#also if this seems very rambly and stream of conscious-y and it's because it's meant that way

[misguidedasher]

champagne, perfume, wine & glitter (mARCO WINKING LIKE A MOTHAFUCKA RN)

CHAMPAGNE: what topic could you talk about for hours?

"The thing about being an incessant fucking babbler like I happen to be, is that if I’m angry enough about something, I could stretch it on forever. The more menial, the better. I once went off on Marco because I said I thought Hermione Granger is a repressed lesbian, which she obviously is, and he didn’t immediately agree with me. And I got heated about it, too. I just like...showing people up. I like ranting and using big words that I might not even know the meaning of. People think you’re smarter if you talk a lot about something, and you seem like you actually know what you’re talking about, y’know? They take you more seriously.”

PERFUME: if you could make your own signature fragrance, what would it smell like?

"First of all, I want to thank whoever adores and follows me so much, it necessitated making a perfume so they could smell like me. Like, whatever it is I did, I knew I’d always make it. Anyway. I’m honestly no expert with scents and notes and shit like that, but it has to smell fresh. Like when you’re walking along the pier and the sea air is hitting you in the face, and it’s kind of cold but not actually unpleasant. It just makes you feel so awake. I want to capture that in a bottle. And if that doesn’t work out: coffee, and rain. That sweet sweet artificial fruitiness of Swedish Fish. Oh, and weed. Lots and lots of weed.” Pause. “That...went from relatively deep to pretty fucking nasty real quick, but you could say that sums me up perfectly, so.”

WINE: what kind of drunk are you (happy/affectionate, angry, sad, fun/wild)?

"I was reeeeaaally messy in high school. Like, touchy feely, stumbling all over the place, get-this-girl-outta-here-because-she’s-ruining-my-fucking-party messy. It was equal parts sad and embarrassing. But um, now, I’m just a better version of myself. Honest to god. Everything drunk me says is hilarious. Well scratch that, everything is hilarious to me when I’m drunk, but same diff. You just have to watch out because I can and will crash, at a moment’s notice. Basically a cuddly, giggly, sleepy Aubs. And what more could you even want from life.”

GLITTER: describe someone special to you.

“Okay so, picture a woman, roughly around five foot three, goes by the name of Mila Kunis...I’m kidding. No, swear to god I am! That wasn’t even that funny. So just, forget about Mila, for now. Instead, picture a dude. Freakishly, inhumanly tall. Has a never ending supply of coats and fuzzy sweaters. I looked directly at his smile once, and I’ve been half blind ever since.” She’s still not taking this one hundred percent seriously. It takes her a moment to sober up.   

“The very first time you meet him, you think he’s one of the smuggest fuckers to ever walk the earth. And he even can be sometimes, but most of the time it’s just what he wants you to think. He puts himself out there like he couldn’t give a shit about what the world thinks of him, and yet there are only very specific things he’ll show off about himself. Not that, um, I would know anything about that. But despite all that, he never feels fake. Not to me, at least. Whether he’s walking down the street being Mr. Cool, or acting like a total dweeb, I know it’s him.” 

“He’s just so giving. That’s one thing I can’t ever really get over. Like sometimes I think there can’t possibly be anymore of himself he can offer, but then he goes and proves me wrong. It makes you wonder if he’s left any part for just himself. Ironically he’s...not the best at that. He needs someone to knock him upside the head every now and then, remind him hey, you’re allowed to take care of yourself, too. He’ll insist that he doesn’t, because again, very specific things. I don’t know if he’s really that transparent, or if I’m just good at reading him. I’d like to think it’s the latter.”

“I used to think that Kale was the only person I’d ever be close to. That, you know, maybe I would find someone I wouldn’t mind sticking around, but that he was it for me. I thought he was all I needed. Isn’t that just depressing as all fuck? But then, this whiskey-guzzling little bastard just manages to slip right through the cracks, and here we are.” She seems to lose herself in a pause then, eyes going soft at thoughts and ideas that few have been privy to. She’s lucky enough to be talking about someone who has. “I’m glad it was him. I don’t think it could be anyone else.”