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burningivy · 1 year ago

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What is your fic idea for Clue 👀

@noah-moth-cursed-chaos

starting this by saying, I'm probably never gonna write this,,, BUT the idea has been stuck in my brain for over a year now

Ok so,,, it's based on the movie and, to me, it makes the most sense to take place after ending B

right, so we open on Mrs. White, and she's smart, y'know. even with the blackmail, she's still got money, but it's still starting to run out, and between the scandal of the dinner party and her own five "disappearing" husbands... well, her social standing has been better

so, she needs a new husband. or she doesn't, but honestly, it feels like marriage is all she's ever done, all she's ever known. marry a man but always have an escape plan. when one starts to get handsy or angry or a million other little things, there's always another ready to take his place

except now there's not, and even if there were, well someone already found out about her whole "black widow routine," and she can't afford any more blackmail, or worse. so she needs to figure something out. find a husband who she can tolerate, who can tolerate her, who wouldn't even want a wife, preferably. lord knows she never wanted a husband

and she keeps thinking back to that night. nowadays, everything seems to trace back to that dinner party, to the murders, to the blackmail. well, Wadsworth didn't seem to like her much, and even if that was all an act, he's still an fbi man. Plum was far too sex-obsessed for her tastes. and Mustard was, well, if he was married, she pitied his wife. but there was still...

CUT TO: Mr. Green, a bit paranoid, a bit anxious but when was he not. it's not like he's unjustified. it's the 1950s, it's the lavender scare, it's one wrong move and his whole life is ruined, and it almost was.

the dinner party was a wakeup call. maybe Mrs. Peacock was the only one who didn't walked away unscathed, but how long can he keep up his appearances for. sure, it was fine when he was just starting out with the State Department, as long as no one knew he was a homosexual, he was fine. and he could make up a woman here or there that he went on a date with. it. was. fine

until it wasn't. he isn't as young as he used to be, and it seems everyone's become more paranoid recently. so maybe they notice that he never goes on more than two dates with a woman. or that he's never brought a date to a work event. or that he never seems interested by a new lady hire. or that he still isn't married

so he needs some sort of "proof" he's a geniune one-hundred-percet heterosexual, or at least he needs damn good forgery of proof. and sure, a marriage, a wife, would solve that problem, but it's not like he's getting one of those anytime soon. so he'll keep skating by, paranoid and anxious, for as long as he can

it's Mrs. White who arranges the meeting, in a cute little D.C. cafe, the kind that would almost be romantic. she's the one who proposes the arrangement: "we met at the party, but didn't want our relationship to be caught up in the scandal. it's been a whirlwind romance. you're already thinking of proposing."

and Mr. Green is, of course, skeptical. she's already likely killed five husbands; he doesn't want to be number six. but she does have a point, he could use the sham marriage. still, he doesn't get what's in it for her

"we have more in common than you might think, Mr. Green" she's still using his name from the party, and he still doesn't get what she's very subtly alluding to. she inhales, looks around, lowers her voice. "let's just say, my husband was not the one Yvette was having an affair with"

and there it is, the realization written all over his face. it doesn't take him too much longer to agree after that

the wedding is a small affair, a few "close friends," who never knew them all that well. her father, who seemingly never tires of walking her down the aisle. his parents and a brother and sister-in-law, who never thought they'd see the day, not that they'd say it. so they're married. yay

from this point the fic would split into two plotlines. one following Green and White as they like actually get to know each other and actually become friends. something like "oh you're not actually the worst person I could've married because we have xyz in common" in so many words. the other plotline would follow them having to keep up the appearances of being a happily married, in love couple, specifically while they keep running into the other guests

like they're out at some fancy dinner, and, while sitting alone, White is approached by none other than Ms. Scarlet who starts trying to chat. which White is having none of but can't seem to get Scarlet to go away, so she mentions that she's out with her husband. Scarlet makes some comment about her getting married again and something like "maybe I'll stick around to meet him, he might be good for business. your last one sure was." and who shows up then but Green. hilarity ensues

it'd probably go pretty similar with the other guests, just different locations and reactions. I think they'd run into Plum at like some UN party or something (idk the State Dept works with the UN I think??), and I honestly have no idea where they'd run into Mustard. for Peacock though, because this takes place after the B ending remember, I have this idea of her like bursting into Green's office to try to get him to testify in her favor. and in walks White casually starting a conversation, and then seeing Peacock

also, idk where it would fit, but I have this (to me) hilarious, vivid image of the two of them being like "yes, we are so happy together and in love" and they're like holding hands but they're standing a full foot apart and smiling THE FAKEST smiles

anyway, the fic would end with them receiving letters addressed to Mr. Green and Mrs. White-Green, inviting them to a meeting/dinner/something at the house the original party was at

#val. what?#the mailbox #acircusfullofdemons #noah moth cursed chaos #💙💙💙#clue 1985 #(sorry actual clue fans if you think this is too silly)#mayhaps yvette is still alive and had something to do with the letters #that would be crazy #huh who said that #p.s. i did not edit this so idk

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runekeepershymnal · 2 years ago

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AO3 still down, huh? Anyone want a chunk of the TRC Noah-is-alive and Adam-is-the-ghost AU?

Big time warnings for suicide, suicidal ideation, self-harm, injury, depression, grief, and hospitals.

Tentativvely titled “After,” and this is a chunk of a WIP that I don’t know if I will finish.

—

Everything was different, after.

When Ronan found himself in a pool of his own blood, torn apart by his own self-loathing, he thought idly that it was just as obvious that a hospital would not help him any more than it would have helped his father. Blood or brains, there was only so much of oneself that could exist outside the barriers of skin and bone before the shell of the body was emptied out.

Ronan had wondered, idly, if the Catholic prohibition against suicide extended to being involuntarily brutalized by his own unconscicous mind.

He wondered if he was going to Hell.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed between his waking, the post-dream paralysis, and what followed. It all came in flashes, a slow strobe light of moments disconnected by hypovolemic shock.

First, he heard the door of his dorm room, currently shared with his younger brother Matthew, slam open. The pale kid from one of his classes was on the other side. The lapels of his Aglionby blazer festooned with buttons from various punk bands new and old, and he was always bruised or scraped someplace or other from skateboarding. Maybe that was why he didn’t flinch as he skidded to his knees at Ronan’s side on the floor. Ronan read the buttons as the kid yanked his own tie off, then Ronan’s, wrapping each around one of Ronan’s arms in the middle of his forearm, spiraling down to his wrists as far as they would go, trying to staunch the bleeding.

Buzzcocks. Black Flag.

Second, the kid then dialed 911 with shaking hands smeared in crimson which was slowly drying to black-brown. Ronan didn’t hear much of the call, only registering someone outside saying,

“Noah? What’s going—”

“Keep Matthew out of here,” the pale boy snapped in tense terror.

“Oh dear god—”

“Gansey, close the fucking door, please? Don’t let anyone in but an EMT or a nurse or… whoever.”

Noah. That was skate punk’s name. The Living End. Ronan did not want Matthew to see him like this. Ronan didn’t even want Declan to see him like this. He’d forgotten Noah knew Gansey. Gansey had bought a warehouse. NOFX. What… however-old-Gansey-was year-old bought a warehouse? Op Ivy. But it had been the warehouse where K held his annual illegal Halloween rave, so the inconvenience to K negated any stupidity of Gansey’s. Mr. Bungle.

Gansey, not stupidly, closed the door. Ronan could hear Gansey’s voice, distantly, explaining to people that they could not come in, that there was an emergency, but it was being handled. Ronan even heard the house-parent of Effervescence having a discussion with Gansey which somehow resulted in the former waiting outside to direct the EMTs. But then, this was Gansey after all, who’d talked the cops into burning trash in the warehouse parking lot with them just ten days ago.

Ronan’s vision was starting to blur, the various safety pins and one inch buttons on Noah’s lapel starting to run together. There was one that said “The Aglionby Killbillies” which looked like it had been scribbled by hand on scantron paper and then made into a button.

“Hey, stay awake, Ronan,” Noah ordered, patting Ronan’s cheek firmly. Ronan could feel him leaving tacky splotches of Ronan’s own blood against his cheek.

“Who the fuck are the Aglionby Killbillies?” Ronan rasped.

Noah glanced down at his own jacket, then back at Ronan.

“It’s my band,” Noah said, yanking the sheet off Ronan’s bed and trying to put more pressure on his wrists.

“You named your band after this shithole?” Ronan asked him. Noah scowled.

“Is this really the time?” he muttered, still more afraid than angry.

“Just like… Aglionby isn’t very punk, is it.”

Ronan’s ears were starting to ring.

“Don’t worry about it,” he slurred. “Sucks that you had to see this.”

“Stay awake!” Noah begged, shaking Ronan by the shoulders. Ronan’s head lolled to his left as his vision tunneled. There was one button closer to Noah’s collar that had been obscured by his fluffy hair.

Suicidal Tendencies.

Ronan Lynch passed out laughing.

—-

It certainly didn’t look like Hell.

Maybe it was Hades instead, Ronan considered as he walked between the trees. Maybe this was the Wood of Suicides.

Wait. That was Dante.

It was dark, but in a fairytale way, not an Inferno way, despite the fact that there were Hieronymous Bosch monsters all over the place. The black, greasy feathered beasts with their sickle claws and their guillotine beaks were peering malevolently from the trees, clicking and hissing and snapping at him. One spread its wings, preparing to dive at him. Ronan didn’t know if he should bother to run, but then, thunder rumbled, and the nightmare did something Ronan had never seen it do:

It flinched.

The nightmares hissed in outrage, and the sky flickered. The next thunderclap was louder, closer, and instead of diving, they rose into the air in a single, panicked flock, fleeing from this part of the forest.

A voice echoed beside the thunder, different from the whispers Ronan always heard from the trees here. There was weight behind it, and it was singular, not a chorus. Ronan wasn’t sure if it was addressing him or the departing nightmares when it said,

“Nice try.”

—-

Ronan woke up under stiff hospital sheets. Matthew was asleep in a chair to his left, explained by Gansey, who was reading to them both from his leather journal, seated on his right. Matthew never once managed to stay awake through the end of any of Gansey's Glendower stories. Ronan had a terrible headache. His arms hurt, and the cannula of the IV felt foreign and horrible in his vein. He wanted to tear everything off and out, the gauze wrapped around his wrists, the stitches that were no doubt underneath, and the tube restoring his fluids. He wanted to capsize the beeping machine that confirmed he was alive, tear the TV showing the weather channel from its mount near the ceiling, launch one of the shitty wooden chairs with its stained upholstery through the glass of the window and then leap after it.

“Don’t,” Declan said tersely from the doorway. Gansey startled, though Matthew slept on, and accepted the Starbucks cup Declan held out to him. Declan didn’t sit, but leaned his back against the wall near the door and looked up at the ceiling, shutting his eyes.

There was no telling what Declan was telling Ronan not to do. Probably any of the things that Ronan wanted to do besides lie there. Gansey’s chair made an awful noise against the floor as he dragged it close enough to Ronan’s bed to reach under the bar designed to keep Ronan from falling out and wrap his fingers around Ronan’s hand.

“I won’t ask why,” Gansey said at last. His eyes were red, either from crying or from having had his contacts in for Christ only knew how long or both. The noise from Gansey’s chair woke Matthew, who staggered to his feet only to drag his own chair forward and yank Ronan’s head to his chest.

“You can’t do that,” Mathew said wetly against the top of Ronan’s head. “Okay? You can’t. What would Mom say?”

Their mom wouldn’t say anything, because she was in a coma. Their dad wouldn’t say anything, because he was dead. Declan wouldn’t say anything because there wasn’t anything to say to one’s grieving sibling who had very nearly piled on yet more grief.

“Gansey and I have made a deal,” Declan said instead, not looking at Ronan, not even opening his eyes.

“The fuck?” Ronan rasped out, and Matthew loosened his grip enough that Ronan could look around again. “Why the fuck does my throat hurt?”

“Because you had a goddamned breathing tube because you nearly goddamn died,” Declan said tersely. Ronan finally noticed that Declan in his rolled up shirtsleeves, Gansey in his horrible magenta polo, and Matthew in his ratty t-shirt from a charity walk three years ago, all had bandaids at the crooks of their respective elbows.

Declan and Matthew’s blood probably cancelled each other out, thank God, Ronan would just have to watch out for bees, polo shirts, and obsessiveness over dead Welsh kings until that worked its way out of his system.

“Should you be drinking coffee?” Ronan asked the space between Declan and Gansey and Matthew’s chest. “Shouldn’t you be drinking fuckin’… orange juice, or tomato juice or some shit?”

“What?” Gansey asked, the glanced at his elbow. “Oh. No, that was days ago, I just forgot to take it off."

All three of them had. Apparently Ronan hadn't been exaggerating the seriousness of his own situation to himself.

"Fuck," Ronan said.

"No fucking kidding, Ronan!" Declan exploded, unplanned. Declan hadn't exploded at Ronan since his theft of the BMW. "I thought someone had murdered you! It nearly hit a goddamn artery! I thought that I was going to have to…"

Declan trailed off there. His eyes glistened, but his jaw was clenched for war, not stoicism.

"Declan, take a walk," Gansey said, quiet but firm. Declan's tension unraveled

"Christ, you're an asshole," he said instead, and Ronan didn't know how Declan made such fighting words sound so goddamn sad. Gansey looked up sharply.

"Declan. Take a walk."

Declan turned and left the room without another word, and the remaining three of them suffered in the silence that followed.

"Declan and I have made a deal," Gansey repeated Declan's earlier, cryptic words. "You're going to come live with me at the warehouse instead of the dorms. You're going to keep going to class, once you're healed up enough, and you're going to pass those classes. You're going to stay out of trouble with the law, and you're going to see a therapist for at least three weeks after you're discharged. You're going to go to church with your brothers every Sunday, and you're going to abide by the terms of your father's will."

Ronan swallowed, his throat still aching terribly. He hated living at Aglionby, but…

"Does Declan not want me around Matthew?" Ronan forced out.

"You don't listen to me," Matthew sniffled. Ronan turned to look at him, and there wasn't any resentment there. Matthew's face wouldn't know how to show it anyway. "And you don't listen to Declan either, pal. You do listen to Gansey, though."

Ronan bristled. He prided himself on the fact that he didn't listen to anyone, not anymore. Gansey had just listed off the next steps of Ronan's life, though, not as a suggestion or a request, and there was no question in Ronan's mind that this was what would happen.

Fuck, he really must've lost a huge amount of blood.

"Whatever," Ronan agreed, as much as he could bear to. Gansey nodded, patted Ronan's hand and stood.

"I'll find him and make the arrangements," Gansey declared, as though all those arrangements hadn't already been made.

"It'll be okay," Matthew said once Gansey was gone. "You know you can talk to me, right? Like, you don't have to… you can tell me when you get sad like that."

Matthew's lip quivered just a little. He looked like the Cabanel painting of the weeping Lucifer, minus all the anger.

Ronan tried to imagine a Matthew who could bear the weight of Ronan's pain on top of his own, and there was no such person. To unburden himself into Matthew would be the worst thing Ronan could do, worse even than tearing himself apart, with or without intent.

What would even be the point? Ronan couldn't put this weight down, he could only use it to crush someone else alongside him.

"It's gonna be fine, Matty," Ronan rasped out. "I didn't mean to, not really."

No one should've believed that. That sort of hurt wasn't something that could happen by accident, not to anyone other than Ronan, anyway. Matthew believed it because Ronan didn't lie, and because he was Matthew.

Because he was Matthew, he hugged Ronan again. Buried against his little brother's chest, Ronan did not know how to fix this.

#the raven cycle #the raven cycle au #ghost!Adam alive!Noah au #ronan lynch #noah czerny #still pynch but Noah and Ronan adore each other #WIP #my fic stuff #AO3 is down- we must persevere together #cw: suicide #cw: injury #cw: hospitals #cw: self-harm #cw: grief

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