old.
They understood each other. They were each other.
She liked to believe she was the best parts of him, the parts she loved dearly.
It killed her just a bit, what all of this had done to Anthony.
He constantly would watch her, talk to her, sit with her. He needed to make sure she was still there. He was scared to take his eyes off her and in all honesty, so was she. She would insist for him to go to do anything else but without him there, she was scared she would wilt away.
If he wasn’t there, someone else always was. Eloise would read to her. Colin would talk to her. Benedict would try to make her laugh. Kate would take her for walks with Newton. Daphne would talk to her about everything. Hyacinth would play with her hair. Gregory wouldn’t say much, he would just hold her hand. Mama would hold her while she cried.
There were mornings where her duvet was too heavy to lift off, everything was too dark even with the windows wide open and every ounce of energy drained out of her body.
She tries so hard but the gloom consumes her sometimes and thirty minutes goes past without her noticing she had just been staring into nothing.
She had always wanted to be like her mother but not like this.
Except, she wasn’t truly.
Her mother had children when their father died.
Fran did not.
Fran lost her child.
She had no one.
Her siblings had lives ahead of them with their spouses or they were still finding them. They had lives full of joy and hope, full of light.
She tried to stay afloat for them. She really did.
So she tried. She would let Eloise read to her and comment on the chapter or the plot. She would try to paint when Ben tried to teach her. She would sew with her mother. She would listen to Colin’s latest tales of his adventures.
She is back at Aubrey Hall now.
Her family said it would be good for her, the fresh air and a new setting. Away from London, away from Scotland. Not that she had been brave enough to go back yet.
It is the summer after, the one year anniversary is slowly creeping up.
Aubrey Hall used to be a sad place. Ever since their father. They could not return for years.
They had slowly healed and repaired, filling it with more Bridgertons and more laughter and joy. Kate had truly ignited it all, giving Anthony peace and happiness in a place he desperately needed it.
Kate had been so good to her. During her first debut, Kate had been by her side as the new Viscountess as she walked towards the Queen to be crowned the Diamond of the season.
They had their first dance here.
Right in this room.
It had been Kate’s first ball at Aubrey Hall as Viscountess Bridgerton. Her mother, Daphne and Kate were running around for days prepping everything. It was also Fran’s first season and Eloise’s second. Every eligible gentleman was invited for Fran and much to her dismay, Eloise.
Including the Stirlings.
After they were married, she would play the piano until he would coax her up to dance with him. He would always listen to her first. Listen to a full song. Then, they would sway softly to no music.
Just them.
Sometimes they would dance their first dance together, their first one here a few years ago. A simple quadrille so full of life and new beginnings, how her fingers trembled slightly and her heart hammered against her chest because dancing with John Stirling felt like she was dancing at the beginning of her life.
He would twirl her around and make her laugh like he did those three years ago, in a carefree way that members of the ton definitely stared at and frowned upon.
Anthony mentioned it to her in his study the night John asked for his permission for her hand in marriage. She, of course, knew it was coming. He did it over a Brandy, which they both pretended was her first. He had never seen her look so happy, he told her a few days before her wedding.
It had made him so happy.
Her courtship was a breath of fresh air compared to the scandals involved in Anthonys, Daphne's and Ben’s. Anthony is relieved at the simplicity of it all, despite his cautious front.
He liked John. He liked him a lot. Everyone did. He gave him a slightly hard time, as did her other brothers but it was nothing John couldn’t handle. He didn’t seem bothered in the slightest.
He would just catch her eye from across the room and curl his mouth upwards slightly, a small smile he reserved just for her. Just like when he would brush a finger across her palm, a silent I love you.
He would tell Fran later having Michael as a cousin and more importantly, as a best friend, prepared one for many sticky situations.
John would look at her in a way she knew she could doubt so many things but she could never doubt she was loved.
If she could be loved by someone as wonderful as John Stirling, she was doing something right.
Even when the ache and longing hit every time her monthly bleed came and a child did not. Or when it didn’t come but eventually did a few weeks later.
Loss, loss, loss.
It seems it was made for Francesca.
It surrounded her and embodied her. It was what peoppe saw when they looked at her, what they whispered about her. Even her family, the pity and sadness in their eyes when they looked at her.
She hadn’t played the piano since he died. She couldn’t bring herself to do it.
She had always played for herself and others but now she didn’t know herself.
She had no one to play for.
Not anymore.
Francesca is no longer a Bridgerton and is now a Stirling but she lost her Stirling.
She is simply Francesca now.
Whatever that means.
She didn’t know anymore.
Someone will marry Michael and they will replace her and John. Michael left for India without a second thought.
He gets to escape and she is stuck.
Stuck, stuck, stuck.
She spends her time in her mother’s new home and her childhood home, places that should have never been her home again.
She slept with Eloise and Hyacinth for weeks, she couldn’t bear to be alone.
She had never worn black until his funeral.
Now, it is all she wears.
Her grief is her only companion that never leaves her.
Everyone she has lost clinging to her.
There is no moving on from this.
She ends up in Aubrey Hall’s ballroom, standing in the middle of the dance floor. It is past three in the morning. She is, as she always is, alone.
She is stuck.
She is in the ballroom.
She is Francesca.
She is alone.
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flytomyyoonn · 11 months
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✨ Back on my sad girl Bullshit ✨
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70slesbian · 2 years
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i wish i didnt carry so much shame, i wish i didnt think my personality and interests were so embarrassing i wish i would let myself simply exist instead of wishing i was someone else
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no-mercy-bby · 2 years
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A list of things that I have cried over because I was on my period:
I asked my mom if my friend could come over (I started crying while asking)
My friend couldn't come over (come to find out she was also cramping and took a really long nap)
I remembered my dog is dead (it's nearly been 4 months)
Lastly, and most recently, I was admiring my tiny New York snow globe (I got upset cause I wanna go)
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so di non essere una di quelle ragazze capace di catturare l'attenzione delle persone che le circondano. sono consapevole del fatto che, in una stanza piena di gente, non riuscirò ad attirare il tuo sguardo. so che molto spesso la mia voce non è abbastanza alta o imponente da essere udita, perdendosi invece nella cacofonia di suoni. so che la mia presenza molto spesso non lascia traccia. però credo di essere riuscita a diventare abbastanza brava ad essere in qualche modo necessaria. ognuno compensa le proprie mancanze come può, io ho scelto di farlo così. forse non sono la prima persona a cui pensi, forse non sono nella tua testa a tutte le ore e probabilmente interi giorni possono passare senza essere ricordata, ma quando hai bisogno di quella cosa specifica che solo io ti posso dare, allora ti ricorderai di me. quando vorrai parlare di un argomento che puoi condividere solo con me, quando avrai bisogno di aiuto in qualcosa che a me riesce bene, quando avrai bisogno di me e soltanto di me, allora ti ricorderai di me. e se proprio non posso essere memorabile, almeno posso essere necessaria. finché inevitabilmente non avrai imparato a fare a meno di me.
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