rosiebutler - Tumblr blog

[rosiebutler]

indifference looks great on rhett. damn it. narrowed eyes spy him when he's not listening, behaving again when he looks at her. and, well, then she's nothin' but quintessential, southern class, raising her cross-body bag to rattle and example, "oh sweetheart, daddy's made sure i've carried since i was a little girl. your concern is sweet, though." and surprising. typically, he's the hard-to-get type. rosie knows what she's doing, and her smile does too, when she warns him, "careful. people might talk."

"Then I guess you better suit up and do something about it," Rhett said with a shrug of his shoulder. He went back to busying him looking at the damage and making a list of what he needed to get repaired. The windows were going to be the real pain in the ass, they were old, and definitely a custom size. Part of him had the inkling he was going to have to craft them himself. As she continued her tirade of knowledge, he glanced back to her. "My suggestion is to carry a pistol on you." He wasn't gonna sit there and argue with someone who clearly had it all figured out.

[rosiebutler]

anybody but miss priss, liv lee— please! rosie's already foul mood triples, expression overcast before— like the magic after clicked fingers— it's forced gone. "of course, darlin'," runs sickly sweet, troubled by a side-note: why the h*ll hasn't she aged in ten years? rosie's looking for crows feet as she edges closer to the woman's self-righteous flock, unflinched by the majority. "just as i've been to all those town meetin's, all my young-adult life... i've no doubt the mayor will listen t'me, just like he did with the massage parlour fiasco." a third proposed location in the same two-mile span? rosie didn't think so, 'n got all the other wives in town to agree with her. citing (or crafting) the rumours of the happy endings their husbands might receive made that feat easy.

Liv felt like she was running on autopilot since the night before. So, when a few coworkers asked to meet up, all of them still recovering from the last shift, she didn't protest. Instead, she half-heartedly picked at a plate of nachos, eyes glancing up at the local news coverage occasionally. Images of Urban Stillhouse's skeletal remains flashed across the screen every couple of minutes. A few voices murmured at the sight. The buzz was a beehive until someone spoke above it all. She looked over at the self-righteous indignation to the source and was unsurprised: Whiskey Flat's very own former Queen Bee pulling the kids card. What exactly did she think all of them in the bar could do in that exact moment to make the town safe for her girls? "Of course they do, so you'll be at the next town council meeting, then?" Liv asked. "I'm sure Mayor Rodriguez would love to hear how you're feeling, too."

[rosiebutler]

she's half a mind to cite the saturday morning crowd, the herd that breathe down her neck as rosie juggles with her morning macchiato and the keys to the lucky lasso. only, there's been grave injuries, butchered barn animals, traumatized young men, women and children. rosie's done smiling— even for rhett castillo (only for now). "so, you're think they're gonna— what, honey? stop here? no, no, no," she strolls over to his booth, empty drink rocked in hand, dangerous rhetoric on tongue, "i think they've just started having their fun. word has it they're gonna wait 'till we get our guards down 'n we go back to our fairs and our manicures. then, before we know it, they've poisoned the water and we're all just drinkin' it up, baby!" rosie knows. rosie's seen it in a movie, once.

"You ever try to stop a mob before? Let alone a mob of desperate people?" Rhett asked from his place at the bar. He was supposed to be meeting a contractor here, and the events of the week had left it with some damage, damage he offered to fix at a discounted rate. The owner was old, he didn't have much, as was much of the same with the business owners in town. "People are desperate, they feel their livelihoods are at risk. Meeting them with sheer forces doesn't work unless you want it to turn into a full scale revolt. This is how revolutions start." He'd know, he'd seen it first hand, he'd been the one to drop into zones and eliminate the heads of the revolts.

[rosiebutler]

open starter at silver dollar saloon, evening | @whiskeyflatsstarters

"fine! i'll go ahead 'n say what y'all are thinkin' , how 'bout?" the whiskey helps, though rosie handled her straight spirit like a shot. the woman cannot be blamed; her knees are still brown from the rubble, ash rubbed into her temple, set with sweat. the reek of smoke sticks to her. her help with the fallout from the center is seen, smelled and heard. the remaining ice-cubes clink the glass as she tosses it around, exaggerated hands while she rants to the nearest ears. "these kids'a gonna keep throwin' their stones unless," they get their money back? no. "someone puts 'em in their place. what're y'all waitin' for? the riot to creep up on our backyards, reach our homes? who's gonna man-up 'n put a stop to this? my girls deserve a safe place to rest their head at night, don't they?"

[rosiebutler]

Saul Steinberg, Country Noises.

[rosiebutler]

ROSARIO “ROSIE” BUTLER.    32  28.   sometimes i wonder if i should be medicated,  if i would feel better just lightly sedated.  the feeling comes so fast and i cannot control it.   i’m on fire but i’m trying not to show it.

STATS.

GENDER/PRONOUNS:   she/her,  ciswoman

OCCUPATION:  manager at lucky lasso,  housewife,  mother

HOBBIES:  shopping,  manicures,  karaoke,  drinking,  horse-riding,  community event planning, gossiping

NOTABLE FEATURES: contracture scars on her back/chest,  upper arm.   discolouration on the right side of her neck/shoulder/face (no texture change + covered with heavy makeup).  hypertrophic scar on hip.   facial dimples,  shoulder dimples.

FC:  priscilla quintana

TIMELINE.

TWs:  fire, sibling death,  body image, perfectionism.

0-7:  A man in love doesn’t see a woman leaving her husband and child for what she is:   a cycle waiting to happen.   Your mother leaves before you can form words and tell her hi.  She doesn’t tell you bye,  either.   Daddy loves you and your older brother enough for two and works that way,  too.

8:  The homocidal flame that ate their rickedy apartment brought a paycheque with it.   Some of it paid for the grafts and surgeries to fix his daughter’s skin (and the biennial follow-ups),  while the rest made them rich.   You and your father,  that is.  Your brother is dead (and it will never be mentioned again).

9-13:  Oblivious peers count your frequent days-off lucky.   You relish in the false spotlight,   but suffer how consistently bodies grow through childhood;   skin grafting is painful and it never seems to end.  Once, people called you beautiful.

14-18:  Beauty is subjective.  It’s also flexible.  Stuff enough tissue paper down your shirt and you’re the classroom envy.  Hundreds are spent on appearance enhancers and daddy’s got plenty and can’t tell you no.  Ugly duckling doesn’t grow into her beauty;   it is made.  Life at the top is glorious and short-lived. The friends you loved and those you claimed to all promised each other a life-long bond.  You never hear from them again.

19:   Your studies land you outside the state,  because the university of california garnered more envy than the local.  What sounded like a good idea (a teaching degree) just made you loathe sticky hands.  Half through it’s completion,  you meet the man you make yourself love and—

20-23:  —you make your husband.  His lawyer position pays off your unfinished student loan and everything that you learned from it;  you try for children.   Everywhere needs a lawyer and Whiskey Flats is where you raise them.  You live in a two-story home,  not an apartment.   Life is good.

24-28 (31):  Then it’s boring.   One girl was manageable.  Two,  and the depression that comes with it— her,  is insufferable.  By chance,   a friend resorts to you as a fill-in for her understaffed jewelry store.   That desperate measure turns into an unexpected (borderline inappropriate) obsession.   A sense of control is found behind the counter and the conversation never ends.  

28 (32):   THE June Watson purchases a store in the center of town.  Even better,  your lucky stars align and she employs you manager.  Working for a beloved,  house-hold name trumps any other piece of information in an introduction:   Rosie Butler,   I work with (for) THE June Watson,  married to a loving husband,  mother of two bright girls.  All those (bitches!) that claimed you peaked in highschool have gone awfully quiet these days.

[rosiebutler]

Priscilla Quintana via Sherry Cola’s Instagram

[rosiebutler]

PRISCILLA QUINTANA via Instagram story

[rosiebutler]

Priscilla Quintana & Tommy Martinez Good Trouble (4.05)

[rosiebutler]

[rosiebutler]

Le petit soldat - Jean-Luc Godard (1963)

[rosiebutler]

im just a girl who knows and sees

[rosiebutler]

How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days (2003) dir. Donald Petrie

[rosiebutler]

You should go,“ I breathed. “You should definitely go.” “Go here?” His mouth was on my shoulder. “Or here?” It moved up my neck.

Hush, Hush by Becca Fitzpatrick (via marcescentfleur)

[rosiebutler]

L'Enfer (1994)

Dir. Claude Chabrol

[rosiebutler]

THE FALL | 2013-2016 2x03 - “It’s Always Darkest”

[rosiebutler]

Jumanji (1995) dir. Joe Johnston