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pupsmailbox · 9 months ago

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DOLL︰PUPPET ID PACK

NAMES ⌇ abbie. adelaide. adorablesse. adorablette. aerlyn. alena. alexis. alice. amaia. amaya. andrea. angeline. ankou. annabelle. annie. antoinette. anxiette. anxious. apricot. asaka. ash. asha. aspen. atticus. ava. avel. babette. babydoll. bambi. bambina. bambino. bashfelle. bashful. beau. bellamy. belle. bells. bernadette. blu. blue. bluesse. bluette. blushe. blushesse. blushette. boo. bram. bronach. bronagh. brone. button. buttons. cadel. candace. carmilla. carrie. catherine. cessair. charlie. charlott. charlotte. chelsea. chia. chica. chirella. chirelle. chiwa. chuckie. claeg. coffin. colere. commedia. constance. coquette. cordelia. corelle. corette. corsette. cypress. dahlia. dalia. damon. darling. dawn. dearesse. dearest. dearette. dearie. deidre. demure. desdemona. devin. devon. doilie. doily. doll. dollaintye. dollawie. dollerie. dollesse. dollette. dolleyed. dollie. dolline. dollita. dolly. dolores. dottie. drea. dread. drusilla. dáinn. eeria. eldritche. elissar. eliza. elle. elodie. eloise. emerence. emily. essie. esther. evangela. evangeline. evelyn. eveyln. faith. frill. frillette. genevieve. genoveva. gia. gladys. glorie. glory. gorey. gorie. gracelyn. gregory. gretta. gwen. gwenivive. haldor. haunt. hiccup. hyde. iraia. iresse. irette. itishree. jabez. janelle. janet. jannet. jinx. josie. julie. juniper. juno. kailey. kanani. kewpie. kiva. krak. lace. lacesse. lacette. lacey. lacie. lain. laintess. lakka. lalki. lavender. lea. lefu. letta. letum. libitina. lilac. lillith. lilly. lily. loaela. lola. lolah. loletta. lolita. lolite. lolla. lottie. lovelace. luci. lucius. lulu. lute. lyla. lys. madison. mahina. mandy. mannie. manon. many. mara. maria. marianette. marie. marion. marionette. marionne. marotte. marrionette. marrow. mary. maryjane. marzana. maveth. meek. melanie. melodie. melody. merripen. miel. minuette. mold. moldie. moldy. molly. moonie. moore. morana. morgana. morgue. mors. mort. mot. muriel. murmur. muse. nadine. nadzen. nancy. nanea. nanelle. nanette. nappi. naz. negan. nekane. nelly. nemesis. nettie. nicodème. niegan. nimbus. nina. nuri. olive. oliver. olivia. omega. panchaali. parner. pinkesse. pinkette. pinkie. pinky. pinocchio. pippin. poe. poppet. poppette. poppy. porce. porcelain. porcelynn. prantika. pulau. punthali. pupetta. puppet. puppetear. puppetesse. puppetette. puppette. puppyte. putala. quinn. ravanche. raven. realiteer. rebel. ribbon. ribbonne. riley. rion. robert. rose. rubella. ruby. sacrifette. salem. sasha. satin. scarlet. sebastian. sew. sewine. shivani. shiver. sidney. smierc. smiley. smilie. softesse. softette. softie. solikha. spirit. sprout. statuette. stitches. strings. sweeheart. sweetheart. sweetie. sweetiebelle. sweetine. sychar. teacup. tearie. teddy. tempest. thalia. than. thana. theodora. thorn. trembelle. trista. ultima. ulysses. vanessa. vera. viola. visage. whisp. whisper. willow. winston. wisp. wispera. wrathes. zizi.

PRONOUNS ⌇ adorable/adorable. ae/aer. angel/angel. anger/anger. antique/antique. app/apparition. bell/bell. berry/berry. berserk/berserk. bjd/bjd. bla/black. blank/blank. bliding/bliding. blue/blue. blush/blush. bug/bug. button/button. cake/cake. car/carcasse. cheer/cheer. cloth/cloth. coffin/coffin. control/control. coo/croon. cor/cor. cor/corrupt. core/core. corpse/corpse. coy/coy. crack/cracked. cracked/cracked. cre/creepy. creep/creepy. cu/curse. cu/cute. curse/curse. cute/cute. da/dark. de4/de4d. de/dear. de/demure. dea/dead. dead/dead. dead/death. dear/dear. death/death. decay/decay. delica/delicate. delicate/delicate. demon/demon. despair/despair. dirt/dirty. do/doll. doll/doll. doll/dolly. dolly/dolly. dread/dread. dress/dressup. dress/up. d♡ll/d♡ll. eer/eeerie. elegant/elegant. en/energy. end/end. evil/evil. eye/eye. fabric/fabric. fae/fae. fi/figure. fig/figure. figurine/figurine. flower/flower. fragile/fragile. frail/frail. friendly/friendly. frill/frill. fury/fury. gho/ghost. glass/glass. glo/gloomy. gore/gore. grave/grave. grief/grief. grim/grimm. grime/grime. gru/grudge. ha/haunt. happy/happy. haun/haunt. hx/hxm. h♡/h♡m. it/it. joint/joint. joint/jointed. joy/joy. ke/ker. kew/kewpie. kill/kill. kor/kor. kor/korrupt. la/lace. lace/lace. lae/lace. lo/love. lo/loved. lolita/lolita. love/love. mad/mad. mae/mae. mari/marionette. marionette/marionette. me/meek. mi/mier. mim/mimic. model/model. morbid/morbid. mu/mutter. mur/murmur. nap/nap. null/null. ny/nym. patch/patch. phan/phantom. pink/pink. pitter/patter. plastic/plastic. play/play. play/playtime. play/time. plush/plush. plush/plushie. por/porcelain. porce/porcelain. porcel/porcelain. porcela/porcelain. porcelain/porcelain. pose/pose. pose/posed. possess/possessed. pup/puppet. puppet/puppet. rea/reality. rest/rest. reven/revenge. rib/ribbon. ribbon/ribbon. rot/rot. scare/scare. scary/scary. seem/seem. sew/sew. sew/sewn. shi/shift. shi/shiver. shx/hxr. sh♡/h♡r. sie/sier. silk/silk. slee/sleep. sleep/sleep. smile/smile. snap/snapped. sneak/sneak. soft/soft. sou/soul. spi/spider. spi/spirit. spo/spook. spook/spook. sta/stalk. sta/stare. statue/statue. sti/string. stitch/stitch. string/string. sweet/heart. sweet/sweet. sweet/sweetdolls sweetie/sweetie. ta/tap. te/teer. tea/teatime. teeth/teeth. thre/thread. thread/thread. thxy/thxm. th♡y/th♡m. ti/timid. to/toy. toy/toy. toy/toytime. trick/trick. un/canny. unca/uncanny. ve/ver. vey/vem. vi/vr. vintage/vintage. vomit/vomit. wan/wander. watch/watch. whi/whisper. white/white. wilt/wilt. wood/wood. wrath/wrath. yarn/yarn. zzz/zzz. ♡/♡. ⚰️ . 🍨 . 🛌 . 🛏️ . 🥀 . 🧸 .

#⭐️lists #id pack #npt #name suggestions #name ideas #name list #pronoun suggestions #pronoun ideas #pronoun list #neopronouns #nounself #emojiself #dollkin #puppetkin #toykin #dollcore

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matchesarelit · 6 months ago

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Imagine If You Will... (Ocean of Grass, Colin Bridgerton x f!Reader)

The Queen opens a new gallery space, and you can barely tear your eyes form the works on the walls, until art starts pouring from the lips by your side.

W/C: ~2.8k Warnings: None I believe A/N: there is a part where writing it was like patting myself on the back, so damn strange. fear not, I am not that up myself. but reader had to simp over smtg.

Stepping onto the marbled flooring of the gallery, you struggled to keep your concentration on the task of putting one foot in front of the other. Eyes locking on the pieces adorning the walls and topping the podiums. The words of greeting hitting your ears from all directions as you began trailing the walls of the space, were forgotten immediately, muscle memory replies rolling off your tongue with ease. The same old people and same old conversations were now framed by works of detail and grace grander than you'd ever had the pleasure of seeing.

The tickle of lace over your arm was the only thing to prompt you back to the world of the Ton, as an elbow hooked through your own and a head weighed down your shoulder. Vanessa, a close family friend, had taken her place by your side, as she often did, leaning into you and squeezing your arm in a silent greeting. Taking a moment you finished following the length of a brushstroke, before you tore your stare away and with a breath, that you held for perhaps a beat too long, looked towards your friend.

'Hello' The bland greeting was all your brain could hope to form at that moment. Your mind was shaken awake as the woman by your side responded simply with a suppressed squeak and a wide-eyed grin.

Her expression held within it a great amount of glee and undoubtedly a grand quantity of gossip, only being held back by the tight-pressed line of her lips, a sight that never failed to elicit a smile of your own. Raising your eyebrows slightly, you opened the floodgates and suddenly you found yourself much more knowledgeable about the events that had preceded your arrival.

To the best of your understanding; One young lady had swooned at the revealing visage in one of the paintings, The queen had not yet made her appearance yet would most certainly do so soon and many of the mamas and papas had retired to the adjacent tea rooms which many had taken as a sign to converse freely. The latter explained the cacophony you registered now free of your stupor, but it certainly surprised you as you surveyed the room to find the group of your peers crowding a piece only a few meters away.

'Are they discussing that work? Come, surely this will be interesting' You tugged your friend along as you started towards the trio, Vanessa and you discussed each of your hobbies with each other at length but rarely had the chance to discuss such matters with other members of the Ton.

'I don't believe they ar-' Vanessa's warning was cut short as you greeted the small group, not registering her concern in your excitement. 'Hello!'

Looking to the women closest who turned on the spot to see you, you watched with confusion as their smiles twisted into bitter replicas of kindness, each of them giving a nod to you, a small curtsey to the art and turning to walk away.

'Where are yo-' Your words trailed off, your eyes on the receding figures of the other debutantes, as Vanessa spoke up from beside you;

'Good afternoon Mr. Bridgerton, Mr. Bridgerton' From your peripherals you watched her curtsey, you followed suit before you had thought to comprehend why.

'Good afternoo- OH' Your realization wasn't loud, but it wasn't silent either, so truly you shouldn't have been as startled as you were when a pair of matching chuckles were heard from the men in front of you.

'We did not mean to interrupt, we were under the impre-' Vanessa was silenced as Colin Bridgerton shook his head slightly, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth before he spoke up in a lilting tone;

'No need to apologize. Who would we be to be upset with such beautiful company? We are truly a lucky pair of gentlemen.'

A minuscule bow of your head and a flash of a smile that you refused to let within a mile of your eyes, crossed your expression before you were blinking your eyes into focus. Looking to the older Bridgerton with a gaping expression Vanessa had, long ago, coined as prized koi, you found your voice a moment too late.

'Amidst my travels-'

'Mr Bridgerton, You are an artist are you not? What are your thoughts on the collection thus far?' You had spoken at the same time and inadvertently cut off Colin. Your mind catching up with your mistake had you countering your question with a rushed apology to the man at your left; 'I am so sorry Mr. Bridgerton, please go on,' Looking up at him you matched the warm smile he sent you as best you could despite the heat in your cheeks.

'It is no problem at all, I was simply saying-'

This time it was Benedict who interrupted his brother with a waving hand of dismissal and a much too-happy-with-himself smirk, at which the younger simply scoffed.

'I am indeed, I was studying for a while but have found the natural approach to growing my abilities to be more fulfilling. I have found some of the pieces featuring the Welsh townships inexplicitly compelling, the detail and depth given to the cobblestones is startling.'

'That sounds...' You began before pausing somewhat taken aback by the fullness of his answer.

'Compelling' you finished before shifting to the balls of your feet, peering back over the crowd to search the walls for the works Benedict spoke of.

'And what of this one?' A new voice spoke from behind you, Viscount Edward Lowe had approached and looked to the piece that hung behind the Bridgerton men.

You felt Vanessa's arm slip from your own, as she met your eyes, tilting her head to the side, you nodded in return, assuring her you would be fine should she take her leave.

'Mr Lowe' Benedict greeted, 'Grown a sudden interest in the arts have you?'

'Not so much as I have found in my betrothed.' Smiling to yourself at the glance the couple shared, you watched as Vanessa took his offered arm and stepped away from the three of you.

'They make a charming couple do they not?' You mused to seemingly no one, not waiting for the opinions of the brothers before shifting yourself to study to the work framed on the wall. 'I find the colouring of this one to be concerningly bland, as if the artist had naught but three hues on his palette and was unaware he could mix them.' Your words pulled a laugh from Benedict while Colin remained silent, 'I apologise if that was too cruel,' Looking towards the latter you found him shaking his head slightly as if to dismiss your apology, and still your eyes remained on his silent figure for a few moments longer even as his brother began to speak.

Benedict was fast to fill the silence, eyes trained on the artwork as he shifted to fill the space to your right,

'I agree, it makes the work come off hollow, as if he, himself felt disconnected from the scene he stood amongst, which if that is the case I would ask him why he desired to commit it to canvas.'

'Perhaps his intention was indeed to spur discourse over that distant feeling?' You mused, attempting to refrain from overly critical comments going forth. 'What do you think Mr Bridgerton?' As you addressed the younger of the two, you watched him glance towards the art, eyes roaming the surface with some obscure purpose.

'The- um, the reds are a strange choice for such trees that don't shed with the seasons' He was softspoken yet the charm of his tone was absent, a vulnerable air to his persona that was rare to see amidst Society.

Nodding to yourself as you let your own eyes fall back upon the art, you attempted to consider the implications of such a choice. Benedict, on the other hand, seemed not similarly inclined as he started his assertion, 'The warm shades are a strange choice but I doubt it was a pensive decision. He seems unable to make use of any cooler tones. The brush strokes in that area, however, are not dissimilar to that of a toddler with their fingers dipped in mud. Pure chaos. So perhaps he aims to discuss the unpredictability of the natural world.'

Colin's face was more unsure than ever, clearly out of his comfort zone and flanked by two enthusiasts was surely not the easiest position to be in.

'Perhaps the red of the trees work to add to that chaos Mr. Bridgerton, the artist certainly could have made them brown. Most trees do reach that colour as they die.' You had averted your eyes to the older of the pair, hoping to give the younger a moment to collect his confidence which, to all appearances, he managed, as within moments he spoke again.

'I-I also find the textures... quite... realistic' His voice was still low and somewhat unsure of himself, this was of course not helped by the immediate response, once again, of his brother nor the brow quirked in amusement that accompanied it.

'You find the flat orange expanse of grass, with no discernible brush strokes, accurate?'

'Mr Bridgerton, if that is how your brother experiences the work is that not a testament to the nature of art itself as a concept that is entirely subjective' Your rebuttal, if it even counted as that, was weak and somewhat irrelevant, even so when Colin spoke next his voice was notedly more settled.

'It follows memories of mine of hills of grass in the wind, moving as the ocean does not as singular blades but as a fabric of silken thread.'

To say his words caught you off guard would be inadequate to describe the buzz and ache that filled your mind and chest at his observation. Everything aside from the artwork and his presence by your side fell from thought. Benedict's lips were moving, that much you were sure of, although that wasn't much of an accomplishment as even the man in the painting could surely hear his opinions.

Colin's words were still floating through your mind, drifting in and out, painting the picture within your head, the image, as clear as it was beautiful. He had set out the details so masterfully you doubted more than a select few painters could compete at rendering such a scene.

Looking up at the man by your side you watched as he rolled his eyes, exasperated as a bright blush crawled over the peaks of his cheekbones. You were startled when his observation fell on you once more, this time partnered with a touch of confusion as he glanced to his brother and back.

'Are you quite alright?' You watched his lips form the words and still they took comparable years to reach your ears, not to mention the decade it took for you to splutter out a response.

'Oh, I'm quite alright, thank you Mr Bridgerton.' Shifting on your feet you glance to the art before settling your attention on the elder brother, hoping to remain grounded in conversation, 'Art has a way of consuming my attention, although usually, I can maintain focus on the discussion and not drift into thought'

A bright smile broke over Benedict's face in jest as he clasped a hand on the other man's shoulder, 'It seems we are boring her dear brother,'

'Oh, I assure you that is not the case. You have both given me so much to consider I simply couldn't stop my mind from wandering.' Looking up to Colin you hoped he knew you spoke of his words, and as his eyes met yours you watched his signature smile bloom on his face.

Nonetheless, breathless, you spoke up again, 'I apologise for my rudeness.' His expression melted every ounce of tension in the air and like a windswept hill allowed you to breathe easy.

Keeping his gaze on yours he leaned closer, barely an inch, un-noticeable from afar but up close it was enough to have your breath catching in your chest as his lips parted in a whisper; 'Best to save that for the art hm?' His smile, was now a full-blown smirk as he straightened himself. You could swear his movement had stolen the heat from your skin as he retreated those measly few centimetres to stand back by your side, this time, however, he extended an arm for you to take.

'Shall we move on to the next one? I am eager to hear how you shall tear it apart-' the last second of his speech was cut short by the blaring trumpet that announced Her Majesty's arrival, 'We shall have to save that for later...' Your words, although a whisper, were stronger than you thought you could manage given the nerves plaguing your chest, and surprisingly, your composure was strong enough to allow yourself to retreat to the other side of the room. Stopping short of the wall you stopped, finding yourself alongside your friend and her husband-to-be, stationed by the refreshments... exactly what you needed.

The queen had not spoken for long, but the air in the room had grown hot, so aching for a breeze you stepped outside the moment her speech concluded. Walking clear of the tiled path that hugged the exterior of the gallery you landed amongst the grass of the gardens, traversing the plains your eyes hovered around the horizon, cloaked in statues, hedges, and shrubbery it trapped your attention. You charted the curves of green, trailing your hand against the leaves as you strolled, turn after turn until hedges eight feet high were all you could see.

The maze was not a difficult one to escape, you had surely only rounded a few corners, but the peace was difficult to pull yourself away from. It was simply you, the wind, the trees, and a single set of footfalls.

'Mr. Bridgerton' Startled yet relieved, you stepped to the middle of the path, away from the branches and towards the approaching figure as he rounded the turn. 'What are you doing out here?'

'Am I not to be?' His question was teasing and the smirk across his lips broke the charade of his concerned tone as he continued, 'In that case, you shouldn't be out here either...'

'I-I only meant-' your words were forced out through breaths that grew ever more shallow as he drew closer.

'Why am I here? That's what you meant isn't it?' Now, standing mere inches from you, his voice was quiet, barely audible above the rustle of the leaves and the whistle of the wind.

'Yes, that's what I meant. Why are you out her-' Feeling small under his gaze you set your stare on somewhere through his chest, a far-off distance blocked by his being just as your question was halted by his voice,

'Guess.'

'The wind is moving today, the grass, the trees, they do as you said. You came out to feel it for yourself?' The guess was the best you could produce that wasn't corrupted by the heaving of his chest and the depth of his voice. His lips parted though you beat him to it as you questioned him further, 'Why are you breathing so heavily?'

Reaching forward at a snail's pace you sought out his eyes only to find them affixed to your hand as it drifted nearer, 'Mr-'

'"Colin", please' his correction was soft as he inched forth, his chest leaning into the touch as he sighed at the contact.

'Colin, why?'

Encasing your hand within his own as he held it to his breast, he parted his lips once more, 'Listen to the trees, the branches, the leaves. They breathe as we do, as one. Like waves crashing upon the shore,' With a deep breath in his chest pressed into your fingers, 'before returning to the depths,' With a shaky sigh you found yourself emptying your lungs alongside the man in front of you.

Holding his eyes with your own you slipped your hand free, the flash of pain across his eyes faded instantly as you turned his wrist, pressing his palm to your skin.

'Waves crashing down on the sand' your voice is low yet resolute as you breathe in, Colin following suit, 'Before finding its way to the depths...' Raising yourself to your toes you press your lips to his. Releasing your breath, no sooner have your heels returned to the grass than his hand has found your waist and pulled you back to him.

#colin bridgerton x reader

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macaroon-sapling · 1 year ago

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Headcanons - Glitchtrap ✷

What a silly rabbit! Have some thoughts on William Afton's latest and certainly not greatest form of supposedly "living forever".

☆☆☆

❋ Glitchtrap is first and foremost, a ghost. He may be taking the form of an annoying little computer virus, but this is still William Afton in the non-flesh. He has the ability to jump between electrical currents with relative ease, giving him access to all sorts of screens and wires. His favourite digital spots to hang out are various security cameras in the Pizzaplex, and most of all, Vanessa's home PC.

❋ As a ghost, Glitchtrap's anatomy is very unique. He could technically take the form of whatever he wants to look like, but of course he chose what appears to be a very personalized version of Springbonnie. He has fabric for skin with a hand-stitched kitschy appearance, complete with plasticky eyes, nose, teeth, and whiskers. The polyester faux fur fabric conceals cotton-white plush innards. Glitchtrap still has organs of course too, but they're suspended in cotton and poly-fil rather than the good old blood and tissue.

❋ By the time that Glitchtrap exists, he is a shell of a man. A pathetic excuse of a representation of William Afton. In fact, he barely truly remembers who he used to be. Strongly affected by a form of post-traumatic amnesia, he only remembers selective details about his life. He remembers the most about his kids, his goals and aspirations, his talents, and particularly his past business partner, Henry. His warped memory only kept things that were deemed "important", naturally. He fantasizes about Henry frequently still, daydreaming about a romanticized version of his past with him, even remembering some events that didn't actually happen. Subconsciously, part of him believes they'll be reunited again somehow someway. Ignorance of reality is to blame for that belief.

❋ This form of existence has, for lack of any better words, royally fucked up his sense of personality as well. Most of the time he acts like a bastardized version of his past stage personality of Springbonnie. This manifests as him being overly childish, stubborn, careless, apathetic, selfish, manic, and reactive. Glitchtrap prefers not to think about such things, and acts without thinking most of the time. He is very much aware of who he is, William Afton, but in the way that he might do a double-take if addressed by that name for the first time in a while. He is still just as murderous, dramatic, and cunning as he once was as well, encouraging Vanessa to carry out his vague "legacy" for him since he is largely unable to do so as a ghostly computer virus. He does have the ability to possess her as well, but is simply too lazy and prefers to watch her willfully do his bidding.

❋ Glitchtrap struggles with his sense of identity. This has carried over from his time spent as Springtrap, and his dissociation of self has only gotten worse. The contrast between Glitchtrap and William is vast and unnerving. He believes himself to be better than he's ever been, and worse at the same time. If he were to look in the mirror and see his past human face, he would not fully recognize it as himself any longer.

❋ In one way, Glitchtrap could look in a mirror and see himself. His real self. Due to some innate retained sense of humanity, his virus form's head can be ripped off and removed to reveal a shadowy and glitchy form. Underneath the rabbit's face, lies the broken visage of a human. Behind glossy purple eyes, there will forever be silver-blue ones. No facial features can be visibly discerned besides those haunting, iconic eyes now surrounded in black or white shadow. Perhaps it is better for this silhouetted version of the self to be hidden, since seeing its existence greatly distresses Glitchtrap. He pretends it doesn't exist, but why would it exist if he didn't secretly wish for it to still be there? He controls his own ghost's appearance, after all. Part of him craves humanity.

❋ And through all of this dissociation and amnesia, there are infrequent short periods of lucidity. A precious few hours when this miserable ghost is more William than Glitchtrap. It's horrifying. Distressing. Agonizing. He doesn't know where he is. He screams for help, no one answers. Vanessa is no help to him, he refuses to speak to her when he's like this. She keeps her distance. William despises who he's become, filled with self pity. He cries and thinks to himself that it isn't fair that he should have to live like this. Oh, but isn't it fair? Isn't it justified? Shouldn't a murderer such as himself have to live in the very same life that he condemned others to? A ghost in a machine. Trapped. It's rather fitting, I think. Glitchtrap is indifferent, he quite likes his life in a poor woman's desktop computer. William disagrees.

#five nights at freddy's #fnaf #fnaf headcanons #glitchtrap #william afton #malhare #fnaf vanessa #fnaf help wanted #fnaf glitchtrap #my headcanons #willry mention again lol

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lossinvivo · 5 months ago

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Samedi 1er juin 2024,

Je me souviens de toi. Tu me paraissais immense. Homme de soixante-et-onze ans aux signes d'âge apparents. Des rides et des cheveux blancs. Une longue barbe. Tu cristallisais l'hiver en un faciès, alliant le ciel et la neige. Pourtant, aucune preuve de faiblesse ne transparaissait. N'importe quel mot sortant de ta bouche semblait décuplé par ton savoir. Tu m'as parlé de communisme, de tes œuvres architecturales. De ton fils. Je buvais tes paroles et ne refusais jamais ton vin, et encore moins tes cigarettes. Tu remplissais toujours mon verre, je finissais tes bouteilles. Mon cœur débordait de ta générosité, affûté par ta tendresse. Encore aujourd'hui, j'arrive à te trouver un air affable.

Que m'as-tu fait ? Ce soir-là, qu'est-ce que Mehdi a mis dans mon verre ?

De ses yeux aussi, je me souviens. De grands yeux. Globuleux, certainement. Comme s'ils avaient beaucoup à regarder et à transmettre, incapables de tenir en place. Son expression me hante. Personne ne m'a observé avec tant de lubricité. Il y avait quelque chose de véritablement pervers dans sa façon de me sourire et m'observer.

Un an après, j'ai lu Lolita. Peut-être que j'essayais de comprendre ce que tu pouvais voir chez moi. Je me suis projetée sur Dolorès. J'ai cru que je t'avais provoqué, que c'était ma faute. On me l'a souvent dit.

—

Lundi 3 juin 2024,

L’idée que les monstres possèdent un même et répugnant visage est fausse. Au contraire, ils ont l’air sympathiques. Ils le sont aussi. Le diable ne séduit pas en étalant ses mauvais plans. Il sait prendre son temps et jouer de sa musique. C’est son charme, l’envahisseur. Le début de tout anéantissement, la raison de finir par tout craindre.

Le mal est habile et rôde sur les traits des anges. Ce n’est pas pour rien qu’il est si divinement représenté. Regarde le tableau de Cabanel. On aurait presque envie de se jeter dans ses bras, de le sentir tout entier. Lorsque je suis allée le voir l’an dernier, j’ai de suite compris que Lucifer en personne pourrait me tenter, surtout avec une telle gueule.

C’était pareil pour toi. Les vieillards sont souvent pardonnés pour leur lubricité. Je suppose que leur apparence fait serment de faiblesse, mais toi, tu ne m’as jamais paru inoffensif. À quinze ans, je me doutais de tes penchants, et quand je regarde des types comme Matzneff, l’horreur me frappe du coup de l’évidence. Toi, tu semblais sortir d’une carte postale. Une caricature du père Noël, mais avec un bagage plus lourd, plus intéressant. J’aimais les gens intelligents, me sentir petite et bête. Je pense que c’est en partie pour ça que tu m’attendrissais et que je niais tant les faits se présentant à moi.

Je pense souvent à toi. Peut-être tous les jours. Et à ton fils et à ses amis et à mes anciens amis et aux hommes qui n’ont jamais cessé de me malmener. Quand j’ai peur de marcher dehors, je me rappelle que le vrai danger réside au plus près. Qu’il suffit d’un instant de confiance pour tout chambouler.

J’ai voulu croire que tu voulais mon bien.

Un baiser, c’est doux. Les lèvres sont comme deux petits coussins, deux parcelles de paradis. Nuageuses et veloutées.

Et puis, derrière, il y a trente-deux dents. Des bouts d’émail fixes et toujours prêts à déchirer, voire liquider. Une stature qui réduit aisément en bouillie.

Quand tu me faisais la bise, une certaine chaleur émanait de toi. La chaleur de ton corps, celle qu’il contient et qui menaçait de prendre l’intégralité du mien. Ça a quelque chose de dégoûtant, au fond. Déborder ainsi sur quelqu’un. Sur moi. Sur la petite amie de ton fils. Son ex, ensuite.

J’ai lu Ma Sombre Vanessa. Immédiatement, j’ai trouvé Jacob Strane affreux et prévisible. Nabokov a de nombreuses fois été cité au cours de cette lecture, dont son œuvre la plus connue, Lolita, et quelques vers de Feu pâle.

« Ma sombre Vanesse, aux zébrures carminées, Mon papillon adorable et béni… »

Je ne sais plus trop. Disons que Nabokov m’a toujours rampé sous la peau. C’est la première plume qui m’a transcendé de par sa virtuosité. Lolita m’a hanté, aussi. Il… Elle, m’a fait questionner la légitimité de ma position, et à quel point j’ai pris part à tout ça. Est-ce que je me rendais compte que c’était une sorte de jeu ? Oui. J’avais quinze ans et j’ai toujours été précoce, alors je m’en doutais bien. Je pense que j’aimais les hommes plus âgés, le fait de plaire. J’avais besoin d’une échappatoire, de trouver une utilité à ce qui faisait de moi une adolescente triste et franchement pitoyable. Il m’est arrivé de préférer te parler plutôt que traîner avec ton fils. Trouves-tu que je t’ai provoqué ? Et est-ce que ça fait de moi le problème ?

Mais jamais, jamais je n’aurais cru qu’il m’arriverait ça. Que je serais forcée dans cette spirale qui, je suppose, m’a retourné le cerveau. D’abord, il y a eu l’autre, deux semaines plus tôt. Qui avait mis ses doigts en moi, s’est tordu entre mes jambes. Qui a dit qu’il m’aimait, qu’il n’avait jamais vu de fille aussi parfaite que moi. J’avoue avoir été flattée. Moi, je me détestais.

Je n’avais envie de rien, pourtant. Ce que l’on pense être une réaction positive n’est qu’une façon de faire glisser la chose plus facilement. La mouille devient alors comme de la rouille. Horripilant, n’est-ce pas ? Pour surmonter la peur, je sais que le corps se raidit. Au fil des années, j’ai aussi vu jusqu’où ma mémoire allait pour me détourner de la honte et de la répression.

Ton locataire… Ah, je ne sais pas. Je ne sais pas ce qu’il m’a fait. Je ne sais pas ce que tu m’as fait non plus. Ni toi, ni les autres. Vous êtes une image floue dans mon esprit, un nombre d’heures que je me passe encore et encore. Un épisode en replay ? On n’oublie rien de rien, finalement. Cette peur gravée dans mon ventre, cette éclipse qui sous mes paupières s’imprime à peine on me touche. Je suis encombrée.

La mécanique du viol, je dois dire qu’elle est vraiment spéciale. Elle m’étonne sans cesse.

Les années se sont écoulées et qu’est-ce que j’en ai perdu, du temps. Tellement à essayer de me réparer, d’enfouir ce souvenir et même à l’accabler d’autres impasses. On a dû me voir comme une fille facile mais moi, j’ai surtout cherché à recréer quelque chose. Rejouer la scène et me convaincre que ce n’était pas si désagréable. J’ai cru à ma mascarade, cru à l’idée que moi, ce que j’aimais, c’était les monstres.

Je n’ai jamais su dire non, ni penser à moi. Longtemps, j’ai véritablement cru que mon corps était un objet qu’il fallait user. Un torchon fait pour essuyer des marées de foutre et d’illusions. Tu sais, il m’arrive encore de penser que mon destin est scellé sur les trottoirs et que je pourrais tout foutre en l’air n’importe quand, mais je crois que ça a changé.

Aujourd’hui, j’ai vingt-et-un ans. Ça va faire six ans depuis, et j’ai envie de te le dire : non, tu ne m'as pas eue. Ni toi, ni les autres. Ni la mort, ni les envies de suicide, ni les tentatives, ni l’échec. La gamine que j’étais, je l’ai prise par la main pour la foutre à la porte. Je n’ai plus de temps à accorder à ce que vous m’avez fait, et mon cœur n’essaie plus de vous pardonner.

J’avance enfin. Mon existence ne s’est pas arrêtée et c’est franchement marrant de le constater. Quand je me réveille et que je me sens à peu près bien, je me surprends. Ça me révolte presque. Combat acharné qui a pris plus de la moitié de mes jours. Je ne suis peut-être pas vouée au déclin, ni condamnée à vendre mon corps. Je vais enfin bouger. Je vais partir loin de vous. Ne plus passer devant ta maison, ne plus redouter de vous croiser. Je vais vivre près de la mer et entendre les vagues me mener partout où vous ne pourrez jamais m’atteindre.

J’ai plusieurs fois écrit à votre propos. Désormais, ma plume dépeindra des miracles. Et quand je serai au sommet, j’humilierai votre condition un par un. Tout ce que vous avez tu, je le révélerai. Je vais éclore des milliers de fois. Ce sera ma vengeance.

#écriture #texte

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