tulip [ 🌷 ] capitol; wip

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fox Graphics 1,382 POSTS Pronouns: she/her last seen Jun 24, 2024 23:43:41 GMT -5 but a butt ?	tulip [ 🌷 ] capitol; wip May 1, 2020 14:17:50 GMT -5 Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by fox on May 1, 2020 14:17:50 GMT -5 TULIP TULIP ARSENAULT Capitol 18 tulip irl lmao

fox
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1,382 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen Jun 24, 2024 23:43:41 GMT -5

but a butt ?

tulip [ 🌷 ] capitol; wip May 7, 2020 13:39:45 GMT -5

Post by fox on May 7, 2020 13:39:45 GMT -5

T U L I P

► ► ►

My dad’s ex likes to remind me that mom was, like, a peasant, in her words – a pretty girl who married rich and that's all I would be good for too.

But she's probably just bitter over her faded youth.

After all, my dad divorced her ass to marry mom.

And I think it's funny coming from that bitch because my half-brother is a total idiot – dad found him a wife when he turned eighteen, told Cypress he could marry this girl or get the fuck out.

So he did. They got wed over the course of a three-day affair, an extravagant hoax of love, pious and dripping in diamonds, lace, and champagne. Cypress made family ties with the Castellans and all the generational wealth that came with it; that would be the only profit he'd ever herald.

That's the life he was meant for in the cogs of this enterprise, a bolt in the ever-moving, complicated thing that's ACEntertainment. My dad had it all figured out in his head, every silver detail. He was a prophet of a profit, a proclaimer to the omnipotent, holy will of the Money.

But then, he died.

Since I was little, I was allowed to play with the parts of my dad's empire. He'd let me melt the wax for his seals, holding my hand on the lighter underneath the brass spoon until I was old enough to do it myself. The red liquid would bubble up – I'd pour it onto the envelope, press the intricate stamp into the wax, and count ten seconds until I could see the ACE monogram my dad promised I would inherit.

But his will was never found.

Before my mom, there were others. Before my mom, colloquially speaking, my dad was kind of a fuckboy. I remember all the articles written about him in the months after his funeral, some sympathetic, some scathing – incidences of his infidelity splashed across sensational headlines, details of his interesting business model on the verge of being exposed, but dad was always good at killing the little birds even from his grave.