Ivan Laskovsky (1799-1855) - Impromptu in F Minor: Allegro ·

Whether it's Bette Davis or Vincent Price,

Or some other actors I have never come across before.

......my words are stuck in my throat.

Nostalgia begins to fill my soul,

And sadness rushes towards my eyes.

I still miss you,

More than I know.

Because even though I still love you,

I already know that you cross my mind, lots.

But it's those random ones that come from basically nothing,

Those are the ones that get me the most.

When I'm sad and cry myself to sleep,

And all I want to dream about is you.

Or like right now, Phantom of the Opera on TV.

A film from the 1940s that I have never seen.

And remembering how you were a part of my life,

In what seems to be a very long time ago.

And how you gave me space enough to be myself,

Without judgment,

Without hate.

And if we were speaking at this time,

I again, will tell you of this random movie I bumped into,

Being all giddy and hearts floating around me.

Many thank yous.

Thank you, for allowing me to be myself.

Thank you, for wanting better for me.

Thank you,

For allowing me room to breathe.

Thank you,

For many other things.

And maybe one day,

I will not live in random nostalgia anymore.

Maybe the universe will bring us together,

Where I can love you and myself,

.....Again,

𝐀 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐦 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐧’𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐣𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥… 💜

because sometimes even the world’s greatest criminal mind needs a place to write down the things that he’d never say out loud!

these are two entries he never meant for anyone to read — one from the summer of 1916 when Amelia was carrying their twins (at the end of “𝑫𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉”), and one from the winter of 1913 when she was carrying triplets (“𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐹𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝐶𝑢𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛,” 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝟺 𝑜𝑓 “𝑆𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑅𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑠 & 𝑎 𝐶𝑢𝑝 𝑜𝑓 𝑇𝑒𝑎”)!

just Ratigan, completely undone by love, protecting his wife the only way he knows how: fiercely, obsessively, and with every inch of his wicked heart! 🥹😭

⚠️ KEEP PLENTY OF TISSUES NEARBY!

𝟷𝟸 𝒥𝓊𝓁𝓎 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟼

(𝒟𝒾𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 ℛ𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 — 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝓌𝒾𝓃𝓈)

ℳ𝓎 𝒜𝓂𝑒𝓁𝒾𝒶 𝒾𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓇𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒹𝓇𝑒𝓃.

𝒯𝓌𝒾𝓃𝓈.

𝒯𝓌𝑜 𝓉𝒾𝓃𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝑔𝓇𝑜𝓌𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝒾𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒶𝓇𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝓂𝑒.

ℐ 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒸𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽 𝓂𝓎𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒻 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝓈𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓈 ℐ 𝒶𝓂 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔. 𝒮𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓁𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁𝓈 “𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒾𝓏𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓈𝑒,” 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝑔𝓃𝒾𝒻𝒾𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉, 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑒.

ℐ 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓇𝒾𝒹𝒾𝒸𝓊𝓁𝑜𝓊𝓈. ℐ 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈. ℳ𝓇𝓈. 𝒥𝓊𝒹𝓈𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓂𝑒𝓇𝒸𝓎 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 ℐ 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝓃 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓇𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓊𝓅 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓇𝓈 𝓂𝓎𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒻, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝓇 𝓈𝓉𝓊𝓂𝒷𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓈 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜𝓁𝑒𝓇𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒.

ℐ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒶𝑔𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝒸𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝓌𝒾𝓃𝓈 𝓀𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝓉𝑜𝑜 𝓋𝒾𝑔𝑜𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓈𝓁𝓎.

ℐ 𝓈𝓉𝑒𝒶𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝑜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝒷𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓀𝑒𝓉𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝒾𝓅𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓌𝒷𝑒𝓇𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝒾𝓃 ℒ𝑜𝓃𝒹𝑜𝓃 𝓈𝑜 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝑜𝓇 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔.

𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝓇𝒶𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑒𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ℐ 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝒶𝓅𝓅𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓇𝑒𝓈.𝒮𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝒶𝓃 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒸𝓇𝒾𝓂𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓁. ℐ 𝓈𝒾𝓂𝓅𝓁𝓎 𝓀𝒾𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝑜𝓅 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓇𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝓊𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝓃 ℒ𝑜𝓃𝒹𝑜𝓃. (𝒮𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝑜𝓁𝓁𝓈 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝑒𝓎𝑒𝓈, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 ℐ 𝒸𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓂𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝓂𝒾𝓁𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝒾𝒹𝑒.)

𝒞𝑜𝓇𝓃𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓊𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒜𝓁𝒾𝒸𝑒.

ℐ 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈𝓉 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝓀𝒾𝓃 𝒶𝓉 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉. ℐ 𝒶𝓁𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝑜𝓃 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝓂𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓈𝒾𝒷𝓁𝑒, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝓎 𝒹𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓂𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇’𝓈 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝓎 𝓉𝑒𝓂𝓅𝑒𝓇.

ℐ 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝓊𝓇𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹 𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝒷𝑒𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒 ℐ 𝓁𝑒𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓇𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓂 — 𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓂𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇.

𝒜𝓂𝑒𝓁𝒾𝒶 ℬ𝒶𝓈𝒾𝓁-ℛ𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑔𝒶𝓃 𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝓉𝑒𝒸𝓉 𝓃𝑜𝓌.

𝒜𝓃𝒹 ℐ 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓃 𝒶 𝒹𝓊𝓉𝓎 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓈𝑒𝓇𝒾𝑜𝓊𝓈𝓁𝓎 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒.

𝗘𝗻𝘁𝗿𝘆 — 𝟭𝟴 𝗡𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟭𝟵𝟭𝟯

(𝗦𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝗥𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘀 — 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗽𝗹𝗲𝘁𝘀)

𝗦𝗵𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗴𝗻𝗮𝗻𝘁.

𝗪𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲 𝗯𝗮𝗯𝗶𝗲𝘀.

𝗧𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲.

𝗠𝘆 𝗰𝗹𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿, 𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗴𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝗴𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗽𝗹𝗲𝘁𝘀, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗜 𝗳𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝗺𝘆 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗺𝗮𝘆 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗯𝘂𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗶𝘁.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗮 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁. 𝗠𝗿𝘀. 𝗝𝘂𝗱𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲𝗻 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗸𝗶𝘁𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗮 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗹, 𝗯𝗮𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗲𝗻𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵 𝗻𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗳𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝗿𝗺𝘆. 𝗜 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗯𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗹𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝘀𝗲, 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗺𝗲𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗻𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝗵𝗲𝗿.

𝗠𝘆 𝘄𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝘁 𝗮 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝗳 𝗜 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗶𝘁. 𝗔𝘁 𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗜 𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲, 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗽𝗮𝘄 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝗼𝗳 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗯𝗲𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗼𝗻𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝘂𝗺𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗸𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗹𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝘆 𝗽𝗹𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗻𝗲𝘅𝘁 𝘀𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗲. 𝗦𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗮𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘀𝘁 𝗺𝘆 𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗱, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗼𝗲𝘀 𝗺𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗽𝗹𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆.

𝗜 𝗸𝗶𝘀𝘀 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗵 𝗼𝗳 𝗵𝗲𝗿 — 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝗿𝘃𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗺𝗮𝗰𝗵, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗲𝘁𝗰𝗵 𝗺𝗮𝗿𝗸𝘀 𝘀𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗵𝗮𝘁𝗲, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗶𝗴𝗵 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗺𝗲𝗹𝘁 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝗲. 𝗜 𝗮𝗺 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗳𝘂𝗹, 𝗮𝗹𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗳𝘂𝗹, 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝘀𝗵𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗜 𝗮𝗺 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝘁𝗼𝗼 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 𝘁𝗼 𝗼𝗯𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗲.

𝗦𝗵𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗿𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗮𝗻𝘁.

𝗘𝘅𝗵𝗮𝘂𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱.

𝗚𝗹𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀.

𝗔𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗵𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗲.

𝗜 𝗮𝗹𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝘆 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝗲 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗼𝘀 𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗲. 𝗜 𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗶𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝗲𝗲𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺. 𝗜 𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗶𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵 𝗔𝗺𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗮 𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲 𝗮𝘁 𝗼𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗰𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝗺𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺 𝗿𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝗯𝗲𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝗯𝗼𝗿𝗻.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘀 𝗜 𝗮𝗺 𝗮 𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿.

𝗟𝗲𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺.

𝗔𝘀 𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝘀 𝗺𝘆 𝗔𝗺𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗮 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗿𝗲𝗻 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘀𝗮𝗳𝗲, 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗺, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗱, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗟𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗼𝗻 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗯𝘂𝗿𝗻 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗜 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲.

𝗜 𝗮𝗺 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗣𝗿𝗼𝗳𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁.

𝗜 𝗮𝗺 𝘀𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗹𝘆 𝗮 𝗵𝘂𝘀𝗯𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗺𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗵 — 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗮𝗹 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗱𝗶𝗮𝗺𝗼𝗻𝗱 𝗶𝗻 𝗲𝘅𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲 — 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲 𝗮 𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗹𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁 𝗼𝗿 𝗳𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻.

𝗠𝘆 𝗔𝗺𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗮.

𝗠𝘆 𝘄𝗶𝗳𝗲.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝗺𝘆 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗿𝗲𝗻.

@angel-b-torture

If you want me

“You know, Shikadai,” Shikamaru snapped a shogi piece on the board, “There was one time I almost lost your mom.”

The junior Nara lifted his brow at his father, “When?”

Shikamaru’s mind played in recollection as he spoke. A slight pain, though no longer a bother, still pierced him like a needle prick.

He had called for a clan meeting to announce his decision to marry Temari of Sunagakure.

Genuflexed beside him on the tatami floor, Temari was the epitome of resilience, devotion and strength - an unrivaled complement to the young head of Nara clan.

But the clan elders were unable to accept.

Different upbringing. Different culture. Different mindset. Most importantly, different bloodline.

A foreign woman. An alien.

Affronted, scorned, insulted, as if the union was a contamination to the clan. They said these in silence, but Temari heard it, roaring like a black blizzard. Her dignity and pride incised and bled, and she found herself standing at the massive gate of Konohagakure, wanting to leave it all behind.

“Temari! Where are you going?!” A voice called out, stern enough to hold her back.

Her reply raspy, “Home. I’m leaving.”

“What about us?”

“US?” Temari pivoted back to face him. Shikamaru was stunned, noticing the pearls of tears that hung from the corners of her teal eyes. “YOU DIDN’T EVEN SAY ANYTHING TO SAVE US!”

He felt the ghost of the thirteen-year-old crybaby entering him. “I was…”

“You were what??”

“I was thinking!”

“Thinking about what?!”

“TEMARI! THERE’S SO MANY THINGS TO CONSIDER! I HAVE TO THINK THIS THROUGH!”

“SHIKAMARU!”

His right cheek suddenly bloomed red, as fiery as the dusk sky. Touching the skin, tender and mildly swollen, the lightning slap was just the system reboot he needed.

“If you want me, show me.”

Seeing the pool of tears spilling from her eyes, he was reminded again why he decided to marry this woman.

The deepest kiss landed on her quivering lips.

The decision was not derived from his mind’s calculations or analysis. This was one of those times, where his heart overruled with no margin of error.

Temari dived into his brown eyes with words loud but unspoken.

“If you need me, tell me.”

Her gaze dwelled in his soul, killing his coward self and awakening the sleeping braveheart.

“I need you, Temari,” he declared, sharing her breath, “I need you, now and forever.”

“If you have me, show me off.”

Clutching her hand, they marched back to the house of elders. Entering the Nara clan estate, eyes sharp on them, whispers stung, but they ignored them. They made the choice to.

Us against the world.

“If I’m worth it, fight for me.”

In front of the elders, he held on to the hand he had sworn to hold for the rest of his life. Glancing briefly at his future wife, he affirmed.

“I’m the head of Nara clan, Nara Shikamaru, and I hereby announce that I'm taking Temari of Sunagakure as my wife. She is a powerful, formidable and respectable shinobi in her own right. She is nothing short of perfect, and I see nothing wrong for her to be a part of our clan where she can lead us to greatness and prosperity.”

Her face beamed, so bright that it blinded everyone in the room. Her hand tightened on the man who would soon be her husband, as she watched him deliver his resolve, “You can say whatever you want: My decision is FINAL.”

Shikadai smirked, “It’s troublesome, Oyaji, but it’s good to say it sometimes.” His eyes scrutinized the board with a frown, hand reaching out to a piece when her voice paused his movement.

“Wait.”

Temari peeked over her son’s shoulder, lifted up another piece before lowering it gracefully till it settled with a click.

“Checkmate.”

“I didn’t see that!” Shikadai’s eyes widened, “Mom, that’s brilliant! We won!”

Lifting her eyes at Shikamaru, silently proclaiming her victory, Temari grinned - it was the same sheepish grin she had when she came to his rescue and wiped out the whole forest to defeat Tayuya.

“Can you help me to prepare the dinner table, Shikadai?” Temari said with her motherly tone, uniquely bold but gentle. Shikadai, being the good child, nodded and hopped off, elated from the win.

“Our son’s right, you know.” She murmured, “It’s good to say it sometimes.”

The shogi board shifted away, as knees shuffled towards her in solemn haste until he was close enough to cage her in his embrace. Their foreheads met.

He almost never needed to say it, because she could always hear his soul heralding his love for her.

Still. It’s good to say it sometimes.

“If you want me, show me.”

His lips sealed hers. Always yearning, always needy.

“I love you, Nara Temari.”

Cupping his cheeks, she kissed him back with a love quiet but fiercely loyal.