TO KILL FOR LOVE IS SUCH A THRILL. @closestshave - Tumblr Blog

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#closestshave. an independent and friends-only sweeney todd multimuse. as shaved by darcy (she/her; 18+). very low activity. meme tag below. please fill out interest tracker before we interact! personals and non-roleplay blogs, do not interact. follows back from @watergave.

rules. muses. interest tracker. pinterest. johanna.

#pinned.#dni.#meme.

why do you haunt your house?

--------- to get revenge. you're an angry ghost. the people in your home don't belong here, and you're not afraid to show it. so you'll drive them out, just like the people before and before and before. you can't── or won't── move on to the afterlife until you get revenge. someone hurt you or someone you love deeply. everyone tells you to let it go, but you can't. what happened isn't right. someone has to make it right. you're fiercely loyal and your anger stems from caring, but that doesn't make you any less vengeful. you hate as deeply as you love. i hope you learn to keep living, in spite of the terrible things that have happened and are still happening. i hope you find peace.

#s. todd

"[mrs. l.ovett] never dies. she never dies. i was saying earlier, her, among other incredible differences is that [sweeney t.odd] must live until he reeks his vengeance then he need not live any longer. in her case, she will live forever in her head. so when he says [we all deserve to die], she doesn't know what that means but it scares the holy hell out of her. it really frightens her. it's like pincer to the wolf. 'what do you mean even me?'"

#n. lovett

AUS.

modern.

hawkins.

panem.

#verses.#will update later

one day i will write up my headcanon about mrs eastman and johanna because their relationship is...not very straightforward jdkgjkd

#yes she is the closest thing to a mother figure jo has but she's...not a maternal figure #they don't trust each other #and she's not really made out for mothering #she's more of an aunt figure if anything #she's not a mom and doesn't really have any aspiration to be #ooc.#tbd.

@heygutlcss's raefer mcclellan sent: would you come with me? i know it's last minute, but i need you.

the laundry machine slams shut and her shoulders jerk at the noise, despite expecting it. there's a laugh caught on her lip, but she shakes her head at herself. the basket of clean laundry is weighed against her hip as she turns to face him. ❝ where's miss johanna? ❞ it's not often she finds one of them by themselves. the two have practically glued themselves to each other.

she sets the basket down. ❝ and where are you off to? ❞ if mr. raefer was planning to make a run for it, he wouldn't have asked her to come with him. if dolores was a good-enough detective, she might wonder if this was some sort of elaborate way to slip out without looking suspicious. she's no detective, the only mysteries she solves is how to get old stains out of the carpet. ❝ let me fetch my keys. i'll let you drive, if you behave. ❞ it's not hard to get a passing grade for behavior in dolores's book. she'd prefer the young man doesn't make a mess in her car if he gets sick.

#d. eastman #heygutlcss #sickness tw #vomiting tw #vomit tw #just in case #queue.

@heygutlcss's raefer mcclellan sent: would you give me a chance to just explain?

❝ no. ❞

he is slowly losing himself. benjamin b.arker was a different man a few years ago ( johanna's last birthday was her eighteenth. . . it's been almost two decades, but it's easier to shrug away that thought than to engrave another row of lines on the cell wall ). he has turned into a sort of shriveled-up creatures. his patience vanished in the past decade. his hands grew a rougher texture from long days of working. his skin has adjusted to overly-starched clothing. eighteen years ago, on february twentieth, he would have sat the lad down and patted him on the back. today, it isn't february---the air is sticky---and he clenches his jaw.

hands press the sides of his head, just above his ears. he's long accepted the fact that he will never get to play father to his daughter, but somehow, he finds himself in the same positions that his own father took when he did something foolish when speaking to riff. at least, when he was younger he never got himself tossed in prison. when he was riff's age, he was trying to get girls to lower their standards for him and trying to find stations on the radio that played the rolling s.tones. fists clench, but don't move from their position. when he was riff's age---

a long exhale. if riff were any other inmate, benjamin wouldn't have been so kind. eyes slowly open and he chooses every word wisely and slowly, ❝ what did i tell you to do last time? ❞ really, the first rule of prison should be: don't do anything stupid so you're dragged back. ❝ you left my d--- ❞ ---aughter, but he catches himself. ❝ your wife with the judge? again? ❞ AGAIN? " at this rate you're going, boy, you'll be in here when your child is born. " his grandchild. ❝ if you're in here when that happens, the judge will take them both away. your wife, your child. they won't be yours anymore. do you understand me? ❞ a shaking finger darts in riff's direction. he takes a step closer. father, rotting in prison. mother, destroyed. child, taken by the judge. all too familiar tale. it won't happen to his daughter, too. ❝ you don't leave that girl alone with the judge ever again. DO YOU HEAR ME? ❞

#disappointed father figure moment #b. barker #v: hawkins.#heygutlcss #prison tw

@heygutlcss's raefer mcclellan sent: would you do me a huge favor?

there isn't any reason she should involve herself in anybody else's business but her own. when she was younger and her joints creaked a little less, she learned that lesson the hard way. however after being with the same family for this long, she's learned a secret or two ( or . . . all of them ). pretending to only be vaguely aware of mr. turpin and his ward does better for her than meddling in their affairs. but she's always had a special place in her heart for the girl. then for her husband and then for the baby.

dolores tells herself she shouldn't get any further in this mess than she already is. but oh! what's another time helping mr. raefer? can't be any harm in helping once again! especially when he's been pacing the length of the house with the baby again. what trouble is that boy about to get himself into?

❝ of course, ❞ she says, head bobbing in a nod. ❝ but--- ❞ she lifts a crooked finger ❝ ---i need your help, too. ❞ before he can ask what? or whine, she continues, ❝ there's a stack of mr. turpin's shirts in the laundry. bring those here? i've got a new bag of buttons and i need you to sew them on for me. me poor, arthritic fingers can't take such tasks on anymore. ❞ in reality, the only her knees hurt more than her fingers, but he doesn't need to know that. anything to keep the boy out of trouble. ❝ but keep it between us two alright, dearie? i don't want mr. turpin thinking i can't do my job anymore just because of a little pain. ❞ that's the same fib she's used on miss johanna for years. anything in her power to keep the two of them out of trouble. ❝ is miss dove asleep? ❞

#making him do little tasks because she's become emotionally attached to him and doesn't want the boy to wind up in prison #d. eastman #heygutlcss

cannotflyarc

is this what he meant by he understood? she doesn't like it. by this moment---and really, she shouldn't have gotten this far at all---he should be screaming at her. he should hit her, even. if that his hand is all he can do to prove his point to her. ( the judge had yet to actually hit her . . . some nights, she could tell he was tempted. ) all her life she has known a few truths about fathers: one, they are selfish; two, they loose control of themselves; three, they are only a father until the child or they forget. a few years ago, she would have assumed all men were like this. anthony proved her wrong in every wonderful way. it is not all men, only the fathers.

why would her biological one be any different? he is selfish, she can tell, even if he has tried to suppress it under words of shared blood and comparisons between herself and her mother. that was his wife. is johanna some sort of replacement for that ghost woman? is she not herself, just a reincarnation in the form of a daughter? just the pain that her mother gave birth to and her father now gets to claim? ( or is it that she wants him to be selfish? she wants to be correct that she feels sick and makes up lies about this man to reassure herself that she is only going to get hurt from their interactions? ) no, he is close to losing control of himself. one day, he'll snap. throw her out on the street. lock her in the room despite her screams.

when will he forget that he is her father? she hopes it's soon. if he doesn't, she doesn't want to feel selfish for leaving him. that was always the escape plan. benjamin barker showing up is another obstacle. she doesn't want to break that promise. not fully.

why are fathers this complicated?

the jangle of keys makes her wince. is this it? he's locking her up sooner than she expected. ( birds with clipped wings are taught to fear flying. ) hands cover her face and her eyes, squeezed tight and she cannot breathe. but the keys go away. slowly, like a deer backing away from traffic, she looks at the man called her father. there are no keys, just his coat and his glance pointed to the door.

it's a trick, isn't it? johanna flips the lock. the door releases a sigh as it cracks open. she pauses. he doesn't scream at her. a glance back at him. his expression darts between herself and the door. ❝ do you really . . . ? ❞ or is this a trick? ❝ it's late. you won't get in trouble for this? ❞ she doesn't want him to be thrown back in prison, no matter how complicated her feelings are. no one---bird or person---should have to go through that. ( except for the judge. ) ❝ you're not tired? i didn't mean to wake you . . . i'm sorry. you can go back to bed. i'll go back to bed, too. ❞

closestshave

he is building himself another prison in this flat, yet it is freeing. he can leave whenever he wants to, even if he rarely does. part of him wishes that his daughter would view these walls the same way he does. it'll keep her safe. when he became a father, after all the hysteria of trying to keep a premature newborn alive, his own father told him that his new role is protector. his father told him the same thing when he married lucy. husbands protect. fathers protect. is building his family a prison protecting them? he has known no other way.

if this isn't the way to protect, then he can at least watch over her while she walks in the dark. does she not consider what dangers lurk in the dark? in this city?

❝ you're my daughter, ❞ he says and the words somehow don't seem real. if he were to look in the mirror right now, would he see his own face or a ghost looking back to him? when was the last time he got to say my daughter out loud? to her? she's never gotten to be his daughter before. when he was younger, he was giddy when he learned they were having a daughter and he kissed lucy as soon as the ultrasound technician told them the good news. saying it now, in front of her, doesn't send the same tingles through his fingertips, but he almost smiles. he doesn't, in case that scares his daughter away. ❝ there's nothing illegal about that. ❞ even if it was, he would disregard the law for her. what a joke the rules that men make up for each other are anyway.

he weaves an arm around her, fingers gripping for the side of the door to swing it open. ❝ it's cold, ❞ he whispers, ❝ don't you want a coat? i'll wait here. ❞

#b. barker #cannotfly #prison tw

cannotflyarc

@closestshave's b.enjamin b.arker sent: you are going to break your promise. i understand.

she is always going to run away. a girl only nourished by the thought of escaping cannot simply go hungry when it is so close. when she was younger, she thought it was simply in her blood to escape. to disappear. to leave behind someone. that was why her father was in prison, wasn't it? why her mother swallowed poison? perhaps, she went insane on purpose: how else do you escape from your infant? but now johanna realizes that the need to find a window or door in every room was simply what she was brought up on while other children were fed with head pats and cheek kisses ( she's still trying to figure out what a normal childhood looks like ).

what does she owe to this man as his daughter? when her guardian---not her guardian anymore---was apprehended and she was given to her biological father, she felt no need to promise the convict anything. johanna understands now what happened, how the judge destroyed her mother, how he took her father away, yet she doesn't want to believe it. believing that her family didn't love her was easier. it's still easier. but on that second day of living with this stranger that somehow shares her blood, she said she would try. for her mother. that is what she would want. she is trying to get along with a stranger for a ghost. it makes her wish the foster house she was in until they deemed the other barker worthy to have her back.

johanna doesn't know where she wanted to go tonight. how foolish, she thought when he told her that her bedroom door wouldn't be locked, doesn't he know what she is made up of? choking back the need for fresher air is impossible and she's gotten quite good at picking locks. perhaps, she could visit anthony at this time of the night. they always talked about doing something like that back when she was with the judge. she could surprise him. or perhaps, she'll just wander around this city that isn't really hers and she doesn't really belong to either.

how unfortunate they've both turned out to be insomniacs. johanna folds her hands above her thighs, chin pointed downward like a thief just caught. ❝ it's a simple lock, ❞ she mumbles, ❝ all you have to do is turn it from the inside. ❞ the only problem would be getting back in once she returned to the flat. it doesn't feel like much of a problem. ❝ i don't like locks. ❞ careful not to divulge too much information about herself, she considers each word. johanna's prayers never involved getting her father back. the thought of him knowing what happened to her makes her feel more embarrassed than she likes to admit. he could guess, but she couldn't confirm anything. she doesn't want anyone to know how broken she is. ❝ i'm not trying to break any promises. i'm not. i just wanted some air. ❞ i wanted to walk every street of the city until i got dizzy.

closestshave

she never was human until now. in his mind, his daughter was made out of marble: a statue of his virtuous, saintly wife holding their infant in her arms. a perfect parallel of the virgin mary. she was frozen in a photograph that he held at his chest, wishing he could dig it through his skin and let it rest in his heart for eternity. that way johanna wouldn't ever have to know the cruelties of men. she would never have to come to understand how ugly this world is. perhaps, that is why he preferred to think of her in a state of eternity, decorating a museum or a church. she would never be hurt that way. he would never have to confront her as he is.

johanna is everything he imagined and nothing like that yellow-haired girl he mused over for so long. those are lucy's cheekbones in her face, those are her fingers, those are her lips. but where does the flightiness come from? what is that panicked look in her eye every time he takes a step closer to her? that is not his wife. that isn't even from him. he wants to reach out and grip her by the shoulders and get to the end of all of it: who hurt her? where is he? how much will he bleed once he finds him?

part of him has accepted where that pain comes from. the rest of him refuses to admit to such defeat. ( as if somehow, he could have protected his girl from the wrong side of the bars. )

whether it was the flightiness or the mere agony of the thought of losing her again that lead him to making that promise between them, he doesn't care to theorize over. philosophers can think on that for the next thousand years to come, but the relief that came with her short nod is all that matters to him. ( he'd manipulated her by bringing up her saintly mother, but if that is what it takes to keep her under his wing for a little while longer, what can be the harm in it? he is the father, he is finally doing his duty to protect her. ) how else can he ensure her safety?

the pacing he hears from the other room isn't new---the walls are thin. he would pace, too, if it weren't for the fact that he wanted to be able to listen for when it stopped and he heard the bed creaking under her weight and he knew she was asleep. the door opening and closing isn't new either. he said she could go anywhere in the flat that she wanted. he watched her green eyes widen at that, as if it were a foreign concept. was it foreign to her? listening to her now, it seems like it was.

❝ that's how most locks are, ❞ he says. his knees creak as he bends closer to her level. it terrifies him to remember that his daughter never knew him as a young man. ❝ everywhere i've ever lived had locks that you can open from the inside. they only lock on the outside. ❞ except for one. he swallows those bitter words back. they are not for his daughter who could only hear pretty things and make promises that he knows will suit them both. and he promised himself that she wouldn't think like that anymore, yet all he can think of are cold metal bars and rows and rows of desperate men. why does it sound like she once saw the inside of a prison, too? he notices the layers and layers of clothing she's wearing. she's even making a jailbreak. he stares at her little determined features before ducking into the room called his and emerging with a coat thrown over his arm. ❝ fresh air? ❞ he slips the flat's keys into his pocket. ❝ open the door. ❞ how demanding. how unfatherly. he sucks in a breath, but doesn't begin with a please, ❝ fresh air . . . would be nice. ❞

#hehe insomniacs #b. barker #cannotfly #prison tw

lucy gets hair. just a curl off his head that he snipped off for her while awaiting charges. a reminder of her husband and of the profession he held before he was ripped away from her. lovett ends up with his razors. she'll remind him once he gets home that she could have sold them, but behind the words she says "i love you, i love you, i love you." keeping the razors was an act of devotion. his father and his mother get a coin that says "a token of my love, from your unfortunate son, benjamin" on the back of it. his mother dies shortly after receiving the coin, perhaps she had died of shame, but his father holds onto it for the rest of time, never knowing what became of his son and only knowing a little of what made him so unfortunate.

#i wrote this on disco but it actually slaps ngl #b. barker #headcanon.

i think the moment lovett says that johanna was lucky to have gotten adopted by a rapist was the moment she became unforgivable

#even before we learn what happened #and then she protects a bunch of inanimate objects instead of the baby #she's so very endearing but there's so many things that come out of her mouth that make me RESENT her #ooc.#tbd.

charleslecunt

You have already done all of this and will do it again.

#aesthetic.

mrs. bamford is a stout, but taller graying women who was the pinnacle of her husband's life and dead weight in her daughter's. she grew up in a middle class home with several brothers and sisters. her father was a doctor and her mother, as most women of her status, was a housewife and mother. her father was the turpin's family physician before his death. turpin himself introduced the doctor's daughter and the beadle. they hit it off well and married soon after. they had a relatively happy. their only living child, annie was easily the center of their universe. however, her husband's death spiraled mrs. bamford into years of grief, especially due to the way he was brutally murdered. she refused to begin working and ate away at their savings. to save, she fired most of their staff and avoided hosting at her house. mrs. bamford is the pinnacle of the middle class. not titled, but too proud. she doesn't need more, but she can't let herself have any less. her pride won't allow her to ask for help. sometimes, she wishes she could.

#i have...many thoughts about the npcs i've created over the years #now you can hear all about them :)#headcanon.#npc.