i warned you this was coming if i didn't find something to do

meagerking  asked:

☆ ☑

questions for sennen! | n o t   a c c e p t i n g.


☆ ━ If you could live in the world of your muse(s) would you?


          …Probably not.  I’m not cut out to fight every day.  The only fighting I do is in video games.
          Though…if I did, I would find Vincent.  And I would give him someone who listens, if he desired it.  I love him dearly–he’s taught me so much.  I can’t give anything back to him besides writing him to the best of my ability, so if I could tell him that everything will be all right, that the dawn always comes despite all odds…I would.

☑ ━ What’s something not a lot of people know about you?


warnings are in place for death of a family member, vivid recollection of a stroke, and funeral mention.

          My father passed away on April 27, 2016, a week after my twenty-second birthday.  It still hurts–my Daddy and I were very close.  He’s the reason that this new-fangled…daddy kink makes me a little uncomfortable when someone tries to include me.  He taught me all my business-savvy tricks ( he’s the reason i’m often the only person in my circle who has money ) and how to build awnings, carports, and patio trim.  He taught me how to drive, and he bought me my first GameBoy, the GameBoy Advance.  Despite him going bankrupt in the nineties because of that depression ( he hadn’t wanted to let any of his employees go because he was kind and knew they had families to provide for.  eventually, he had to, because the money ran out. ), I never knew we wanted for everything.  I hear stories, about he, my mother, his best friend, and his best friend’s wife would go to Las Vegas nearly every year.  I think we went once when I was small.  He taught me about magic, about how love can heal a person, and how if you double that love you can make all sorts of injuries simply vanish.  He taught me about prayer, about how asking for something with your heart can cause a miracle to happen.  He always believed in the best in people, even the people who didn’t deserve it.  And though he was all of these things, at his funeral, my deacon said: “He wasn’t the type of person you called by his first name.  He was always Mr. [my legal surname].”  I strive to be everything he was, and surpass him.  He wanted that.  I remember countless times we talked about my college, about plans to pay for it, about jobs and what’s worth it and what isn’t.  We talked about my art, my voice, my intelligence.  Many a night I know I sat beside his recliner and we either watched TV or talked for hours.

          It was…sudden.  He was on his way to work–it’s just across our driveway, his shop that he built himself.  He’d already had a…quadruple bypass, I think it was, and…he had a stroke.  I came up front, and my two dogs weren’t as happy as usual, so I asked them what was wrong.  Billbo led me right to him, and Gomer was sitting ever so quietly–extremely unusual for him.  I saw a foot poking out from behind a doghouse, and there he was.  He’d fallen and hit his head.  I called the paramedics, but…

          That had been Monday, April 25th.  He died two days later, at his own request–no huge operations, it was.  We had them drill a hole in his skull to drain brain fluid, but his brain was swelling–pushing against his skull.

          He died at six a.m. on Wednesday.

          It amazes me how little my mother and I cried, but perhaps…we had already accepted it.  I cried before it happened–my father was eighty-two, sixty when I was born.  I had prayed for him to see me graduate, and he will.  Just…not like I was expecting.  He waits, across the veil.  He does not linger, for he has faith in us.

          I did not cry at his funeral.  I sang instead.  “Ave Maria.”  It was…the best a capella performance I’ve ever done.  I wavered on not a single note.  I remember what I was wearing.  My old and fraying knee-high boots, for all of his were patched though blackened; a black dress patterned with dragons, for he loved the Anne McCaffrey books, as my mother does; black leggings because I hadn’t shaved in a week and a half; the dragons on the dress had to be white, for someone dear to me who could not be there ( for white is the color of mourning in many eastern countries ); my wedding ring, for my darling who could not come nor ever had the opportunity to introduce himself to my father; a black heart necklace with devil wings for my best friend who lived across the sea.

           I love my father dearly, and of course I miss him.  But I must have faith–he is not gone forever.  I will see him again.