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rosesloveletters · 1 month ago

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💚❤️Merry Christmas, sister Eri❤️💚

for @ajokeformur-ray

total word count for this gift package: 4,444

Merry Christmas, my dearest sister Erika🥹🫂❤️💚 These fics below tell a very specific storyline, each pieced together from glimpses into your life with some of your most beloved F/Os. I know you've been feeling very stressed and down lately and so it inspired me, in part, to take that which you're feeling and find little glimmers of peace within them.

That being said, please listen to the song The Manuscript by Taylor Swift before reading. I think the references will make more sense that way and the intent with which I wrote these pieces will be clearer.

I hope that you like what I have written, but I'm happy to make you something else if not. I want you to know that I understand and empathize with how you've been feeling, because I've been there myself for the last two years. Not to make this about me, but I know it comforts you to know that you aren't alone and you definitely are NOT alone. I know you have some lovely people in your corner of the world and I'm rooting for you all the way across the ocean. I'll always be here for you, wanting nothing but the best for my beloved sister who means the world to me. No matter how bad things seem or how hopeless, there is always something good within the situation and these fics are my attempt at that.

I am so endlessly proud of you and I love you very, very much🫂❤️🫂❤️🫂❤️🫂❤️🫂❤️

Now...

A handwritten letter, as per tradition:

Next, I've written you three fics to be read in the order they appear in below. Each follow direct inspiration from the song I linked above. I had such a wonderful time writing for you, dear, and I hope you enjoy them❤️ I can always write you something else if these aren't quite what you need, just let me know! I love you so very much, my beloved sister Erika🫂🫂

I'm not a donor but I'd give you my heart if you needed it // Erika & Henry Jekyll, plus Mary Reilly and Edward Hyde mentioned (familial)

summary: You've thrown yourself in headfirst to your fifth year of your studies and your father is torn between his respect for your dedication and concern towards your lack of consideration for your physical and mental well-being, leading him to swing into action right when you most need it.

word count: 1,256

You stared blankly at the thick textbook in front of you, the words on the page blurring together into an incomprehensible jumble as tears of frustration welled up in your tired eyes.

The flickering flame of the oil lamp, a sight which typically brought you such comfort, cast a sickly glow over everything, making the graphs and diagrams swim before your vision, warped within your exhausted and weary mind.

You had been studying for hours, days, weeks, months it seemed, pouring every ounce of mental energy you had into absorbing the complex psychological theories and treatment modalities required for your degree, but no matter how hard you tried, how many late nights you spent hunched over your books and notes inside your father’s beloved library, it never seemed to be enough.

The material refused to stick in your weary brain and though your grades weren’t slipping, you were struggling to find a way to split your time between yourself, your work, your education and everything else that came along.

Becoming a therapist had been your dream for the last several years and you were far too stubborn and determined to quit - a burning desire to help others navigate the twists and turns of the human psyche fueled your late night study sessions, as well as a liter or two of coffee, provided by your doting mother who often came to check on you when everyone else in the household had long since retired for the night.

However, now, deep into your grueling academic journey, that dream felt like it was slowly crumbling to dust between your fingers.

You were terrified that despite all your effort and sacrifice, you worried that you couldn’t split up your time or weren’t capable enough to see it through.

The possibility of failure loomed over you like a suffocating shadow, yet what choice did you have but to keep struggling forward?

You had already invested so much - time, money, blood, sweat, and tears.

To give up now would mean facing the devastating reality that your one shot at building a meaningful career and life had slipped away.

No, quitting wasn't an option, even if you had to crawl your way to that diploma.

You took a shaky breath and turned the page, steeling yourself for another round in this excruciating battle of wills, hoping desperately that somewhere deep inside you was the strength to fumble your way through. You felt the weight of your dream bearing down on your hunched shoulders as you stared at the dense wall of text before you.

The musty library air hung heavy in your lungs, thick with the dust of countless volumes of knowledge that now seemed to mock your feeble efforts at mastery.

You could feel the panic rising in your throat, threatening to choke off your breath entirely.

It clawed at your insides - the sinking certainty that the goal you had held so tenderly, so hopefully in your heart for all these years might just be another wisp of fantasy, destined to dissolve in the harsh light of reality. Every fiber of your being ached with exhaustion, the countless hours of toil and study etched deep into your bones. Your once sharp mind felt dull, clouded, sluggish.

The neat lines of text swam in and out of focus, as if even they were tired of your relentless scrutiny.

How much longer could you go on like this - pouring your very soul into a dream that seemed to forever dangle just out of reach?

Voices of doubt hissed in your ear, insidious whispers that perhaps you had been foolish to ever believe you were meant for something more. That no matter how hard you tried, how desperately you pushed yourself to the brink of collapse, it would never be enough.

Hot tears stung your bloodshot eyes and you angrily brushed them away.

No.

You would never give in.

This was your path, your purpose.

You sucked in a shuddering breath, squared your aching shoulders, and turned your blurred gaze back to the merciless pages.

You would see this through, even if it destroyed you, even if it took your very last tortured breath. Dr. Henry Jekyll watched his daughter hunched over the desk, the glow of the candlelight illuminating the dark circles under your eyes as you wrote furiously, pen dragging across the page in flowing script, pausing only to reference the towering stack of textbooks by your side.

He felt a swell of pride seeing your relentless work ethic and unwavering focus, yet as the weeks went by, his pride became increasingly overshadowed by concern.

Your once vibrant eyes had grown dull, your skin pale and sallow.

You seemed to subsist on a diet of coffee and barely picked at the meals your Mama brought you.

The excited chatter about achieving your desired career had ceased; every waking moment was devoted to studying, striving and pushing yourself to excel.

He was torn between supporting your incredible drive and ambition and fearing that you would burn yourself out.

He longed to tell you that grades weren't everything, that your health and happiness mattered more than any test score or accolade, but he also knew how much your dreams meant to you, and the last thing he wanted was to hold you back.

So, he remained in this limbo, silently watching and worrying, hoping that his brilliant daughter would soon realize the need for balance before the unrelenting demands of academia took too heavy a toll. A warm, solid touch on your shoulder—something which would have normally made you jump—was accepted gratefully and you felt yourself sinking into that feeling, digging deep within yourself for the strength to push even more, but the gravitational pull was too much and you leant against your father, deriving comfort from his tight embrace that now encircled you.

“It’s late, darling,” your father’s velvet croon drifted to your ears and lulled you better than any lullaby your Mama used to hum to you, “come along.”

And with the strength which you knew in your heart of hearts belonged to your Papa, he easily took you up in his arms and cradled you to him, carrying you out of the library to where he would return later to gather your possessions and set them safely aside for you to return to once you had slept.

He treaded through the old house and quietly made his way to your Mama’s room, where he gently laid you down beside her.

With a grateful smile and a tired yawn, you let yourself begin to get swept away by the tide of exhaustion under your father’s watchful eye.

As worn down as you were, you still loathed to give up primes studying time, but your father knew when it was best to intervene and you never would have argued, despite all your Papa had taught you about sticking up for yourself.

Both agreed this time, it seemed, and for their concern and overarching say so, you found yourself grateful because even you did not know when enough was enough.

You were going to destroy yourself for the sake of creating a legacy for yourself and as poetic as it might have been, for your father, your needs always came first; he would have burned the entire world down for you to give you whatever you desired, but right now, as of this moment, the thing you needed most in the world, was your Mama, your Papa and him.

Boys with dartboards on the backs of their doors // Erika x Eddie Munson (romantic)

summary: After weathering the storm of yet another breakdown, you and Eddie lay in bed together and he reminds you that it's okay to fall apart sometimes / 'your heart was his bullseye and he hit the mark on his first try'.

word count: 1,074

The room was still, save for the soft sound of their synchronized breathing.

You lay together on the bed, fingers intertwined, your head resting gently on his chest as his heartbeat resounded in your ear.

Your eyes were puffy with exhaustion, red-rimmed with the intermittent crying you had done throughout the day and over the last several weeks.

Eddie was stretched out next to you, lanky limbs askew, his face etched with concern.

Gently, he reached for your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, "I just want you to know how proud I am of you. You're so strong, but you don't have to be all the time. It's okay to break down sometimes. It's okay to not be okay."

He squeezed your hand, his thumb tracing circles on her skin.

"I'm here for you, no matter what. I'll always meet you where you are. And if you can't walk on your own, I'll carry you the rest of the way. We're in this together."

A wave of gratitude and love washed over you.

He might have been young and silly at times, a bit immature and goofy, but in moments like this, his true heart shone through - kind, caring, steadfast.

A reminder that even in your darkest moments, you weren't alone.

You had him by your side, ready to face whatever lay ahead, hand in hand. No words and no platitudes were needed, just his steady presence beside you, an anchor in the storm of emotions that threatened to sweep you away.

Raising your clasped hands, he pressed his lips softly to your knuckles.

"I'm so proud of you," he repeated, his voice low and soothing in the quiet space between you.

Eddie wanted his words to resonate—he knew how badly you needed to hear them.

“Don’t worry so much about if you crumble. I'll always be here to pick up the pieces and put you together again."

You squeezed his hand in response, fresh tears welling up, but this time in gratitude for the beautiful soul beside you who, despite his youthful foibles, knew your heart so completely and loved you so unconditionally. Moonlight filtered in through gauzy curtains, casting an ethereal glow across tangled sheets and tear-stained cheeks and beside you, he shifted, the mattress dipping as he rolled to face you.

You turned away and let him hold you from behind, cocooned within his embrace as he held you close until your breathing steadied and evened out.

As you lay beside him, your gaze drifted to the dartboard hanging on the back of his bedroom door. The red and black rings formed concentric circles that were faded from years of use.

The tiny pinprick holes scattered across its surface told the story of countless lazy afternoons spent tossing darts with his buddies, their laughter and friendly banter echoing off the walls.

But there was a darker symbolism there too, a foreshadowing of the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that life would inevitably hurl his way.

How many times would his heart be pierced, just like that dartboard, by disappointments and betrayals and heartbreaks?

You closed your eyes and pictured his face in your mind, still soft with the innocence of boyhood, not yet hardened by the battles to come.

The dartboard seemed to whisper a bittersweet truth - that these precious moments of youthful bliss were fleeting, and that all too soon the carefree games of adolescence would give way to the harsh realities of manhood.

You snuggled closer to him, breathing in his familiar scent, wanting to freeze this moment in time before the future could steal it away. As you lay there in his arms, you wondered which version of himself he channeled when he stood before that weathered target - the angry young man raging against the disappointments of adulthood, or the carefree boy he used to be.

Perhaps, you mused, the dartboard represented the battle between those two selves, the struggle to hold onto remnants of youthful innocence while navigating an often harsh grown-up world.

In the same way the dartboard had become a fixture in his room, that duality was etched into his very being.

In the same way the darts had pierced the target were you stabbed repeatedly by every little thing that flew into your orbit.

You were used to the stinging pain that so often came your way, but now you were numb to it all because Eddie Munson was the soothing balm on your soul you had craved all these years, the buffer between an unkind world and the peace you so desperately craved to preserve when all else failed to hold up against the raging storm of life itself.

Perhaps you were too deep within the trenches to see the light that shone within him, your own diminished by the cruel realities that had set in and threatened to plunge you into deep darkness, but you were not alone, and Eddie would guide you back to yourself, one baby step at a time.

You and that dartboard were the same, it seemed, but rather than a battle or a game, or a target, you were a goal.

You were the aspiration, the idea and the ending.

You were all that Eddie strove to be and you were the girl he wanted to spend the rest of his days with, just like this, holding you close and showing you that, no matter where life took you or whatever it pushed you into or threw in your direction, you would never be in it alone.

You had him, amongst others, and wherever you were in life, your loved ones would meet you there and remind you that, even in times of great darkness, there’s always a bit of light to be found once your eyes adjust.

All you needed was a bit of time, a good cry and a shoulder to lean on and Eddie would be that for you, and whatever else you needed.

He loved you beyond all measure and that would always be enough to find a way back into yourself.

If you were a dartboard, then Eddie would hit the mark again and again, because you were his dream come true, the impossible shot that the world told him he’d miss; your heart was his bullseye and he hit the mark on his first try.

The Manuscript // Erika x Arthur Fleck/Joker (romantic)

summary: Struggling with the ill effects of chronic autoimmune illness, you find yourself sitting outside of your new apartment on the stoop, coffee in hand and husband, Arthur Fleck, by your side as a shoulder to lean on both metaphorically and physically.

word count: 2,114

The morning sun caressed your pale skin as you sat on the weathered concrete steps outside of your apartment building, the sleeves of your oversized sweater bunched up above your elbows to expose as much flesh as possible to the nourishing rays. You closed your eyes and tilted your face skyward, savoring the gentle warmth on your cheeks, a welcome respite from the chilly air that hinted at autumn's imminent arrival. The iron deficiency that plagued your body left you perpetually exhausted and short of breath, a weariness that seemed to seep into your very bones, and the vitamin D deficiency only compounded your health woes, sapping you of strength and vitality.

But in stolen moments like these, alone in the early morning hush with the sun as your restorative tonic, you felt some of your tiredness fall away, replaced by a soothing peace and a flicker of hope that brighter days lay ahead.

The creak of the heavy front door shattered your reverie, and you opened your eyes to see your boyfriend, Arthur, stepping outside with two steaming mugs of coffee in hand, a tender smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He settled beside you on the stoop and passed you a cup, the heat seeping into your chilled fingers as you gratefully accepted the offering.

No words passed between the two of you just yet, but a contented sigh escaped your lips as you leaned your head on his shoulder, drawing comfort from his solid presence beside yours and the knowledge that whatever challenges your failing health might bring, you wouldn't have to face them alone.

This past year had been taxing, both on your health and happiness. Yet, the promise of a new year lingered on the horizon, growing brighter with each passing day, just like the rising sun. When the world finally sighed a collective breath of relief at its warmth and greeted the new day, you felt far less alone than you had the night before, when it had all come crashing down.

Sitting outside your shared apartment, you realized that life was far too precious to take at mere face value. This was a moment unlike any you had experienced before.

A mere six months prior, you felt like a caged animal, yet here you were, free and feeling, alive and rejuvenated, recharged beneath the blazing sun and the steaming mug cupped in your hands.

As your head rested against Arthur’s shoulder, he wrapped an arm around you, desperate to feel every inch of connection between the two of you. You both longed for this intimacy like a parched traveler longs for water after a thousand-year drought, your lips cracked and throat scorched. But now as he drank you in, his thirst was quenched and his heart full. Here, with you, he felt safe, and knowing you felt the same way meant more than all the years you had spent together.

Your lives were brighter for having each other as a part of this world, and you knew there was nothing you could not accomplish with Arthur by your side. As daunting as it was to imagine, your body had waged its war for far longer than you could remember. Over time, you had grown accustomed to the unfairness of it all, accepting that this was simply the price you had to pay for uncompromised health - even though you would have sacrificed almost everything just to never have to deal with it again. This was the hand you had been dealt, and though you often kept your feelings close to your chest, afraid to reveal your next move and risk vulnerability, this love was above secrecy.

Deep down, you felt a betrayal to yourself hidden in the act of keeping Arthur in the dark.

Arthur was an open book to you, with nothing intentionally hidden or withheld.

Despite the hardships he faced, he would have braved even the fiercest storm to shield you from harm's way.

If it were possible, he would have willingly taken on your every hurt and sorrow, trading his own well-being to spare you from suffering.

You were eternally grateful for the peace he could never truly provide, though the silent promise was enough, even without the truest form of relief you had both chased for far too long.

Arthur set his mug aside and turned you to face away, his long, slender fingers gently combing through your chestnut hair, tenderly untangling any knots that had formed.

You closed your eyes, savoring the feeling of the sun’s rays warming your skin and his loving touch on your scalp and neck, your shoulders and back. Now that your hair had grown to its desired length, you could feel every single graze of his fingers down your body, indicating which part of your hair he was attending to.

Your soul could feel his fingers upon every year he had known you, like a tree with its rings, your hair growth was a love letter to the growth your spirit had done in the span of every month and year time had privileged you with and you treasured it, just like you did every second with him.

The repetitive, almost meditative motion of his hands working through your hair lulled you into a state of pure relaxation and comfort.

After he had effectively removed every knot, his delicate fingers began to weave intricate braids into her cascade of hair that glimmered with golden highlights in the bright sunshine.

Your cares and worries faded away in this perfect, intimate shared moment.

The street before you was quiet and still, with only the occasional bicycle gliding past or a neighbor walking their dog, but you are oblivious, lost in your own little world on the stoop, surrounded by the potted flowers and plants you had received from work friends, both his and yours, congratulations on your move to a new apartment, your first time on your own, the first step you had taken side by side into the wide world, moving in together and taking up space in each other’s private lives in a way you hadn’t thought possible until the moment it all came together like the last few pieces of a puzzle.

The delicate scent of the blooms mingled with the smell of sun-baked concrete and a hint of your shampoo.

Time slowed to a crawl, marked only by the steady rhythm of his braiding and the distant singing of birds, as you relished this pocket of simple, pure affection—a temporary escape from the hectic demands and fast pace of your lives.

“You should come out here more often,” Arthur mused as the corner of his tongue poked out from between his lips in concentration as his fingers secured your silk scrunchie on the end of your first braid, “it’s good for you.”

He did well with sunlight too and it was reminiscent of houseplants, how positively you benefitted from the light, despite how much you preferred to cover up and march on to the steady drumbeat of time.

You knew this was what your body needed and, even if you felt silly, you recognized the wisdom in the action and his words.

“It helps,” you replied in your usual calm and relaxed tone, voice drifting on the gentle breeze that was blowing, melodic in its cadence and soft on the soul of anyone who heard it, “but supplements can and will do just fine.”

“It’s not that you don’t need those too,” he agreed, giving a soft snort of a chuckle, “but you’d be amazed by what a little sunlight can do.”

You might have laughed at the irony if it weren’t for the fact that he was right and he was out here too, after all.

Slowing down could do wonders for the two of you and, even if you had to reach for these moments and take them for yourself when time allowed, though it rarely did.

You knew it was worth it just to spend a little more time in his presence which you had gotten less and less of these days.

You felt yourself nod, but the action itself seemed so distant, even to you, the one who had given it.

You tilted your face upwards to bask in the sun’s warm glow and breathed deeply, inhaling the sweet fragrance of the flowers blooming around you. The golden rays penetrated deep into your body, their healing warmth seeping down into your bones and soothing the weariness that had settled there.

You could feel the tension and fatigue slowly melting away, replaced by a sense of inner peace.

The sun's radiance enveloped you like a comforting embrace akin to Arthur’s as he finished your second braid and settled an arm around you once again, its life-giving energy restoring your strength and vitality.

In this tranquil moment, you were surrounded by the beauty of nature and bathed in sunlight, finding respite from the cares and burdens of your world, allowing yourself to simply be still and let the sun's healing touch work its magic on your body and soul.

Time was nonexistent as you savored this restorative pause, feeling your spirit renewed and your energy replenished by the sun's generous gift.

Although now you knew, Arthur was the true gift.

He was the sun in your otherwise darkened world, and you gravitated to him, a planet swirling in the dim, blackness of orbit, around him, the center of your entire universe.

You sipped your coffee, appreciating the gentle burn of the hot liquid down your throat when you swallowed; this was what it meant to find sanctuary and learn to live again.

After your tired sky had grown dark with the impending gloom of a torrential downpour, a rainbow of color beamed across the heavens and left you brimming with color once again.

There was an odd comfort in the rain because it was something which you were used to and Arthur weathered the storm, always the one beside you, holding an umbrella above your head, both metaphorically and physically, when the sky really did open up and threaten to drench your most beloved body part (he knew how fiercely you hated getting your hair wet with rainwater.)

He had withstood his own test of time, braved the storm alone and waited for the sun to break through the clouds, but it hadn’t been until you came along that he felt the sun shining again.

You were the light of his life, so it made sense why it had taken so long for the storm to clear.

You had only been in each other’s lives for the last five years, but to both of you, it already felt like a lifetime.

If this was the way it was meant to be, then it was just a means to an end, but once you found yourself surrounded by the love you had craved since the beginning, it was merely the end of an era, but the start of something much bigger.

As you sat in the stillness of the day, your half-drank mug of coffee still cradled in your hands, you allowed your mind to wander back over the winding path of your life.

In the quiet solitude, you reflected on all the experiences, challenges, and triumphs that had shaped you. It seemed like only yesterday that you were just a wide-eyed girl, nervously setting out on your journey into the great unknown, your heart fluttering with a potent mix of excitement and trepidation. Back then, the future stretched out before you like a blank canvas, waiting to be painted in bold strokes and vibrant hues. Little did you know the masterpiece that would emerge from all the messy splatters and errant brushstrokes.

As you sifted through the pages of your memory, you marveled at how far you had traveled from those tentative first steps.

Each chapter of your story was etched with hard-won wisdom, resilience forged in the fires of adversity, and an unshakable belief in your own strength.

There were moments of soaring joy juxtaposed against valleys of sorrow, yet you had emerged from it all with a profound sense of pride and gratitude. For even though your tale was far from over, and the pen of fate still hovered above crisp, waiting pages, you knew that the most pivotal chapters had already been written by your own courageous heart.

And that was a story truly worth celebrating.

Even if the story wasn’t your own anymore, you still liked to reread every page, just to remind yourself where you had come from and how proud you deserved to be.

The Manuscript Pt. II

Every time I write you a new chapter, a piece of myself goes with it. When your heart can't remember what you've held yourself captive for, you can use mine for a little bit.

Even if my sands get wiped from your shores, you can always reread the manuscript, because I am with you now and forevermore.

---

I hope you like what I've written you, honey. I love you so very much and I miss you more and more every day we're apart (that feeling inspired the poem; being apart is so painful, but writing is a way for me to feel closer to you🫂)

Merry Christmas, darling. I hope you find some time today to take for yourself, to relax and spend time with your loved ones and reflect and destress from such a crazy, chaotically beautiful year.

I am so very proud of you and of all you've accomplished in one year! You are such a beautiful wise and inspiring soul and my life is better for having you in it. I can't wait to give you a big hug in September 2025🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂

#my dearest sister erika💗#made with love :: 💛#merry Christmas beloved sister #I love you so much and I am so proud of you and I hope you have the bestest day ever🫂🫂❤️💚#sending you so much love and care and many many hugs and cuddles🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂

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rosesloveletters · 7 months ago

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Happiest of happy birthdays dearest Erika!

@ajokeformur-ray

It is so difficult for me to believe that I am getting to spend yet ANOTHER birthday with you (of course, I wish I could be spending it by your side, but this what we have & I'll gladly take any time I get with you🫂)

You have been through so much this year, finished your fourth year of university, started seeking out work experience for your career, etc. and I could not be more proud of the woman you are becoming and the woman you have been over the last half-decade I've known you.

Being a part of your life is a gift and a privilege that I never take for granted. You are a light in my life and are always in my heart, whether we are side by side on my couch watching our favorite films or miles and an ocean apart.

Being long distance friends is one of the most difficult things I have ever been through because it is hard not having you close by so that I can hug you and spend time with you whenever I want, surprise you with little gifts or a run to our favorite stores together, but I would never trade what we have because I want you in my life, no matter how.

You are my joy and you bring so much good to this world, darling. You are loved and treasured by so many and I am fortunate and grateful that I get to be one of those people.

I hope that you have the happiest of birthdays and that it is as spectacular of a day as you are of a person! I love you so very, very, very much, darling & I miss you with all the pieces of my heart🩷

Please enjoy these gifts I have created special for you. I hope you like them!

Firstly, to start, a hand-written letter:

Second, some fics I wrote, personalized for my beloved sister:

Keep the Faith // Erika & Henry Jekyll (parental)

summary: with another year of university under your belt, doubts about your future still linger, but your Father is there to help you lay them to rest while keeping the faith in yourself that you deserve.

word count: 2,199

You paced along the perimeter of the old library, eyes lingering upon the towering shelves lined with thick tomes, the scent of ink and parchment permeating the stagnant air.

The soft glow of the lamps cast shadows upon the ancient wood walls; the only sound was the shuffling of your feet as you moved. You lightly ran your fingers over the golden lettering on the spines of some of the books and medical journals, feeling a connection to the knowledge and wisdom stored within their pages. The weight of history seemed to hang heavily in the air and pressed down upon your shoulders like the friendly pat from a companion, a reminder of all that had come and gone and all that you had yet to learn.

You lovingly selected a volume to leaf through, the familiar scent of old paper and the faint crackle of turning pages filled the room. Your brain absorbed knowledge like a sponge; even though you had a chance to catch your breath, to give yourself a break, your mind still craved the challenge of study.

You had just completed your fourth year of university and a mix of emotions swirled within you. On the one hand, there was the familiar sense of accomplishment as you had come to recognize from years past, and a feeling of pride in how far you had come.

On the other hand, the road ahead was daunting; the task of finding work experience in mental healthcare loomed before you like a vengeful spirit. Typically, you would have been thrilled to have been haunted; ghosts and grim reapers would have been a welcome distraction from studying to become a psychologist.

But still, you held onto the dream that brought you here, the passion for being a mental health professional that had driven you through the long hours of study and practice.

Now, it was time to take the next step in your journey and prove that you were worthy of realizing your dream career.

Dr. Henry Jekyll watched as his daughter flipped through the pages of one of his thick textbooks. You were focused intently on the words on the page, your fingers occasionally pausing in flipping through the pages to reread a paragraph. You seemed completely absorbed in your reading, your eyes scanning each page with intense concentration.

He marveled at your dedication and determination, knowing how hard you had worked to get where you were. Despite the challenges you would face in your chosen field, he had no doubts that you would succeed, and he made a silent promise to support you every step of the way.

He admired your determination and passion for learning and the way you seemed to possess an insatiable thirst for knowledge, a trait you had no doubt inherited from himself.

He knew that you were going to achieve great things, and seeing you there, working hard towards your goals, made him feel incredibly proud. He only hoped he could support you as much as possible on your path to success.

“That particular volume is of great interest, isn’t it?”

Despite the gentle tone in which your father always addressed you, the unexpected sound inside the quiet library made you jump and nearly drop the book out of fright.

You spun on your heel and met his gaze, noting the twinkle in his eye; he was pleased that you were perusing his collection, even though you had no reason to, with university not picking up again for a few more months.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologized as he stepped forward and gestured to the book you held in your hands, “you may keep that one, if it is of interest to you as it is to me. Perhaps it might be useful in your next semester.”

You nodded, though you felt somewhat silly for such a placid response to your own father, as though he were a lecturer or a scholar rather than your own flesh and blood.

There were so many things you wished to ask, however, it did not always come easily.

Your family was not known for their strength in communication and if it were not for your Papa being left to break the ice, there might have been none at all.

You were doing more to harness your Papa’s outspokenness and if one thing was for certain you had learned a lot about yourself through him.

For one, you were as strong as you were stubborn and that was one of the defining reasons for why you had made it this far, although, the strongest reasons for your successes were your wisdom and intelligence and the fact that you were capable. You were a critical thinker and a problem solver, a diligent worker and a disciplined student. You were brave, albeit tentative, choosing to think through your processes before making any certain decisions.

You were resolute in your beliefs and not easily swayed from your morals; you knew who you were and who you wanted to be.

It was never too late for you, and your Papa had made such clear, more times than many.

You had learned to live a little in the last year and you liked to believe you were made better for it; your parents seemed to agree.

Your Papa had always taught you to take from life what you wanted and that was your intention, but you had so much to give and that was what you were headed towards.

You wanted to help people.

Psychology was a noble profession and you had chosen it because you wished to help, to be the light in the darkness of a world who seemed to care less and less about its inhabitants and those who needed a bit of extra assistance.

After all, in a world filled with so much hate, why would you want to choose to be anything other than kind?

With your Father’s intelligence and devotion to study, your Mama’s discipline and humility, coupled with your Papa’s wit and tenacity, you were a perfect storm of qualities that would guide you on your quest for knowledge and a career which you had always dreamed of.

There were always going to be doubts, that much you knew, but your parents had done nothing but set a perfect example of what to strive for in this life and you only hoped that you existed enough in their image to make something of yourself.

Oh, but you were.

You were already quite something, far more unique, special, loved, than you even realized.

“You remind me something of myself,” your Father’s even tone told stories of emotion and connection, confessing to you between the lines that you were far more than just a part of him, but a truly vivid masterpiece created by three souls who were intertwined like breaths of wind, swirling leaves into a heart-heavy tornado of color that your mind had to swallow whole.

It was difficult to put into perspective, especially since you could not see the forest for the trees, but you reasoned that you had to lose yourself beneath the boughs to make any sense of why you had led yourself down this particular trail, even if sunlight was rare to come by here.

Luckily, darkness to you was like the warm embrace of a lover; you felt comfortable forging your own way and excelled at it.

You did not like to stop and ask for help, even if you needed it, but your Father had begun to show you by example that you were not weak or incapable if you needed a little extra assistance from time to time and it actually made you stronger to know and be able to admit when you needed help and how to ask for it.

You had done well and your grades showed it.

Even still, there was a nagging sliver of doubt that perhaps you were reaching for something that just was not there.

How cruel of a lesson in life would it be if you were to have come all this way for nothing…

“And I can hear your thoughts as though they are my own,” your Father’s voice was a comforting whisper, a velvet kiss from a devoted parent, “your doubts are unfounded. You will reach your goal. There is not a shred of evidence to lend to the contrary.”

“How can you be certain?” you had to ask, but in the deepest chambers of your heart you knew that even he did not have all the answers you sought.

“Because I believe in you,” his answer was simple, yet concise—a heartfelt glimpse into his complete and utter faith in you as both a student and a human being, his beloved daughter he would give his life for, “and because I have seen your grades. I have accompanied you on this journey since it was merely an idea and who turned it into a reality? You. You did that. One must have faith in something, and for me, you are enough.”

You are enough.

His words echoed inside your mind in waves, rippling across your brain, the praise buoying your hopes.

You had come so far already, all you had to do was keep the faith and you could certainly do that.

The belief in yourself and your dreams were enough just as long as you had the right people on your side to encourage you to keep taking steps forward and fortunately for you, you did.

You could do this; it was within reach.

You clutched the book you had been studying, fingers tracing the spine with care, “I don’t want to fail.”

Your admission was more than you were even prepared to admit and your honesty scared you. Normally, you kept these thoughts bottled up, but your Papa had beaten it into your head—metaphorically, though I am certain there are more than a few people he would like to beat physically—that you had to say it with words.

Leaving your thoughts unspoken was a recipe for disaster and your Papa refused for you to become the same tragedy as he had.

“No one does,” Henry Jekyll responded on a sigh, a clear sign that he was deep in thought over what good it would be to encourage you to ignore your doubts or face them head on when he sometimes could not even do the same, but you deserved better as his daughter; he wanted to be a guide, not a bad example, “but you cannot let the fear of failing render you immobile. If you become too afraid to try, then you may never know what could have been. Even if you fail, which you won’t, you will at least know the truth.”

He hoped he was giving you good advice, but sometimes he wondered if the things he said were encouraging on their own or whether you had to believe in him to understand the grains of wisdom sprinkled within his vernacular.

“I think it is best that you find time off from your studies for the summer, or at least take some time for other things,” he advised, “lest you grow weary from your learning.”

Your Father once was a man who believed that the brain never got tired of learning and perhaps that fact was still the truth, but a human being is far more than the sum of its parts: to know personhood, an existence must be true to its total form.

He had pushed himself too far in the past and he did not want to see you do the same to yourself.

You were more than just a brain or a heart or two lungs.

You were a piece of him, of your Mama and your Papa and those who had lived before them.

Like the books you studied, you were a collection of knowledge, a treasured edition created by those who had birthed you into existence, but you were far more than paper and ink.

You were flesh and blood, beautiful, intelligent, wise beyond your years, braver than you would ever know and highly empathetic.

You were writing your own story, telling it from your perspective, experiencing it firsthand like the main protagonist to an adventure novel and you were on the edge of your seat, dying to know how it would end, but a true author has to take the necessary steps towards creating their own ending, bridging the gap with the bulk of the story before finding their own conclusion.

You couldn’t savor the meat without the bones, could not continue to breathe with no air in your lungs.

You had to wait and see.

You could have a little faith in yourself, listen to your Father and give yourself a break.

What was meant for you would come, even if it happened in unexpected ways far beyond your wildest imaginings.

Your latest chapter had ended, but a new one was only just beginning and you could not wait to pick up your pen and keep writing, keep taking those first steps, keep going, keep breathing, keep living, keep the faith…

Brewed Coffee and Caramel Braids // Erika x Arthur Fleck (Romantic)

note: I have been dying to write you a haircare fic with Arthur/Joker for YEARS!!!! I never got around to it/always had other ideas when it came time to write for you, but we've been talking about your hair recently so I FINALLY wrote this. I hope you like it🥺

summary: you and Arthur share a quiet, rainy morning together, sipping coffee while he cares for and braids your hair.

word count: 1,209

A mug of coffee sat on the end table, steam rising from the lip of the cup in lazy, twisting tendrils. The rich aroma of roasted beans filled the air, a comforting scent that spoke of cozy mornings and warm, relaxing moments. The coffee inside the mug was a deep, dark brown, a warm, inviting shade of rich, liquid amber that beckoned for a sip. With its surface broken by tiny swirls and ripples, it contained a world of caffeinated potential, waiting for someone to take that first sip and savor the bold flavor as it touched their tastebuds.

The hot coffee warmed the hands holding the mug as you picked it up, the heat from its contents seeping through the ceramic. Just holding it was a small bit of solace on this cold night. The steam was almost hypnotizing, the way it danced and swirled. The first sip was always the best; a burst of flavor and warmth that chased away the chill.

The city was quiet, a pleasant contrast to the typical noise and constant artificial ambience; the sound of rain tapping against the windows provided the only background noise to your early morning.

Arthur sat behind you on the weathered couch, a gentle smile on his face as he combed his fingers through your long, thick hair. He took his time, his nimble fingers moving with practiced ease. As he worked, you sipped your coffee, enjoying the serenity of the morning and the feeling of his fingers running tenderly through your hair.

The rain continued to patter softly against the windowpanes as you curled up against the couch, coffee mug in hand and you sat poised with your back to him so that he could care for your hair for you. He knew that you liked to finger-comb your tresses before a comb or a brush ever touched them; you were more than particular about your long hair, but the devotion and rituals associated with it were what had gotten it to the length you desired and kept it clean and healthy, so Arthur stuck rigidly to your maintenance routine and never strayed from it as you had dictated to him the importance of.

“There’s still half a pot of coffee in the kitchen,” Arthur’s gentle voice was like a warm cup of coffee all its own, warming you from the inside out, “let me know when you want it and I’ll refill your mug.”

You nodded, although you had no intention of asking him to get up and retrieve it for you. He already did so much and you felt guilty asking him for more, even though he had told you many times over how much more he would do without ever being asked. You deserved the same kindness and care that you gave out to others and he was going to return the favor, whether you asked him to or not.

Arthur had sectioned your hair into halves, making it easier to work on your hair in two parts as opposed to its entirety all it once. With hair this thick altogether, it knotted easily and the last thing he wanted to do was risk hurting your tender scalp. With slow, deliberate swipes of his fingers, he had your hair fully combed through and soon was reaching for your comb, which you proffered to him over your shoulder.

A murmured thanks of gratitude was whispered, and with gentle fingers, he began to comb your hair, detangling any knots he had missed before he would take a chance on brushing it and risk potentially snagging a missed knot.

You leaned back into his touch, your eyes slipping closed with contentment as you took another sip of your coffee, enjoying the peaceful, quiet moment you shared with your lover.

Both of you were not afforded many moments like this one, so when it happened naturally, you both took advantage.

You were grateful for the little things, the devotion with which he touched you, almost as if he held more reverence for you and for your hair than you did, which was quite possible considering how well he always treated you.

You were but a speck of dust in the universe, but to Arthur, you were his entire world and nothing was ever going to change that for either of you. Your love was what made each other feel seen and appreciated; the vastness of the world you existed within held no bearing on what the two of you shared or how deeply you were affected by the other, the bond you shared.

After Arthur had lovingly combed your caramel tresses free of knots, he reached for your brush.

The soft bristles pulled through your locks, smoothing your natural oils from your roots down the length of your hair.

The brush glided smoothly through your hair, the bristles catching only on a few small knots that were swiftly and gently untangled.

The action of your hair being brushed was soothing, almost meditative, the repetitive motion of the brush moving through your hair lulling you with its comforting rhythm. Each stroke was filled with care and tenderness and as the brush swept through your locks, it left them soft and smooth in its wake.

The simplest of gestures could sometimes be the most comforting.

Once your hair was smooth and tangle-free, Arthur began to carefully divide the strands.

The ease with which he plaited the strands into place spoke of how frequently he followed this same routine, how many times he had braided your hair for you.

He wove the locks into two loose braids that would hang down over your shoulders, secured with your favorite forest green scrunchies and finished with a gentle kiss on your cheek.

“Good?” Arthur asked you, gazing at you with a fond smile on his lips as he watched you check your braids to make certain they were as you wanted them for the day.

You didn’t need to check; he always did it right.

Arthur did not mind you making sure because he knew that your anxiety over your hair was something difficult that you dealt with every single day and he would never do anything to make it worse or invalidate how you felt. He wanted you to be comfortable and if you wanted to check your braids once they was done, then he was not going to stop you.

Once you were satisfied, you leaned back against him, fitting against his chest like you were made to be held by him alone.

“Thank you, Arthur,” you whispered, grateful for the love he bestowed upon you in so many ways, each just as meaningful as this one, “I love you.”

“I love you too, darling,” he replied, embracing you from behind with arms wrapped snugly around your midsection, his chin resting on your shoulder.

Arthur whispered a few sweet words of love into your ear, letting you know how much he cherished you and you had never felt more at peace with the world and with yourself than you had in that moment.

It was just you and Arthur, your love, your life, the breath in your lungs and the beat of your heart and everything else ceased to exist.

And there you have it! Your birthday gifts are completed, honey, I hope you love them as much as I loved creating them for you. I love you very, very much and I hope you have an amazing twenty-seventh birthday. You mean the whole world to me and I am so lucky to have you in my life and get to give you all the things you deserve, even though you deserve far much more than I am able to give, I will still try my damndest to give you everything. Please be kind and gentle with yourself, today and all days. You are a precious soul, a gift to this world and a joy to have in my life and I truly do not know where or who I would be without you. My life is better for having known you and gotten the privilege of loving you and of calling you my sister. I LOVE YOU, I MISS YOU AND I AM WISHING YOU THE HAPPIEST OF HAPPY BIRTHDAYS!!!!

#my dearest sister erika💗#happiest of happy birthdays darling sister #I love you more than words can tell #and I am sending you so many hugs and cuddles and lots and lots of love and care #౨ৎ::made with love::౨ৎ

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