angela overtone

[lilomenbaby]

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[fuckingangela-blog]

Today is the day, Angela told herself, just like she had told herself yesterday, and the day before, and the day before.... She wanted to go outside, really, but she couldn’t bring herself to face the staring, the perceived gawking, as if she were some freaky side show. But then again, wasn’t she? If her visions of her past were to be believed, she was a walking, talking dead girl.

At the time, she’d known that her plan was ill-advised. Every dead person she’d known had speculated that they weren’t meant to leave town, but as was her fatal flaw, she decided that the rule simply did not apply to her. Because how convenient would it have been to just be able to up and leave? Sure, she’d miss a select few of her acquaintances, but it’d be much easier to make acquaintances somewhere new than maintain relationships with people who knew every dark thing about her.

Only when she’d crossed the border to a surrounding town, she wasn’t free. She felt funny, like every day of her future that she’d missed was suddenly whizzing in her veins, shaking through to her very core. Rattled, she ran back over the border and to the sanctuary of her dank, attic home.

Now, staring at herself in her mirror, she could pick out the subtle changes in her face. Her eyes were a little more set-in, her skin had taken on a bit of that lifeless gray pallor that she often noticed dulled people past the age of thirty, and even she, who had taken it as a personal challenge to smile as little as often, was beginning to notice shallow smile lines around her lips. How could she face anyone in Bentley ever again, looking like this?

But today is the day, she repeated in her head. Today, I’ll go outside.

It had been more than two months since she’d seen the sky without a window to dull its impact, but as she took the first step out of the Briely home where she lived, she felt a weight lift off her shoulders. It was as if, for a moment, it didn’t matter what she looked like. She began to walk down the sidewalk with no particular destination in mind when she heard a voice behind her. She started and turned around, eyes narrowed. “What the fuck did you say?”

[ragingdragon5-deactivated201702]

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Baby, drop them bones Baby, sell that soul Heaven, fare thee well Somebody gotta Gotta raise a little hell

[mekhixsparrow]

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) mekhi/angela

SEND ME A SHIP AND I’LL TELL YOU ─

where was their first date ?:

they couldn’t really go anywhere out of town, so mekhi went to a medical museum in the city and brought her back a jar of testicles 

what my muse would do to cheer your’s up: 

tell her she’s being a piss-ass

who wakes the other up with kisses ( and where ) ?: 

angela. you can guess where.

who would pour water on the other to wake them up ?:

angela. 

how my muse would wake your’s up:

wet willy, probably.

who would start a food fight while baking or cooking ?:

angela

who would suggest putting marijuana in the brownies ?:

mekhi

who said i love you first and how ( or when ) did they say it ?: 

mekhi. “you’re being a bitch, and i love you so chill the fuck out.” 

who would get into a physical altercation over the other ?:

angela would start physical altercations that mekhi would have to deal with. poorly, usually.

who insists on purchasing a pet together ( and what kind of pet ) ?:

mekhi. he wants a dog. she does not. they end up getting one–but it’s stuffed. they still love it.

who is louder ( in and out of bed ) ?:

angela for sure

who takes more risks ( in and out of bed ) ?:

actually, both tbh

who would bring up the word ‘daddy’ first ?: 

i want to say angela but mekhi probably would, sarcastically, and she would not drop it

what is their shared, favourite kink ?:

suffering

describe their typical kiss:

it involves groping.

how my muse shows their love for your’s:

putting up with angela’s shit constantly

their favourite ways to give affection:

smooches 

who is more dominate ?:

angela fucking duh

who sings in the shower ?:

mekhi

who washes the other’s hair in the shower ?:

mekhi 

who initiates shower sex despite being in a rush ?:

anGELA

who teases the other under the table at dinner with the family ?: 

angela, always angela

who has the weirder taste in music ?:

they both think the other’s music is fucking weird

who would initiate dancing in the rain ?:

mekhi

who would be the one to suggest marriage ?: 

LMAO neither

what would they name their children ?:

fuckface & assmaster

who would their children take after more ?:

no

[fuckingangela-blog]

Do you work for UPS? I could have sworn I saw you checking out my package.

Trust me, buddy. There’s nothing special about your package.

[anderswynne-blog]

“You make it seem like I should be– I’m not. Usually I don’t even say anything in response in the first place.”

[fuckingangela-blog]

“Oh, god, what’s it been— two months, and you’re still worthless? When someone stares at you, Wynne, pretend it’s because they think you’re hot. But instead of getting all bashful and weird and embarrassing, like you always do, act like you know you’re hot.”

[anderswynne-blog]

“You do realize you’re staring, don’t you? I mean, there’s chance I’ve got paint on my face, but you are staring.”

[fuckingangela-blog]

“Come on, eyebrows. Don’t pretend you’re not used to people staring.”

[gail-interrupted]

+ Invitation

❝All the snow was nice at Christmas, but I’m gonna have to disband my bridge club if one more member falls and breaks somethin’ outside the grocery store. – - So, anyway, as I was sayin’, do you know how to play bridge?❞

[fuckingangela-blog]

“Does it look like I’m 96? Of course I don’t know how to play fucking bridge.”

[roberts-emma]

Teen Vogue - November 2015.

[fuckingangela-blog]

Pillars & Pyre | Salinger & Angela

[salingerisaghost]

Where they stood was Salinger’s attempt at being modest. The methods of modern day trading might’ve evolved over time but the principles remained the same & while he wouldn’t call it manipulation, day trades & his inherent knowledge amassed him what he needed. He never spent enough to draw attention but if he was going to live in Bentley, it wasn’t going to be in some shithole. Primarily he mourned over the loss of cars he couldn’t buy, trips he couldn’t take & the estate he’d grown up in. Regardless, he rolled his eyes at her comment. 

His eyes followed her as she moved from shelf to table, her fingers trailing over the items few & far between & as he looked at the back of her head he wondered if she knew yet. If she was aware of her unique predicament. He doubted it as she was beyond casual, but he couldn’t picture her any other way. She was cool & sharp & he supposed that was why she was one of the few people he found he could stand post mortem. When her answer came it made him wonder if it was a lie. It was given in the nonchalant delivery he’d come to expect but it seemed to be dropped too tenderly. The endearing quality of it struck a cord of disconnect with Salinger but he didn’t question the validity. “I’ll have to think up some new non-conventional intimidation tactics to make sure you get home by curfew.” Salinger teased. He was no surrogate. He wasn’t a fill in for whatever Angela had been deprived of in her life but as much as he wouldn’t like to admit it, he felt protective of the smart mouthed blonde feeling her way through his home.

The conditions of his return ensured that he couldn’t leave but it didn’t stop the sentiment from filling up the room. It overlapped his sense of humor & the cold atmosphere, but just as quickly as it had come it was gone again as Salinger let it pass with out verbal acknowledgment & then Angela was speaking again. He stepped towards the shelves of records but stopped halfway there & perched himself on the arm of a couch instead. A weary look of disgust shone disapprovingly on his face. “You poor thing.” He said, his voice dripping with disdain as she spun towards him with her accusation. “The nineties were disgusting.” Salinger condemned the decade with a slight sneer. “I have some newer stuff but I skip anything that gets put on a t-shirt.” Salinger said, standing up back on his high horse. He walked past her as she asked for the year, solidifying the fact that she still did not know. Without skipping a beat he reached for a record. “Here.” He traced his fingers along the spines & stopped on a black label & plucked it from it’s spot. “Tame Impala. 2015.” He said, turning back around to hand it over to her for inspection. The copyright was printed on the back & while dispelling the rumors in her head he hid the medicine in the album itself. “I’ve got stuff from every decade, but it has to be good. So don’t waste your time looking for garbage because it’s not up there.” Music & cars were the only truly modern developments Salinger cared to indulge in & even then, his refined eye & hyper critical standards ruined most of what was created for the masses. His pretense was limitless but aided in the transition between debate & the conversation he’d decided he wouldn’t dodge. While being delicate wasn’t his forte, sincerity was something he could muster.

[fuckingangela-blog]

Angela rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah? What’s my curfew, dad?” she asked, the last word saturated with sarcasm. “You don’t think I can handle myself? I bet I’m like, the toughest person you know. Like, besides yourself.” She wasn’t sure what exactly made Salinger seem so tough, but he did. He was always mostly nice, if a little abrasive, to her, but she didn’t doubt that he’d make mincemeat out of anybody who had the guts to cross him. She wondered what it would take for him to take off his suit jacket and get his hands dirty. Briefly, she considered whether he had the same inclinations towards murder that she did. She wondered whether he was fascinated by the idea of taking someone’s last breath from them. But she dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come. She was being absurd. Nobody thought like that besides her, and she was insane. Well, and James, but she was undecided about his sanity...

Her thoughts were interrupted by his words, and she had the sense of mind to look offended. “Excuse you,” she said. “I don’t insult pre-historic times because I know that’s the era that shaped you as a person, and I’d appreciate the same consideration when it comes to the nineties.” She grinned at his objection, holding back a laugh. “You don’t listen to any bands with merch? That’s like, a rule of yours? Seems pretty arbitrary to me, but hey, who am I to-?” She shut up as he stood and walked towards her. He scanned the shelf behind her, and it became obvious that he wasn’t listening. “What the fuck are you doing?” she asked, but he handed her a record. He pointed to the copyright, and she studied it. 2015. She felt so stupid. How could she have lost a whole decade and a half? How could she be the only person that didn’t know the truth? And how, after all the times she’d been told that it was 2015, did she still not understand?

“I’m confused,” she said, slowly and deliberately. She wanted to tell herself for the thousandth time that this was all some trick, that she was the butt of some joke. But even if the rest of Bentley was cruel enough for that, Salinger would never lie to her. She went over the events of the past two months in her head. September and most of August had gone by without an issue, but she could distinctly remember falling asleep one night in January and waking up in the summer. It was the morning she’d woken up in the bathroom. It all had to be related to that. And now that she was thinking about it, the bathroom was also the place where she’d gouged her eyes out in that vision she had when she was with Rowan. Were those things connected? She liked to think that she was quick to understand most things, but she really wished someone would just spell this out for her, whatever it was that she was missing. She shook her head, walked to the couch, and slumped down on it. She turned the record over in her hands. “I don’t understand,” she said to herself. She looked back to Salinger desperately. “Two months ago, it was 1997.”

[lovelylittlelyla-blog]

“I take it there are no mirrors in your house then?” She teased, smiling as Angela complimented her. “I’m more nice than honest, they are kind of mutually exclusive when you think about it. And I could.. but I like you how you are. You’re.. I always hated it when people called me feisty but I can’t really find a better word for it.. spunky comes to mind but I think even you couldn’t forgive my using such an antiquated word.”

[fuckingangela-blog]

“I will never get tired of you calling me pretty,” Angela said, sighing happily. She shook her head at Lyla’s words. “I wouldn’t say you’re dishonest. You’re just tactful. That’s one thing I’ve never been.” She laughed. “I think the word ‘antiquated’ is more antiquated than ‘spunky.’ Either way though, it’s fucking adorable when you geek out.” She kissed the her friend gently and tucked some loose red hair behind her ear. “I really like you, Miss Lyla Fletcher.”

[fuckingangela-blog]

Pillars & Pyre | Salinger & Angela

[salingerisaghost]

Nothing moved but still Salinger’s gaze remained unwavering, as if at any moment the dull scene could become volatile. The porcelain tub gave no response, even under Salinger’s stern, if not absent, glare. The toothbrush caught between his teeth however, gave a tiny sharp crack, effectively snapping Salinger out of the mild trance. Relinquishing the grip of his jaw, he looked at the mirror in front of him as he scrubbed hastily over his teeth before spitting. He twisted the faucet closed & occupied his hands with his tie, not bothering to look back at his reflection as he walked, his fingers guiding the silk of his necktie with practiced ease.

 Downstairs, a record turned relentlessly at a deliberate pace, giving soundtrack to Salinger’s descent down the dark stained steps. He was pulling the knot taunt halfway down the stairs, when he heard a knock at the door. The sound gave him pause. His eyes flicked in the direction of the door & he paced down the rest of the steps & pulled the door open without hesitance or clue as to how might’ve been on the other side of it. His initial look of displeasure gave way to one of pleasant surprise. Not unexpectedly, Salinger’s attitude quickly progressed to one of worry. What could have happened to drive Angela to his door? He hadn’t seen nearly as much of her as he had before her disappearance, but he didn’t have to wait long to receive an answer to his query. A frown etched with concern had lines appearing on his forehead as he pushed the door all the way open. He was confident that the offer had died somewhere between Angela’s ears weeks ago but evidentially he was wrong. 

“Come in.” Salinger nodded his head back through the doorway. She looked the pitiful part, standing there with a blanket draped over her shoulder’s making her look somehow even smaller than she already was. “Don’t apologize.” He instructed, a hint of irritation present in his tone as he moved out of the doorway so she could come in. Besides the blanket that enveloped her, all she carried was a small bag but Salinger gestured for her to give it to him anyway. “It’s no attic, but I saw a spider a few days ago.” Salinger deadpanned, smirking ever so slightly to himself as he closed the door. “I’m curious,” He started as he headed towards the table that housed the record player. The volume evaporated as he turned back to face Angela. “Why the change of heart?” He asked. She’d said in the doorway that she’d tried to be brave. He wouldn’t have called it that. Taking him up on his offer wasn’t something she needed to feel was a last resort but in any case, he was happy to see her.

[fuckingangela-blog]

As Salinger stepped aside, Angela entered the house. She rolled her eyes when he gestured for her to hand him the bag, but she did anyway. It was just like him to get gentlemanly about the most trivial of things. She scanned the room. It had been months since she’d been to his house – years, if it really was 2015 – but everything looked exactly the same as how she’d remembered it. It was the only place she knew that was at the same time both light and dark. Huge windows lined one wall, inviting the sun to shine on the dark wooden floors. It’s no attic, but I saw a spider a few days ago. She turned her head back to him and smirked sourly. “Listen, we can’t all live in the Ritz fucking Carlton like you,” she drawled. She wasn’t sure how he could afford a house so nice since he never seemed to work, but she’d never thought to ask him. It was just something that had been true for as long as she could remember: grass was green, lollipops were sweet, and Salinger had money.

She wandered around the room, picking up everything and inspecting it. He didn’t have many knick-knacks, not like the Brielys, so she liked to imagine that everything had very special meaning to him. She had made her way to his record collection to examine the shelves of albums when the music stopped, and he asked her why she’d come. She hugged her blanket tightly around herself, and she looked at him over her shoulder. He wasn’t one to pry – she was sure that he’d drop it if she told him to, but instead she considered the question. Because the boy who lives in my house is a serial killer. Because I don’t think the cops will be so forgiving if they catch me ‘trespassing’ there again. Because I slept in a church last night, and if that’s not rock bottom, I don’t know what is. All of those answers would have been true, but the one she gave was different. “I like this girl. I mean, it’s not serious, but I like her more than I’ve ever liked anyone. And I have this daydream sometimes that we’ll be together for a long time, and she’ll make me a good person, and she’ll want to meet my family and see my house. Only I don’t have any family, and I don’t have a house. So then I was thinking about who I’d choose to be my family if I could, and where I’d choose to live. So I came here.” She turned back around, absentmindedly running her fingers over the spines of records on the shelf. “You’re the only person who’s never left me, you know.” 

She frowned as she started to actually read the names of the albums. “Do you have any Nirvana? Or Nine Inch Nails?” she asked, her voice returning to its whiny glory. “Basically, do you have anything from this decade?” As soon as the words passed her lips, she regretted them. She turned back to him on her heels, easily dismissing the records. “Speaking of this decade,” she said, very slowly, “would you mind telling me – honestly– what year it is?”

[radtracks]

Visit Original Link

[fuckingangela-blog]

once upon a december // liz callaway

someone holds me safe and warm horses prance through a silver storm figures dancing gracefully across my memory far away, long ago glowing dim as an ember things my heart used to know once upon a december

[liam-harperx-blog]

“Me? Not that old. How old do I look to you?” He teased with a grin. “Besides, he’s not really anyones wet dream anymore. Looks like a demented version of Tim Curry. Still sings a good tune, though.”

[fuckingangela-blog]

“You look....” She put a finger to her lips, thinking. “You look my age, maybe younger. But you sound middle aged. Nobody under 35 listens to Billy Joel. It’s just like, a rule.” Her eyebrows knit together in confusion. “What’s wrong with Tim Curry? He’s hot in like, a spooky dad way.”

[fuckingangela-blog]

Pillars & Pyre | Salinger & Angela

@salingerisaghost

Angela had woken up with a start when she realized that she wasn’t in her own bed. Every morning had been the same since August; she’d woken up in an attic or in a church or in a drug dealer’s house, and her mind jumped to the worst possible scenarios. She’d been kidnapped, she thought, and she’d have to learn to live with a captor who hated her and only let her drink one glass of water every three days. Within minutes though, she’d remember the truth. She’d remember that the year was inexplicably 2015 and that she had no bed to wake up in.

She remembered that Salinger had offered to let her stay with him, and for days she’d been toying with the thought of taking him up on the offer. True, she did need a place to stay, but she hated the idea of him thinking that she was too weak to fend for herself. And though he wasn’t the type to extend untrue offers in the name of good manners, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d only said it to be polite. Nothing would ruin his moody loner vibes faster than taking in a homeless teenager.

She made her way to the Briely house – she’d given up calling it her own house – and snuck in through the side door like she had so many times when she was younger. She always had anxiety when she crept up to her attic, but she never got caught. She was much too quiet. She’d had so much experience being overlooked that she could blend into her surroundings whenever necessary. Once in her attic, she looked around at all her possessions, the stolen things she’d claimed as her own: a small bag containing a few outfits, a flashlight, a toothbrush, and a blanket. This was no way to live. This was no home.

With a sigh, she gathered her things, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders and collecting the flashlight and toothbrush in the bag. Fifteen minutes later, she found herself in front of a familiar door. She hadn’t known that she would remember the way to Salinger’s house, but she was glad that she had. She knocked, tentatively at first, then more loudly. She hugged the blanket around herself and listened for the footsteps on the other side of the door. When it opened, her eyes dropped to her feet. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I wanted to be brave. I wanted to do it on my own. But I… I need you.” She looked up and her eyes met Salinger’s.

[lily-hudson-deactivated20170108]

✉

The voice over the sirens during the storm never left Lily as she sat in her apartment. “Repay your debts” was on repeat through her mind. The only thing she could think to do was write to the one person she was mean to for no reason, other then she was a bitch.

Angela,

  From the moment I met you I hated your guts. I think you are trashy, mean and self centered. You present yourself in a way that is just begging people to punch you in the face. Even though you are all these things, I guess you are kinda pretty. In a ‘sad stray puppy on the side of the road with chunks of hair missing’ kind of way. Nevertheless, we will never be friends and the only reason you are getting this letter is out of fear a spiritual being haunting Bentley. So, continue being the horrible person you are. Hope it gets you far in life.

  ~Lily

[fuckingangela-blog]

Isn't Drew your favorite person ever? - Not Drew

“Furby’s my favorite person ever, but Drew can be number two, I guess, if he obsesses over me enough.”