DANCE WITH ME YOU LI-IA-IAR ♡
OVERBLOT ASHI??? ANYBODY??? the ANGST that this baby can store!!! SHEESH!!!!!!! <3 I only have one post dedicated to her and liar dance lyric analysis (the post is kinda outdated in gen) BUT…… I also have an overblot monologue as a treat 🫶 I wanted to better explain her angst and so!!! BABAM!!! enjoy
ASHI’S MONOLOGUE:
Sometimes I wonder why I ended up here.
A place named “Twisted Wonderland”, and at a school named “Night Raven College”.
At first, I figured that I was the odd one out— Y’know, the Ramshackle prefect and everything. The magicless girl at the magical all boys school? Nuts, ain’t it?
I’m known for a lot of things. Things that are different from the others. The fact that I stand out is part of the Ashi charm, something I’m known for.
But… Over time I found myself sorta feeling in place here.
Because as much as I try to believe it, I can’t safely say that I’m better than anyone else here.
I’m a fake. I make conversation and lots of friends, but for what? A backup in case something goes wrong? A sense of protection for my reputation? In what case are any of those friendships something I truly want? In what case are any of these strings more than just a tool instead of a thread made of my real feelings?
Behind this, I’m no different from any other student here. Even through my individuality, my cheerfulness, my endearing oddness… I’m still a horrible person. Using people to get what I want, toying with people and their feelings in order to gain power and gain a spot the top. All to become untouchable. It’s screwed. It’s not right.
My insides are ugly. The truth of me is something I want to keep tucked away deeply, because I don’t want people to see this part of me. A brash, annoying, selfish version of me, everything people hate to see. I don’t want this side of me to be seen because people will run away— people I don’t care much about, sures, but people I love, too. I don’t want to drive them away. So I keep quiet and give them a shallow show.
I give them a source of entertainment that’s controlled by the real me, every calculated movement translating into a marionette-like response. The only show I allow you to see is one that’s so carefully crafted by the chaotic clown backstage. The one that is shunned away from the light, the strings being the only hint of the puppet’s phony existence to the foolish audience.
But suddenly, I feel as if being here has started to let this side of me come crawling back into the spotlight.
It scares me.
It scares me to be vulnerable, let all of my faults lay out on the table like playing cards. To take the risk without the protection, to gamble everything I’ve built up away just like that. But you…
You.
You make me feel safe. You make me feel as if I don’t need to hide anything. I can give you the key to my heart and you would have no malicious intent. You wouldn’t cut out the parts people don’t like. You would enjoy the performance in full, every bit of it.
You make me believe that I’m nothing special, and yet something so valuable at the same time.
It’s silly. You’re silly. And yet that’s something that’s helped me.
It’s helped me realize that that truly is just how people are.
We aren’t villains. We aren’t antagonists. We aren’t monsters.
We are nothing but people, with faults and feelings that should be valued.
I am more than just a jester, a sake of entertainment.
I’m a person who is entirely worthy of love. All of me.
It reminds me that I must’ve came here for a reason.
Because this is where I belong.
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“I had all and then most of you
Some and now none of you.
Take me back to the night we met.”
— The Night We Met by Lord Huron
cw implied death, angst, OWWW OWWWIE OWWW
The day starts as usual.
The sun rises, birds chirping as you push open the balcony door to let the morning air in. Joseph steps out, a cigarette already between his fingers. You join him, two mugs of coffee in your hands. He takes one from you with a grateful smile, you both settle into the routine.
The day is beautiful. The suns warm embrace on your skin makes you want to linger there forever, soaking in her rays.
“What d’ya want for breakfast?” he asks, smoke curling lazily from his lips.
You ponder for a moment, imagining the taste of different dishes. “How about…pancakes?” you suggest, feeling your mouth water at the thought.
Joseph chuckles, stubbing out his cigarette and taking a final gulp of his coffee. “Pancakes it is then.”
You eat breakfast together at the table. Joseph flips through his script between bites, humming under his breath and glancing at the clock occasionally. A quiet sigh escapes him as he polishes off his plate.
He rises, placing his dirtied plate on the sink, setting his empty mug on top. He walks over to you, gently pushing your hair back and kissing your forehead.
“I gotta go. I’ll see you later, okay?”
You hum, cheeks warming from the kiss. “I’ll pick up stuff to make your favorite for dinner tonight. I know we haven’t had it in a while.”
His eyes light up, “Sounds like a plan.”
He heads towards the entryway, grabbing his jacket. He looks back at you, a smile still lingering on his lips.
“Don’t worry, filming shouldn’t take long today. I’ll be home before you know it.”
The butterflies in your stomach flutter with his words.
“Okay, I’ll see you later,” you reply, eyes droopy with morning grogginess and love.
The door clicks shut behind him, you watch a moment longer. Your eyes trace over the knob, down the mysterious crack in the wood, and watch his shadowy steps fade away. A sudden uneasiness creeps in, filling your gut with a syrupy ache. The butterflies no longer flutter, their wings cut, leaving you with a heavy feeling in their place.
You try to shake it off, but the feeling lingers, the knot in your stomach tightening with each tick of the clock. Hour after hour, minute after minute, you try to distract yourself with meaningless chores. You go grab things for dinner, the hustle and bustle of the store creating a dull hum over the pit in your stomach. A weak balm that doesn’t last the second you step through the apartment door again.
Night falls, groceries left forgotten on the counter. Seconds tick by painfully slow, each one a reminder of his absence. You can’t shake the feeling that something is terribly wrong.
Joseph doesn’t return that night, or any night after that.
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"its rotten work. especially to me especially if its you. ill fucking do it but christ alive."
i made a bruiseshipping playlist for fun. with the aim of making it simultaneously the funniest and most correct bruise playlist possible. the tonal whiplash is entirely on purpose, carefully crafted. meant to encapsulate their.... *waves a hand* dynamic. this mix has been in the works for a WHILE believe it or not
and i made cover art for it. because im obsessed and it felt only right. take a listen :p
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