the voicemail

You walk out the door and you can’t help thinking that they did too. It is both a burden and a relief to know you are stepping in their shoes. Their favorite songs still strike a cord in your heart. It’s been a long time since you listened to the radio. Your closet is full of clothes they never took back. You don’t tell anyone but sometimes you wear them to see if you feel a little less vulnerable. It never works. People who don’t know ask about how you two have been. You smile sadly and tell them you wished you knew. Drinking has become a solitary activity. You lost track of how many voicemails you’ve left them. It still hurts when you hear their name. You wonder if they’ll come back if you shout loud enough. They don’t.

But after a while, you begin missing yourself more than you miss them and you realize you’ve been loving the wrong person all along.
You stop crying over the people who walked out,
you start listening to music again,
you send your heartaches off to goodwill,
when people ask, you tell them you’re doing well,
you meet somebody new at the bar,
you don’t even realize when they call you back,
you grow out of everything that hurt;
people aren’t permanent
and the pain isn’t either.
—  It stops hurting, don’t you worry darling

I was listening to Kendrick Lamar’s album (“good kid, m.A.A.d city”) for a long drive in the car and I realized how much I love how he is actually telling a story with the entire album and the fact that he uses voicemails and recordings to piece together each track makes me feel like I was living the entire story with him. Then I started thinking about if Taylor did something like that for her sixth album. She already does basically the same thing but she’s a lot less obvious about it. Although every one of the tracks on 1989 fit together like a story, they’re each so unique that rather than being a chapter, it’s like the album is a book of short stories. You can separate each of these songs and tell an entire story with each one individually. They have their own conclusions. As opposed to Kendrick’s where some of his tracks actually have cliffhangers which FORCE you to continue to listen to the rest of the album. Yet with 1989 I can stop and get out of the car at the end of I Wish You Would without hesitation. With The Art of Peer Pressure I feel like I’m physically incapable of even thinking to step out of the car. I’m well aware that Kendrick isn’t the first artist to incorporate conversations and things of the sort in their album but it’s so flawlessly done on his album. Taylor kind of mimics this with how she strung together her secret messages to write the story her album told. But what if she included voice memos or even audio that connected each of her songs? Even interludes? I feel like this would create an entirely new dimension to her already incredibly dimensional work. It’s like when a visual artist produces a mixed media piece. If she began to incorporate other types of sound and audio that brought all of these chapters together, her albums (as they already basically do) would take me on a journey that stretches far beyond what she has done before. I feel weird about comparing these two albums in particular and I am literally on the edge of falling into a deep dark abyss of sleep but this was something I’ve spent the last few hours thinking about.

3
Glitch's House - July 29th, 1pm

At this point in their, what ever they were, Glitch no longer felt bad about breaking into Melanie’s house. She wouldn’t answer his phone calls, his text messages so he did the only thing that made sense to him at all. Pick the lock on her loft house, leave flowers, treats and a voicemail for her to listen to whenever she got home.

His sister always had bad timing. Jix, his younger, most naive sibling. He should’ve felt regret for yelling at her when Melanie hung up on him, but he didn’t. Even though Jix was pretty much the only sibling he chose to communicate with, she annoyed him immensely.

His mother was dead, his father deserted them, his brother was an evil tyrant and Glitch wasn’t wrapped too tightly himself. They were dysfunctional and Jix just couldn’t seem to accept that. She wanted the perfect family and that just wasn’t going to happen. No matter what her rose colored glasses showed otherwise.

He chose to put all that into the back of his mind by being the loner that he was. Just him, his couch and a book. At least, until a knock came at his front door.


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Omelia - Part Six

Author’s Note: This is one of my favorite pieces I’ve ever written. I find it so heartbreaking.  Hope you enjoy. -G

Part One   Part Two   Part Three   Part Four   Part Five

“Hold Me”

This was the twelfth time Owen had tried to call Amelia.  Each time he dialed her number, it went straight to voicemail.  He hadn’t heard from her at all today and after what happened in the OR, he had to speak with her.  

He tried again, maybe twelve was his lucky number.  

Ring,

Ring,

Ring,

“Hello, you have reached the voicemail of Dr. Amelia Shepherd.  Please leave your name, number, and brief message, and I will get back to you ask soon as I can.”

“Damn it!” Owen said under his breath.  He threw his phone to the passenger seat of his car.  Amelia had left the hospital a little over an hour ago.  Owen was so tied up in paperwork, he didn’t even look for her to say goodbye.  Not that he really needed to; there was no definite status of their relationship despite how badly he wanted there to be.  Amelia made him feel in ways he had never imagined possible.

He pulled his car beside the trailer which still resided in Derek’s backyard.  Unlocking the door, a little piece of him hoped that Amelia would be inside waiting for him.  Much to his dismay, the trailer was empty with no sign of Amelia anywhere.  

Owen tried calling her phone again, but in pattern, it went to voicemail.  He paced in circles, wondering where she could possibly be.  Collapsing on the bed, he held his head in his hands.  Amelia could be anywhere doing anything and there was nothing he could do to stop it.  What if this time, instead of handing the oxy over, she actually took it. Maybe she was passed out, drugged nearly to death.  Owen’s head was sprinting in circles and he couldn’t turn it off.

He tried to lay down and get some sleep.  Chances were, Amelia was fine and he would see her tomorrow.  But something just kept tugging in the back of his mind, telling him that something was wrong.  He got up, threw on a t-shirt and jeans, and set out to find the woman he wanted.

Owen decided to check her house; it made the most sense. He knocked three times on the front door with no answer.  Maybe Amelia was sleeping.  He tried yelling her name  and knocking again.  

Nothing.  

There had to be a spare key around here.  Owen looked under the mat, in the flower pot, and even under the loose rocks in the landscaping he helped Derek plant years ago.  He checked the porch light, and right where the bearings met the wall, a small key was stuffed between.  He grabbed the key and shoved it into the lock, turning it and opening the door.

“Amelia, I’m coming in now,” Owen somewhat awkwardly announced.  The living room looked empty and dark except for the one lamp in the corner she must have left on.  Owen meandered towards the kitchen and still didn’t find a trace of Amelia.  He sat down at a chair by the dining room table and listened to the silence.  He tried to put the pieces together, but they just weren’t fitting.  

As Owen sat and listened, he heard the sound of a faint trickle; like water was running. Amelia must’ve just been in the shower.  But in the shower for over an hour? That wasn’t like her, Amelia took quick and efficient showers.  

Owen ran up the stairs, almost tripping over his own feet.  As he got closer to the bathroom, he was able to hear faint cries coming  from behind the door.

He knocked, and the cries came to an abrupt stop.  "Amelia, it’s me.“

"Go away Owen,” she sniffled as if she was trying to pull herself together.

“I can’t until I know you are okay,” He leaned against the door.

“I’m fine, I promise,” Amelia said, wishing that Owen would just leave her alone.  Sometimes, he reminded her of a lost puppy who just needed someone to guide him.

“No, you’re not,” Owen said, and twisted the door knob. He stepped inside the bathroom to find the air thick with steam.  The shower curtain was pulled across so he could only see the shadow of the figure that is Amelia Shepherd sitting inside.  Her knees were pulled into her delicate frame and she looked so fragile.  

“Owen, leave!” Amelia screeched.

He took off his shoes, socks, and emptied his pockets.  Pulling back the curtain, he set eyes on the naked form.  Her pale skin was flushed bright pink from the pounding of the hot water against her back. Her hair was damp and spread over her shoulders.  Her head was resting on her knees, wrapped tightly around by her arms.

“Owen, get out or I’ll call the police!” Amelia’s voice was strained and laced with desperation.

“No, you won’t,” He stepped into the shower, fully dressed as not to suggest anything, and sat behind her.  Owen wrapped his strong arms around her delicate ones, and rested his head against her shoulder.  She turned to face him, eyes red from crying, and collapsed against his chest.  The sobs came fast and heavy like bats out of hell.  Owen held Amelia as she cried for Derek, Ryan, her baby, and her father.  The screams escaped from her tiny body like they had been trapped for way too long.  

“It’s been one year,” she said in between sobs.

“I know, and you’re not alone in this.  I promise you, you’re not alone,” Owen stroked her hair which was tangly and wet.  "We can get through this together, every step of the way.  I’ll be there to hold you.“

"Hold me then,” Amelia said and snuggled her way into his chest which was damp from the water that was cascading over both of them.  Owen obediently wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.  Even over her own cries and the sound of the shower, Amelia could hear his strong and reassuring heart beat.  

“I’ll hold you, and never let you go,” Owen said as they laid together in the bathtub letting the hot water flood over them.  

3

Enjolras is a wreck and cue Enjolras going to sleep after listening to every voicemail R ever left

Enjolras clinging to one of R’s pillows and almost sobbing because Enjolras misses him so much

Enjolras wearing Grantaire’s old sweaters

Enjolras constantly texting R beautiful he has to be alive and Enjolras believes if he texts him enough he’ll answer

Ep giving Enj one of R’s old sketchbooks and Enjolras feeling like his heart was ripped out

merciful-death asked:

[leaves a voicemail] You are right. I am angry. You should have taken me with you, or at least had the decency to inform me that you were leaving, rather than the typical scenario in which you vanish one night and I'm left wondering where you went. Shall I expect you back home tomorrow, or should I take off myself? What is going on?

[leaves a voicemail] What do you want me to say? I just debased myself in the last voicemail and you respond wanting more debasement. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m goddamn sorry. I cannot continue to throw myself at your feet if you never intend to forgive me. I’ll be home tomorrow. Whether you want to be as well or not is your choice, damnit.

Sugilite AU: Drunken Mac n Cheese

Disclaimer: I do not own Steven Universe.

(2) Human AU. Teenager Sugilite living with her moms Amethyst and Garnet.

Previous:
http://pearlmethyst-rupphire-garbage.tumblr.com/post/125290513917/sugilite-au-pneumonia

“Where is that girl?” Amethyst called her daughter’s phone for the 20th time. Voicemail. “She is so grounded!”

Garnet went upstairs to Sugilite’s room. She grabbed her stereo, TV, headphones and iPad then hid them in the garage.

“I took her stuff.”

“Ugh that’s another fight to look forward to.” Amethyst rolled her eyes.

Keep reading

murder-husband asked:

Send ☏ for the last voicemail my muse left yours

(in French) “But really, if I’m going to be a super hero for Hallowe’en, I want to know which one you’d prefer me be. Because you’re probably going to have to be my sidekick. Or beautiful paramour. What if I’m Clark Kent and you’re Lois Lane? Let me know, because the store has a lot of options. And answer your goddamn texts next time.” 

find a friend who loves you to death and would do anything for you and spam texts you when your phone runs out of battery and tells you her plans to see Taylor Swift in costumes with you when you’re 40 and buy beach houses together when you’re financially stable and have your kids call her their aunt. find that friend and hug her real tight and tell her you love her all the time and leave her cute voicemails quoting the scene when Klaine gets together from memory and tell her you want her to be your maid of honor. find that friend and never let her go.

so the voicemail at my grandparents house is still my grandfather’s voice and my nana asked me to change it because it’s hard for her to hear it every day. my dad and i just reset it to the default message and now his voice is gone and i’m not sure when i’ll hear it again. i’m sure it’s in old home videos and such but it just hit me after we reset it that his voice is gone now and it’s scary and i’m really sad and my dad and i are crying and ughhhhh