disclaimer: all of these are purely fiction and of my own creation. this blog is a mostly pearl jam fan blog, so there will be very little other characters in this outside of the group.
please do not repost my work, i spend a lot of time on them.
if any of them seem ooc, i am sorry, i don’t know them personally.
i am not going to do any of the drummers of the band, i am very sorry!
if you want to be tagged in any future imagines, please message me!
thank you @sideways-falling for tagging me! i am so sorry for not posting as much, i haven’t logged on here for a while.
go to pinterest and search the following:
favorite color + aesthetic / favorite color + outfit + aesthetic / favorite color + shoes and choose one that goes with your style / favorite color + an accesory you like / type a word that identifies you + “quote” and choose one that goes with you / favorite celebrity + favorite color (if you don’t find, search favorite cartoon) / type your favorite hobby / favorite color + aesthetic again / favorite color + favorite word + aesthetic
i tag @mindyourvedder @yellowedvedder @d-arknecessities @honeysympathy
@90smutual @enbymarko @meetthesixxter @fromthadiningtable @fluff-moo @emometalhead @i-dont-like-rice @strangerwitches @fxckthe-noise @crazyrockrlady @stradlingmrstradlin and all my other mutuals!☺️🖤🤘🏻
Thank you so much for the tag, Mads! I love you!! @ninkisixx 🖤🤘
Thank you also, Alice!! I love you and hope tomorrow is a better day for you. Get some sleep, sweetie 🖤 @witchy-tombstone-smile
Tagging both of you back and also tagging @makemeyourwife-loveofmylife @losers-yurio @lost-in-the-80s @devil-die @i-dont-like-rice @roger-taylors-car @magicaldestinytrash @bigdaddylars @axlswhiteshorts @cultofbeatle @dont-cry-izzy @doctorqueensanatomy @queenofneworleans22 I love you all and am sending good vibes and peace ✌💕
THANK YOU SOOOO MUCH @emometalhead and @80sbandsobsessed !!!!!!! i love you guys!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
tagging both of you !!!!!!!! and also @bluebeatlesgirls @bluebayou @izzys-nose-ring @speciallyred @roger-taylors-car @emometalhead @pitoftrash @mynameisbillandimaheadcase @what-the-fuck-happened-to-jayne @americaspencil @lost-in-the-80s @b0hemianbarbie @nymphinvelvet @sup3r-ch4rg3r-h34v3n @nights-in-white-satin @hardlovingwoman @i-dont-like-rice @joanecmon @razzles-bottom-lip @too-young-to-fall-in-love @sideways-falling @will-you-heed-the-masters-call @jmeddows2 @thecrucifixionofseanpenn @jonesyjonesyjonesy @music-on-canvas @hazypoppy @stovetopkaleidoscope @greenslifestuff and all of my mutuals!!!!!!! i love you all!!!!!!! 🥰💕💖
Thank you so much @sideways-falling !!!! <333333 love you!!!!
i tag @screaminglife @honeysympathy @strugglingqueer @d-arknecessities @lick-anthonys-heart @lowbrowknowhow (they both been tagged already lol) @theswanrhcp @sexymexicanmaid :)
Last Song: I am being subjected to office radio so the last song I heard was 'On the Floor' by Jennifer Lopez but it's a banger so I'm not mad at it.
Last Film: Does the In Amerika documentary count? @mondsterne-kuesst pointed out the tiniest detail regarding Till setting off the metal detectors in the court so naturally I had to rewatch the whole thing. Listen I know that sounds a bit insane but you have to be sure about these things you know?
Currently Watching: The All or Nothing documentary series about Tottenham Hotspur. It's fascinating and weirdly wholesome and absolutely batshit.
Reading: Nothing at the minute unless endlessly trawling Ao3 counts.
Craving: I don't think I'm necessarily craving anything, it's nearly lunchtime though and I've got leftover lasagne calling my name.
Since I already mentioned you @mondsterne-kuesst you can be tagged. And also @cakesandfail @rolypolydandy @pre-vengers @mcrmadness @struwwelzeter @strugglingqueer and anyone else who is bored and feels like filling ten minutes of their time :D
Thank you for tagging me, @strugglingqueer ! BTW this is my main account, for some reason it’s not allowing me to post where she tagged me (allfiveizons), my side blog.
Last song: Not a full length song, but I just listened to Tobee Paik’s guitar addition to Babooshka by Kate Bush. I’m currently watching American Psycho and for whatever reason this TikTok made me think of Patrick Bateman.
Last Film: Tombstone (1997). Doc Holliday is just 😘👌🏻 in the movie. 1000/10 I recommend. I don’t know where you can watch it, we usually watch it when it’s on TV or through the DVD copy we have.
Currently Watching: American Psycho, directed by Mary Harron. I still have about an hour to finish, however, this is a really good movie in my opinion. Just look at that cinematography:
Reading: Scar Tissue by Anthony Kiedis. There are a few mistakes here and there (I believe it said it was transcribed from audio to writing, so many it’s just technical error?). Anthony’s life is so interesting.
Craving: Nothing at the moment, I just ate some ramen.
I tag: @lowbrowknowhow @sideways-falling and @lick-anthonys-heart
i might add christian bale, patrick bateman, keanu reeves and a few of his characters to my writing list. i began watching movies again and i am just in love with christian bale’s portrayal of patrick bateman in american psycho. and who can resist keanu?
character a vows to do something nice for a stranger during christmas time. character b is that stranger.
A/N - layout by @adoresobs! prompt by @fanficy-prompts
𝐌 𝐀 𝐒 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑 𝐋 𝐈 𝐒 𝐓
tears pricked at the back of your eyes. here you were, two weeks away from christmas, and still no presents, no decorations, and very little food to even last this week. nina, your six-year-old daughter, kept asking about why christmas hasn’t come yet to your house, but how were you gonna tell her that you were struggling to buy food alone? it seemed like everyone in your apartment building knew of your financial status. they eyed you sadly as you walked down the hallways, making your way to work your one of two jobs, dark undereye bags staining the once skin-toned flesh, nina constantly wondering why you were working and no longer spending time with her as much as you used to.
“i’m here to pick up nina,” you told him. “i’m her mom, mrs. gossard takes care of her in the afternoons.”
“oh!” he smiles at you, “you’re ms. [y/l/n], right?”
“yes, i am!” you smile back.
“come in, she got tired and is taking a nap in the living room,” he opens the door, stepping aside to let you walk in, taking in the pastel pink walls and white wicker furniture. “i’m stone, by the way. i’m mary’s son.”
“you’re the one she always talks about!” you brightly smile at him, causing him to blush lightly, sheepishly bowing his head. “she’s really proud of you, you know.”
“she’s always like that with her children,” stone laughs lightly, scratching the back of his neck. the pale color of his skin complimented his eyes, making them appear brighter in the white light of his mother’s living room.
“mama?” nina’s soft voice called from the couch. her small fist rubbed roughly against her eyelids, rubbing the sleep out of them as she pushed her upper body up to a sitting position. “hi,” you replied tenderly, making your way to her, her arms stretching out to allow you to pick her up easily. she wraps her arms around your neck and her legs around your waist, burying her head into the side of your neck, sighing gingerly, taking in the scent of the perfume you always wore. you turned back to stone, “is your mom home?” you pulled a small wad of money from your pocket, wanting to pay her for taking care of nina for however long she has been taking care of her for. “i’d like to give her this.” you pushed it towards stone, who gently put his hand over yours, pushing it back towards you.
“my mom won’t take your money,” he smiled delicately. “she understands, don’t worry about it.”
“but -”
“no buts,” he shook his head, making his way into the kitchen, picking up the platter from the counter. “she also wanted me to give you this, if you came over while she was at her doctor’s appointment.”
“thank you,” you freed one of your hands from nina, planning to take the glassware from him.
“no,” he puts it back down on the counter again, hands outstretched to take nina. “i’ll help you take it home.” he smiles softly again. swapping nina for the pie plate, moving towards the door, eyeing nina as she rested her head on stone’s shoulder. her faint snores restarted, causing the man’s heart to slowly turn to mush as he rested his cheek on her head. your heart swelled, opening the door to his mom’s apartment. nina’s estranged father was never in the picture, and seeing a strange man cuddle her softly to his chest as he helped you really brought both sadness and want into your heart.
you wanted nina to experience what having a father was like, but you barely had time for her, let alone another person. you walk to your apartment in silence, fearful that nina would wake up from her nap if you were too loud for her liking; she was always a light sleeper, something she gained from her dad, who was always sleeping with one eye open. you always wondered why, seeing that the neighborhood the two of you lived in was relatively safe.
most of seattle was.
taking your key and unlocking your door, you lead stone to nina’s room, the princess themed bedspread thrown haphazardly across her bed, a few barbies and kens laying about the floor in front of her dresser. he gingerly placed her down, unbuckling her jeans and pulling them down her legs before moving the bedspread to cover her up to her chin. you smiled at the sight before going to the kitchen, placing down the pie plate on the counter next to your stove. the sound of heavy steps alerted you of his presence, “i have to go, it’s almost the end of my mom’s appointment and i had to drive her down there.”
“alright,” you told him. “thank you for helping me with nina, i appreciate it.”
“no problem, it was a nice break from the music business,” he beams, chuckling a little. “well, hopefully i’ll see you later!” he waves at you before walking away, opening the door to your apartment.
“hopefully,” you hugged your arms around yourself.
you had noticed a piece of paper on nina’s nighttable, and upon closer inspection, you noticed that it was stone’s phone number with a messily scrawled, “call me :).”
you did, the next day, and since then the two of you spoke and laughed at his jokes, him telling you stories of his childhood, his adventures across the world, the stress of being in a famous band. you feared telling him of your financial struggles and the struggle of trying to make enough money to get nina some presents. however, what you did not know, was that mary had told him of your problems and his plan to help you out with it.
it was the night of christmas eve, and nina had fallen asleep after throwing a small crying fit, wondering how 1. santa was going to be able to come to your home since it was in an apartment building (this was an ongoing thing for the past three years) and 2. why the christmas tree still wasn’t up. “he’s not going to come here if he can’t see the tree!” she cried, letting you hold her close, rubbing the back of her head as you calmed her down.
sitting in your living room with a book on your lap, your heart continued to beat wildly against your chest. you bought her very few things, most of which were small and it would make her a little disappointed, and at the same time break you heart as she would go back to school and talk about how the other kids got bigger and better things.
a small knock on your door caused you to freeze, eyes wide as you thought of what could happen. a burglar waiting for you to be dumb and open the door? mary coming over to bring some food? all bad thoughts crossed your mind until you heard, “it’s stone!” coming from the outside.
what was stone doing here at. . . you glanced at the clock in the kitchen, 4 in the morning? you put down the book, upside down as to keep your spot, and made your way to the door, still confused at why he was here. you unlocked the door and when you saw the christmas tree box - amongst other things - sitting at his feet, you gasped. “what is this, stone?”
“it’s for you and nina,” he smiled. “now, come on, it’s cold.” the two of you laughed, taking the time to pick up the boxes and transferring them into the warmth of your apartment, and as each box came in, you noticed that a few were already wrapped and ready to be placed under the christmas tree, one of which was wrapped in a different paper than the others. stone noticed you looking at it. “it’s for you.”
it took the two of you half an hour to put up the tree and place the presents underneath, and once it was done, you were able to fall asleep peacefully, you and stone passing out on the cushions of your sofa. “mama!” nina’s cries pierced through the thick veils of sleep and woke you and stone up. “santa came!” you peered at her through your eyelashes, seeing her angelic face brighten up as she saw the many presents placed at the bottom of the lit tree.
“open them,” you insisted, trying to sit up with some difficulty, soon noticing stone’s head resting against your stomach, arms wrapped lazily around your middle. you haven’t seen her this happy, you noted, hand making its way into stone’s hair, gently rubbing his scalp. he hums softly, watching the girl tear through the first box, a high-pitched squeal leaving her lips as she realizes it’s the victorian purple barbie house she’s been pestering you for months and something you complained to stone about.
“nina,” you caught her attention, “can you give me that box, please? it has my name on it.” you caught the neatly scrawled [y/n] on the top. she snatches up from the floor, running over to you, placing it in your outstretched hand before going back to her own. “what is this, stone?”
“open it,” he nods to it.
you tear the paper, letting the pieces drop to the floor, seeing a flat velvet box come into view. written on top of it was ‘gucci’. opening it, an aged gold butterfly necklace stares back at you from the confines of the white cardboard interior, and peaking from behind it, a gold-colored debit card sat. “it currently has a few thousand dollars in it,” stone informs you. “and it’s attached to my bank acount, as well, so now you and nina are dependents.”
“stone, i can’t take this,” you begin to protest.
“why not?” he picked himself up from your stomach, glacing at you from above. “it’s my money and i get to choose what i want to do with it. and i want to help you and nina. there’s only one condition.”
“and what’s that?”
taking a short glance towards your daughter, who was too busy tearing open the last few of her presents, he lowers himself against you, face turning towards yours before he presses his lips softly on yours. “just be my girlfriend. that’s all i ask.”
character a and character b meet in the e.r. on christmas eve.
INSPIRATIONS - @fanficy-prompts
THIS FIC CONTAINS swearing.
A/N - layout by @adoresobs!
𝐌 𝐀 𝐒 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑 𝐋 𝐈 𝐒 𝐓
standing close to the front desk, you signed the papers the nurse had given you with a reassuring smile, your mind racing back to your sister, laying in one of the beds as an iv was stuck into her arm. why had your aunt put peanuts into that fruit cake knowing [y/s/n] was allergic to them? now knowing that she was safe, you no longer worried for her, but for the medical bills that will arise later on. will the insurance be able to cover most of it? hospital bills were sky-rocketing, you were the only one in the e.r. with your sister, and you were a college student. god, you hoped one of your family members had enough fucking sense to come by and help pay for it.
“thank you,” you gave back the clipboard to the nurse, giving her a small smile before you walked back to the seat you had previously sat on. looking around the e.r., you noticed that it was packed: people arguing with doctors, sick people getting looked over in the small curtained areas, one man being rushed through the e.r. to get to the operation room, others waiting for their family members to get better. luckily, your corner seat was still open, unluckily, there was a man sitting down on the seat next to it, and, for whatever reason, he looked like he was having a hard time keeping his laughter to himself. whatever, your feet were killing you and you just wanted to take a quick nap. looking at your watch, you read the hands pointing to the numbers: 2:30 a.m. you sighed as you sat down, senses invaded by the smell of the man: citrus and some other earthy smells. it was some calvin klein cologne you used, one that your grandmother had gotten for you on your birthday a year ago. placing your elbows on your lap, you brushed your hair back, letting your hands rest on the crown of your head. “hello,” the man said. when you turned to look at him, you noticed that he was smiling brightly at you.
“hi,” you waved, dropping your left hand to your chin, propping your head up as you smiled back.
“i’m mike,” he holds out his hand. you knew him, of course. a guitarist of pearl jam, one of the grunge bands to come out of seattle, which is were you and your family lived. everyone knew their names.
“[y/n],” you shook it, feeling it press warmly against your palm. he seemed really nice, almost like a little kid on. . . well, christmas. “you here for someone else?”
he nods, “yeah, for my friend stone. he drank a little too much alcohol today.” he snickered. “what about you?”
“my sister went into anaphylactic shock, thanks to my aunt,” you chuckled. for some unknown reason, he was able to make you laugh despite the current events.
“is she alright?”
“yeah,” you nodded. “luckily she got here before it got too bad.” you pointed to where she was, the curtain left open as a doctor checked over her stats. you hoped she stayed a little while longer so you’d be able to continue your conversation with mike. “how about your friend? is he alright?”
mike smiles brightly again and nods, “yeah, this isn’t the first time this has happened.” they must be party people, you noted. “he’s gonna be alright.”
“ms. [y/l/n],” the doctor said to get your attention, “your sister will have to stay for another two or three days. it’s better if you go home, we’ll call you when she’s ready to go home.”
“thank you,” you nodded, gathering your purse from the ground. “well, mr. mike, it seems i have to leave.”
“hold on!” he grabs a marker from his back pocket. why did he have it in the first place? “sometimes we draw on our friends when they’re passed out drunk,” he seems to have read your mind. he grabs your free hand, uncapping the marker with his teeth before he began scribbling his number on the soft skin of your palm. 206 - ??? - ????. “will you please call me?” he asked you with large eyes, seeming as if he were pleading for you to do so.
my birthday party is in full swing but it’s too much for me right now, so i grab a bottle of wine and go up to the rooftop. that’s where you find me eventually.
INSPIRATIONS - @agirlnamedjana
THIS FIC CONTAINS fictional elements! (real life)harper has not gotten the flu, pj crew members did not sick, and covid doesn’t exist.
A/N - layout by @adoresobs! also, this is my first time writing for anyone in a first person point of view, lol. happy birthday to the most wonderful person to ever exist!!!!
𝐌 𝐀 𝐒 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑 𝐋 𝐈 𝐒 𝐓
looking around the room, i noticed all of the sweating bodies as the dj played 2000s pop throwbacks, the noise loud and annoying to my ears. these people have known me for however long, know about my dislike for pop music after the 80s, know that i would rather put in a the who record and decipher the meaning of the words, but today, they just put songs that contained the same, upbeat melody and nonsensical words. he buys me louis, i buy him gucci, sings the woman from whatever song they had put on. i roll my eyes, walking towards the refreshment table a few of the pj crew members had put up, seeing the multiple different kinds of drinks they had put out for the occassion. an armada of pepsi bottles, a battalion of hi-c juice gallons, a barricade of water jugs, until, finally, my eyes landed on the one thing i was craving: the multiple bottles of siduri van der kamp pinot noir, the ones that were shipped straight to my location without the labels. making my way through the mass of bodies, i grabbed two bottles, seeing olivia and harper mingling amongst their friends, talking animatedly about whatever had peaked their interest at that moment. a few paces behind them stood [y/n] in the kitchen, who seemed to have noticed the dwindling snack table and went ahead to put more into the platters. everyone seemed busy. . . would they notice that i was missing?
i hoped not.
the month had been pretty bad, harper had the flu (but luckily recovered quickly), olivia had her wisdom teeth removed, and a few of my crew members had gotten sick. and this party. . . it was just too much. no matter how much i pleaded with the others that i did not want to have a birthday party, only wanted to spend the day with my family and friends, they went ahead and planned the party, invited a mass of people (most of which i do not know), and a dj who played songs that made me want to gouge my eyes out.
rushing up the stairs, i made my way through the house while grabbing whatever i needed: a coat and a blanket for the roof. i opened the doors to the balcony attached to our room, stepping out into the cold night, face illuminated by the twinkling christmas lights we hired others to put up. tadadi chado, the elf on the shelf toy we had gotten for the girls many christmases ago, dangled on one of the strings, waiting for the girls to find him. i smile, heading over to the small ladder i built into the wall shortly after we bought the house, throwing the blanket up onto the roof. putting one of the wine bottles on the balcony, i stuffed the other into the worn pocket of my coat, and doing the same with the other. i begin climbing the ladder until i got up on the slate. unfolding the blanket, i spread it as wide as i could before sitting down on it, feeling the cold air bite my cheeks while i moved.
perhaps it may have been a mistake coming up here. but it would be a grander mistake if i decided to go back to that party.
the sound of crickets surround me, blanketing me in a serene aura, the thumping of the bass verberating throughout the house. i don’t know how long i’m up here. seconds? minutes? hours? all i know is that the bass often changes pitches and tempo, signaling the changes in songs. the sound of a door opening alerts me that someone was here. or was the door closing? did i forget to close it? perhaps it was another drunk partygoer having a smoke or needing a place to vomit the contents of their stomach.
but a drunk partygoer wouldn’t be able to climb the ladder with agility. so who was it? i eye the spot where i know it’s at, waiting for the moment to be able to talk to whoever to just go down, make their way back to the party, to leave me alone with my wine. but instead of a stranger, [y/n] continues climbing until they reach the roof, making their way towards me, a blanket wrapped around their shoulders. “olivia and i noticed your absence,” they inform me, taking the ends of the blanket in her hands and wrapping their arms around me, bringing more warmth to my body. “harper and the rest have no idea. they just noticed that two bottles of wine are missing.” they laughed, kissing my cheek softly before placing their head on my shoulder.
my hand wraps around their thigh, covered by the jean material of the shorts they decided to wear. their fingertips massaged my scalp, a trait she picked up to calm me down after shows. “happy birthday, ed,” they whispered, nosing along the column of my neck, pressing kisses wherever they felt like. my eyes close, leaning into her touch as my heart beat with content. a bright instance of light forced my to open my eyes, and standing close to the edge of the roof was olivia and harper, smiling at us. olivia held a polaroid camera, alerting us that she was the one who had taken the photo.
without a word, harper throws herself at us, hugging the two of us tightly as oli busied herself with the photo, waiting for it to develop to make sure it picked up the moment, keeping it forever in that little piece of paper. wrapping our arms - and blanket - around harper, we cuddled close to her as another bright flash blinded us for a moment. another photo. it was always oli and her photos, treasuring the stolen moments of grandeur and amour.
“c’mere,” i stretch my arm out for her, patiently waiting for her to come over and keep close to us. harper moved to allow room for her, sitting close to [y/n] as oli took the spot next to me. i wrap my free arm around her, noting the goosebumps that had blossomed across her skin. setting the little timer on her camera, olivia set it down on the roof, lens pointing straight at us as we posed for the camera. seconds pass, time still as we waited for the little timer to count down before the photo was taken. another flash, another photo taken, another stolen moment.
taking the photo from its slot, we watched as the image slowly developed onto the black square, colors blossoming as seconds ticked past. finally, the photo appeared.
there was oli on the far right, smiling brightly, sprawled across my lap.
harper on the left, eyes crossed and tongue sticking out, leaning on [y/n]’s arm.
and there was [y/n] and i, in the middle, looking at each other, eyes glazed over with love, the time around us stopping.
anastasia!au. 1900s!au. after [y/n]’s narrow escape from the alexander palace, she lost most, if not all, memory of her childhood, only remembering the tiny details that would help her later on in life. this is the second part of a duology.
THIS FIC CONTAINS a generalized russian accent; this story is both of my own creation and inspirations (listed below); mentions of death.
A/N - layout by @adoresobs! the description of the dress i’m going for the coronation clothing and crown is empress sissi. the wedding dress is also by her. i understand that she’s from the 1800s, but i just love her style. i also took the wedding traditions from an article, so if you are from russia and know about the traditions and see anything wrong, please just contact me and i’ll fix it! also, this may suck, idk.
looking at herself in the mirror, [y/n] eyed the large sapphire necklace sitting on the supple skin of her chest, the heavy weight of her long hair evenly distributed around her head. the corset was tighter than usual, but she had grown used to it from the long training hours she was forced to endure. the blue eyes of the man she had seen again haunted her day, feeling them watch her when she stood in the same room with him, her heart beating wildly as she tried to shake off the feeling of hopelessness. she wanted to talk to him again, wanted to see what he was like after years of not being with him, wanted to have him hold her as he whispered that everything was alright, wanted his smell linger on her clothes.
she didn’t notice the tear in her eye until it hit her cheek, her hand reaching up to immediately dab it away, not wanting to destroy the makeup on the handmaids took her time on, taking a deep breath in order to calm her heartbeat. she stood up, ready for her wedding.
eddie remembered when he asked her about the traditions of a russian wedding, wondering if they were the same as american counterparts, but quickly realizing that russian weddings tend to be grand and exciting.
“our marriage would only be legal if we register it at the zapis aktov grazhdanskogo sostoyaniya,” [y/n] had told him one night. “usually people do it before the ceremony so they have more time for the fun things. and at the ceremony, crowns will be placed on our heads. the crown is usually placed in by the priest, and is usually held in place by family or friends while we stand on top of a rose colored cloth. then games are played. It’s all very fun and can actually last a couple of days.”
the first day of the wedding was the actual ceremony.
eyeing the man at the end of the aisle, the now tsarevna [y/n] tomanov held her uncle’s hand, a smile broadening acros her lips. eddie seemed a little nervous, not liking the idea of being in front of such a large crowd, but knew he had to begin getting used to it as the impending knowledge of him being tsar of russia loomed over him like a dark cloud. he was a simple american man stuck in an expansive country as the love he held for their tsarevna kept him there. she had given him a manor home in both england and the united states, an escape from royal life so that he may go and clear his head.
but not only was there those manors; they had the livadia palace in the crimea, which [y/n] and her family had spent their summers in, the winter palace that was their main residence, and many other palaces that had been the homes to her ancestors. the doors open, revealing the tsarevna in her beautiful white gown, dark green trim showing all of the layers of the skirt, the neckline, the hem of the sleeves, and the sash loosely wrapped around her right shoulder, the rest landing softly on the skirt of her dress. soft floral patterns lined around the green trim, complementing her features perfectly. eddie gasped as he watched his bride come closer, a large smile spreading across her lips as she stared at him as if he were the only thing in the world, the only rope that tied her to this place.
the traditional vows were said, crowns were placed on their heads (which eddie found out they were tsar nicholas ii’s and tsarevna alexandra’s imperial jewels) and the ornamental glasses were smashed (another thing that was counted to be luck for a long-lasting marriage), and the two spouses followed the priest around the lectern (thrice) as they held each other’s hands tightly.
the second day of the wedding consisted of a roadtrip.
they visited many important landmarks, such as visting the peter vassilevsky island to touch the 4000-year-old egyptian statues and stone griffons, or to the new hermitage portico and rub the toes of the marble atlanti statues, all for good luck on their marriage. “you know i love you, right?” eddie whispered into [y/n]’s hair, carresing her bare shoulder as they cuddled in the master bedroom of the imperial train, her warm skin pressed up against his.
snow drifted slowly to the ground, covering the grass in a cold, white blanket, reminding you of the lullaby your grandmother used to sing to you when you were much younger. “i know,” she pressed a light kiss to his lips, her thumb brushing against his cheekbone, forehead pressing against his. this was something you longed for all your years spent in that orphanage.
someone to love, hold, cherish.
“and a song, someone sings once upon a december,” eddie’s resonant voice sang from the comfort of olivia’s room, brushing away the small tendrils of hair that stuck to the side of her face. “someone holds me safe and warm,” you continued, putting your chin on eddie’s shoulder. so many years had passed since the two of you were married, and many began speculating if either of you were infertile, most of which directed at you, all because you were a female. but luckily, olivia came along one hot june morning, screaming as you cried from your spot in the bed. it had been such an intensive labor and now she was here. “horses prance through a silver storm,” eddie’s voice joined yours, his hand holding your cheek softly. “figures dancing gracefully across my memory.”
“someone holds me safe and warm,” you wrap your arms around eddie, holding him tight against your body, eddie moving his hand to take yours in his, his free hand grabbing onto olivia’s. “horses prance through a silver storm,” the days of you and your family going on horseback rides during the heavy snowfalls flashed through your mind; it was one of the best feelings you ever experienced in your early life. the cold wind biting at your cheeks, the laughter and smiles passed around warmed your insides. “figures dancing gracefully across my memory,” the balls your father threw, the many people wearing heavy gowns and sparkling jewelry dancing around the floor, skirts skimming the floor and coattails flying up.
“far away, long ago, glowing dim as an ember,” you were reminded of your time in the american orphanage, the troublesome nights of the small flashes of memory, the longing for a life you couldn’t remember. “things my heart used to know, things it yearns to remember.”
“and a song someone sings,” you looked out the window, placing a hand on your growing belly. “once upon a december.”
INSPIRATIONS - breaking the girl by rhcp and @fanficy-prompts
THIS FIC CONTAINS death (SUICIDE), swearing, sadness/depression.
A/N - layout by @adoresobs!
keeping your head down, the rain beat down on the red raincoat you slipped on that morning, the usually sunny l.a. sky now a dark gray, a cool breeze brushing against your crimson cheeks. your school things were most likely getting wet, but at some point, you stopped caring, much like many other things you once cherished, which now seemed bleak in your reddened eyes. everything was covered in a constant cover of gray, your optimistic outlook on life now turning into those of your mother’s. why hadn’t you said yes to going to jessica’s? why were you the one to find your mother face down in a pool of her own blood? why did she have to take her own life in such a horrendous way? why hadn’t you noticed before?
you shoulders hung with the weight of your guilt despite your family and multiple psychiatrists telling you that you had done nothing wrong. they told you your mother was at fault for not telling you, for not getting the help she needed and deserved, for leaving you behind to live with your grandmother. how you hated to look into your grandmother’s eyes since the day it happened. she tried to be strong for you, you could tell, but once you looked at her, she burst into tears. every time she looked at you, she saw her daughter. your mother’s eyes were your own, and each day she saw the life be sucked out of them much like she saw within your mother’s. she was afraid of losing you too, making appointments with a therapist in order for you to talk about your thoughts, your feelings, but each time, you just brought over a drawing. one that was done in simple India Ink, the graphite of a pencil not dark enough to show your true emotions. you refused to talk, afraid that if you opened your mouth, you would talk about everything and would never shut up.
the more drawings you gave, the more and more the therapist noticed how darker and more obscene they got.
your world was dead.
you envied your aunts, uncles, and cousins for still having their mom, hated the way that your school friends would talk about their parents, how they father gave them this and how their mother gave them that. after christmas break, everyone began talking animatedly about what they received for christmas, whether it was money, a new rotary telephone (one girl got a canary yellow one, just like she wanted), or new clothes. one of your classmates turned to you, “what did your parents give you for christmas?”
how were you going to tell them that your mother committed suicide and your father was an alcoholic who walked out of your life years ago? you just laid your head on your arms, wanting the teacher to begin the lesson so you didn’t have to bear the embarrassment of people bugging you about the presents. yes, you did get presents from your family in order to get your mind of your mom, but it was sort of alright until one of your aunts gave you a perfume bottle, and upon closer inspection, you noticed that it was your mother’s signature scent.
you had run to your room, tears leaving wet tracks on your cheeks, sobs racking through your body as thoughts of your mom brought back painful pangs in your chest, your heart beating wildly against your ribcage. a copy of maya angelou’s i know why the caged bird sings sat on your night table, driving you insane at the orange cover, the black bird in mid-flight. picking it up, you chucked it at the wall, the bookmark flying out from its designated spot. the caged bird doesn’t sing, you thought. the caged bird dies.
for years this continued, the book still on the exact spot it had landed when you threw it, collecting dust as your room stayed in pristine condition. if it weren’t for your family coming over to help you, it would be a pigsty by now. somehow, however, you were able to control your emotions a little better, making the days seem a little easier and more bearable to go through, and the thoughts of your mother’s dead body were pushed to the back of your mind.
in your sophomore year of high school, you had met anthony, a charismatic senior with a crooked smile and a trick up his sleeve. on days where you were not able to control your emotions as well, he held you, letting you cry into the crevice where his shoulder and neck meet, his hands cradling your head and rubbing your back. he managed to make you talk after years of being known as the mute, his little jokes and twisted tales able to rise a small out of your once glued lips. something about him made you feel warm inside. people always said that the person you loved the most will make butterflies come alive in your belly, but you realized that wasn’t the truth for you. every time you thought about or spoke to anthony, your heart swelled even more, leaving you with a euphoric feeling as you held on to either him or the sweatshirt he gave you on an unusually cold day. perhaps it was his nonchalant demeanor or his cocky attitude, or even the musky, vanilla smell that was characteristically him, but every part of you fell in love with him and his existence. he was an angel come to life.
it was his graduation day when he first kissed you. once caps were thrown and pictures were taken, he ran up to you, grabbed your cheeks, and planted his lips on yours. his lips were so soft, in contrast to the muscular body he hid beneath the button-up shirt he wore, you melted into his arms, pressing yourself against him, grabbing on to the lapels of his shirt. you had waited for this day for what? three weeks? six months? a year? no matter how long, you felt all your nerves release as he pulled away, staring at you with such love and adoration, it looked like he was staring at a goddess come to life.
your breaths mingled, brushing softly over the soft skin of your lips, minty as you brought him back in, deprived of something you longed for for a while. this was a seal of your relationship. at some point, you began to wonder if you were just another one of anthony’s playthings, ready to be thrown out the second he got bored of you.
the sun shone brightly on the two of you, a moment of celebration only you two could see.
it was a december when he broke up with you. it was in the year of what? 1995? '96? you didn’t remember, and didn’t want to remember, as your heart continued to break as those last moments replayed in your head like a broken record.
you had been there for him through everything.
when the band was first formed, their first record, their first live national tv performance, hillel’s death, anthony’s sobriety. everything. yet he deemed you no longer important in his life as he broke your heart. somehow, despite your tear-streaked face, he continued to say that he no longer loved you, that he had fallen in love with another. he had kissed you one last time that day. held you close, hands on your cheeks, warming them even more, and you could feel it. there was no more passion left. it seemed like to him, you were an obligation, a setback in life. no longer did his heart beat for you. how could he have fallen in love with another when you had given him everything you had? your virginity, your heart, your mind, your love.
he just took it for himself and now. . . you were being thrown to the streets. god, you didn’t go to college, had no job, no money of your own, purely depending on him, and he gladly supported you through the years, giving you an allowance basically. you had to move in with your grandmother again as you took up classes at the local community college in cyber. . . something. again, you stopped caring about the world. what had you done in order for him to fall out of love with you? you were supportive of his decision, supportive of him when he was going through withdrawal symptoms when he stopped taking drugs, there by his side again when he relapsed, warning him of the consequences and reminding him of his hard work years prior.
laying down on the bed, you took a deep breath as your hand was placed over your heart, imagining the broken pieces still trying to keep you alive. with anthony, the once gray world turned bright again, optimism making every day more bearable until you no longer had to bear it.
underneath you sat the sheets that anthony once slept under, holding you close to his body as the two of you had your usual late-night talks, talking about the future, about one day marrying each other, having children, grandchildren, and growing old together. now, these sheets held tears and broken promises whispered long ago, long when you were still young and a new optimistic.
i know why the caged bird sings stares at you from the floor.
the caged bird does not sing. the caged bird dies.
person a and b having a romantic lunch date over school cafeteria vegan nuggets and cold french fries.
INSPIRATIONS - like real people by hozier. prompt by @otp-prompts-for-you.
THIS FIC CONTAINS curse words.
A/N - layout by @adoresobs! the vegan nuggets were inspired a lot by @sideways-falling‘s vegan tags in her animal posts and the many hours we have spent talking about ak! this fic is also a high school!au, so anthony and the reader are around 17/18. the mr. smith part is based on my real life teacher, but name and class were changed, lol.
pushing the tupperware box towards you, anthony smiles as he opens his own, happy that he was finally able to spend a quiet lunch with you. hillel, michael, and jack usually trailed behind you both, so once they told him they were spending lunchtime in the music room, he was excited to be able to finally be alone with you at school. the two of you had met during a poetry workshop class, and the two immediately hit it off. in order to ask you out, he had written a page long poem about what he found interesting about you, and it made you begin to see yourself in ways you never thought possible. your self-esteem and confidence went through the roof when anthony was around.
he made sure what your diet was, never judging you when you told him you were a vegan. he wasn’t, of course, but once he got the gist of the diet, he adopted it, replacing all animal-based products with certified vegan groceries, and one year into your relationship, he replaced everything in his diet to a vegan substitute.
“how was mr. smith’s class?” he asked you, biting into a soggy french fry that he had packed. the sun was shining brightly on you, the courtyard filled with eating students.
you rolled your eyes, sighing heavily as you readied yourself for your rant. “it absolutely sucked ass! he collects the notebooks, gave us problems from the stupid algebra book to do, and at the end of class, he tells me that i did not, and i quote, ‘write my notes properly.’ how the fuck do i write notes properly? it’s based on how i fucking understand the fucking problem!” two people sitting nearby eyed you suspiciously. you sipped at your water bottle, fuming at your math teacher as anthony reached over to rub your shoulder to calm you down. he had mr. smith the previous year, and knew the frustration he had given many juniors in the years he worked at fairfax. “anyway,” you smiled softly at him, “how was mrs. anita’s class?”
he shrugged, chewing on a nugget as he thought of his answer. “she was out on maternity leave.”
“she had the baby?”
he laughed, “she had the baby.” a glazed look came over anthony’s eyes, and you knew he was thinking about it, wondering what the gender was and what it could possibly look like. on multiple occasions, mrs. anita’s husband came into the class (mrs. anita was his class sponsor), and would bring multiple boxes of pizza with him (vegetarian and regular). anthony had talked about wanting a child in the near future, and every time he talked about it, this glazed look came over his eyes, like it did now, and he looked so happy, so content in his little imagination, that, deep in your heart, you wished you were the one to grant him that wish. “i think it’s a girl, but she hasn’t said anything about it. i bet her cheeks are so chubby.” his cheeks flushed, heart swelling in his chest as he looked so content.
“i think the baby is a boy,” you chuckled, eating more fries. “and i think he most likely looks a lot like his dad.”
“well i think she will look like mrs. anita,” he placed a hand on his chest. “i’m right, you’re wrong. she had pregnancy acne, too!” he smacks the table with his hand, making the bottles jump in the air. “old wives tale says that pregnancy acne means that the mother is having a girl!”
“sometimes old wives tales lie!” you laugh, enjoying the talk you were able to get with anthony. when the others were around, they seemed to talk about sex and music, the latter being the only thing you actually listen to. growing up in a multi-talented household, you were raised to appreciate the arts, and even to participate in them. by 15, you played the guitar, bass, cello, piano, and the violin, and had written multiple poems that ended up published in newspapers around l.a.
“perhaps they don’t!” anthony laughed alongside you. “my mother got pregnancy acne and gave birth to a girl! my dad said she had perfect skin when she was pregnant with me.”
“my mother had multiple girls after me and she was perfectly fine,” you chuckled, closing the lid of the tupperware, pushing it away from you to allow you to lean your forearms against the table. “you just sucked the life out of her, anthony.” reaching over to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, he smiles brightly at you, flashing his crooked tooth, “perhaps.”
“but really,” you reached into your bag to grab the juice you had thrown in there that morning, “i hope it’s a boy. i have too many sisters.”
“it is the teacher’s baby, you know,” he reminded you, raising an eyebrow as he grabbed the bottle from your hand to take a sip. “i know, but it’s just that i want to help take care of a boy for once,” you pouted, resting your chin on your hands, waiting for anthony to give you the bottle back.
as he gives it back, lid screwed tightly, the bell rings, alarming everyone to begin making their way towards their next class. “see you after school,” anthony reaches over the table, grabbing your shoulder, and pulling you in for a kiss, one of the lunch monitors yelling at the two of you to stop the pda. you dreaded to think about what will happen next year.
this time next year, anthony will have graduated. this time next year, he will be off at college, possibly meeting a new girl that suited his needs better than you did. but until then, you had him all to yourself, a blessing that you never thought twice about, and a blessing you never wanted to let go off.
rules: you can usually tell a lot about a person by the type of music they listen to! put your favorite playlist on shuffle and list the first 10 songs, then tag 10 people. no skipping!
backwoods - red hot chili peppers. (i highly recommend this song and secret special song inside from their uplift mofo party plan.)
bullet with butterfly wings - the smashing pumpkins.
quick escape - pearl jam.
breed - nirvana.
outshined - soundgarden.
subterranean homesick blues - red hot chili peppers.
give it away - red hot chili peppers.
dosed - red hot chili peppers.
territorial pissings - nirvana.
all apologies - nirvana.
can you tell i prefer male lead singers???
i tag: @bl4ckhellsun @d-arknecessities @strugglingqueer @screaminglife @honeysympathy @pendulumthrows @sexymexicanmaid of course, if they want to :)
