#if she loses carrie ann can count her days.... anyway. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yourdeepestfathoms · 5 years ago

Text

Cross Poison

(She appears briefly BUT read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

owo what’s this? another gift for @the10amongstthese3s?? yeh. I’ve lost all control hghhhfhghg it’s not even their birthday month yet but 🤟🤟 party hard

me: frantically google searches if luna is in fact moon in spanish (good news gang, it is)

also this is the third fic with a Pokemon move for a title. i am very ashamed of my lack of creativity

Word count: 6311

———————

“Catalina...Catalina...Catalina....”

Her eyelids were glued shut; no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t open them. Not that she cared- the lights would be too bright, anyway. She had felt like she was going blind the day before from just her nightlight.

“Oh no. She doesn’t look too good.”

“Stay out in the hall if it bothers you, Jane.”

“Will she be okay?”

“Yeah, I think. It’s just a little bug.”

A soft moan breached her chapped lips. The sound grated against her throat like talons of fire- she needed water so badly.

“Catalina? Can you hear me? It’s Anne.”

There’s a cool touch on her hot forehead. Despite herself, she leaned into it, desperate for the coldness.

“Anne, I don’t think she’s going to be waking up anytime soon. She’s out cold.”

“I felt her move.”

“Still. She’s not going to be performing today. She looks...not good.”

That had to be Kitty. Aragon knew not by the voice, which was muffled and far away, but the choice of words.

“Yeah. We should go get someone to take care of her.” There’s a rustling right beside her ear; acrylic nails tap on a phone screen.

“Who are you texting?”

“Joan.”

There was disbelieving sputtered laughter.

“Joan? Are you serious?”

“Yes! She’s close to Catalina and she has a ton of vacation days saved up. I know she’ll take off if I explain the situation.”

“Yeah, and the minute Aragon sneezes she’ll keel over and die.” Kitty snorted. “You know what’s wrong with her. She can barely talk to people without losing her mind.”

There’s nothing wrong with my girl! Aragon thought fiercely. She tried to get up to rain hellfire on Kitty for saying that, but all of her limbs were heavy and weighed her down like ten ton pieces of lead.

“She just has anxiety.” Anne said dismissively.

“Saying whatever she has is anxiety is an understatement. She worries about EVERYTHING.” Kitty said. “Like— I have anxiety, but I know how to pee in public.”

“And yet you faint at the sight of a hatchet. So don’t even start.”

“It’s—!!”

Anne barked something, but Aragon’s hearing was fading out. She moaned again and then she could feel her head flop to the side on what she’s pretty sure is a pillow. Blackness consumed her—but she doesn’t know the difference from everything else she’s been surrounded by.

—

Freezing water cascaded down Aragon’s face, snaking down her neck and seeping into all of her pores. She jolted awake, breathing harshly, and whipped around to the man trying to comfort her.

She should have known. This was why she always tried to take care of herself—because she KNEW Henry would try and slither back into her life. Long ago, she used to comfort herself with that thought, her husband crawling back to her after realizing all of her replacements were horrible and nobody would ever be able to top her, but now it filled her with nothing but sticky dread that fuels her nausea.

She doesn’t want to feel his hands brushing back her sweaty hair, his lips when he kisses her and tells her how she’s still beautiful, his body when he holds her when chills wrack through her. She wouldn’t let that happen again- not ever. So, even with an illness weighing her down, she gathered herself up to her full size and—

Wait a minute.

Her vision may have been edged with blackness and very blurry, but she knew Henry was not as thin as the person on the floor of her bedroom. And definitely didn’t have blonde hair. In fact, he didn’t even have hair at all.

“Joan?” She said—or tried to. Her voice was so raspy and weak that simply saying a name hurt. The water that had been running down her face cleared her nose for a moment, but her sinuses were already pressing back in. Even in her own ears, she could faintly hear how nasally and wobbly her words were.

“Y-yes?” The girl on the floor responded. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to frighten you! I-I was just trying to...” She glanced over at the bedside table and Aragon saw a bowl of water and a rag sitting on it.

Oh.

“I see,” Aragon blinked. “That makes more sense than...” She shook her head and pain ricochets through it.

“I’m sorry,” Joan said, looking down at the floor. “I—”

“Hush, love.” Aragon said. “It’s alright.”

She threw her legs over the edge of the bed, and that movement alone jarred her weak body horribly. She took in a shaky breath and put her head in her hands, massaging her pounding temples. She heard Joan scramble to her feet in front of her.

“C-Catalina?” She stammered nervously.

“I’m fine.” Argaon grit, and then her stomach churned audibly. She set a hand over it as Joan grimaced. “Actually- Can you hand me that rubbish bin?” She swallowed thickly. “And then give me some privacy?”

Joan’s eyes widened and she nodded frantically. She gave Aragon the trashcan and then walked out, hearing gagging and coughing a moment later.

—

Nerves were crawling and writhing in the pit of Joan’s gut like snakes. She could almost hear them hissing as they slid past each other, making her stomach roil. But she would not spill her guts, especially with Aragon being sick. She was supposed to be taking care of the queen—she couldn’t act like this!

And yet, her anxiety continued to rise. And it definitely didn’t help that there was flour everywhere.

Joan blamed it on the kitchen. It was, at least in part, responsible, being rather cramped because of the large island. One quick turn and smack! An arm-to-flour-bag collision sent the product flying to the floor, landing in a cloud of white powder.

And it was loud, too, making a rather distinct thump that likely resonated throughout the entire house.

And throughout the entire house meant—

The girl jumped from her position across the kitchen, dropping the measuring cups and spoons she had been carrying to squeak nervously. They clattered to the ground, much to her dismay, but she had to deal with it later. Right now, she had to face the door down the upstairs hallway creaking open.

Joan squeaked again and stumbled up the stairs towards Aragon’s room, tripping over her own feet and a pool of flour in the process. She attempted to urge the disoriented queen back into her room, idly brushing off the coating of flour that covered her entire being.

Aragon’s voice is rough and her accent mixes with the words horribly when she starts asking questions: “What happened? What fell? Are you alright?”

“Nothing! Nothing! It’s fine—everything’s fine so, please, um, go back to your room now! Get more rest, you’re still sick!” Joan yelled in response, voice faltering and increasing in pitch as she went.

“It’s only a slight fever, I’m fine. I don’t understand why you are so—”

Joan, not knowing what else to do, screamed. In surprise, Aragon responded with a sharp yelp. They were probably, most likely, definitely causing a disturbance by now. Joan would write five-page apology notes later.

“What’s wrong? What’s going on?” Aragon asked, frantically now, her voice becoming a hoarse whisper due to illness.

“Um, I, um,” Joan felt her lungs seizing up in the way they usually did when she was about to have a panic attack, but she beat the feeling back. She couldn’t lose herself to her anxiety right now, especially with Aragon in much worse shape. “I-I’m dealing with it, d-don’t worry!”

“But what is it, that’s all I’m asking—”

“It is being dealt with!”

There was a brief pause, leaving the house in silence. Then, Aragon sighed, muttered a soft, resigned, “forget it, whatever it is, I don’t want to know,” and turned around to return to her room. Joan scampered back to the kitchen and braced herself against the sink, struggling to breathe for a moment.

She felt utterly pathetic. How could that simple interaction nearly spiral her into full blown panic? She had to get her head on straight!

After taking a few calming breaths like Aragon had taught her, she stepped back and then began cleaning up. She lost about half of the flour in the fall, much to her dismay, because it was a brand new bag. She made a mental note to pay the queens back for it, then moved on.

Once she finished cleaning up, she set everything she needed neatly on the counter. She glanced several times at the recipe she was going off of as she mixed the specific ingredients together, since she wanted this to be perfect. Aragon must have been feeling miserable- she HAD to make something good for her to hopefully cheer her up.

Several dirty dishes, incorrectly measured ingredients, and one incident where her long hair got caught in the mixer later, she has her treat tucked away in the oven to bake. She smiled proudly to herself, then moved onto cleaning up and making some soup on the stove-

-only to remember that she had no idea how to make soup. Even the recipes she looked up seemed way too complicated for her stupid fish brain. She worried over this for a long time before deciding to just make some porridge. Somehow, that is something she’s able to make.

Her mind whirled as she began taking out the necessary ingredients. The usual voices she heard in her head were, for once, not warbling over her, but rather Aragon.

Hot porridge. I’ll make hot porridge. She’ll like that.

Hot porridge will make her throat worse. It hurts right now. Cold porridge will cool it down and soothe it.

Cold porridge would chill her bones and make her fever worse. Hot porridge is softer on the stomach.

Hot porridge burns tongues.

Cold porridge—

“Aaagh, shut up!” Joan cried miserably, clamping her hands over her ears. It took her a moment to realize what she'd done and she looked around the kitchen bashfully, as if she thought someone had materialized nearby and watched her yell at herself.

“You’re fine, Joan,” She whispered. “You’re okay. You can do this. Just like you used to back then. It’s not that hard.” She paused. “Aaand you’re still talking to yourself. Good job.”

She shook her head and wracked her brain to remember what was needed. Water, milk, rice, seasoning. Easy.

And yet, it still took her three tries to make a simple pot of porridge. First she poured too much seasoning, then she burned herself on the stove and dropped the bowl she was holding, and finally, she somehow managed to turn the food into a gross goop that would only succeed in making Aragon even sicker. After finally getting it right, she sunk to the ground with a woeful noise, wallowing in her own shame.

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic- Her mind screamed. Can’t even make a simple meal? What an embarrassment.

She whimpered softly, feeling a panic attack rise in her chest, but she stamped it back down. She would not lose herself. She couldn’t.

Think about rain, She thought over and over again. Think about rain, think about rain, think about rain...

There was a crash of thunder- actual thunder. Joan jumped backwards, slamming her body up against the oven and staring with wide eyes as a downpour of rain suddenly came down against the glass back door. She scrambled for her phone, wondering if the queens did something to protect the glass from a storm, and then realized how stupid that was. She put her phone down as a blush blazed over her cheeks.

Stupid, Her thoughts hissed. Can’t you do anything right? Use some common sense.

She tried to think about rain again, but the peaceful drizzle she usually calmed herself with has turned into a raging storm within her head. Lightning slashed the mindscape as thunder rolled through her eardrums. Cracks appeared everywhere, jagged and fang-shaped when they split open like oozing wounds. She wondered if her cranium was being destroyed as the internal storm veered into a baby hurricane.

There’s a loud beep. It lanced through the tsunami and Joan’s eyes snapped open.

She’s on the floor, curled in a fetal position, clutching at her head. She rose slowly, feeling embarrassed.

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic- Her mind roared, but she did her best to ignore it as she took the cake out of the oven.

It’s an effort that takes a lot longer than it should, but when she finishes icing the cake, Joan has a brief moment of pride. She was satisfied with the result as she fawned over how pretty it was, even if it was thin and slightly deformed in shape, and the golden-orange frosting was gooey and haphazardly spread across the surface.

Joan cut a generous sized piece for Aragon, grabbed a fork and a plastic bag, and practically bounced up to Aragon’s room, the cake balanced precariously on the plate held behind her back. She was barely able to stop herself from chiming out loud when she saw the queen’s form upon entering.

Aragon was lying on her back, one hand resting over her stomach, the other drooped listlessly at her side. Her eyes were scrunched shut and her mouth was open slightly to breathe- her nose must be too stuffed to get air that way. Beads of sweat clustered together on her forehead. She doesn’t stir when Joan walks in.

“Catalina?” Joan called out softly. She stepped closer. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed vomit in the waste bin. She winced. “Catalina?”

Aragon’s body shuddered in a way that sent jolts of anxiety crackling through Joan’s entire being. She moaned softly, then her eyelids peeled back and she stared blankly up at the ceiling.

“Catalina?” Joan said again, this time much quieter. She edged towards the door slightly, expecting the queen to snap at her for waking her up. But instead, Aragon’s head rolled over the pillow to face her and she smiled weakly.

“Hello, little luna,” She croaked, her voice rough with illness. She sounded worse than she did earlier. “Were you baking?”

Joan blinked. “Ah… You…”

“Smelled it?” Aragon chuckled a little. “Barely,” She snuffled through her stuffy nose then made a very unqueenly face that caused a giggle to bubble up from Joan. “But it’s enough.”

She fell into silence as Joan sat on the edge of the bed, then slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position. She winced as she did so, even letting out a soft gasp of pain, and one of her hands shot to her stomach. Joan nearly dropped the cake reaching for the trashcan, but Aragon stopped her with a dismissive wave of her other hand.

“I’m alright, dear,” She said. “Just some cramps.” She leaned back against the pile of pillows against her headboard, breathing out softly through her mouth.

Joan quickly regained herself from her flash of panic. She pulled the cake out from behind her back and presented it to Aragon, beaming.

“Look! I worked really hard on this! Maybe it’ll cheer you up!” Joan nearly glowed with satisfaction. Aragon gingerly took the plate from her.

“Ah,” Aragon said. “Thank you.” She stared down at the plate as if it were holding a human heart rather than a sweet treat.

Joan continued to give her a look, one of adoration and anticipation, and Aragon has the choice to either swallow down her hopeless devotion to her daughter figure or swallow down the cake in front of her on an upset stomach, risking further nausea...or worse. She cast an uneasy glance to the trash can, but Joan doesn’t notice it through her eyeball-scorchingly bright radiation of bliss and pride.

“I’m sick, you know.” Aragon stated. Joan nodded, about to respond when Aragon continues, “So I can’t… really eat this right now.”

The realization appeared to dawn on Joan rather painfully, and in seconds the girl has apologies spilling from her mouth like a waterfall. Aragon can’t even get a word in edgewise to stop the torrent of despair coming from Joan, who seemed to think that she’s ruined everything— “I’m so sorry, how rude of me, I should’ve known better, oh Catherine, I’m sorry—”

“Joan!”

Joan flinched away, nearly teetering off the bed. Hot shame poured down her throat and set her insides ablaze. At the same time, icy cold dread shoved its way in and the two conflicting emotions clamored for space inside of her until she felt like she was going to be sick.

“Joan.” Aragon said again, clearing her throat. She reached out and gently touched Joan’s cheek; her hand was shaking with exhausted tremors. “Think about rain, baby. You’ve got this.”

Joan closed her eyes. She imagined collapsing all her thoughts about nearly worsening Aragon’s sickness into dozens of raindrops and whisking them into a background storm. It works—for now. She opens her eyes again and Aragon is smiling at her, despite the tiredness and pain very obviously glinting in her eyes.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, PLEASE just let me sleep, Joan imagined her thoughts crying. You nearly poisoned me with your blasted cake! The least you can do is let me rest!

Joan put that into a raindrop, too, although it was a little harder to shove inside. The tone the internal voice spoke with sounded exactly like Aragon’s- what if she had said that out loud? What if she was upset with Joan? What if she wanted her to leave?

“Raindrops, baby,” Aragon murmured, caressing Joan’s cheek. Her shaking fingers press into the coolness of Joan’s skin, like she was hoping to lower her fever with the touch alone.

Raindrops, Joan repeated in her head, and she shoved the Aragon-mimicking thoughts into one of the shimmering droplets falling from her internal rainstorm.

“Good girl,” Aragon said breathily. Despite having to take a moment to breathe through a wave of dizziness and blink away the black spots that come with it, she’s still able to recognize the way Joan’s face would relax when she successfully blocks out her anxiety. “Good girl...”

Every worried thought suddenly exploded out of their raindrop, splattering icy water throughout Joan’s brain, but she could hardly care because Aragon is tipping over and she has to rush to catch her. Her hands grappling the queen’s forearms seemed to be enough to jar her awake, because her eyes snapped open and she sat up quickly.

“Catherine?” Joan said worriedly. “Are you okay? Can you hear me? Should I call someone? An ambulance?”

Lightning cracked in her internal rainstorm, illuminating a puddle upon the mindscape that she always tried very hard to keep covered. There were three, actually- one wreathed in thorny vines around the edges with brilliant emerald flowers sprouting from the snarls, one with pinkish-green snapdragons lurking around the perimeter, and one that has soft white petals floating upon the surface. As beautiful as they may have been, she dreaded having their contents bubble out of the pools—and that’s exactly what was happening with the third puddle.

Images flashed behind her eyelids- a sickroom, stained sheets, a fretting king and a writhing, gasping queen.

“I’m alright,” Aragon’s voice surfaced through the clamor of noise resonating through her skull. She seemed to be too busy recovering from her near-blackout to notice Joan’s rising anxiety.

“That’s good.” Joan said distantly. The sickroom again, blood oozing down a bedside, half of a placenta sprawled out of a dark red abyss of torn flesh and blood and inflamed vaginal tissue. “I’m...I’m glad.”

She turned stiffly to the edge of the bed, and at first she thought she was moving to vomit in the trash can, but then she reached for the plastic bag she brought in with her.

Oh yeah, She thought. How could I forget? Stupid.

“What’s that?” Aragon asked after clearing her throat again. Her voice was slimy with mucus, but she was still doing her best to hold herself like a regal queen.

“Oh, just some medicine.” Joan pulled out a bottle filled with some kind of dark pink liquid. Aragon squinted at it and curled her nose. “I went shopping before I came over.”

“What is it exactly?” Aragon asked.

“Something that will help you.” Joan informed. “I also got ginger shots, throat coat, Ibuprofen, Motrin, Mucinex-”

“Are you trying to overdose me or something?”

A blush lit up on Joan’s cheeks and Aragon chuckled lightly. She gently touched the girl’s hand; hers is still shaking.

“I’m joking, baby.”

Joan smiled thinly, then unscrewed the lid of the bottle she’s holding and filled the cap up with the thick liquid. She looked at it, smelled it once, and was glad she’s not the one about to drink it.

“That’s probably enough, right?” She looked at the queen.

It was a big lid. A little over the stated amount wouldn’t be that bad, right? The more Aragon takes the better it’ll work! Probably.

“You’re the caretaker.” Aragon said.

Joan inspected the medicine-filled cap for another moment before handing it to Aragon. The queen stared at it like it’s poison. Joan giggled softly.

“Just...take it like a shot!” Joan encouraged her.

“Bold words from someone who has never taken a shot before,” Aragon said, earning a ruffled look from Joan. She flashed a smile at the girl, then punched her nose shut, tipped her head back, and downed the liquid as fast as she could. Almost instantly, she made an ungodly sound similar to that of a cat coughing up a hairball. Joan dissolved into giggles.

“Oh Lord,” Aragon said bitterly. She snatched the water bottle sitting on her nightstand and took a big sip.

“Hang on, there’s more.” Joan said before Aragon could get too comfortable with feeling like she was done.

It probably wasn’t good to take all that medicine on an empty stomach, but Aragon still wasn’t up to eat much, even when Joan told her she also made some porridge. She just shook her head and laid back down after taking several pills and shots of foul-tasting liquids.

Upon peeling herself out of the room, Joan was met with a rush of worry and fear that nearly caused her to spill the trash can she told Aragon she was going to clean out for her. She gripped the edges tightly and trekked into the kitchen, trying not to succumb to her nervousness, but it was so hard with every possible bad situation shoving its way in. Soon, several endings to this sickness were laid out to her- the least alarming one was Aragon recovering, but being deaf for life due to her high fever, but the others were much, much worse: Aragon seizing in the bed, foaming at the mouth; Aragon being dead the next time she checks up on her; Aragon being brain dead because her fever fried her brain; Aragon spewing blood and vomit from her mouth because Joan accidentally overdosed her; the other queens looming over Joan, their faces twisted with hatred and disgust, while Maria and Cathy wail over Aragon’s horribly pale corpse in the background; Joan being shunned and hated and called a killer for the rest of her life.

Then, she blinked and they’re gone, disappearing into the mist of her internal rainstorm and she doesn’t even try to scramble after them. Even if she wanted to, it’s almost impossible for her to pull thoughts back out of the storm once they’ve drifted inside.

She takes to washing the dishes she dirtied from making the porridge, and it took a lot of time because she knew that Jane was sort of a neat freak and would kill her if she left a smudge of rice on one of her pots. Doing the chore eased her mind slightly, got her away from thinking about every worst-case scenario, but she can feel them lurking in the back of her head, waiting.

The storm outside the house hissed. The backyard was turning into a small lake, swelling and churning and eroding the ground into a stew of mud and weeds. Joan walked over to the back door and stared out at the pouring rain. Weather like this reminded her of reincarnation, which was rather strange because she was the only one who didn’t come back when it was raining.

Aragon and Anne had told her about it a few months after everyone was settled. The queens came back first, all on the same day, all during a terrible storm with “thunder so loud it could chip bones”, as Anne had stated, and they all met the same day at the chapel Jane was buried at. Soon after, they got the huge house in ways they still couldn’t really understand, and then, four months later, the ladies in waiting appeared, although they came back in two day intervals. Maria on Monday, Maggie on Wednesday, Bessie on Friday, and then Joan on Sunday. However, they said the storm cleared up the day of Joan’s reincarnation, making them think that nobody else would appear. But that night was one of the brightest they’ve ever seen, and she showed up in their backyard, underneath the glowing moon. Completely naked, too. That part always made Joan very flustered, but she liked the way Anne and Aragon would laugh when she would-

Aragon.

A sudden gush of adrenaline sent Joan careening up the stairs and to Aragon’s bedroom. She nearly kicked the door off its hinges, but she couldn’t care because Aragon-

-was perfectly safe in her bed?

Joan blinked. As much as she loved seeing that the queen was okay, she couldn’t understand the sight. Was she hallucinating? Why did she have such a bad gut feeling all of a sudden?

She waited by the door, thinking that maybe something might happen, but nothing did. Nothing bad, at least. Aragon stirred at one point and sneezed in her sleep, which nearly made Joan fling herself at her and give her CPR (as if that would help even if she WAS dying, anyway—she didn’t know how to give CPR correctly at all).

Her nerves were on fire. Alarm bells were ringing in her ears, screaming, “GO! GO! SHE’S DYING! HURRY! YOU HAVE TO HURRY OR SHE’LL DIE!”

Cleves had once asked her how she managed to be so anxious all the time, and, at the time, she didn’t have an answer. But now she did: she didn’t manage it. Being this nervous was exhausting. And she hated it, but she didn’t know how to turn her brain off or quiet her flurry of worried thoughts that poured through her brain every second of every day.

The pet cat, Tea Cake, strolled by and meowed at Joan. She swore even IT was judging her nervousness. She sighed and finally left the room, despite her brain crying, “NO! NO! GO BACK! SHE’LL DIE!”

She collapsed down onto the couch and put her head in her hands. When she glanced up, she saw that the time displayed on the TV cable box read: 12:04. It was a double show day today, so she probably had another good four or five hours before the queens got back. If she could just keep Aragon alive until they took over, then it wouldn’t be her fault if she died!

She squeezed her temples against her palms. How could she ever think like that? Besides, she would find a way to blame herself, anyway. Just like-

A whimper bubbled to Joan’s lips, which turned into a sob. Suddenly, there’s tears running down her cheeks and she doesn’t really know why, but she does know that she hates them and they make her persistent headache worse.

She cried alone on the couch for a while, at some point flopping over to bury herself against the back cushions in a fetal position. She was planning on just crying herself into a pathetic puddle, but then her phone rang and she had no choice but to pick it up. The caller idea said that it was Jane, and usually her heart would leap in joy to see that her queen was calling her, but, right now, simply seeing her name said spirals of bad, bad things coiling through her brain.

“Hello?” She said in her best not-having-an-anxiety-attack voice.

“Hey,” Jane replied coolly. She sounded nonchalant, but Joan has become good at detecting the annoyance that would edge her voice whenever she talked to her. Even on a phone call, the stinging irritation was bristled around her words like needle-sharp thorns. “I’m just calling to check up on Catalina. How is she?”

Ironically, it was the one afraid of illness doing this. Perhaps it’s to make up for her not being able to physically comfort her fellow queen.

“Okay,” Joan answered. She struggled to keep her voice steady, but she knew it was wobbling treacherously. “She’s- she’s, ah— she’s sleeping. Right now. S-she’s sleeping.”

“I see.” Jane said. Then, she paused. “Are you alright?”

A whirl of new thoughts filled Joan’s head: Jane cares, Jane doesn’t care, Jane is worried about her, Jane is going to tell the others about how pathetic she is and they’ll all laugh at her, Jane knows.

“I-I’m f-ine.” Her voice cracked horribly and fresh tears ran down her cheeks. She has the art of crying silently mastered, but she knows Jane can still hear her sharp breaths and hiccups and whimpers. The fact that the queen isn’t saying anything makes her feel even worse. Scenarios shove their way into her brain faster: Jane putting her on speaker so everyone in the theater could hear her break down, Jane hanging up on her so she doesn’t have to listen to her sniffle and weep like a baby, Jane laughing at her.

“Listen to me,” Jane spoke up. Her voice is firm and hard, but Joan swore she could hear softness seep through the thorns edging her words. “I’m the calmest voice you hear. Use me as your anchor. I’ll keep talking until you calm down.”

Joan was nearly startled into calming down. Was Jane...trying to comfort her?

“Remember that you are safe. Look around you.”

Joan sank to her knees on the hardwood floor. Her chest ached with the weight of her guilt and anguish, which are mixing together awfully inside of her. She whimpered softly.

“You’re okay. We’re okay. Catalina is okay. The cat is okay. Anna’s dogs are, regrettably, okay.”

“Wh-why regrettably?” Joan stammered, sniffling.

“Ah, so you are listening.” Jane said. Joan thinks she may be tipping her head. “Keep listening. I know you can do that, Joan. You’re a very smart girl.”

Jane thinks I’m smart, Joan thought dizzily. And then, those thoughts spiral downwards, That doesn’t make sense. Jane is dead. I know Jane is dead. I saw her— I was— I felt her blood.

Joan closed her eyes and remembered the way she tried to help Jane after she gave birth to Edward. She had tried so hard to stop the bleeding, but there was just too much blood and it wouldn’t stop coming out and the smell was so bad and everything was yelling and Jane wouldn’t stop screaming.

“-my voice.” Jane was saying, a little more frantic. “Don’t let yourself fall in.”

But it was too late. The petal-strewn puddle in Joan’s mindscape frothed over its own edges until every bad thing she tried so desperately to hide within its depths came pouring out: Nurses shoving through the sickroom, midwives clamoring in a panic, blood and birthing fluids and placenta and sweat and tears, a tiny baby soaked in blood- They all flooded her mind with full force.

“Joan? Joan?” Jane called loudly. “Joan, are you there? What’s going on?”

Joan doesn’t answer. She simply dropped her phone, curled into a ball on the floor, and cried.

An unknown amount of time passes. It’s nearly two o’clock when Joan looked up, though. Immediately, a headache crashed into her head like a sledgehammer. Sweat glided down her body, but it felt more like blood to her.

She had to check on Aragon, but she couldn’t bear to see the queen while she was sick. She was too afraid of possibly seeing her as a corpse, so she just half staggered, half crawled to the downstairs bathroom, stripped off her clothing, and stumbled into the shower to scrub off the feeling of blood coating every inch of her skin.

Leaving her to suffer, Her mind hissed. Good job.

———

“Alright, that’s it—”

Aragon had been laying in her bed for what felt like hours, and she couldn’t take it anymore. She threw her legs over the edge and hauled herself out, which nearly landed her face-first on the floor when she put pressure on her numb legs, but she managed to grapple onto the door frame and steady herself. After a moment of breathing, she’s able to start walking.

Joan isn’t anywhere in sight when she finally makes it down the staircase, but she can faintly hear Cleves’ shower running. She chuckled, wondering how her nervous little moon conjured up the courage to use someone else’s bathroom, but was proud of her nonetheless.

She poured herself a bowl of porridge and sat down at the couch to eat. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until that moment; it was good to eat, especially something so light and easy on her stomach.

Somewhere down the hallway, she hears the shower sputter to a halt. A few minutes later, Joan trudged out, dressed in the same bumblebee T-shirt and sweat pants as she was in earlier. Her hair is still soaked, though, and she had a distant look in her dull grey eyes.

“Hello, little luna,” Aragon cooed over at her. She didn’t know if it was her fever making her delirious or if the girl’s touch starved aura was rubbing off on her or even if it was from her dreams of being with her daughter again, but she’s been itching to hold Joan in her arms. “You took a shower, I see. I’m not THAT contagious, you know.” She winked with a laugh, but Joan doesn’t react. She didn’t even look up at her. Aragon frowned. “Joan?”

Aragon set her bowl of porridge down after one more bite and walked over to where Joan had stopped in the living room. She’s clenching fistfuls of her shirt so tightly her knuckles were turning white. Something was wrong.

“Joan,” Aragon gently touched her shoulder, but even that is enough to make her jolt back. “Hey, sweetie, it’s okay. It’s just me. It’s Catalina.”

Joan looked up at her with wide eyes and there’s something in her gaze that she’s seen in Maria’s before, but much, much worse.

“Joan,” Aragon took her hands. “Think about the rain, baby.”

Joan’s eyes shut tightly and a strangled sob escaped her lips. She shook her head, making a miserable keening noise that sent cracks through Aragon’s heart.

“Think of the mist and wind and distant thunder,” Aragon continued softly, stroking Joan’s knuckles with her thumbs. “The fog and lightning and rainbows.”

“I-I can’t-“ Joan gasped. She shook her head. “I can’t. Y-you— You’re—sick— not okay— just like—”

Suddenly, it dawns on Aragon.

“Oh, Joan,” She murmured. “Oh, baby.” She cupped the girl’s tear stained cheeks. “You’re worried that I may end up like Jane, don’t you?”

With a feeble whimper, Joan nodded and then sobbed again.

“My poor girl,” Aragon guided Joan over to the couch and pulled her into a tight hug. Joan clung to her instantly, burying her face into her chest and clearly not even caring if she may catch whatever the queen has. “You have a lot of pent up anxiety over that, huh?”

Another nod, this one much weaker. Joan’s entire body is now wracked with weeping. Aragon holds her tightly, afraid she may fall apart if she didn’t. She stroked her soaking wet hair and rocked her back and forth.

“It’s going to be okay, honey,” Aragon whispered. “I’m okay, I promise. I’m alright. Nothing is going to happen to me.”

Joan, surprisingly, doesn’t argue against that claim. With a frown, Aragon realized it’s probably because she doesn’t have the energy to.

Joan cried for a long time, and all Aragon could do was hold her and wait until she’s well enough to talk to. However, when the sobs do eventually die down, Joan was already far gone in unconsciousness. She looked peaceful, at least, with her head resting atop Aragon’s chest. The queen closed her own eyes, feeling her illness take control over her once again. She, too, fell asleep, but awoke some time later to someone standing over her. She jumped back, instinctively holding the girl in her arms tighter.

“Sorry,” Jane said. “How are you feeling?”

“A little better,” Aragon answered. She was surprised that Jane was standing so close to her.

Jane nodded. She glanced down at Joan and expression became something that Aragon couldn’t really discern. She pursed her lips.

“Is she okay?” She finally asked quietly.

Aragon blinked, then looked down at Joan. “She...went through some stuff earlier.” She said. “She was pretty freaked out. Had an anxiety attack. She’s been asleep since.”

The flat line set on Jane’s mouth turned into a frown. She extended a hand and gently touched Joan’s head, then pulled back.

“I see.” She whispered. So many emotions were flashing in her eyes. “Well.” She turned away. “Take care of her. Oh— and yourself.”

Aragon watched her walk to the staircase and disappear upstairs, then looked down at Joan in her arms. She pulled the girl closer.

“Will do,” She said, long after Jane was gone.

#im love you duck mama 💕💕#six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six fanfic #six fanfiction #catherine of aragon #anne boleyn #jane seymour #joan on the keys #katherine howard #anna of cleves #catherine parr #mamagon #cross poison

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sweetestrequiems · 5 years ago

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I: Meetings and Photos

Word Count: 3,025

A/N: Hello you lovely people of the Queendom on Tumblr. I’m Kit, and... well, you’ve seen me around enough. I wrote Silence is Never Better, The Tower of London, and maybe a few other things you might have seen around. Anyways... Welcome to the first chapter of Out of a Book! I’m very excited to share this with you all. I truly hope with heart and soul that you all enjoy this. If you ever want to leave any feedback, feel free to message me, or contact me at one of these profiles:

Instagram: @/Reinapuff Twitter: @/Reinapuff

If you’d like to be added to the tag list, let me know! I’m always happy to share my work with others!

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A rather early Thursday morning in the city of Syracuse, New York. The time’s about 7:15 in the morning.

The sun was over the horizon, but there was little to no noise inside of the apartment. The birds sang their graces and none of this seemed to be the thing to wake up the sleeping woman. In fact, a little snore escaped from her while she slept. Had her roommate not needed to go to work, she would've turned that against the woman in a heartbeat. But of course, this was not out of malice; the two would see the situation being out of fun. Getting up this early in the morning, however, never came easy for the woman that was still in bed. There were two things able to get her to wake up: the sun hitting her eyes, or an alarm of sorts, whether from a phone or a clock.

On this Thursday morning? It was both of those things that would wake her up.

An aggravated Catherine Parr turned to face away from the sunlight, and to reach for her phone. Forcing herself to sit up to turn the alarm off, Parr set the phone down before stretching her arms up and yawning. She noticed the quiet of the apartment about a few minutes from initially waking up. This meant that she was half asleep for a good little bit. “Ah, Lina went to work. Right, I almost forget she’s a teacher sometimes,” she finishes her sentence with a hum. Catalina Aragón, someone she affectionately called Lina, or even just Aragon. She found it fun to have a Spanish roommate, if she was being honest with herself. Made for a more entertaining time some days.

Parr’s never-resting mind began to try to think as to why she had set an alarm so early in the morning. Was it due to the fact she kept waking up too late? Was it a meeting with her publicist? The woman, for the life of her, could not remember. A hand came up to her forehead, rubbing it a few times before pinching the bridge of her nose. “This is bollocks. I can’t remember why I set my alarms so early,” a groan of frustration comes out under her breath. If she hadn’t turned her alarm off so quickly, she might’ve read the reminder that she had put for it. That didn’t matter much. It would come back to smack her in the face later.

Letting her legs swing over the edge of the bed, Parr pushed herself up and on her feet she landed.

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7:45 am.

For Catherine to admit she was ready for the day, she needed one thing, and that one thing was in her hands as she walked back to the small table. Sitting down, the ceramic mug came up to her lips. Coffee. That was the one thing she needed. Her shoulders came up for a moment before they eased up, a smile helping her expression soften up from grumpy-seeming to amused. Opening up her laptop, Catherine softly hummed. A buzz makes her gaze shift from the laptop screen to her phone’s screen, seeing the notification on it. Tapping on it, she allows her phone to open up the email.

From: Cleves, Anna To: Parr, Catherine Subject: Planning for next release

Parr,

Writing a short email to remind you about our 8:00 am meeting for the first steps of getting the announcement of your upcoming book release. If you have any ideas post-conference, be sure to write them down and send me an email with them. We can further discuss those at a later date.

Anna Cleves Media Agent/Public Relations

Bringing her free hand up to her mouth, Catherine Parr forced herself to swallow the mouthful of coffee and then hissed under her breath. “That’s today?! It’s 7:55, I have barely any time to get ready!” Gold star for Cathy Parr. Standing up, the author gave a sigh and quickly disappeared off to the space that was her room in the apartment to at least make herself presentable from the torso up. It did not matter that she was wearing black joggers, so long as she looked like she was ready for a business meeting.

Adjusting her curls so they wouldn’t fall over her face, Catherine paced over to the chair, and sat back down. Now that she had her headset on, and got ready in the nick of time, she patiently waited for the call. There it was. Taking a brief moment to look at herself and adjust her blouse, she answers. “Good morning, Anna.”

“Good morning to you too, Cathy. Glad to see you’re awake at an early time. And you got all dressed up, too! You didn’t have to,” a chuckle. Cleves ran a hand through her hair and gave a smile. “So, we’re looking at what kind of a timeline for the release, exactly?” A slight roll of the eyes, and a shake of the head. “Would’ve been nice to know before I spent the last five minutes panicking over being dressed decently. Anyways, to the main topic. My editor is getting ready to give me the list of revisions made to the draft and then I’m going to once again, go in and edit whatever needs to be changed per her advice. We’re... aiming for maybe... three to six months from now.”

A nod from Anna. Catherine could see the woman looking at a second screen and typing something. Probably notes about all of this. This conversation carried on past 8:30, until it was Anna herself who decided to conclude it. “Sounds wonderful. I’ll be in touch, as per usual. But now that this is over, we can talk about something else, if you’d like.” Although they saw each other maybe once or twice a month in person, Anna and Catherine were quite the close friends–– about as close as Catherine and Catalina, since the two have been roommates since their university days. “Look, I woke up this morning thinking I had nothing to do, and I was just going to text Lina for the grocery list but then your email popped up,” a laugh. The German woman simply shook her head.

“So you got dressed up in a panic, Cathy? I’m shocked.” There was another bout of laughter that interrupted them. Parr found herself nodding. “Of course I did. I’m not going to just answer a conference call from you in a crop top and joggers, and with a messy bun.” The thought of Parr actually having a messy bun made Cleves laugh. “You and messy buns? You’ve got to be kidding me. But good job admitting you’re still halfway in your pajamas.”

Now she rolled her eyes. She rolled them so hard, they could've rolled right off her face.

Catherine shook her head, not being able to help the smile. “Hush. As if you weren't in your own. You’re at home, I know you are!” Her hands went to grab the cup of coffee, and she brought it back up to her lips. She was a bit proud of herself for not having touched it the whole time during the meeting, but now she was craving it. So, she began to drink it, allowing Anna to talk. “Where’s Lina? I’m surprised the woman isn’t around there. Wait, no... never mind, don’t answer that. She’s at work, isn’t she?” A nod. “Yeah, she’s a teacher, Anna. She leaves early. Comes back by dinner time normally.”

It was a safe assumption to say the two were having a fairly good time speaking to each other.

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11:11 am.

“Perfect. That’s the shot,” a southern English voice rang out in the studio apartment. That was the voice of the beauty that took the world by storm: Anne Boleyn. “Tu as un bon oeil avec une caméra, Maggie! Ça a l'air super, vraiment. Go on and head on home, you’re good to go. Have fun with the pictures,” the ruby-lipped woman gave a kiss on both cheeks to her photographer friend, who packed up soon after and headed on out. Sitting down on the loveseat, Boleyn ended up getting herself to lay down and hold her phone right above her face.

“Lame.” She scrolls past one post.

“Seen it.” Another.

“What’s this?” A new post from her favorite author. She’d never admit it, but deep down inside, she was a huge nerd. Anne skimmed over the post, her thumb double tapping the screen. Parr’s posts were always inspirational quotes, or some snippets from her works. This one was just an appreciation post. A smile began to form, with it eventually becoming a light laugh. “She’s so kind! It’s amazing how someone so famous has a golden heart. And I’m sure she knows she’s got the fame.”

Most of the remainder of the morning for Anne was spent laying down, on Instagram, with no care in the world. Truly, the woman was one of a rather mellow personality. And in her spare time, she loved a good book. Deciding she’d had enough of Instagram for the time being, she closed out of the app and opened up another one. Probably delivery or something, considering it was approaching the afternoon and she felt her stomach rumble just a little. “Good thing I decided to get food. Has it really been almost five hours since I ate?”

An early riser, she was. On most days, Boleyn woke herself up at around three in the morning to go work out from maybe 3:30 to 4:45 in the morning. Sometimes she’d extend that work out to 5:45 in the morning. Then it was off to come back home, shower and get comfortable to be in the kitchen and cooking food for herself by around the 6:45 mark. She was always eating by seven in the morning, if not ten minutes later. But she was feeling particularly lazy today, so she’d take advantage of the day to just lounge around.

Standing up, Anne left her phone face down on the loveseat. She didn’t need it to get comfortable. And to be fair, it took her maybe about ten minutes, because the majority of it was her washing her face and making sure to take good care of that. She did however, come out of her bedroom with her glasses on. Now that she was alone for the day, she could just be Anne. No contacts, no sunglasses. Just plain Anne Boleyn. She was a huge nerd growing up, and she knew this to be quite true. She loved herself, and she truly did love her modeling career, but she found it odd to be both a nerd and a super famous model at the same time.

So, she’d keep her personal life to herself. Just like that.

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1:00 pm.

Having finished her lunch around fifteen minutes ago, and having cleaned everything up, Anne found herself at a crossroads during the day. She could take her glasses off, grab a blanket, and take a nice nap. She could go out to the local shops and peruse their inventories. She could get into the kitchen, and do some meal prepping. She had options, but she just couldn’t quite put her finger on what she wanted to do. Shrugging it off, the woman reached for the bookshelf. One of Parr’s books was in her hands.

Anne couldn’t quite tell what drew her into Catherine’s writings. Her books were not quite memoirs, but not quite fully opinionated pieces either. However, they did fall into the non-fiction category. Think of it as a discourse, kind of–– but one full of opinion, experience, and even proven fact. She was a strong woman, and had morals. Anne Boleyn was drawn to that from the first day she picked up a book by Catherine Parr. Laying back down on the loveseat, she opened up the book with a smile.

“A well deserved following,” she’d softly mutter. Her smile became less and less of one until her face was deadpan; a sign she was focused on reading. Word by word and page by page. Killer looks in front of the camera and the world, but a calm and soft appearance in private. This was something Anne showed maybe once or twice, since she has occasionally posted on her Instagram stories a picture or a video with her in her glasses.

One page became another as the time passed. Page to page, eventually book to book. Anne was in one of her reading holes, humming to herself to add a little more entertainment to her already uplifted mood. What broke her out of the daze was her phone ringing. A phone call. Pulling the phone out from underneath her, Anne answered after reading the caller ID. Maggie. Probably an update about the pictures or something.

“Anne! Bonne nouvelle, mon ami! I’ll have these edited by tonight or tomorrow at best. You’ll be right back on a runway soon enough with these,” Maggie sounded excited. A smile came across Anne’s lips. “Besides, you now have an updated picture for events instead of having to use the one from three years ago! Isn’t that great?” Sitting up, Boleyn set the book down and nodded to herself. “Oui. Merci à vous, comme d'habitude, Maggie. You work miracles,” she chuckles. “We’ll talk later. I might just take a nap or binge some Netflix.”

The conversation carried on for maybe five more minutes before Maggie hung up. Quite literally Anne’s best friend from childhood. Put the two together nowadays, and if Maggie had her camera or Anne’s phone in her hand, it was a photoshoot wherever they went. Safe to say that Maggie was responsible for the solid 90% of Anne’s feed that wasn’t selfies and food posts. Count your blessings, they always say. And despite the overwhelming following, Boleyn truly was grateful for what she had. Every single bit of fame that came her way? She was thankful she managed to get that far.

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6:30 pm.

“Cathy? Estoy aquí y traje comida!”

Catalina had shut the door to the apartment as she finished that statement. Catherine peeked from behind the wall, before stepping out into view and smiling. “How was work, Lina?” Setting the food down on the table, one could see Catalina’s eyes roll to the back of her head for a moment. Looks like she had a troublesome day, considering she wasn't too cheery coming in the door. “Don’t get me started on it, Cathy. They were so unruly today for no reason. Part of me wonders if it’s the fact that they’re teenagers or not, but... it was unreal. The few that sit by my desk in the back of the classroom? They kept their cool, and I was glad about that.”

Catalina and Catherine both opened up their respective take out containers.

“Pero, gran y poderoso Señor... it was a nightmare today.”

A snicker came from Parr. “That’s why I don’t teach English. Could you imagine it? I’d be being told I’m spelling stuff like colour and favourite, or honour wrong! I’m English, we spell it differently than the Americans!” That snicker became a laugh. Catalina couldn’t help but laugh herself. “But truly, I’m so sorry you had to deal with a rowdy bunch today. Maybe they will be more mellow tomorrow. One day is just one day, and you have had one bad day... what... once every few months normally?”

“Yeah, it does happen every few months. So, I guess I won’t worry too much.” Catalina just shrugged it off, stuffing a spoonful of rice into her mouth.

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A bite of chicken found itself on Anne’s fork. She was staring at her food, debating whether she should, or should not, post the dinner she so graciously decided to make. One could see the questioning glimmer in her eyes. The voice across the room made her attention snap from the plate to the source of the voice. “Je sais que c'est joli, mais allez, Anne. You haven’t touched your own food!” A bit of a laugh from Maggie. “I know, I know. Look, I just... wonder sometimes, if there’s anything else I can add to it. I always do that after I finish something.”

“I can tell. Just like when we were kids. You ALWAYS wanted to experiment more with your food. It’s almost like you live to be chaos.”

“Well, I mean... have you seen how I look? I’m chaos disguised as a babe. I like to think I’m pretty fit, after all,” there was the laugh from Boleyn. Shrugging it off, she just started to eat. Maggie was the one to continue the conversation. “Speaking of things you like, Anne... has that favorite author of yours posted anything? You always had a bit of a love for books. I saw that appreciation post earlier, and thought that was sweet. Even with the fame she has to her name, she remains humble. D’you know what, Anne? It reminds me of you a little.”

“How so?”

“Because you are the exact same way! Even with this huge following, you... you take the time to reach out and say thank you! You’re quite humble, despite what your looks say about you. I guess that whole don’t judge a book by its cover thing is real. Also, how do you just know how to make chicken taste good? This is amazing! I’m surprised you didn't go to culinary school,” Maggie practically shoved her food into her mouth, knowing that it would make Anne Boleyn laugh.

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At the end of the night, both women could be found doing the exact same thing before they made themselves fall asleep:

Scrolling through their social media pages. One admiring the other’s confidence, and one admiring the other’s intelligence. A fair trade off to it all.

And despite the surprisingly good chaos from earlier on in the day, Anne Boleyn and Catherine Parr both could agree on one thing:

That there would be one day that their paths cross.

#Out of a Book #Catherine Parr #Anne Boleyn #six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #Parrlyn #six ff #six fanfiction

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let-me-write-shit · 4 years ago

Text

Somebody To You: 15

Friendly reminder to please Like and/or Reblog. It helps more than you think! :)

Word Count: 2,616

Click Here For Previous Chapter & Other Completed Stories

PLEASE let me know what you think

--------------------------------------------

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:

Work on Saturday night was anything but normal. Harry and Rory seemed to have put their differences aside because when she left they were smiling with each other. At first, she worried they had made up and maybe started dating again, but she couldn’t stop and ask because she was already running late for her shift at the bar as it was. It’s not that she wouldn’t have been happy for them if they did date, but it wasn’t something Zoey foresaw lasting. How messy would things get the second time around?

She didn’t even get a chance to put her things down or clock in before Brett bound up to her, puppy dog eyes in full effect.

“Zoey, can we talk?” desperation thick in his Australian accent.

She snapped her head towards him, “Brett, I’m not in the mood.”

“Please. I know Rory told you, but I…”

“You nearly ruined everything!” she hissed at him, “How stupid are you?”

Andy sauntered in behind them, his smile vanishing as he heard the tail end of the conversation, “What happened?”

“Why don’t you tell him?” Zoey glared, punching her employee number into the computer and pushing past him.

She didn’t expect to be so angry. She wasn’t before she got there. But seeing his face filled her with such indignation that she didn’t even want to be in the same room as him. She wasn’t jealous. She wasn’t even mad at him for sleeping with Rory. But every time she looked at him all she could picture was Harry breaking down in the elevator. That was something she never wanted to experience again. If that’s how he handled being hurt by someone he ‘didn’t love’, she didn’t even want to think about how heart-wrenching it would be to see him lose someone that held even more meaning to him.

Zoey got to work, faking a smile, taking a shot or two with some of the patrons, and trying to constantly remind herself that everything was fine now before she finally let Brett talk to her when he cornered her by the storage closet. She hated being an empath sometimes. The true remorse in his eyes was enough for her to ease up on him. He explained how that night wasn’t planned. It was just supposed to be a hangout. He admitted that his attraction to Aurora had started a couple of weeks prior which was why he was being so distant from Zoey, but he had no intention of pursuing anything because he knew she was seeing Harry. But one thing led to another.

He really liked her. Zoey could tell. When he spoke about Aurora his eyes lit up. His lips were always slightly turned upwards into a smile and he rambled. There was no hiding it. And the hopeless romantic in her turned to mush, listening. But at the end of the day, that was her friend. And if she had to see her cry over another boy being an idiot, she would lose her fucking mind. She made sure Brett knew that. Work went a lot easier after that. She was even able to forget about what happened and laugh and joke with Brett again, like old times before things got messy between them. Back when they were simply friends.

Harry, on the other hand, feeling relieved that he and Aurora were able to smooth things over, couldn’t just go back to England without properly saying goodbye to Zoey. That five-second hug in the parking garage of her condo wasn’t good enough. Not after how emotional she got. He knew it wouldn’t be long until he saw her again, but she didn’t. So, he decided he’d surprise her at work. Not the smartest idea he had, seeing how crowded it was when he pulled up. He sat in his car at the front of the bar trying to prepare himself to be noticed and debating whether or not he would rather go in or have her just meet him outside. At least it would be more private if she just came to him.

He searched, looking through the windows of the establishment to find Zoey. When he spotted her, he smiled, watching her interact with everyone she was serving. He’d never seen her at work before, but she was really in her element, shaking the cocktail shaker, skillfully pouring the contents in several glasses, laughing with the strangers. She looked like a natural. He wondered what they were talking about to make her laugh and what it’d be like to be her customer. Harry watched as Brett came into view, placing a hand on her hip, making her spin in his direction and he said something which made her through her head back in laughter, draping an arm on his shoulder and hugging him before they parted ways. With another word from Zoey they laughed again and carried on.

Anger rose within him. Did Brett know that HE knew what he had done? How could he stand there, a smile on his face, and continue to flirt with Zoey after sleeping with his roommate? And how could she let him?

Harry quickly sent her a quick text and he watched her through the window as she slipped her phone from her back pocket, seeing a notification from him and smiling as she read the text, and her head shot to her left, squinting through the front windows and spotting him. She put a finger up to signal that she needed a minute, walking over to Andy and whispering in his ear before she bounded her way towards the front door.

He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself watching her skip her way through the parking lot towards him. Zoey slipped into the car and instantly clung to Harry’s neck, hugging him tightly. He wrapped his arms around her torso, smiling and taking in the aroma that now filled his car. Clean, soft yet warm, and the slightest hint of the bitterness from the alcohol.

“What are you doing here?” she exclaimed and, to his displeasure, pulling away.

“Didn’t think I was going to leave without saying goodbye, did you?”

“I mean, you usually do,” she retorted, earning and little push and continuing, “but I’m glad you came. I don’t know when you’ll be back out here again.”

“I’m sure I’ll visit one more time before summer ends,” Harry reassured her.

The two talked for nearly twenty minutes when she decided she needed to get back to work. So, with one last long hug and a quick kiss on the cheek from Harry, they said goodbye. He watched her walk back into the bar, smiling widely and tightening the ponytail on the top of her head, jumping right back into the swing of things, sad to be leaving her again.

That was four days ago. Now he’s back in England spending time with his family. It’s been months since he’s seen his mother and sister. He missed them. Every time he came back he wondered why he didn’t visit more often. It was easy to let his life consume him when he was able to fly all over the world and visit anywhere he wanted to, but for some reason, home was always the last place on his mind and it always made him feel guilty. Especially when his older sister, Gemma, got on his case for not visiting as often as he should.

She wasn’t wrong. But it was annoying to hear about it every time he came back. The two of them, as close as they were, bickered a lot. It never lasted long, though. The subject would swiftly change and they’d be laughing about something stupid the other person said, or talk about old family trips together. This was home. And as much as he loved visiting other countries, this was his favorite place to be.

The three were sitting in his mother’s garden, drinking some tea, and having some snacks, talking about their plans to have family over this weekend. He looked forward to seeing some of his cousins and their little ones, playing some games, and catching up.

“Will you be sticking around after the weekend? Or have you got more work to do in the studio?” his mother, Anne, asked him.

“I’m meeting up with Mitch and a few others from the studio tonight for dinner, but I’m heading out Monday on a surprise birthday trip for a friend for a week. Then I’ll be back.”

“Who’s birthday?” Gemma asked.

“Zoey.”

“The American girl?” his sister asked, putting her cup of tea on the table and earning a nod from the singer. “Are you two dating or something?” Harry shook his head, fluttering his eyelids. The gesture made Gemma laugh as she continued, “You’ve just talked about her a lot.”

He’s heard this way too often in the past few months. Enough to start making him feel a little self-conscious. He really needed to stop talking about her so much. He explained himself. “She’s just a really good friend. She’s helped out a lot when I start to lose it a little on tour. And she’s not afraid to put me in my place when I’m being an idiot, because, aside from you two, no one else does. She just makes me feel normal.”

He hadn’t realized he was smiling until he saw his mom mirroring his expression with an eyebrow slightly raised. He quickly cleared his throat and took a sip of his tea as his mom continued grinning, “Well she sounds lovely. I’d love to meet her.”

He shrugged his shoulders, “Maybe one day I can convince her to come out here.”

That evening, Harry had dinner with Mitch, Jeff, and a few others to chat about his next album. Things went smoothly and left him feeling excited about things to come, but he was also ready to take a little break and unwind after the long tour.

Harry, Mitch, and Jeff decided to keep the night going by heading back to Harry’s house for a few more drinks and chats, laughing at each other, and genuinely enjoying each other’s company. Eventually, they quieted down and began talking about the other boys’ significant others. Both were currently in long-term relationships and, from the looks of it, really happy.

“I heard things with Rory didn’t work out,” Jeff turned to Harry, “Sorry about that, mate.”

Harry shrugged, “It’s alright. I don’t know if it would have lasted, anyway.”

“Isn’t that what I said?” Mitch raised an eyebrow.

“No,” Harry retorted, “You said it wouldn’t work out because you thought I liked Zoey.”

“Well, don’t you?” Mitch argued, turning to Jeff, “Do you know about Zoey?”

“Yeah, I know about her. But I don’t think she’s Harry’s type,” Jeff said, making Harry smile in victory as Jeff continued, “Isn’t she a bartender?”

Harry turned his head towards his friend and manager, “Just because she’s a bartender doesn’t mean she’s not my type.”

“Come on, mate. All you date are models,” Jeff pointed out.

Before he could counter, Harry heard his phone ring and he flipped it over to see Zoey attempting to facetime him.

“Speaking of the devil,” Mitch grinned.

“Answer it,” Jeff urged, “let’s meet her.”

Harry smirked, adjusting himself in the seat so that Mitch and Jeff weren’t in view. He answered the call and waited as Zoey popped up on the screen. He could hear the distant sounds of cars and wind whipping against the speaker and making her ponytail wag behind her. She had a little more makeup than she normally did and the warm LA afternoon sun shone on her face, contradicting the starry night sky in London. She smiled brightly when she saw him.

“I was hoping you’d still be up, you old man!” she teased.

“Old man? We’re the same age!”

“Not yet!”

He rolled his eyes, “Next week we will be!” he argued.

Zoey smiled wider, pressing a hand to her chest, “Harry, did you remember my birthday?”

“You can expect a little gift arriving at your doorstep next Wednesday,” Harry grinned, “I’ve got a couple of friends here that wanted to meet you.”

Harry turned so that both Mitch and Jeff were in view now. Zoey smiled and sang hello to them as he introduced her. Mitch was awkwardly shy, not speaking much at first, while Jeff did most of the talking.

“It’s nice to finally meet you!” Jeff exclaimed, “We’ve heard so much about you.”

“Whatever Harry told you, it’s a lie!” Zoey joked, making the boys laugh.

“It was all good things,” Jeff reassured, “So we overheard it’s your birthday next week. Have you got any plans?”

Zoey shook her head, “It’s my day off so I was thinking about just going to the beach with some friends. Thought that might be nice.”

“Why are you all dressed up?” Harry asked, noticing the jewelry around her neck which she only typically did before going out.

“Do you hear him?” Zoey ignored him, directing the question to Jeff and Mitch, “He swears he’s my handler or something. I’m going on a date, DAD,” she confessed. She saw the look in Harry’s eyes and softened her tone, reassuring him, “It’s a blind date with one of Nancy’s friends she wanted to set me up with. Apparently he’s super nice. I’m supposed to leave in, like, thirty minutes.”

Harry could feel Mitch and Jeff’s eyes on him and as he tried to act casual, but it was hard to hide that he was a little taken off guard by the news. The last time she went on a date, she said she needed a break from the dating scene for a while. Especially after the whole Rory and Brett situation, which still seemed to be going strong.

“I didn’t know you were still going on dates,” Harry muttered, “What happened to ‘just having fun’? Bored of that already?”

Zoey pursed her lips, shrugging, “I don’t know. It’s been a while since I’ve been in a relationship. And we all know how well ‘just having fun’ turned out for me last time,” she chuckled, “I guess we’ll see.”

“Well, let me know how it goes afterward.”

“It’ll probably be super late…”

“I’ll be up,” Harry reassured.

The longer they talked, the more Zoey got Mitch to open up more, directing more questions at him and finding common interests that they went on tangents about. It was safe to say that by the time Zoey had to leave, Harry’s other friends had been won over by her. He shoved his phone back into his back pocket and turned to them with a raised eyebrow, grinning.

“See?” Harry’s tone matter-of-fact.

“Yeah, she’s pretty cool,” Mitch nodded, agreeing.

“You definitely like her,” Jeff added with a smirk.

Harry groaned, kicking his foot, “I do not! And she definitely doesn’t like me, either.”

“Dude, come on. You’re Harry. Everyone likes you.”

“Not everyone,” Harry mumbled.

The image of her on a date kept replaying in his mind. He remembered her clean, warm scent in the car and having that linger on the shirt of another Theo James look alike. Another cocky Australian who would let her down and sleep with her roommate. Why would Nancy set her up on a date? Couldn’t she see that Zoey didn’t need to go on a date? She was fine finding guys on her own at work? Why did she need to make it easier for her to find someone? Why did his friends always have to tease him about her? And why did he care?

KEEP READING

----------------------------

Taglist for Somebody To You:

@thurhomish , @stilljosiegrossie , @odetostep , @apples2019 , @stylesmioamore

#Harry #harry styles #harry edward styles #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles angst #one direction #one direction imagine #one direction oneshot #one direction fanfic #one direction smut #one direction fan fic

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ravencromwell · 4 years ago

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Eulogy

Archiving in tribute of my beloved Mum (July 2nd 1957-September 13th 2020) "Mum" was our inside joke; she'd never heard the British pronunciation until I was nine or ten and I called her that out of the blue after reading about Anne Frank, who also loved the way the Brits say it. It tickled her pink, because she loved mums, the flower. From that moment on, 'twas always Mum; I have an archive of over a decade of communication, and every so often there're spontaneous strings of heart emogis from her in response to my writing Mum. :)

I never could have written this without @chamerionwrites and @blindbibliophile who gave me hours of time and comfort over the last few days and so much reassurance on this particular piece. (I made everybody cry, and stepdad said 'twas the best one he'd ever heard, so I think it went ok.) They both know this, but it bears repeating: they're some of the finest folk in the world and I <333333333 them both so fucking much.

A lot of folks would've broken when they ended up divorced, with a kid with disabilities; but my Mom picked herself up and rebuilt a life around me. We never had much, and I didn't get nearly as much time with her as I would've liked. But standing here, paying tribute, I am profoundly blessed. Because she left me rich with a reservoir of memories. Laughter; she laughed with her whole body, big unashamed belly-laughs that made a room bright as the sun at noon. So many endearments; sweet pea and goofball were her favorites. More I love you's than I could ever count.

And lessons: always try. She never promised me I wouldn't fail, but she taught me the trying was worth it anyway.

Be tough as nails and never back down when a hard thing needs doing. Every time life knocked her down, whether it was my Dad leaving or losing her own mama, she got back up. And built her life better. She brought Billy and his wonderful extended family into both our lives. She kept loving people, even though she knew she could lose 'em.

Everybody always says when mamma aint happy, nobody's happy. But I was the luckiest person in the world, because with her? It was reversed; she was happiest when she could give me any little thing to bring some joy. Just a week back, she made banana bread for the very first time, which she did not even like, for my birthday.

Every time I'd done something unkind, she'd recite me her favorite Bible verse, in all its glorious complexity from the King James version: Matthew 7-12. Therefore, all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you: do ye even so to them. I'll carry the golden rule to my grave.

She always said funerals were for the living; she'd be in a far better place, seeing her mamma again, and the thing she fretted over was us. And so I stand here, knowing from her how to fill the world with compassion, while keeping my head up high through anything. And knowing she's just beyond where I can see I say: love you Mum; I'm gonna be all right, and I'll make you proud.

#eulogy #grief #personal

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shredsandpatches · 5 years ago

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Histories Appreciation Week, day 2 (Queens)

Anne of Bohemia isn’t technically in Shakespeare’s histories, unless you assume that the unnamed Queen in Richard II is a conflation of her and Isabelle, which I tend not to and just read the Queen in the play as aged-up!Isabelle -- the trauma of losing Anne is so important to my idea of Richard as a character, and I feel like if the play!Queen were meant to be her, she and Richard would probably interact more before their final scene together. Anyway, @harry-leroy said Anne totally counts for Histories Appreciation Week purposes so YAY.

I have a sad and awkward but ultimately happy Anne/Richard fic in the works that I haven’t managed to finish because of final projects and stuff, so here’s another bit of the novelthing. I’ve definitely posted bits of this scene before because I’m very proud of it, but I haven’t posted the whole thing, and I think it’s a nice introduction to Anne.

Whatever Robert may feel about the impending marriage, Richard has to admit he's been reasonably accurate in his descriptions of Anne of Bohemia. Richard's first impression of her is of round, heavy-browed brown eyes in a little round pale face atop a little round bundle of furs, huddled beside the fire. Some of the entourage that had been to Prague had been reticent when he'd asked what she looked like, and now that she's right here in front of him, it makes Richard wonder what they think of him. She just looks like a normal person. She might actually be prettier than her portrait makes her look—she's not that fat and her nose isn't that big, despite what Robert has said, although it is tipped with pink, which isn't surprising because he could hear her sniffling before he came in. Has she been crying? Richard combs through his memory frantically—don't girls always cry when they're about to get married? Now that he thinks of it, he doesn't actually know that many girls, but he has the vague impression that it's something to do with not being virgins anymore—oh God, they're not actually getting married for another whole month, that can't be it. Can it?

He hasn't even said a word to her, yet. He should probably not start thinking about going to bed with her. She's bent over a small book which she nearly drops when Richard clears his throat, and says, tentatively, "My lady?"

Anne leaps to her feet and curtsies hastily, her eyes widening (and they already seem a little too big for her face) as she looks him up and down. She doesn't look like she's been crying, exactly; her nose is pink, but her eyes aren't, and now he has the distinct impression that she is pleased.

"My lord," she says, in a hoarse voice with a strong accent that sounds like nobody he's ever met. "I did not hear you come in."

"It's all right," Richard says, smiling. He bows to her and takes off his hat. "I'm supposed to be in disguise anyway. It's something of a tradition—I don't know, maybe they do it in Bohemia too?"

"It would never work, my lord," Anne says. "You carry yourself like a king."

Richard grins down at her—he must be a whole foot taller than she is. "I should hope so," he says. "And you don't need to call me ‘my lord.' We are going to be married, after all."

"Of course," Anne says. "Richard," she adds, trying out the feel of his name; it sounds so different, in her accent, like he's hearing his own name for the first time. When a faint smile catches the edges of her lips Richard can feel something open up inside his heart, a little seed of affection that catches the thin winter sunlight and unfurls. He takes her hand and raises it to his lips, and that brings some color to her pale cheeks. It suits her, he thinks, feeling his own cheeks grow warm.

"I'm sorry to have interrupted your prayers," he says.

"You didn't," she says, and hands him the book. "It's Boethius, actually." She bites her lip. "I know that sounds grim."

"I hope you haven't had cause to seek out Lady Philosophy," Richard says, searching her face for any sign of discontent. "You weren't crying before, were you? I thought I heard–"

"Oh, no, my lord—Richard," Anne says. "I have had no cause to complain—except for the weather, I suppose, but no one is to blame for that. Although I am afraid I have caught a chill," she adds. "I must look awful."

"Don't think anything of it," Richard says, leading her back to the bench by the fire and sitting down beside her. "Do you feel very bad? We must warm you up." He lays a hand gently on her shoulder. "Do you mind?" he says, and when she shakes her head no, he wraps his arm around her, and she sits a bit stiffly for a moment before settling against his side. There's something very substantial about the feel of her. It could be comfortable, even, once they're used to each other.

"You are very kind," she says. "I thought I would never be warm again, when I first arrived."

Richard laughs, as much from the slow easing of tension as anything else. It feels very natural, being here with her. Maybe he can do this, after all.

"England isn't very friendly in winter," he says. "I wish I could make the road easier for you. You should see it in spring, though. I mean, you will. I think you'll love it."

"I am sure I will," Anne says, smiling. "I had never realized before that being on dry land was something I should be grateful for."

"Was your trip very difficult?" Richard says. "They told me about the ship. I'm glad you're safe."

"To tell you the truth," she says, "I was more afraid I would die on the way over. Even after the French fleet let us pass—I had never been so sick in my life. Whenever I miss Bohemia, I can at least remind myself that I will never have to set foot on a ship again."

Richard smiles back at her. "I wish I'd thought of that when I came here from France," he says. "I was born there, you know. It was a long time ago, though, so I wasn't old enough to think of it."

"Do you still miss France, sometimes?" Anne says. "I hear it is very beautiful there. I have never been south of Calais, but my father always spoke highly of it."

"Sometimes," Richard says. "Mostly when my uncles and the council are being terrible. I mean—I don't really remember it that well, just...bits and pieces, I suppose. I was only four years old when we came to England, and what I remember most is that the weather was a lot like this, and that my father got sick afterwards." He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, this is terribly grim, isn't it? I shouldn't go on like this, not when I've only just met you."

Anne's eyes are wide with sympathy. They're a very clear shade of brown that catches the light like amber does—they almost remind him of Robert's eyes, which is a thought he's not sure he wants to be thinking right at this moment.

"I do understand," she says, and after a moment she lifts her hand to cover his where it rests on her shoulder. "Not in the same way, exactly, but—I do know about terrible councils, at least. My father was a king, and my brother. It is not that I know what it feels like, only that—I have seen it. A little."

"You know," Richard says, "my father fought against your father, at Crécy. And your grandfather—my father thought he was the bravest man he'd ever known. My mother said so. He took up his badge after the battle, even." He retrieves his hat and unpins the badge on it, pressing it into her hand. "I brought you one."

Anne smiles again. "My family puts ostrich feathers on everything. I mean—not real ones, anymore, they are expensive, just in heraldry," she adds, biting her lip, and for an instant, the shadow of a frown passes over her face, but before Richard has enough time to worry properly it's gone. She offers the badge to Richard again, but he covers her hand with his own so that her fingers curl over it and smiles—which makes her cheeks go a bit pink again. She really does look terribly charming when she blushes.

"My father hoped that I would marry you," she says. "He sent letters to England before he died. He told me all about your father—how he was scarcely more than a boy, but that he fought as bravely as any man, and that the son of such a man must be as worthy a husband as the daughter of an emperor could hope for." She smiles at him again. "Your ambassadors were still in Prague when news of the revolt reached us, you know. They told me how brave you had been and how much like your father you were."

Richard's cheeks grow warm again. He hasn't enjoyed talking about the revolt, really, not since nothing he's wanted to do afterwards has actually happened. In fact, he usually tries not to think too much about it. He isn't about to tell Anne about how frightened his normally unflappable mother had been after they'd broken into the Tower, or the damp, sticky weight of Wat Tyler's head in his hands, or about watching hangings in Essex, or what Archbishop Sudbury's head looked like when they took it off the pole—not now, when he hasn't known her for even a quarter of an hour.

"I only did what needed to be done," he says.

"They said you rode into a hail of arrows."

"It wasn't a hail of arrows," Richard says. "Maybe one or two."

"I cannot imagine how frightening it must have been," Anne says. She's still got hold of his hand and she squeezes it, her eyes wide as if she's worried for his past self.

"I don't actually remember being afraid," Richard says. "I suppose I must have been—I'm afraid when I think of it now—but it's more that when I think about what could have happened..." He swallows hard. "I don't really know how to tell you about it," he says. "I haven't talked about it much before, with people who weren't there, and it's more that what happened afterward was—well, it was also very bad. Much worse, in some ways."

"I am sorry," Anne says, lowering her eyes. She has very long eyelashes; in the late-morning sunlight Richard can see that there are gold bits at the tips. "The last thing I want is to make you unhappy."

"You haven't," Richard promises. It's clear that she isn't just referring to this particular conversation. "It's something I want you to know about, just—it's something I'm still trying to work out, in my head." He looks at her closely, hoping to God he's making sense, because her French really is excellent but he's not sure he actually makes sense to himself. "I mean, it's all to do with the kind of king I want to be—maybe having you here will help."

"I will do what I can," Anne says, "to be worthy of your great kindness, and of the great price you've paid to bring me here. It is uncommonly generous, to accept a queen who brings no dowry. Even if the Pope requests it."

Richard frowns. "Your brother told you about that?"

"He did not have to," Anne says, and Richard can feel his expression soften.

"I don't need to marry for money," he says. "I have plenty of it. You're going to be my queen. And I do want to make you happy, Anne, very much." He lifts her hands to his lips again, and her blush deepens a shade.

Anne is smiling when she looks up at him and there's a kind of sparkle to her eyes that makes Richard wonder how he didn't notice right away that she's actually really pretty, and then she bites her lip and lowers her eyes again and it occurs to Richard that she's probably thinking the same thing he's thinking. He lowers his hands, not letting go of hers, and when he leans in her eyes close and her chin tilts upward and there's an instant of relief that he was right before their lips touch and her hand slips out of his and finds its way to the back of his neck.

It's very strange, kissing someone who isn't Robert. It's not even just the obvious things like that he has to bend over a lot farther or that her mouth is smaller or that she probably doesn't even know you can kiss someone with your mouth open, not that he's going to introduce the idea when they've only just met. It's more that with Robert he could just kind of grab him and kiss him even the first time when he had no idea what he was doing, and never had to worry about putting him off.

Not that it's bad, having to go slowly like this. Richard slides his fingers up into Anne's hair, almost hesitating when he feels her plait begin to come apart, but then she sighs against his mouth and Richard can feel her lips part just a little and it makes him feel as though he might melt.

Richard's head is still swimming when they break apart and they're both breathing hard and there's a funny look on Anne's face that Richard is still trying to interpret when she shivers and then sneezes violently, wiping her hands frantically on her skirts before hiding her face behind them.

"I am so sorry!" she cries, sounding rather muffled. Richard can see the tips of her ears going scarlet. He sort of wants to kiss them, because apparently being sneezed on has not actually spoiled the mood that much.

"Don't worry about it," Richard says, resting a hand on her shoulder. "This cold wet weather is terrible for phlegm, you know. I'll have someone bring you some hippocras or piment, that ought to help." He lowers his voice conspiratorially. "After all, we have to get you on the mend soon, since you'll be staying with my uncle John. He's not the warmest person I've ever met. Now, if it were my uncle Thomas, he definitely has a choleric temperament, and that would theoretically make you feel better, except then you'd have to put up with him..."

He breaks off then because he's finally noticed that Anne is now looking at him with approximately the same expression as a fawn cornered by the hounds.

"...and I'm probably making you wonder what you've gotten yourself into, aren't I," he says. "I promise it won't be as bad as all that. John has calmed down a lot since the revolt, and Thomas can't abide most people but he's always nice to pretty girls. So's John, really."

Anne laughs, for the first time since he's met her, and the effect is much like that of the sharp bright sunlight that peers through the heavy winter clouds and illuminates the stained-glass impresas in the windows. Richard grins back at her, his head vibrating like the inside of a bell, but in a good way. He is beginning to suspect he is utterly lost. Also in a good way.

"They have both been very kind to me," she says.

"Well, you are a pretty girl," Richard says, laughing. "It will be nice to have one around. I might actually get things done."

Anne is still smiling, but she lowers her eyes again. "You are just saying that because we are getting married," she says. She's teasing him, but Richard can't help but remember Robert's first impression of her—You're marrying a tiny little fat girl with a big nose—and all of the people in the embassy to Prague who had danced around the question when Richard asked them what she looked like, all because she isn’t tall and blonde like the heroine of a romance (or like him). It must be hard to have people think you're plain if you're a princess.

"Why shouldn't I think my wife is a pretty girl?" Richard says.

"Well," Anne says, "if you think so, I will not object."

Richard laughs. "That's all I can ask," he says.

It's hard to return to Windsor after that, for reasons that have nothing to do with the weather (not that the weather helps). Richard would be perfectly happy to spend Christmas at Leeds Castle, getting to know Anne better, but John says it's not proper to do that when they haven't officially presented her, and since they haven't finished raising the money for that, he leaves Kent feeling impatient, sulky, and oddly achy. It makes him wonder if he and Anne are meant to be together to the extent that being away from her is physically painful, but by the time he's arrived at Windsor Castle he's also sneezing and probably mildly feverish. The whole thing is terribly unromantic, but then, Anne had a cold when he met her, and it doesn't seem to have adversely affected his inability to get her face out of his mind.

Historical notes: Anne arrived in England in December of 1381, after a long delay occasioned by the fact that Richard had to lend his new brother-in-law a lot of money to finance her trip, and then the fact that Anne got held up in Flanders while the English and imperial parties tried to convince the French not to have her kidnapped by pirates (seriously!). Even without the pirates, getting across the channel was rough business, with two of her ships being destroyed in a storm immediately after her arrival. She then waited around at Leeds Castle in Kent for a month until the money could be raised to give her a proper entry into London, wedding, and coronation. The marriage had been encouraged by Pope Urban VI as a result of the then-recent papal schism; his ambassadors collared the English ones when they were on the way to Milan to negotiate for the hand of Caterina Visconti (who was in much better shape financially). All of this made poor Anne very unpopular upon her arrival, and when she did arrive in London the crowds tore down the display of the imperial arms. They got over it, though.

We don’t know exactly when Richard and Anne met for the first time, but English kings visiting their newly-arrived fiancées in “disguise” is a documented thing (Henry VI did it to meet Margaret of Anjou, and Henry VIII rather infamously did the same to meet Anne of Cleves and then decided she was gross), so I took the liberty of including it here so that they could at least talk to each other and establish a connection before all the ceremony started. Obviously it goes a lot better for them than it would for either of the Henries.

#doitforthehistories2019 #the novelthing #fic #otp: my derlyng is a bundel of myrre to me #anne of bohemia is my forever girl

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sleeplesspensieve · 6 years ago

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Remedy For Guilt - XXVI

Summary: The daughter of Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange is a Healer who finds herself not only haunted by her past but also questioning her choice in career. When Lyra Lestrange’s old headmaster offers her a position as Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher she finds herself thrown into an adventure involving a secret affair with a colleague, discovering the cure for a disease and dealing with students cursing themselves. Who knew that being a Hogwarts Professor was such a rollercoaster?

Set in the school year of 1990-1991 with the prospect of a sequel, or two, on the horizon.

Rated: E for graphic sex scenes in THIS and later chapters. Over 18′s only please.

Word Count: 4141

Multichapter Fic (Expected to be around 30-35 chapters with a planned sequel which will take place during the Harry Potter Books)

Chapter Twenty Six - A Deal

“All of you go,” Severus commanded as he glided down the stairs, “Except for you Weasley.”

The students left, whispering harshly to one another as they filed out, looking over their shoulders back at Lyra. She could feel the judgement in their gazes, her stomach sinking and nausea overcoming her. She looked down at the boy, attempting to focus on him but instead admonishing herself for her negligence.

Severus was hovering over the boy, muttering incantations as George tightly held onto his brother’s hand. He noticed that as time passed the texture of his hand was changing; his skin was rough and his fingers grew long almost into talons. He looked down at his hand and pulled the sleeve up, feathers were starting to appear.

“What the fuck is happening?” he asked in a panicked voice.

“It seems like your brother is turning into a bird of some sort,” Severus responded.

“A bird?!” George repeated, “Is he going to be ok?”

“It won’t kill him,” Severus answered as he straightened up, “We best take him to the Hospital Wing.”

Lyra nodded before turning to her friend, “Anneli, you can go home.”

“Lyra, I’m so sorry,” the woman responded, “It was my fault, I should’ve put it away.”

Lyra shook her head, “It was my responsibility. Please, just go. I’ll let you know what happens, there’s nothing you can do.”

Anneli sighed, hesitating before taking her leave. Lyra placed the remainder of the artefact in the cabinet and ensured it was locked as Severus summoned a stretcher, levitating Fred Weasley onto it.

As the four of them made their way to the Hospital Wing, Severus cast muffliato to ensure that Lyra and himself could speak in private.

“I don’t think I can remove the curse without breaking the mask,” he said, “Even if I did, I’m not entirely sure Weasley will ever look the same. Poppy may be able to reverse the effects but it is Dark Magic, Lyra.”

“Merlin,” she exclaimed, “I’ve really fucked up.”

“The only other way I see out of this predicament is Lucius.”

“He’s going to fucking kill me, Sev.”

“Probably should’ve thought of that before you went pinching his prized possessions and leaving them out for children to play with.”

She let out an exasperated sigh.

“They are his artefacts,” he continued, “He will know how to counteract the curse.”

“Ah yes, that will go well,” she said, “Hey, Uncle Lucy, I stole one of your artefacts and whoops, it’s cursed one of the Weasley boys, you know that family of blood traitors you love so well, yep, great. Thanks, could you just come with me so we could reverse it so he doesn’t turn into a fucking bird.”

“I could go and speak to him.”

She laughed, “Oh yes, that’ll look well. I’ll send my secret boyfriend, the one he wants me to end my relationship with to his house so he can kill him. Or maybe you’ll be lucky Sev and he’ll just castrate you instead.”

“Look,” he said stopping and turning to face her, “Either you go and ask him or you come back with one of his priceless artefacts broken and possibly lose your job and Order of Merlin for endangering the Weasley’s life.”

She gritted her teeth, “Fine. I’ll go. Once we have him settled in.”

“Go now,” he demanded, “I’ll deal with everything here.”

Lyra let out a growl of resistance but surrendered, following Severus’ instruction and rushing out of Hogwarts, clear of the anti-apparation barrier.

She braced herself as she arrived at the gates of Malfoy Manor, apprehensive to engage with her Uncle given their last interaction but it was necessary. Quickly, she made her way down the path and into the Manor.

“Uncle Lucius,” she called sweetly as she entered.

“In here,” he answered, his voice carrying from the rear lounge room.

She took long strides towards the room and took a breath before pushing the door open. She smiled at the sight of him, “Uncle.”

With one hand he shut his book and peered over it, his eyes narrowed at his niece, suspicious of her intentions. “What brings you here in the middle of a school day?”

“Can’t I pop in unannounced on my favourite uncle?” she asked nervously.

“What have you done?” he asked.

She strained her neck and rubbed it sheepishly before continuing, “I may or may not have borrowed something of you that may or may not have been cursed and a student may or may not be in the Hospital Wing because he tried to wear it.”

Lucius’ eyes shut for a moment and he exhaled a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself but his jaw was very obviously still tense. He slammed his book down on the table and sucked in his lips, his hand clenched for a moment before he released it. Another deep breath was taken as he attempted to gather some patience for his niece before speaking. “What did you take?” he asked.

“Just a few things for class,” she answered, her shoulders rising slightly in a half shrug. “He’s wearing the feather mask, Anneli and I tried to remove it but it wouldn’t work.”

“What did you take?” he repeated with venom this time.

“The black ring, the bloodied cape, the idol, the necklace of strangulation and the dragon mask,” she listed.

His jaw tensed once more and he shook his head, picking his book up. “You’re on your own,” he said as he reopened the book.

“What?” she asked in shock as her stomach sunk once more.

“Yet again you find yourself in some sort of predicament and I have to be the one to dig you out of it,” he said, closing the book once more. He shrugged, “You have shown very little appreciation for what I have done for you, Lyra. I took you in, gave you a home and all I have done is protect you, yet you still disrespect my authority whether it be running off to be a teacher at Hogwarts when you have a career as a healer, fucking a mudblood instead of marrying someone pure and now to top it all off you’ve taken my things without permission.”

“Uncle,” she began.

“No,” he said, “I have given you endless chances and it is obvious that you do not want to be a part of this family.”

“I do,” she rebutted.

He shook his head, “You have shown no evidence of such.”

Lyra felt tears brimming, her rebellious nature was quelled and instead her need for approval was rife. Slowly, she walked towards her uncle and knelt, bowing her head. “I’m sorry.”

Her stomach was twisted as tears fell. Her voice was shaky as she continued to speak, “Uncle Lucius, I’m so sorry. Please help me.”

Lucius reached out, his hand finding her chin and gripping it lightly, lifting it so she would look at him. His other hand wiped away her tears. “Oh Lyra,” he said, “You know I only do this because I love you.” He stroked her cheek, “There are some things you need to learn the hard way.”

She swallowed hard and shut her eyes. She couldn’t stand looking into her uncle’s piercing grey eyes. As her lids batted shut another tear fell and inside her a war waged on; a fight between her two selves. One that craved the approval of her family members and one that longed for freedom. ‘I need to do this,’ she told herself, ‘I need to do whatever I can to make sure that Fred is safe.’

He let go of his niece’s face, “You know I am not all that cruel, Lyra.” A smirk grew on his face, “I tell you what, Lyra, I will come with you to Hogwarts and help you reverse the curse but I have a few conditions.”

Lyra’s jaw tensed and she swallowed once more.

“You can remain at Hogwarts until the end of the school year but at its conclusion you will quit and continue your career as a Healer,” he said. That was easy enough, she rationalised, it was something she had already been contemplating doing anyway. No one had expected her to last more than a year anyway so it was perfectly acceptable.

“You will also stop seeing Severus,” he continued, those words cutting her heart like a knife. She gritted her teeth and listened but she couldn’t help the fact that more tears were beginning to form. “Now, I’m not asking you to stop immediately, that would be mean and I know you love him Lyra, but you know you cannot be with him. You can indulge in it for the time being but I expect you to marry a pureblood and I want you to find someone suitable within the year otherwise you will marry someone of Narcissa’s choosing. Do we have a deal?”

She closed her eyes and felt the tears that had formed leak out and wet her cheeks. She could see the truth in her uncle’s words, that she had in fact been indulging herself and whittling away her talent, wasting it on a year of teaching and sleeping around with someone less than pure.

But it wasn’t just sleeping around. Lyra loved him. She could feel it in her heart. The prospect of losing him scared her but she knew it was inevitable.

‘You have a duty.’

‘We’ve all had to make sacrifices, my dear.’

Her aunt’s words rung true in her mind in that fleeting moment that passed and she knew what she had to do. With a staggered breath she nodded, accepting her fate. “Deal,” she said.

Lucius stood and offered a hand to Lyra. She took it and as she stood up she could feel the magic binding her to the verbal contract. Lucius smiled slyly, “Let’s go.”

The Weasley lay unconscious on a bed in the hospital wing with privacy shades staggered around the bed to hide the fact that he was completely unrecognisable. Blue feathers covered the length of his body, replacing even his iconic red hair. Where his nose once was, instead a hardened beak. He looked like an odd cross between a human and a bird.

Standing around him were Professors McGonagall and Snape, accompanied by his family members. His brothers had been pulled out of class for the day and Mrs. Weasley had rushed to Hogwarts as soon as she had heard with her two youngest children in tow. She was absolutely hysterical, the eldest child there was Charlie and he attempted to comfort her as they stood nearby waiting for something to happen.

Lyra burst through the doors of the Hospital Wing with Lucius following right behind her.

“You didn’t tell me it was a Weasley,” he hissed.

“Would you have come if I did?” she asked.

He gritted his teeth, “No.”

“This is who you brought to fix this?!” Molly Weasley shouted as she saw the two approach, “I refuse to have my son be touched by a Dark Wizard. If Arthur was here he would have a fit.”

“Good thing he isn’t,” Lucius retorted, “You seem to have bought the rest of your misfit family.”

“Lucius,” Lyra said in a warning tone.

“Where is Albus?” she asked, directing her question to Minerva, “Surely, he can’t allow this to happen.”

“Albus is out,” Minerva replied, “As acting headmistress I give Lyra permission to do what she sees fit to help aid your son as she was the one that got him into this mess.”

Molly looked over to Lyra who gave her an apprehensive smile. “She’s the teacher?!” Molly said, “Good heavens, she looks way too young to be teaching, did she only graduate last year? This is gross negligence.”

“Lyra was two years above Bill,” Charlie said, “In fact, I believe that they dated.”

“You dated Bill?” Molly asked.

Lyra cringed at the revelation, she could feel the heat of Lucius’ stare boring into her. “When we were like 15 for a month or two,” Lyra answered, “It was nothing.”

“Merlin’s beard,” the red headed witch exclaimed, “I cannot believe this.”

“Look,” Lyra said, “History aside, I assure you that we will get Fred back to normal.”

“So why is he here?” she asked with venom, pointing at Lucius.

“Because I know how to reverse the curse,” he replied.

“Of course, they were probably your artefacts to begin with,” Molly said.

“I borrowed them off of Borgin and Burkes,” Lyra interjected, “I had a lesson on curse breaking for our seventh years. I wanted it to be an immersive experience and I had an old friend come to teach them. Carelessly, we failed to pack them away when the lesson came to its conclusion. It was my responsibility and I admit fault but I have brought Lucius here to remedy the situation.”

“Then why are you just standing there?” she asked, “Do something.”

“It takes time,” Lucius responded, “We need to wait until he has fully transformed before attempting the spell otherwise he may permanently remain in this state and we don’t want that, do we now?” He gave a charming smile to Mrs. Weasley who merely scoffed.

“Just leave it to us,” Lyra told Molly, “We’ll have Fred back up to pranking in no time.”

“Come Molly,” Minerva said, “We can have some tea in my office.”

Lyra saw Molly begin to protest and spoke, “I promise we won’t harm him. You can trust me.”

The witch looked worriedly at the eldest boy and he nodded at his mum, wrapping an arm around her. As they began to move off towards the exit they were stopped in their tracks as they heard a rustle of sheets and long groan coming from the bed.

“Mum?” the feathered boy called out.

She spun on the spot, “Fred?” He smiled and sat up in bed. “Oh, Fred,” she said as she rushed to his side, “What the hell have you done to yourself?”

He held out his arms and observed the feathers that were covering his body. “Wicked,” he grinned.

“I see my help is no longer needed,” Lucius said, “I best be off.”

“No,” Lyra said pulling Lucius back, “You are holding up your end of the deal.”

He rolled his eyes, “He seems to want to stay that way.”

“You will fix him right this instant,” Molly demanded.

“I don’t take well to being ordered around by filth,” he sneered.

“Lucius, be civil,” Severus ordered, earning a glare from the wizard.

Lyra turned to Fred, “Do you really want to be an overgrown chicken for the rest of your life?”

“I mean, is it really that bad of a look?” he asked with a grin.

“At least we can tell the difference between you and George now,” Lyra joked earning a laugh from most of the Weasley boys.

“You are not staying this way,” Molly said, “Turn him back now. Please.”

Lyra looked to Lucius and he looked back with a bored expression. He tensed for a moment and sighed, “Fine. Lyra and Severus I need you to cast a spell of greater restoration with me.” The two nodded and drew their wands. “1, 2, 3,” he counted and on the third count the three of them all cast the spell.

Fred’s beak began to soften, receding back until it was a soft and pliable nose and mouth once more. The feathers shrunk and retreated back into his skin and as it did so the texture of his skin returned to normal, now flesh and pink. The mask that sat on his face lost all of its colour, the brilliant blue had vanished and it turned into a stone grey before falling into his lap.

Lucius summoned it towards him, plucking it easily out of the air. “I believe my job is complete,” he said, “I will be taking the rest of your artefacts back to Borgin and Burke’s.”

Lyra nodded and followed him out the door whilst the Weasley family crowded the bed.

“You failed to mention that you dated a Weasley,” he sneered.

“I failed to mention a lot of people I casually fucked in high school,” she retorted, “At least he was pure, to a degree.”

“Don’t you dare think that counts, Lyra,” he said as he glared at her, “I can’t believe you tricked me into coming here to help a Weasley. Be glad his father wasn’t here otherwise that boy would still be clucking around.”

Lyra laughed, “I’m thankful you came and helped me.”

“Lyra,” he said in a softer tone, “I would do anything for you as long as you don’t disappoint me. You shouldn’t have taken my things.”

“I apologise,” she said.

“Don’t think that lets you off the hook,” he replied, “I am holding you to your end of the deal too.”

She sighed and nodded, “I understand.”

The day came to its end, classes had finished and Lyra had found her way back to Severus’ quarters after Lucius had stripped her of his possessions.

“What a day,” she sighed as she slumped into the armchair that sat across from the fireplace.

“Indeed,” he replied, “Your life is always full of excitement.”

Lyra laughed, “What I would give for it to be calm and quiet for a while.”

“We can always head to bed early,” he suggested, “Unwind in a bath.”

She smirked, “I’d like that.”

Severus got up and headed to the bathroom first, Lyra following shortly behind him. He had already disrobed and the bath was switched on. She wrapped her arms around him from behind and laid sweet kisses on his back before she too removed her clothes. Severus slipped in first and Lyra took her position between his legs with his arms wrapped around her.

“So, what deal did you make with Lucius?” he asked as he pressed his lips on her head.

She bit her lip and thought for a second before answering, “I said I’d quit at the end of the school year.” It was a partial truth, she didn’t think it was necessary for Severus to know the whole truth. She was just thankful that he couldn’t look directly into her eyes at that moment as she was sure her occlumency shields would be vulnerable.

“And that was enough?”

“To convince him to come?” she asked, “Yeah, if he knew it was Fred Weasley I’m sure he would’ve pushed for more.”

“So you’re quitting?”

Lyra tilted her head, shrugging her shoulders slightly. “I don’t know if I could stay,” she replied, “It’s been a crazy year and I’m ready to go back to healing.”

“What about us?”

“What about us?” she asked, turning her head and giving him a concerned look. She shuffled around and caressed his cheek, “Sev, I love you. I want to be with you and I won’t let anything stand in the way of that.”

She believed those words with every ounce of her being. She would find a way around the deal she had made. She needed to be with him.

Severus wanted to believe her, he allowed himself to but there was this little voice in his head that told him that she couldn’t be trusted. Perhaps Lucius’ presence had cast some doubt in his mind. He tried to shake it off, leaning in and kissing her.

He allowed himself to melt into her touch and the water to wash away his doubt. They remained in the bath and talked, Lyra diffusing about her day and Severus too sharing his thoughts. It took about twenty minutes until they were ready for bed, curling up to one another in between the soft satin sheets.

Severus held her close, spooning her from behind. Absentmindedly, his hands began to wander; a slight brush against her breast, a fluid caress of the curves of her body, an appreciative grope of her tight ass. He let out a deep groan as pushed back against his crotch, her bottom grinding gently against his member that was slowly coming to attention. He kissed her cheek, and then her neck before nipping at her shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her and began to tease her nipple, rubbing it between his fingers and earning a moan of approval.

“Sev,” she whispered, her hips moving back and stimulating his cock further.

“Yes, my love,” he drawled between fevered kisses against her back.

“I want you,” she said.

“You want me?” he repeated in a teasing tone.

“Yes,” she hissed, “I want you.”

“Tell me how much you want me,” he demanded as he continued his assault on her breasts.

She could feel the arousal begin to pool between her legs as each tug and roll of her nipple flooded her body with heat, her hips continuing to grind back into him. “Sev, I need you,” she panted, “I want your cock in me. I want you to fuck me. I want you to fuck me. I need you to fill me.”

“You only need to ask, my love,” he teased, his hand wrapped around his erection and guided it towards Lyra’s heat. She held her cheeks open, allowing him to slide in slowly.

Once his cock was fully enveloped he held her close to him once more, his hands groped her breasts instead as he made small movements inside her, giving them both enough friction to satiate their need to be close but not enough to drive them to orgasm but in that moment it didn’t matter.

All he wanted was to be inside her, to be as close as he could physically be to her and she accepted that. She enjoyed the intimacy and laziness of their spoon-like fucking. He was close to her, he was around her and she was safe in his arms. He made her feel so small but so full, both of his cock and of his love.

He peppered kisses on every bit of exposed flesh that was near his head and she wrapped arm tighter around her body, interlocking their fingers. She attempted to thrust back into him and grind on his cock, allowing him deeper if possible.

They continued this for several minutes, focusing on the feeling of just being together and owning one another in that moment, each other’s bodies and hearts belonging to the other.

He felt Lyra’s pussy tighten around him and tease him, wanting to squeeze every drop of come out of him. He grew tired of the lack of friction eventually, tapping on the side of Lyra’s bottom and commanding, “Up. All fours.”

He slid out and watched Lyra move, her ass in the air begging for him to take her. He licked his lips in delight before positioning himself behind her. One quick thrust and he was deep inside her once more and he thrusted in and out of her with purpose.

Lyra collapsed into the bed a little, resting her head on the bed as she reached down between her legs to give her that extra bit of friction to get herself off. Her other hand gripped tightly onto the bed sheets as he pounded her in an attempt to keep herself up right.

Severus’ hands appreciated the suppleness of her ass, squeezing it and spreading it as he moved in and out of her pussy. As he did so he let go or her bottom and let a hand come down, slapping her hard. A shriek of surprise came from her and he trialed it again, this time earning a moan.

He smirked and continued to spank her as he fucked her from behind. He felt her pussy tightening, gripping hard as she neared her orgasm. One more slap was enough to make her fall off the edge and into the pool of bliss. She moaned as her pussy pulsed around him, she stopped stimulating her clit but he was relentless, continuing to thrust into her.

He was determined to make her come once more before he came. He caressed her now reddened cheeks and his hand found its way to her crack. A teasing thumb pressed on the puckered star that was her asshole and slowly he made his way in.

The pressure and stimulation was overwhelming for Lyra. To feel both of her holes filled was so satisfying yet maddening. She reached for her clit once more and quickly found herself coming around him once more.

His pace quickened at the feel of her quaking cunt and he reached a steady rhythm before he too came, deep inside her pussy. His thrusts slowed before he pulled out and Lyra collapsed onto the bed. Lazily, the two crawled back into bed and they fell asleep holding hands, both too sweaty to cuddle.

#rfg #will fix tags but i just want this up soz

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tiemeupspidey · 7 years ago

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Shhhh.. She’s sleeping

Series: Tom Holland Dad Imagines

(check my masterlist for more of my stories)

Relationship: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: The reader gives birth, baby is home and Tom does a livestream to show the baby to his fans.

Warnings: Swearing cause Tom swears IRL.

Word Count: 1,200+

A/N: Comment if you want more of these kind of imagines. Also my requests are open :) Tyoed this while on pain medication so,hopefully its not fucked up.

[Tom’s POV]

Today I just got done filming what I had to do. Now I get to go home, be with my newborn and spend time with my lovely wife. My wife and I got to bring her home after a few days. Ever since we introduced Tessa to her she’s been hooked,Tessa loves laying by the crib now. She absolutely loves being near the baby.

The doctor warned us about introducing Tessa to our daughter. Me of course I knew Tessa couldn’t do any harm. Even my wife knew Tessa wouldn’t even harm her. The moment Tessa met her was the most purest and sweetest moment anyone could witness.

Opening the front door I’m greeted by a happy Tessa. Smiling down at her I rub the top of her head. Pulling out my phone I smile by all the sweet comments on my picture. I posted a picture of me holding my daughter when she was born. Clicking on my story I click the ‘Live’ option. It counts down from three to one after checking the connection. Viewers start racking up once the livestream started.

“Ello guys, today’s been a really good.. I finished filming what I needed to for the new sequence, yes I’m not going to spill details” I laugh at how I recklessly spilled stuff in the past.

Reading the comments I see them mainly asking about the baby. Other’s asking about how my wife was feeling. Setting my phone on a shelf I pull out a mug. Pulling the coffee pot from its warm home I fill the cup up. Smiling at how the coffee was ready for me, she must have started it knowing I’d be home as of now. I’m so blessed.

“My wife is a trooper guys, she was in labor for eighteen hours.. I’ve never heard her swear so much..” the memory causing me to laugh out loud.

“She was like “Fuck you Holland it’s all your fault” and I being a lil shit was like “well if we didn’t fuck we wouldn’t be here” then I got slapped on the head which wasn’t fun” chuckling as I take a sip of my coffee. Reading more people comment about how beautiful our daughter is. One person saying she looks like a baby rather than an alien like some baby’s look like when they’re born.

“Thank you for all the lovely comments! You guys won’t believe how lovely my daughter is..” holding my phone in front of my face as the live stream continues. Watching as the side gets spammed with hearts. Then I see the same question pop up, yet It was on the post I made a few days ago. Drinking more of my coffee as I see the same question pop up again and again.

@tomhollanlover6991: WHAT IS HER NAME?!

“Her name is Nova Anne Holland, she was born two weeks earlier which surprised everyone because I didn’t think I would be home for her birth” I respond making my way up the stairs. The carpet feeling good against my aching feet from today’s interview and photoshoot.

“We named her Nova because our daughter is beautiful like Supernova’s and no we didn’t name her Nova after the Marvel character” I explain with a small laugh only imagining the memes they would try to make. My fans and their damn memes will be the death of me.

Making my way up the stairs I hear Tessa’s tags jingling behind me. Checking my bedroom I don’t see my wife. The only other place she could be is in the nursery. Walking down the hall I see Nova’s galaxy plaque with her name on it hanging from the door. Continuing to talk to my fans as I get closer towards the door.

[Reader’s POV]

“Oh my,you’re so beautiful.. so so beautiful” You whisper down at Nova,the rocking chair moving slowly as you cradle her in your arms. Her little finger wraps around yours as she lets out a little yawn. Watching her eyelids droop were falling due to sleep beckoning her.

“Let’s get you off to bed love” her eyes closing slowly as you get up from the rocking chair. Smiling at the sight of her hand still wrapped around your finger.

“Your daddy and I love you so much darling” Pressing a soft kiss to her head before lowering her into her crib. Slowly taking her hand off of your pointer finger,her small hands making your heart melt at the sight. This little human you created was everything to you.

Taking the small multi-colored purple knit blanket off of the railing. Laying it across her body you tuck the sides so she’s in a semi blanket cocoon. She cried the most when she was cold, which we learned quickly. Tom’s voice could be heard through the door. Freezing I look to see Nova stirring in her sleep.

Thomas I swear to God.

“I’ll show Nova to you, she’s probably sleeping by now” The door opens to reveal Tom. He peeks in the room entering slowly. A smile popping up on his face as he sees you. You were dressed lazily and felt like death, yet he still looked at you like you were a million dollars.

“Shhh… she’s sleeping Tom, I don’t want her to wake” you whisper holding a finger to your lips. He walks over towards you giving your cheek a swift kiss.

Turning the camera around he shows Nova to his fans. His free hand reaches down towards Nova. Tom strokes her cheek gently with his finger down to her chin. Nova smiles in her sleep at her father’s touch making you almost die from the cuteness.

His eyes full of adoration while he looked at her. Tom ends the livestream and puts his phone away in his pocket. Leaning against his chest as he held you next to him. The two of you looking at your beautiful child together. Tom kisses you on top of your head making you sigh out in content,life was perfect.

“C’mon I’ll got put the kettle on, if she cries I’ll head back up” You whisper taking Tom’s hand giving it a small tug. You didn’t know how much time you would have with him before he would have to take off again.

“Can we look at her for five more minutes? I feel like she’ll grow up so fast” Tom begs quietly pulling you towards him. Stifling a laugh you nod up at him as he grins.

“She’s got you wrapped around her little finger and she’s only been home for three days” Your eyes examine her sleeping face. Tom rests his left elbow on top of the railing of the crib. Resting his chin on his hand as he looks down at her.

“She’s definitely going to say Daddy first” he sends a cheeky grin your way. She is going to say Mommy first, what is he thinking?

“If she’s smart like her mother she’ll say mommy first” you respond in a challenging tone earning a look from Tom.

“Is this going to be a bet?” Tom asks raising an eyebrow up.

“You’re going to lose” you whisper pushing him slightly. He fakes a painful attack placing his hand on his forehead. Opening the door to the nursery Tom grins pulling you towards his body. He picks you up spinning you in a circle.

“Let’s make a bet,if I win we have another kid and if you win we have another kid” His offer making you laugh a bit as he carries you out of the room. Setting you down he cups your cheek with his hand. The warmth of his skin makes you smile.

“Well I was wanting another kid anyways so we both will win?” you respond brushing a curl out of his face. He lets out a chuckle nodding his head agreeing with you.

“She’s still going to say Daddy first, I just know it… I mean did you see that smile when I touched her cheek? That was brilliant” the excitement in his voice was absolutely adorable.

“Nooooo” you whine wrapping your arms around his neck.

“It’s going to happen darling, just you wait till Nova says Daddy” he whispers as his lips kiss your forehead.

“You cheeky lil shit” a groan escapes your lips as your head falls against his chest. You give up with a sigh of defeat as he laughs holding you close to him. Moments were wonderful like this with Tom, you couldn’t imagine a life without him and Nova.

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stellarumlapsus-rp · 5 years ago

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OLIVIA BONES, aka THE CHALLENGER is 21 years old and a HALF-BLOOD alumni of house GRYFFINDOR. Her allegiance is to the ORDER OF THE PHOENIX, and she is currently OPEN. Suggested faceclaims include China Anne McClain, Letitia Wright, Keke Palmer.

AESTHETICS

pressing flowers in books, sparkling eyes, empathetic eyes, brave to make others strong, amethyst crystal, bold opinions, strength in calmness, both emotions and intellect, shredded clothes, overgrown gardens, hand squeezes, more self love babygirl, forbidden books, rhythmic heartbeat, barefoot in the forest, usually late but always with a reason, frank but fair, feels deeply, oversized over shirts

DEFINING MOMENTS

Trailing after her older brother and sister, Olivia is seven years old and she believes she is invincible. Running after her siblings in the woods behind their house, she goes as fast as her little feet can carry her. Hide and seek has always been a favorite game of the Bones’ and Olivia has always been eerily good at finding just where her older siblings are hiding. Darting around behind the rock pile, she expects to see one of her siblings. Instead, a stranger is towering over her, and for the first time in her life, she feels truly afraid. Her speed is no match for him, and the scream that leaves her lips is deafening. Left with nothing but a bite mark, it is Olivia’s siblings that come to seek her. Everything is a blur of hospitals, nurses, and hushed voices after that. Through it all, there are two comforting bodies pressed up against her; two promises that she’ll be okay and that they’ll be there.

By eleven years old, she’s come to terms with the beast inside of her. Her parents had spent the last several years teaching her that despite what the rest of the wizarding community says, she’s loved and worthy of whatever life she wants to have. When she goes to Hogwarts, she has her head up high and holds onto the belief that she deserves to be there. Sorted into the most daring house, she can hardly say she’s surprised. Every challenge Olivia has faced since that day has been terrifying, and yet, she has shouldered through it head on. It’s during this time she meets two very different girls that she decides are going to be hers until the bitter end. Narcissa’s bravery matched her own and she couldn’t help but want to stand by her for the rest of her days when she leaves. Dorcas is a mixed bag, and Olivia sees the best in her, the parts she tries to bury deep, and promises that she’s never going to someone that leaves her. Olivia has always had enough room in her heart for more.

Sixteen and she’s met two people that are just like her. Two people that struggle with the same things she does, and two people that keep it a secret for vastly different reasons, but ultimately the same. Olivia has kept it quiet for ages, aside from Rabastan and Helena, who has always been without question. Sixteen and she tells her family she doesn’t want to hide. If she’s going to fight for the rights of her people, and she damn well will, she doesn’t want to do it from the shadows. She’s in a position that the others aren’t in - her family is solid and stable, supporting the resistance openly, and Olivia doesn’t have as much to lose. Telling Dorcas and Narcissa first is easy - she knew they loved her regardless. Openly telling everyone - it’s a little harder, but she revels in the way it rocks the beliefs of people around her. They grew up with her, they’ve been friends with her, they’ve cared for her and seen the very best of her already - why would this change anything?

Twenty years old, and Olivia is a force to be reckoned with. She’s passionate about her opinions, and her actions are bold. Her heart still beats for the people she loves most, and she knows her family built that up in her. Getting a steady job is difficult, especially given her open status, but Olivia makes it work. She charms her way into the dragonology department. With glowing letters of recommendations from her professors, and Dumbledore himself, the department head makes a decision to take her on. Maybe it’s because he’s more progressive than his colleagues, or maybe it’s because saying no to Olivia Bones is no easy feat, but he gives her a chance and that’s all she needs. Olivia thrives in her new position and she uses her off time to help the Order. She knows their methods can be radical, but she’s seen the destruction of the Death Eaters, and while Olivia does not wish to do harm, she will absolutely take no shit. Olivia knows that while she’s gotten the right breaks in life, it isn’t like that for most people in her situation, and she won’t stop fighting until her story is the rule and not the outlier.

MEMORABLE TRAITS

Aplomb

Audacious

Flexible

Idiosyncratic

Sanguine

Obstinate

THE ONES THAT MATTER

AMELIA: When Olivia looks at her sister, she sees a leader. Despite Edgar being older, it’s Amelia they’ve always taken their cues from. She trusts her judgement and values her opinion more than most. Still, she knows her sister has taken a different approach to fighting this war. Neutrality was never something Olivia could afford, and while she knows that Amelia is doing the inside work, she sometimes wishes her sister didn’t keep her cards so close to her chest. Still, she knows Amelia always has her back, and she would do anything for her sister.

EDGAR: The bond between Olivia and her brother only strengthened after that fateful day. He had carried her home when she was her most vulnerable, and since then, Olivia could always count on Edgar to bring her home when she strayed too far. Despite everything, Olivia still holds an air of invincibility, because she knows her brother is always there to catch her if she falls. He’s always had a way of lifting her and Amelia up to make them feel as though they can do anything.

NARCISSA: One of the first friends she made in Hogwarts, Narcissa is someone she greatly admires and respects. Their friendship turned into the ride or die that Olivia never fully expected to have. When Narcissa left, she stood by her relentlessly, and it was her courage that helped her feel comfortable admitting her status to not only her, but the rest of the world as well. There’s nothing she wouldn’t do for the girl who shares the other half of her heart.

DORCAS: Becoming friends was almost done by chance, but Olivia wouldn’t give it up for the world. Dorcas was just as daring and invincible as she was, and it didn’t take long for the other girl to become her partner in crime. Olivia had been planning to tell Dorcas about her status anyways, but Dorcas had found out by accident, and Olivia had been proven right that she could trust Doe with her truest self. She knows that she’ll never leave Dorcas, not the way she’s been left in the past.

#marauders rp #marauders rpg #marauders era rpg #marauders era rp #harry potter rpg #olivia bones

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hamki · 8 years ago

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New fic coming your way

it’s been like 20938 years but-

I wrote some Shiann/suzumaki/whatever their ship name is at the moment. These two deserve to be girlfriends.

Title: Her Miracle Word Count: 3,769 words Fandom: Persona 5 Contains spoilers about the first dungeon and parts of Ann’s social link.

Also available here on AO3

PI PI PI PI~

Something buzzed harshly against a girl's bed. The girl groaned into her pillow and lazily searched around her blankets with a hand to find the object. Once her fingers contacted cold metal, she brought it up to her face and clicked a button. The light that emitted from her phone blinded her with the following:

7:30 AM

1 NEW MESSAGE FROM: SUZUI SHIHO

MESSAGE PREVIEW: "Good morning, Ann."

Ann smiled, still half asleep, and slid the notification to reply.

"Good morning, Shiho."

Send.

Shiho is typing...

"Sorry to message you so early. Did I wake you up?"

"No, not at all! What's up?"

"Well, I was thinking..."

...

Shiho is typing...

...

Shiho is typing...

Ann watched the notification pop up and down. She waited until Shiho was able to gather her words together. Finally, a new message appeared.

"Do you have any free time today? I have another rehab session... I want you to be there with me."

Ann didn't even bother checking her calendar.

"Of course! What time should I be there?"

Shiho sent her the details. Ann scheduled an alarm for herself before finally sitting up and stretching.

A few hours later, Ann arrived at the hospital. The receptionist was already quite familiar with the light blonde girl, and greeted her warmly. Ann flashed a smile back as she signed her name for visiting and headed for the elevator. As the metal box made its slow ascent, Ann pulled out her phone. She'd forgotten to cancel her photoshoot appointment earlier that was supposed to be scheduled around this time. She simply typed a short "Sorry, I can't make it today. Have Mika fill in for me."

The elevator doors opened with a soft ding. Ann stepped out onto the hospital floor. Despite the halls winding around itself like a maze, Ann had already made herself familiar with the floor. In fact, Ann had been here so many times, even the other patients and nurses recognized her. When Ann had made her first visit here, she'd expected that the atmosphere would have been dark and heavy due to the fact that this was the mental facility for those who desired the same fate as Shiho. But surprisingly, Ann had found it to have a warm sense of hope to it. It felt like a place where new beginnings were born.

After greeting a few patients who passed her by, she arrived at the room where Shiho resided. She gently rapped on the door.

"Shiho? It's me." Ann announced. She listened closely for the other girl's soft reply.

"Come in."

Ann quietly slid the door open and closed it behind her as she stepped inside. Her eyes immediately darted for the girl sitting up on the hospital bed. It was strange, almost serene, even, seeing Shiho not in uniform. Shiho was wearing her hair down while a pair of reading glasses rested upon the bridge of her nose, along with a gentle smile that was reserved for Ann and only Ann. With the large windows that filtered plenty of sunlight inside, it was almost as if Ann had walked into the room of an angel. The blonde girl took a seat at Shiho's bedside.

"You're here early." Shiho laughed.

"I couldn't wait to see my favorite volleyball player after all!" Ann giggled back. "So? How's the hospital treatment been?"

"About the same. The nurses here are always really nice." Shiho replied. "The food still kind of sucks, though."

Ann laughed and nodded. "I'm not surprised. Tell you what though, when they give you the 'ok' to let you out of here, I'll take you somewhere nice. My treat."

"Will it be a date, then?" Shiho asked innocently.

"W-well..! Um...o-only if you want it to be." Ann stuttered. She waved her hands in front of her as if dismissing a misunderstanding. "I mean I don't mind if it were to be a date. In fact it would be great if it was a date! O-only if you wanted it to be though, I don't want to impose anything on you or-"

"It's a date, then." Shiho giggled. She held out her pinky to the other girl. "Promise?" Ann stopped herself in her stupor and hurriedly returned the gesture.

"Yeah, I promise." They smiled at each other in understanding.

"Thank you, Ann."

"What are you thanking me for?" The blonde girl laughed.

"Everything." Shiho responded quickly. Ann was taken aback at the sudden reply and gazed at her in curiosity. The girl in the hospital bed calmly returned her gaze, silent. Without a word, Shiho removed the book on her lap, placing it on the table beside her along with her reading glasses. "My rehab session doesn't start until a while. Until then, would you like to go to the courtyard? I'm feeling a little stuffy in here."

Ann nodded. "O-oh, yeah, that sounds great. The weather outside is actually pretty nice today."

"That's good to hear." Shiho responded. She reached over to the space between the table and her bed to pull out a folded wheelchair.

"Oh! Let me help you with that." Ann offered. Shiho shook her head.

"Ah, no, it's fine. I'm used to it by now. I can just lift myself out using my arms. Besides, I'm a little heavy so---eep!"

Ann was most certainly not in the mood to accept Shiho's excuses today. She'd already scooped Shiho up into a princess carry and gently lowered her onto the chair.

"How was that?" Ann grinned widely.

"Wow Ann...Have you always been this strong?"

"Hey! What are you trying to say?" Ann gasped. Shiho giggled into her hand.

"No, nothing. It's just that I remember when we used to arm wrestle and you'd always lose within the first 5 seconds. Maybe if we did it again, you'd last longer." Shiho teased.

"Is that a challenge I'm hearing?" Ann said playfully.

"...Maybe." Shiho replied. "Oh right, I need to let my nurse know that I'll be outside before we go. Can you take me to her?"

Ann pumped her fist with a wide grin plastered on her face. "Leave it to me!"

The hospital courtyard was spacious. There were plenty of large tree to provide shade if the weather was too hot, and plenty of grass to lie on if one so desired. It was almost like a small park. Two girls sat next to each other; one on a bench under a tree, and one on a wheelchair. They were drinking some lemonade together that the blonde girl had bought them from the vending machine. Uncarbonated, of course.

Shiho inhaled deeply and let out a breath. "The air out here is so nice." She commented. "Sometimes I feel like I'm suffocating inside the hospital room."

"Well, on the bright side, they said they you would be able to leave soon if your rehab all goes accordingly, right?" Ann asked as she placed her drink down on the bench.

"Right. In fact, they were saying that I'm progressing faster than they expected, so if I'm going at the pace I've been going at all this while, I might even be able to leave early." Shiho answered.

"That's amazing, Shiho!" Ann shouted.

"Actually, Ann...That's why I wanted you to come today." Shiho said softly. Ann tilted her head to the side.

"Shiho...?"

"I wanted you to see...just how strong I've grown now. The first day they put me on rehab, I wasn't even able to reach the halfway mark. But now, I think I can do it….No, I'm sure that I can. I'll show you that I can be strong too, Ann...!" Shiho turned towards the girl beside her.

"Shiho..." Ann looked into Shiho's eyes. There was a light there that she'd never seen before. It was a bright light. A light that marked a new beginning for that girl. A light that burned with such fierce determination, Ann couldn't look away.

"When I said Thank You earlier...I meant it. All this time, you've been my reason for everything. I've been trying to get stronger because you were there. Because you were strong." Shiho reached over and took Ann's hand into hers. Ann shook her head.

"No...I'm not strong. I couldn't do anything when you needed my help the most. How is that supposed to represent strength...?" Ann looked down at her feet.

"That's not true!" Shiho shouted. Ann looked up at her, eyes wide. It was the first time she'd heard Shiho raise her voice like that. "Ann. You were the one who protected me, right? You were willing to sacrifice your own comfort for my sake. People made fun of you and looked down on you because they all thought you were with that...that man. And yet, you still did it anyways and you pushed through it. All so that I could have a place on the volleyball team." Shiho furrowed her brows. "Not only that...you did something else to protect me, didn't you?"

"....What do you mean?" Ann asked hesitantly.

"Ann, you're a Phantom Thief, aren't you?" Shiho whispered. Ann shot up from her seat, eyes wide.

"How did you-!?"

"Shh!" Shiho hushed. "There are a lot of surveillance cameras here." Ann quickly clasped her hands around her mouth. "But...I knew it. I'm honestly relieved to hear that you're one of them." She smiled to herself.

"But still, Shiho...How did you find out?" Ann questioned. Shiho frowned and shook her head.

"I...can't really explain it myself. The thought just came to me one day. I'd heard about what happened with that calling card, and for some reason, when I thought about who it could have been, your face was the one that always popped up in my head. I'd told myself that I owe the Phantom Thieves my life because they protected me by changing that man's heart. And I think my mind must have associated the word 'protection' with you." Shiho looked up at Ann, who still seemed to be a bit in shock. "Don't worry. I won't tell anyone. It'll be our little secret. That way, I can tell myself that I have a secret superhero who watches over me." Shiho laughed.

A secret superhero. In her mind, Ann had wanted to call herself this too, but ever since that high school detective had raised his concerns about the Phantom Thieves false sense of justice, she wasn't sure. Now, hearing Shiho calling her her superhero...it was all she needed to convince herself that changing people's hearts to help others in need wasn't bad.

"I've been meaning to tell you this for a while, Ann, but...I'm also sorry."

"Sorry? Sorry for what?"

"During that time, when I was standing on that ledge, I wasn't thinking about anyone else but me. All that was going through my mind was that I couldn't live in this world anymore…! That I didn't belong, and I needed to escape. Somewhere far away where no one could touch me again. I wasn't thinking about how you would have felt if I'd actually died from that fall. I was selfish."

"T-That's not true...!"

"Not only that...I was weak, too." Shiho continued. "I let people push me around whenever they felt like. I couldn't speak up for myself, and I let...that man convince me that I was worthless. Disposable."

"Shiho...stop. That wasn't your fault! None of it was! It was all because of that sick bastard!" Ann yelled. A few heads were turned, but they went back to their business. "Please, don't blame yourself. I can't stand it..." Tears began to well up in the corners of Ann's eyes.

"It's alright. I've decided already." Shiho reached out to take hold of the other girl's hands once more. "I had to have a lot of therapy here to help me get through my trauma, and it helped me sort out my thoughts. The scars that man has left on me...they won't ever go away, no matter how hard I try. The despair that I felt...I won't ever be able to forget how it burned into my head. But I've decided that I won't live in that past. Instead, I've set my sights on the future. From now on, I want to practice to become a professional volleyball player. Then, when I become good enough and get on Japan's Olympic team...I can show everyone that my past doesn't define who I am. That someone who was a weakling like me can become strong too, but still remain kind at heart. What do you think, Ann? Will you support me...?" Shiho looked up at the crying girl, a small smile dancing on her lips.

"Of course I will! I'll always support you, Shiho. No matter what." Ann tried her best to keep her sobs in. Shiho couldn't help but laugh. She took Ann's wrists and pulled her down gently, motioning her to kneel down. Ann willingly complied. Shiho then reached out and patted Ann's head.

"There, there." Shiho whispered. "It's alright. Please, don't cry, Ann." Shiho cupped the blonde girl’s cheeks with her hands, wiping away the tears that flowed out of her eyes. "I'm sorry for making you cry.” She apologized. “I didn't mean to. Come on, cheer up a bit! You’re a model, aren’t you? You’ll get wrinkles...and...looking at you cry makes me want to cry too..." Shiho pressed her forehead against Ann's.

The familiar warmth comforted her. It made her feel safe. It was warmth that made her never want to let go. She was everything to her.

"Excuse me, Suzui-san?" A sweet voice called out. Shiho recognized the voice and reluctantly parted with Ann, while Ann quickly stood up and wiped away the rest of her tears with her sleeve.

"Ah, over here!" Shiho responded with a wave.

"Oh, there you are. Your rehab session is about to start soon. Let's go back to get you prepared." The woman who approached them was kind of short with ginger hair tied up in a sidetail, and her eyes shone blue with a warm light. It was Shiho's nurse.

"Thank you, Kousaka-san. Ann and I will be right there." The woman nodded and left.

"It's time, Ann." Shiho said. Ann nodded firmly, smiling again once she dried her tears.

"Right. I'll be there with you."

Back in the hospital, Ann waited patiently nearby the rehab room. Shiho had to talk to some doctors first in another room, before heading inside. The same ginger-haired woman came out of the room and walked towards Ann with a clipboard in her hand.

"I'm glad you're here, Takamaki-chan." The woman said. "Shiho has been really looking forward to today. If she manages to reach all the way from one end of the bars to the other, it'll be a major milestone for her. Since you're here, I'm sure she'll be able to do it."

"Y-yeah!" Ann replied. "I'm really looking forward to watching her do it myself. She's come so far ever since..." She faded off.

"Ah, yes. She's talked to me personally about a little of those events. She doesn't like bringing it up though, no surprise there. I wouldn't either. Rather, she loves talking about you more." The nurse smiled and laughed.

"M-me?" Ann pointed at herself.

"Yes, you. You're just about the only thing Shiho will talk about nowadays, but I definitely don't blame her." The nurse grinned inwardly. Ann felt her face heat up, despite the chilling temperature the hospital AC was set at.

"S-so, what does she say about me?" Ann inquired.

"Oh my, if I were to tell you that, we'd be here all night." The older woman laughed heartily. "But, one thing I would tell you though..." She fell silent and looked down at her feet. Her held her clipboard a little closer to herself as her brows furrowed together.

"Takamaki-san, I'm sure you're already aware of this, but Shiho...The doctors thought Shiho would never wake up. They were certain that she would remain in a comatose state until she died.” The nurse looked up again back at Ann with her usual smile. “But somehow, she did wake up, and now she's almost able to walk on her own two feet again despite the damage to her spinal chord. It's nothing short of a miracle. When the topic came up while I was talking to her, all she did was laugh and smile. She said to me that when she was in her coma, she heard your voice speaking to her, and because of that, she wanted to wake up as soon as she could to see you again. She went on to say that if her waking up was considered a miracle, that must mean that you're her miracle."

Ann listened closely as the nurse explained.

"Takamaki-san. I know as a professional I shouldn't be saying this, but...Shiho...that girl...she really loves you. You're her light at the end of the tunnel." The nurse paused.

"Please don't break her heart."

Suddenly, the door to the room where Shiho and the doctors were talking swung open. Shiho appeared first, with her hair tied up in a ponytail again. A female doctor with short red hair pushed her along, while another doctor emerged from the room.

"We're ready to start. Please head on inside." One of them ushered.

Shiho was pushed along to one end of the parallel bars. Ann stood by on the outside of the bars.

"We can start whenever you're ready." Said the red haired doctor. Shiho nodded. She first gripped the smooth metal bars with her hands, then slowly began to rise to her feet. When she was sure she was steady enough, she stepped off the wheelchair pedals and onto the solid floor. She looked ahead. No matter what, she was going to reach the end today.

Shiho took a deep breath and stepped forward.

She started off at a good pace. She was advancing step by step, and Ann was with her the entire way. Ann was chanting for her, internally, of course. She didn't want to distract Shiho from this.

Go, Shiho!

You can do it!

I believe in you!

...Ann hoped that if her bond with Shiho was really so strong that Shiho could figure out that she was a Phantom Thief by pure intuition, then Shiho would hear her encouragement in her mind as well.

"Suzui-san, you've reached the halfway mark. Please keep it up." One of the doctors informed.

"Do your best, Shiho!" Ann added. Shiho smiled and thanked them.

Although Shiho's progress throughout the first half appeared to be seamless, her breathing gradually became more labored as she continued on each step. Sweat began to form on her forehead, and her steps became more staggered. Shiho was certainly approaching the end, but as Ann noticed the looks the doctors were giving each other, she too became concerned.

"Are you alright?" Ann whispered as she placed her hand on Shiho's.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Shiho answered. "I'm just getting a bit tired. I can make it though." Shiho assured them before taking another step. She winced as her heel touched the floor.

"Suzui-san, it's alright if you can't make it to the end today. We can always try again next time. You've already made remarkable progress." The red haired doctor said.

"No, I can do it!" Shiho shook her head in refusal and picked her leg up, but failed to take another step. She inhaled sharply.

"Suzui-san, it'd be best if we stopped here. At this rate, you might injure yourself if you force yourself anymore."

"I...I have to make it to the end! I'm only a few steps away...Please..." The doctors exchanged a worried look and conceded to the girl's wishes.

However, as she inched her next foot forward, a hand slipped from the metal bar, causing her to lose her grip and collapse.

"Shiho!" Ann cried. She quickly knelt down along with the nurse and doctors. Shiho's breathing was shaky, and her hands were trembling.

"Suzui-san, please, you shouldn't continue anymore. You may end up reversing the progress you've done so far..."

"But...I have to show Ann! I promised myself...that I would show her how far I've come. I'm not giving up!" Despite her ragged breathing, she lifted herself up again using her arms and steadied herself on her feet again. She took another deep breath.

Ann wanted to help. She wished that she could walk for her. She could feel herself beginning to cry again, just like the first time she had seen Shiho try and walk herself across these bars in pain. But Ann held back the tears. Instead, she walked over to the end of the bars.

"Shiho. Focus on me. You're almost there." She placed a hand over her heart, showing Shiho her support.

"Ann..." Shiho smiled. She steeled herself one more time, and marched forward. This time, her steps began to steady out. She kept her gaze on Shiho while she willed her legs to move forwards. Little by little, she began to close the distance between herself and Ann.

"Come on! Just a few more steps!" Ann cheered. "Come here, Shiho!" She spread her arms out. The other girl laughed.

"I'm coming!" Just one foot after the other.

5 more...

5 more steps seemed like 500. Shiho's legs felt like they had been filled with liquid lead.

4 more...

The tears Ann had tried to hold back began breaking through, streaming down cheeks.

3 more...

Shiho had blurred everything out now. The only thing in sight was her most important person.

Her miracle.

2 more...

Ann shouted another cheer for the girl.

The last step...

Shiho stumbled forwards. Ann caught her with her arms in an embrace, and began to sob into her shoulder.

"You did it! Shiho, you did it!" Ann cried.

"Did you see me, Ann!? I walked across the whole thing!"

"Yes! Yes I did!! I'm so happy...You were so strong."

"Yeah...Now...I can finally say that I'm stronger. Just like you...Ann..." Shiho pulled on Ann's clothes, closing the distance between their lips. Ann yelped, but once she had realized what was going on, she closed her eyes and held the girl in her arms tighter than she ever had before.

The nurse, as well as the two doctors, smiled at each other and left the room to give the two girls a moment by themselves.

#persona 5 #shiann #shiho x ann #suzui shiho #ann takamaki #akiha writes #maaan it's been too long since i've written #in any case #im hoping to write some p3 as well

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easyobsession · 8 years ago

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DWTS24: WEEK 1 (Lo Recaps)

WHAT IS UP YOU DANCE-LOVING BASTARDS? I WAS IN A CAR DURING THE PREMIERE TRAVELING HOME 13 HOURS FROM THE GODDAMN HAPPIEST PLACE ON EARTH AND ALAS, HERE I SIT TO TYPE THIS VERY POST. YOU ASKED FOR WEEKLY RECAPS, I WAS FLATTERED AND THEREFORE FELT OBLIGATED, AND NOW I’M GOING TO GET THIS DONE SO I CAN DRINK A DR. PEPPER AND TAKE MY PILLS LIKE THE 80 YEAR OLD I REALLY AM INSIDE. JESUS CHRIST, IT’S SEASON 24.

THIS RECAP STARTS RIGHT NOW.

NORMANI AND VAL. QUICKSTEP. 7677=27/40.

Instantly, she’s the first one out of the gate so you know she’s gonna be lowballed. What shocked me was just how low they went- that was a theme of the entire night for me, actually. I thought for sure we’d see some 8s and maybe one or two 7s at most. I liked it, myself. Fun, fast paced, and it seemed to match her personality and turn a stuffy quickstep into something cool and funky to bring her fanbase into the show. I thought her form was pretty damn good and considering that Val doesn’t water shit down, Normani held her own.

NANCY AND ARTEM. VIENESSE WALTZ. 7777=28/40.

This was pretty much what I expected. It was nice, it was fairly clean and pretty and an awesome starting point. Artem riding in shirtless on a Zamboni and making them both super uncomfortable was a highlight of the night for me. On a completely different note, a lot of people are comparing Nancy her to fellow Olympic skaters and DWTS champions Meryl Davis and Kristi Yamaguchi. This is the portion of the review where I share why I find this to be complete and utter bullshit: Number one, Meryl is/was an ice dancer and competed her entire life with not only a male partner, but the same male partner. Big difference. Next! Number 2. Kristi yes, did compete as a singles skater as well and yes, is only a mere 2 years younger than Nancy. HOWEVER. THE KEY FACTOR HERE IS THAT KRISTI COMPETED ON SEASON 6 OF THIS STUPID SHOW. IN 2008. NINE DAMN YEARS AGO. If my math is correct (which is probably isn’t) she won when she was around 34 years old. Nancy is 45. AGE IS A FACTOR. IT ISN’T AGEISM, IT’S FACT. GIVE THE WOMAN A BREAK. I thought she looked nervous as hell, but really lovely. I think now that she’s got the jitters out, she’ll only go up.

CHRIS AND WITNEY. CHA CHA. 5444=17/40.

He… oh my lord. Don’t get me wrong, he seems nice enough. But aside from the obvious, things got so awkward after it was over and it was just uncomfortable. I think he was trying too hard to be funny and he was so nervous on top of it all and it just all didn’t add up. And god love him, he knew. He knew and them saying it just made it so much worse. The poor guy. I’m leaving it at that. He gave it his best effort and I can never give anyone less than a solid and sincere applause for that. Good for him for doing it.

BONNER AND SHARNA. CHA CHA. 6556=22/40.

Here’s where I walk boldly in front of the firing squad and take my stance without shame. You all know how much I hate a showmance when it’s not my own idea, and DWTS overdoes them like the blackened fish thing on the menu I saw on vacation. He’s insane for what he does, but it makes him happy and I can support that. But I’m already annoyed with this gimmick. If they have the chemistry, we’ll notice, but don’t try to force it just as an attempt to make us forget the obvious eye-fucking last season despite James having a girlfriend. I’m just sayin’. Overall it was alright. It felt a little too Magic Mike for me. He’s stiff and he was off count almost the entire time, which I basically already assumed he would be. He’ll never be great but he looks like Jackson Rathbone and I like how Sharna calls him “Bonnah,” so if they quit with the forced gimmick and just let shit happen naturally I’d probably be the captain of this goddamn ship. Next.

CHARO AND KEO. SALSA. 6555=21/40.

THIS. WAS. SO GODDAMN FUCKING MUCH BETTER THAN I EVER COULD HAVE DREAMED. She remembered a good portion of the steps, she SOMEWHAT KEPT UP WITH HIM, she’s 66 goddamn years old- GOOD FOR HER. I cannot wait to see the shit Keo has to go through and the wide-eyed gazes he’ll have along the way. For what it was, I honestly can’t complain. Good on you.

NICK AND PETA. CHA CHA. 6666=24/40.

I got so pissed when I watched this, I swear to god, because I really wanted him to suck so bad that I could just rag on him until I was blue in the face but it was ACTUALLY NOT FUCKING BAD AT ALL. HE ACTUALLY HAS A LITTLE BIT OF RHYTHM. Peta is a national treasure, obviously, but this asshole, like… fuck, man. Honestly though, enough of the You’re In Love thing though, because literally NOBODY BELIEVES IT. INCLUDING YOU OR VANESSA. We all get it, we’ll put on our shocked emoji when you suddenly break-up after your contract allotted engagement period is over. You want attention. Just go into porn or something like you’ve still got some dignity and quit being annoying.

Ahh… it’s so good to be back. :D

HEATHER AND MAKS. VIENESSE WALTZ. 7777=28/40.

*singing* Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuullshit. I hate everyone. Go home. I already am home. Thank god, walking almost 30 miles in 4 days damn near killed me. Whatever. You could tell she was surprised and that she was upset not with the scores, but with herself for not getting better scores, which I hate. I’m hoping this is more of a strategy by TPTB for a Progressing Each Week storyline as opposed to Simone’s copycat The Best Since Night One story that mirrors Laurie’s. (No disrespect to Simone- but I’ll get to that later) Anyway, I thought it was amazing. Flawless? No. She was nervous just like everyone else, but she was far more comfortable up there than a lot of the rest and she and Maks looks fucking incredible together. Also she’s a knockout in yellow. I adore her. What else is new? Moving on.

DAVID AND LINDSAY. 7777=28/40.

I’m going to quickly say that it’s horse shit that Heather got the same score as him. BUT STICK WITH ME FOR A MINUTE. Heather was underscored like I under exaggerate when I say I’m kind of a nervous person sometimes, but this guy totally earned those 7s with a heart clap on the back. I was blown away in the best sense of the word. I had no clue who the hell this man is because the only thing I know about baseball is Mike Lawson and Ginny Baker (#Bawson WADDUP FAM) so I went in 100% blank and I really truly did enjoy this performance. I like his partnership with Lindsay, I love his attitude, and to top it all off he actually appears to be somewhat capable. I’m for it and look forward to more. YES.

ERIKA AND GLEB. SALSA. 6666=24/40.

Again, I thought she was lowballed. Since they are in no way alike, obviously I will now compare her to Amber Rose from last season, who I also thought would be pretty comfortable in front of the camera and shaking her booty like a boss if nothing else. Except Erika actually DID IT. She went out there and didn’t hold back and IT MADE A DIFFERENCE IN THE PERFORMANCE. Did she know every single step? Nope. Was her form flawless? Nope. Could you tell she was nervous? Yup. Did she make plenty of mistakes? Absolutely. But she sold it and that makes all the difference. I like her. I like her hair. I like her sass. “Who doesn’t wake up every day wanting to win in life? You gotta put these people on notice. I’M HERE. HI.” Apparently I love the raunchy because I love it. Bring it fucking on, girlfriend. Werk.

RASHAD AND EMMA. CHA CHA 8788=31/40.

Good? Yes. A surprise? Kind of, considering he’s another athelete and therefore blank slate for me. Worthy of second place? Debatable. Worthy of beating out some of his competition like he did on the leaderboard? No. I’m sorry but no. He seems like a lot of fun and like a pretty nice guy, so I’m definitely a million times more willing to try than I was with Antonio or Von or Calvin because Rashad is far more inviting and approachable and easier to connect with. I’m optimistic. And congrats to Emma for finally getting a hunk to dance with! Enjoy the eye candy, girl! Apparently your and Sasha’s wedding gift is neither of you getting a shitty partner this season. I approve.

MR. T AND KYM. CHA CHA. 5555=20/40.

….It was so sweet to see Robert in the audience. They’re very cute. And Mr. T… played the part well. And he… had a great costume. And he really tried. But worth a better score than Chris? Eeeeeeehhh. Not lower, of course, but 3 points higher? Really? Let’s all call a spade a spade, quit with the catchphrase, and move on with our lives, yeah?

SIMONE AND SASHA. TANGO. 8888=24/40.

…sigh. Okay. Let me explain this. I love her. Of course I love her. How could you not? She’s adorable. She’s a little awkward, kinda shy, super sweet, giggly, giant grin, complete doll that has skills for days. Her partnership with Sasha is incredible and she lights up the room. ….but other than her being 19 instead of 16…. It’s not even that I’m against her story, which I realize she can’t control regardless, but that’s not it anyway. It’s just that it was LAST DAMN SEASON. You have to put a break between them or it’s just unfair to everyone involved. And I’m going to be mad all season on her and Sasha’s behalf because of it, and I’m gonna be pissed as hell when all of her fans throw a royal fit in three months when she loses. Because I told you so. Someone get me a goddamn job at ABC, I’ll have this thing running like a well oiled machine within a few weeks. With Derek and Brooke gone, aside from Carrie Ann and the singers, the worst of the worst have already been tossed out on their ass. I’LL MAKE THIS PLACE WORTH MILLIONS, MILLIONS I TELL YA.

Okay, that’s it. I’m not even proofing this shit. I’m tired.

HMU on social media. @lauthom93 because I’m cool. The end.

Love, hugs, and my middle finger because it’s my life and my future employers hopefully never discover this blog,

Dueces.

#dwts #dancing with the stars #lo talks #valdaya #opinion piece #dwts24 #lo recaps things

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years ago

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The Crucible (part six)

[UK Tour; Carrie AU]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Word count: 10,030

TW: Animal death, blood, the r-slur

--------------

-Something’s In The Air-

“I’m impressed, Thomas. I am impressed.”

Brown, oily bangs gently hung over a craggy, charming face. Round green eyes, set lightly within their sockets, watch the detective closely. A knife left a mark reaching from the top of the right cheek, running towards his upper lip and ending on his forehead, leaving a permanent memory of mischief on nineteen year old Thomas Culpeper’s face.

“Four counts of possession, one with the intent to sell. Vandalism, disturbing the peace, drunk and disorderly.” Mulaney read off from the folder with information on the newest victim of interrogation. “Boy, your parents must be awfully proud of you.”

“My parents died when I was six.” Thomas spat.

Mulaney stared at him in horror. Thomas huffed out a breath and leaned back in his chair, glaring sharply.

“Not so funny now, is it?”

“Well, it sure is funny odd,” Mulaney said, “because I just talked to Constance and Alexander not an hour ago, both very much alive and very concerned.”

Thomas growled softly and looked away.

“Thomas, do you ever pal around with a girl named Anne Boleyn?” Mulaney asked.

“She’s a distant cousin,” Thomas answered gruffly. “We sometimes hung out.”

“What about Catherine Parr?”

Thomas shook his head.

“Katherine Howard?”

Nothing.

Mulaney walked around the table and over to his side, opening the folder in his hands again. “Hey, have you ever been to Irwin Henty’s pig farm up north?”

“No.” Thomas muttered.

“You’ve never been up there?” Mulaney humored him. “Well, see, Henry had no security system, so people were knocking fences down and stealing hogs and all kinds of things!” He laughed. Thomas was sweating.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Mulaney said. “So what do you think he does?” He doesn’t wait for an answer- not that Thomas’s pallor makes him look up to even giving one. “He installs one of those expensive, high-tech security systems. Oh, man, he’s even got one of those really cool cameras that take pictures in the dark! Doggone it, they look like they were taken in broad daylight!”

He slipped out some green photos taken with a night vision camera and slid them over to Thomas.

“Look at this. Look at the detail on that!” Mulaney went on, pointing to the clear image of Thomas, Cathy, Anne, Maggie, Maggie’s boyfriend, and another kid named Thomas Cromwell sneaking into Old Man Henty’s pigpen. “You can just about count the hairs on that pig’s snout, can’t you?” He showed a photo of a closeup of Thomas's face. “I thought this one was particularly good of you.”

Thomas looked away, biting his lip.

“Of course, here’s another one of all six of you. Looking pretty chummy!” Mulaney said with a slight laugh. “Say, how come there’s no pictures of Katherine? Was she waiting in the truck?”

“How should I know?” Thomas asked softly. “She wasn’t even there…”

Mulaney furrowed his eyebrows, exchanging a quick glance with Madeline. He sat back down across from Thomas.

“Well, it was to my understanding that Katherine and Anne planned the whole thing.”

Thomas scoffed lightly. “Dude,” He said, “you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

------

The gym early Thursday morning was flurry of activity as kids moved to and fro to get ready for the prom in two days. Paints splattered, ribbons unraveled, fairy lights flickered, and everyone acted as if it were the end of the world if even the slightest decoration was off. Watching it was entertaining, but now that she was actually a part of the decoration committee, Katherine could see why it was so stressful.

Since she wouldn’t be going to prom, Katherine had decided the least she could do was help set up for it. Their theme that year was Springtime in Greece (whose idea was it to have themes for prom, Katherine wondered), so huge murals of Greek temples were drawn by the art kids on giant canvases and were currently being painted by several other volunteers. The stage, where the band would play and prom king and queen would be announced, was being set up in a way that made it look like the ancient Parthenon, fit with grooved columns, dressings of leaves and flowers, and swathes of white and gold silk. Sculptures were being carved away by extremely focused students, whittling the plaster or rock or ice away into the distinct shape of hands and heads and legs. Katherine walked over to one of them, Maria, who was sweating buckets trying to get what seemed to be a wave to look just right.

“I can’t believe--they’re only giving us--two days,” She grunted, not looking over at Katherine, but hearing her coming over.

“Can you finish it?” Katherine asked. She circled around one of the decorative pillars sitting around and began to smooth down the grooves.

“Yeah,” Maria nodded. “But it’s still STRESSFUL.”

“What even is it?”

Maria frowned at her, then looked back at her sculpture. “It’s a tidal wave of human hopes and dreams. I will be filling it with pieces of writing once it’s done.”

“And what does that have to do with Greece?”

Maria ruffled. “It could fit!” She barked. “Why are you slaving yourself in here, anyway? You’re not even--...” She trailed off, clearly still upset about the news.

“Going?” Katherine finished for her. She shrugged. “I still want it to look nice. And it looks like you guys can use all the help you can get.” She nodded at a puny red haired Year 10 kid wrestling with coils of ivy and vines on the stage and losing the battle. Bessie, head of the Decoration Committee, watched on with a dismayed expression.

“Can I ask about it?” Maria asked softly.

“Sure,” Katherine said, then laughed slightly. “You don’t have to whisper, Mars. It’s not some big secret.”

“Well, thank god,” Maria said. “Because EVERYONE is talking!”

Katherine quirked an eyebrow with a light snort. “Oh, really? What are they saying?”

“That you and Joan Seymour are having a lesbian affair, and you’re having Anna take her to prom to throw people off,” Maria said languidly. Katherine leaned over to a nearby canister of paint and flicked the paintbrush at her face for that. She sputtered, scrubbing viciously and leaving light purple streaks all over her dark skin. “Okay, okay-- I deserved that.”

“Well, you’re right…” Katherine sighed. “It’s just that--Joan satisfies me in a way no other woman or man possibly could.” She finished her sentence with a lewd touch to her breasts; a Year 11 girl that was helping paint the mural looked over at that moment and furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. Katherine dropped her hands quickly, and Maria burst into laughter.

“Oh, I bet!” Maria said. “Does she use her crosses as a dildo? Because I bet Jesus’s face feels GREAT against your clit!”

Katherine flicked more paint, this time orange, into Maria’s face. Once again, Maria spluttered and clawed at the colorful tears rolling down her skin. Katherine peered at her thoughtfully.

“Orange really is your color,” She observed.

“Just like how Christian semen white is yours.” Maria replied.

Katherine rolled her eyes and nudged Maria’s side with her foot, earning her a cheeky, paint-splattered grin.

“I just feel bad about what happened,” She said. “I’m hoping it’ll bring her out of her shell a little, you know? Knock down some of those walls she has up. It’s the least I could do after what happened in the showers.”

“Great! So you’re a saint and we’re all bitches!” Maria said.

“Pretty much!”

They both laughed.

“I can’t believe Anna’s going along with it,” Maria went on. “She really wanted to bring you.”

“Well, she’s been very agreeable since we started having sex.” Katherine stated bluntly.

“Ooh!” Maria cooed. “You go girl!”

Katherine was about to reply when a momentary hush fell over the gym. She turned to see her cousin walking in, back to school after her three day suspension, her head held high. She glared sharply at a Year 10 boy dripping yellow paint all over his hands, and he nearly keeled over dead instantly. Katherine looked away quickly, not wanting to face Anna after their falling out at the pub. Her words began to echo in her ears again.

“That’s why you had this bullshit change of heart. You don’t give a shit about Joan Seymour, and everybody knows it…”

She stamped them down and silenced them.

“Has Anne said anything?” Katherine asked Maria.

Maria thought for a moment. “Only that she hates your guts.”

“Ah,” Katherine said, not surprised. “Think she might try something?”

Maria tilted her head at her. “I don’t know.”

A whirlwind of thick brown hair and green polo shirt whizzed by- Maggie scuttled over to Anne, eyes wide, clutching a dark brown folder in her arms. Katherine turned her attention to the pillar she was sanding down, so she didn’t see the way her cousin was pulled to the side and out of sight behind the mural.

“Got your 999,” Anne said, holding up her phone. “Ever so dramatic.”

“Let me reiterate-” Maggie said. “Oh my god!”

“What?” Anne asked, amused. She could see the mischievous light in Maggie’s eyes, and that filled her with a deadly thrill.

Maggie pulled a small slip of paper out of the folder and waved it in the air.

“This,” She declared, “is the ballot for prom king and queen!”

“What?” Anne’s eyes widened in interest. “Let me see!”

Maggie handed Anne the piece of paper and they began to read from it, nitpicking all the choices.

“Jackson and Georgie,” Anne said. “No way, Jackson’s in marching band.”

“Ruby and Leila,” Maggie read next. Their school was very open to LGBTQ+ relationships, so it wasn’t a surprise that a lesbian couple was a choice for prom king and queen.

“Maybe. Everybody likes them.” Anne said. “Miller and Jessie, no. Ren and Alex, maybe. Anna and--”

Her eyes go wide.

Right beside Anna von Cleves’s name was her cousin's name--but scratched out and replaced with “Joan” over the top. Greedy intensity began to bubble up inside of her. She giggled darkly.

“Anna and Joan!” She exclaimed.

“I know!” Maggie agreed enthusiastically. “What are you gonna do?”

A twisted grin curled on Anne’s ruby red lips like a bloody smile.

“Give everyone a night they’ll never forget.”

------

First period with Anne back was...awkward, to say the least. Maggie talked to Anne as she always did, being the loyal little imp that she was, but everyone else was slightly unnerved by the smirk that never disappeared from Anne’s lips for even a second.

About halfway through the class, when Anna got up to go sharpen her pencil, Joan leapt up from her seat to go talk to her. Katherine pricked her ears to hear their conversation.

“Hey, Joan,” Anna said, smiling at the younger girl. “How are you?”

“Good,” Joan answered quietly. She was fidgeting with her sleeves, pulling them over her hands and bunching them into balls, clearly anxious about something. “Umm-- I-I just-- I had to t-tell you that I need to be home by eleven.”

Katherine saw Anna frown slightly. Joan lowered her head, guilt practically radiating off of her body.

“I’m sorry,” She whispered. “B-but my Mama-- She’ll worry if I stay out too long and-- I’m really sorry. I don’t want to spoil your fun, but--”

“Hey, no, it’s okay,” Anna calmed her, noticing that she was getting worked up. “I understand completely.”

Joan nodded slightly. “O-okay…”

“Did something happen?” Anna asked. She gently lifted Joan’s chin and ducked her head slightly to look at something. That’s when Katherine noticed indigo and violet splotches of bruises under Joan’s lower jaw.

“Oh--” Joan looked a little uncomfortable, but didn't pull away from Anna’s hand. “Yeah. I just--fell. On a chair. Yesterday. And I hit my mouth.”

Anna pursed her lips. “Looks like it hurts.”

Joan shrugged. “I’m used to it.” She took a small step back. “Umm-- I’m gonna--go sit back down. Oh, and th-thank you. For not getting mad.”

“I wouldn’t be mad at you, Joan.” Anna said honestly.

Joan ducked her head with an adorably shy blush. She nodded and shuffled back over to her seat.

Katherine didn’t miss the way Anna smiled fondly at her.

------

“Um, 15. High school. I’m in Year 11.”

Joan held the phone close to her ear, listening intently to what the operator was telling her. She kept shifting from foot to foot, trying to keep her nervousness quelled inside of her.

“What kind of counselling? Like a guidance counselor?”

Miss Aragon’s office smelled like apples and cherry blossoms. It was a comforting scent, so different from the locker room just outside the door. And outside that door, was someone coming in. Someone who wasn’t the coach.

“Oh. No. Nothing like that. Would they know what’s happening with me?”

Footsteps, the rustling of clothes, soft clangs against lockers- Joan heard none of it.

“Um, so, if I just think it’s real and it’s not, how would I know? I mean, it feels real.”

“We’re not supposed to use that phone.”

Joan just about jumped out of her skin when she heard the voice. She slammed the phone back down onto the receiver, missing it the first time, nearly flipping it off of the desk the second, and then finally smashing it into place so hard it’s a wonder the entire thing didn’t crumble to dust the third. She whirled around to face Anne Boleyn standing in the doorway, looking like a disdainful emerald with her sparkling green dress and darkly amused expression. Joan swallowed thickly and shuffled back slightly, pressing her spine against the sharp edge of Miss Aragon’s table.

“I-I was talking to my mum.” She stammered.

“Didn’t sound like you were talking to your mum.” Anne said.

“We were having a fight…” Joan said awkwardly. It was the best excuse she could come up with under pressure; telling this girl that she was actually calling a university over the psychic powers she had would probably sound a little strange.

Slowly, she bent down and picked up her belongings off of the floor. As much as she wanted to stay longer and talk more with Miss Aragon when she got back from her current class, Anne was making her extremely uneasy and on edge. She didn’t feel very safe being alone with her.

“I always fight with my mum,” Anne mused. “Always hang up on her, too.” She laughed. “So, I take it you’ve leveled out since last Friday?”

Joan stared at her.

(what does she want what does she want)

“Your little episode.”

(no no go away leave me alone)

“You went all fetal in the shower.”

In spite of herself, Joan felt a blush crawl to her cheeks. She looked away, shifting her weight onto a different knee. She wanted to hide behind her books and hope Anne would be gone when she looked back up again.

“What about it?” She asked softly.

“Well, you have to admit you totally overreacted,” Anne said. She stepped into the room fully. The door clicked shut behind her.

(trapped trapped trapped trapped)

“You know, we were just messing around!”

(what)

“We wouldn’t give you a hard time if we didn’t like you.”

Joan raised her head slightly and blinked at Anne in confusion and shock. Was that really how friendships worked?

“I mean, we all really like you.” Anne said. “You know that, right?”

(friend)

Joan looked her up and down, and could easily locate at least three faults in this statement, but she was so hungry for friends and affection that the hopeful, naive part of her sort of believed it. Still, she kept her walls raised up and tried not to let that vulnerability show on her face.

“What do you want?” She asked warily.

“Don’t get all pissy,” Anne said, and she playfully shoved Joan, although it didn’t feel as playful as it should have been. Miss Aragon’s desk scraped against the floor slightly, its edge cutting uncomfortably into Joan’s spine. “I’m only trying to be nice!”

(nice)

(not nice don’t trust)

(nice)

“So,” Anne examined Joan closely, and Joan wanted to squirm underneath her gaze. “Are your boobs sore?”

Joan blinked at her in bewilderment. She looked down at her breasts for just a moment, then looked back up quickly, opening and closing her mouth like a flabbergasted fish out of water. All she could get out was a dumbstruck, “What?”

“You look a little bloated,” Anne continued, ignoring her question. She tilted her head, seemingly to get a better angle at Joan’s stomach, and Joan felt like there were eels squirming underneath her skin. “When I’m bloated, my boobs get really sore.”

Joan couldn’t help but glance at Anne’s own breasts when that was said.

“You’re only supposed to take, like, two Ibuprofen,” Anne went on. “I take three.” She chuckled. “I got that from Kat! She’s, like, a total junkie. Now that you guys are all cozy, she’ll have you tossing them back like communion wafers.”

“I’m not...cozy with Katherine Howard…” Joan said.

Anne looked oddly surprised, and Joan wondered for a moment if she accidentally ruined a friendship she didn’t even know she had.

“Really?” Anne said. “She’s acting like you’re her new best friend!”

(friend)

“Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s great. Just...don’t let her turn you into another one of her ‘projects.’”

That made Joan perk up. She blinked rapidly at Anne.

“Did she say I was a project?”

“It’s her MO.” Anne said. She looked at Joan pitifully. “Maria was a project, Bessie was a project...I was even a project! She practically talked me into getting Botox last summer. Can you believe that?” She laughed.

“Maybe she thought you needed it…”

Something twitched on Anne’s face, like her expression was actually just a mask of plaster that was starting to crumble. She resettled her features quickly.

“I’m just saying that she has a hard time accepting people for who they are.” Anne said. “Being her friend can be a little on the demeaning side, especially when everyone in school knows why she’s being your friend.”

Joan flinched at her words and looked down at her feet. Anne made a sympathetic clucking noise.

“Well, I gotta dip,” Anne said, heading for the door. “Oh, and you can tell Katherine she can say all she wants about me, but at least when I’m being a bitch I’ll cop to it.”

Joan said nothing.

Anne smiled. “Bye!”

And then she was gone. Joan could finally breathe, and she instantly sunk to the floor, trying to tame all the whirling thoughts filling up her brain.

(go)

(don’t go)

(go)

(don’t go)

(trick trick it’s a trick Mama was right)

A door out in the locker room opened and closed. Miss Aragon appeared in the doorway, a sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead and dozens of water droplets shimmering like silver spider eyes in her hair. Despite the chilly weather outside, she was wearing black shorts and a lemon yellow workout shirt, looking like an angelic wasp in the office.

“Joan,” She said, noticing the girl on the floor. Students from her current class were starting to file in to get changed, so she stepped inside fully and shut the door. “You really did skip all of third, didn’t you? Naughty girl.”

Joan ducked her head, feeling embarrassed. After what her mother did to her last night, she had been desperate to see Miss Aragon, one of the only people she felt safe around. Something about the coach’s presence was so comforting to her, like she would never be harmed as long as she stayed by her side. So, she went to her, missing the entirety of her third period Geometry class to hide out in the office after explaining that she was feeling very anxious, which wasn’t exactly a lie.

“Sorry…” She mumbled.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Miss Aragon chuckled. She tilted her head at Joan. “What are you doing on the floor?”

“Just...thinking…” Joan replied.

“About?” Miss Aragon asked, sitting down next to her. Her eyes were so caring and loving; Joan wished she could be looked at like that forever.

“I got invited to prom.” Joan said, and something about Miss Aragon’s expression told her the coach already knew. She pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them tightly. “But I don’t know if I should go…”

Miss Aragon appeared to be a little startled by that. She shifted around and ducked her head so she could look at Joan’s face, and Joan could see all that love and care glow in her eyes once again.

“What do you mean?” She prodded. “Why not?”

“I’m not gonna fit in…” Joan said. “I still can’t wrap my head around why Anna von Cleves asked ME. Katherine Howard is so pretty and muscley and smart and tall and confident and pretty…” She trailed off. “Why would she want to go with me?”

“Because you’re amazing, Joan.” Miss Aragon said, not missing a beat. “Anyone who doesn’t have their head in their--umm--butt can see that.”

Joan giggled softly at her coach’s avoidance of swearing in front of her, but it quickly died off when all her self esteem issues came shoving their way back in. She huddled her knees even closer to her chest and looked down at the floor.

“But...I’m not as pretty as all the other girls…” She mumbled.

“Nonsense!” Miss Aragon reprimanded. “Joan, you are a very pretty girl.” She cupped Joan’s face and lifted her head up. “Just look at those eyes! And those lips! Why, with the right shade of lipstick--”

“Lipstick?” Joan sputtered. “My mother would never--”

“Joan, it could be wonderful!” Miss Aragon went on. “They don’t have the glow you have. The-- the charm! Those other girls may as well just wear garbage bags with the word ‘whore’ spray painted on it. And you wanna know why?”

“Why?”

“Because they’re whores.”

Joan burst out into giggles and had to cover her mouth to try and muffle them. Miss Aragon grinned triumphantly.

“It’s because none of them will be able to do what you can do,” Miss Aragon said. “You have been hurt for so many years, and yet you’re still getting up and going to the prom, despite it all. If one of those girls out there were in your shoes, they would have given up a long time ago. They wouldn’t have said yes and, instead, cried in their bathtub or something pathetic like that. But you,” She cupped Joan’s cheeks again, and Joan couldn’t help but lean into the warmth of her hands, “you’re not doing that. You’re stronger than all of them combined, you know that?”

“I-I am?” Joan asked shyly.

“Yes, silly!” Miss Aragon said with a light laugh. “You’re so brave, Joan. Braver than you let yourself think.”

Joan blushed and looked away. Miss Aragon smiled down at her lovingly.

“And I, for one, am really looking forward to seeing you kill it on the dance floor,” Miss Aragon added, making Joan dissolve into giggles once again.

“Thank you, Miss Aragon,” Joan said. She threw her arms around Miss Aragon’s stomach and hugged her, much to her coach’s pleasant surprise. She heard Miss Aragon chuckle softly and return the embrace.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” Miss Aragon said.

They sat there together on the floor, limbs intertwined, for a few more minutes until the bell rang, signaling that the fourth period would soon begin. Miss Aragon had to pull away and stand up, but Joan could have sworn she noticed some reluctance in her movements.

“Are you going to stay in here?” Miss Aragon asked.

Joan nodded. She pulled out a notebook and pencil from her nearby bag.

“I have something I need to plan.”

“Oh?” Miss Aragon tilted her head. “What is it?”

Joan grinned. “It’s a surprise.”

------

“Come on, you hotshots!” Aragon yelled, clapping her hands loudly. “I want to see you sweat!”

Although it wasn’t detention right now, she still thoroughly enjoyed making gym class a little more like hell than usual for the week-long punishment. She had the girls playing a rather fierce game of rugby out in the field. Nothing was more entertaining than watching these daisies slip and slide in the wet turf and barrel into each other to evade her scornful words.

“Maggie, get those knees up!” She shouted at the brown-haired student.

“I don’t like running!” Maggie wheedled in response. She narrowly avoided being plowed by a blonde girl much bigger than she was.

“Maria!” Aragon barked, rounding on the next student she caught slacking. “Question.”

Maria raised her head, squinting through a rain of sweat dripping into her eyes. She replied with a loud, bovine-like, “WHA?”

“Did you ride the struggle bus to school this morning?” Aragon asked. “Because you are just one hot mess express over there!”

Maria swallowed thickly and turned her attention back to the ball.

“It’s not a bomb, Katherine!” Aragon said, watching Katherine fumble and avoid the ball so she wouldn’t get hit or run into. “It’s not going to hurt you! Get in there and get some points for your team! You’re better than this!!”

Katherine nodded wordlessly and threw herself into the fray.

“Bessie, hi,” Aragon smiled at the bleached girl, who slowed down to look at her. “Do you smell that?”

Bessie blinked her big dark brown eyes in confusion.

“It’s the smell of FAILURE!” Aragon yelled.

Bessie whimpered loudly, and then whimpered even louder than that when the ball flew into her stomach. She fell backwards to the ground and quickly scrambled across the grass before she could get trampled by her classmates. Aragon watched her in amusement, then noticed Anne whispering to two other girls a few yards away. She locked in on her.

“Anne!” She roared. “Shut your mouth and get back to the game!”

Anne glared at her, but her features strangely evened out and calmed rather quickly. A smile spread on her lips.

“You’re right, Miss Aragon,” She said. “I am so sorry!”

Aragon was instantly suspicious. It wasn’t like Anne to be so agreeable to her scolding when she was worked up like she had been the past week. There was something off about that smile, too…

What was she planning?

------

Katherine could have spotted her from a mile away- Joan stuck out like a sore thumb in the makeup section of the department store.

Per Bessie’s frantic request, she was out getting more paints and art supplies for the decoration committee. However, she didn’t expect Joan to be there, poorly applying ruby red lipstick to her lips.

It was almost painful to watch. Joan’s hand slipped several times and streaked shiny crimson lines over the top of her mouth. There was even a moment where she flicked her tongue out to taste the gloss and instantly scrunched her face up in disgust. Katherine barely managed to muffle a laugh.

A few people were starting to stare. Two small children were giggling over the spectacle. A woman nearby looking through a selection of eye shadow watched Joan with an absolutely dismayed expression, like she couldn’t believe any girl in this day and age didn’t know how to properly apply makeup. Katherine rolled her eyes. Gender expectations.

Joan’s head swiveled around and she looked like a deer in headlights when she noticed Katherine standing there. Katherine gave her a warm smile as a truce gesture of sorts and stepped out of the art aisle she had been going through. She walked over, setting various paints and paintbrushes in the basket she was holding. Joan eyed her warily, poised and ready to run.

“Hey,” Katherine greeted casually.

“H-hi,” Joan replied in a squeaky voice. The overhead lights made her pale skin look very pasty, and the sheen of messy red gloss coating her lips only stuck out even more. She was trying very hard not to look at Katherine, but her eyes kept trailing over to the older girl.

“You come here often?” Katherine asked. Over Joan’s shoulder, she noticed a trio of Year 12’s from her school gliding out from the next aisle over and stopping to ogle her and Joan. She shot them a severe look and they moved on, muttering to each other.

“N-no,” Joan answered. She jammed the lid of the lipstick back onto the capsule and set it back on the small rack of gloss that was used for testing the colors. Although, they weren’t meant to actually be put on the lips, rather just the wrist or example board provided off to the side. Joan didn’t seem to know that, though. Katherine guessed that this was her first time ever being in the makeup section of a store.

There was an awkward beat of silence between the two of them. Joan was looking through the other selections of lipstick, but it was obvious she was watching Katherine out of the corner of her eye. Katherine wondered why she was so untrustworthy around her and seemingly everyone else, but perfectly okay with Anna.

Strange. Was that...envy bubbling up inside of her?

“You have trouble coloring in the lines, don’t you?” Katherine commented, finally breaking the tension between the two of them.

Joan blinked at her obliviously, like a little white calf that didn’t realize it had a rattlesnake wound up its leg.

“Huh?”

Katherine gestured vaguely for her lips. Joan looked in the mirror provided and jolted, only then realizing how messy her mouth was.

“Oh--”

She hurriedly began wiping the lipstick off with her arm. Katherine gave her a napkin from a box on the shelf, smiling in a humored way that she hoped didn’t come off as cruel or mocking.

“You know, you might want to try something a little less drastic.” Katherine said. She wove around Joan to get to her other side and began looking through the selection. After a moment of mentally comparing shades to Joan’s light skin tone, she plucked up a dark pink tube of lipstick. “Like...this one!”

She reached for Joan’s face to apply it, and Joan flinched away as if she were expecting a blow to the head, nearly falling over. Her eyes were suddenly bulging out of her skull in fright. Katherine mentally swore at herself.

Idiot. Of course that would startle her.

“Sorry,” Katherine said softly. “I should have asked first. Is it okay if I put this on you?” She opened her left hand harmlessly, and after a moment of consideration, Joan tentatively placed her chin into her palm. Katherine felt a strange fluttering sensation inside of her.

“So, you curve it around the bow of your lips like so…” Katherine explained, dragging the tip of the lipstick across Joan’s pale lips, giving them color so they wouldn’t look as leached as they always were. Joan watched her with wide eyes the entire time, never looking away. “And...now rub them together.”

Joan obeyed, rubbing her lips together and smearing the color into a darker, more prominent shade.

“And smack them!” Katherine demonstrated with a pop.

Joan blinked and then copied her. Pop, went her lips softly.

“There you go!” Katherine smiled. She screwed the lipstick back into its capsule and put it back before anyone could realize they were actually putting it onto someone’s face. “You can add some lip liner for a little extra drama…”

She trailed off, watching as Joan used a pad to wipe her lips clean. Secondhand embarrassment surged so strongly inside of her she felt her throat close up and face burn with heat. She snatched the pad away from Joan, startling her into bumping into the display of makeup and causing it to rattle. They both frantically steadied it as customers peered over curiously and a worker restocking some markers from the art section looked at them with an exasperatedly devastated expression. Katherine waved at him dismissively to let him know that they had it under control and everything was okay. He looked away, relieved at not having to confront any sort of issue and run the risk of being yelled at (not that Katherine thought she had any kind of Karen vibes… Joan certainly didn’t and didn’t look up to yelling at anyone).

“Sorry,” Katherine said to Joan, standing up fallen tubes of lipstick. “I didn’t mean to, uhh, freak out. It’s just--that’s not what these are for.” She shoved the pad into her purse, hoping the flickers of scarlet flames on her cheeks couldn’t be seen.

“Oh.” Joan said and choked out the slightest laugh, even though it was clear she thought the situation was far from funny. “I-I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” Katherine said. “It’s okay. Not your fault.”

Nobody told you… Her mind went on, and embarrassment was quickly replaced with pity and sadness. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like to have her biology and own bodily functions hidden from her for so long. No wonder Joan freaked out last Friday. There was so much blood, too, even for her first period… Even she had to think back on it and wonder if something was actually really wrong. Surely there wasn’t, though. If Joan was internally bleeding, she would be dead by now.

“I-I, uhh--” Joan started, and then clamped her mouth shut. She swerved away from Katherine and began walking quickly down the main aisle towards the back of the store. Katherine followed her.

“What?” She questioned.

“N-nothing,” Joan shook her head.

Joan turned, and Katherine saw that she was heading to the fabric area of the store. She tilted her head slightly and watched as the girl beelined for a roll of teal fabric, running her hands over it and rubbing it between her fingers. She turned away after a moment of feeling, going to a darker aquamarine shade, then orange, then purple, and then magenta. Both Katherine and the woman working the counter watched her process in a vaguely interested way.

“What are you doing?” Katherine asked.

“Looking,” Joan replied distractedly. She felt a roll of black mesh and instantly ripped her hand away with an expression of pure disgust. Katherine couldn’t help but laugh.

“Don’t like that, sweetie?”

“It’s too scratchy.” Joan said, shaking her hand in the air as if she were trying to erase the feeling of mesh against her skin. “Do people really wear that? What kind of self-respecting person would put that on?” She touched some fishnets next and recoiled like she had been burned, looking even more appalled. Katherine laughed again.

“Some people do, yes,” She said. “It’s kind of a gothic look.” She decided to leave out how she had a black mesh top that she liked to seduce Anna with when they were alone.

“It’s awful.” Joan stated firmly. She tugged off a waterfall of sunflower yellow fabric off of the wall and it all came tumbling down onto her. She tottered backwards, nearly collapsing under the weight of the material, then steadied herself and held out her arm, coiling a lacing of cloth around it. She inspected it for a moment, then began putting the fabric back onto its hook, much neater than it had been before. The woman at the counter blinked at her with an appraising look.

“So…” Katherine said idly, watching Joan dart over to another rack of fabrics. She’s never seen the girl’s eyes shine so much before. It was like she was in textile heaven. “Have you picked out your dress?”

“No,” Joan replied after a brief moment of hesitation. She unraveled a veil of iridescent green fabric, took one look at it, then wrapped it back up and put it back on its hook. “But I found a style that I like.” She thoughtfully touched her messenger bag.

“What color?” Katherine asked interestedly.

“I can’t decide,” Joan said, holding strips of saffron and azure and wrinkling her nose at the way it contrasted with her pale skin. “I’m--trying to figure out that now.”

Katherine’s eyes widened a little. “You make your own clothes?”

Joan looked a touch shy. “Sometimes.” She said. “It’d be cheaper to make my dress myself.”

“Oh, you are absolutely right.” Katherine said. “Those things are EXPENSIVE!”

A small smile twitched on Joan’s lips, then she got back to looking through the selections. She didn’t seem pleased with any of them offered, even though Katherine spotted at least four different shades she thought would make beautiful dresses.

“Well,” Katherine quickly started again, pouncing on an opportunity that lit up inside of her like a light bulb. “I don’t know if you want to, but maybe we can do a little fashion consultation thing? We could even model! Maria’s coming over Saturday afternoon before prom and she does these little shows to find the perfect style.”

Joan tensed, hands freezing in their process of sliding over a roll of crimson red cloth. She stared at it for a long moment, then pulled away, shaking her hands out like they had blood on them.

“I don’t know if I want to model,” She mumbled.

“Oh--”

Katherine blinked stupidly, now looking like the brain dead cow between the two of them. She didn’t know why she was expecting Joan to say yes. The girl didn’t exactly look like the type to be able to say no to people. Now she just felt bad for seemingly pressuring Joan into the hangout session.

“Sorry.”

Joan didn’t hear her apology, however, because she had already darted to another rack. Her eyes were wide and glowing, and she realized she was looking at a roll of pale flamingo pink silk. Carefully, like she thought it may disintegrate in her hands, Joan picked up the bulk and held it close to her chest, staring up with a dreamy, wistful expression.

That had to be the one.

“It’s so pretty,” Joan murmured as Katherine walked over, running her hand up and down the surface of the fabric. There was a smile ghosting over her lips, which still had remnants of the lipstick splotched over it.

“It is.” Katherine agreed. The shade of pink really fit well with Joan’s pale complexion, light hair, and icy eyes. “You’re gonna look great, I’m sure of it.” Then, idly, as she fiddled with the edge of some scratchy white cotton fabric, “I’m really glad you’re going to prom.”

Joan paused her process of thoroughly caressing the silk and blinked at Katherine in bright confusion.

“Why?”

A piece of Katherine’s heart broke and chipped off.

“I just thought you’d have a good time, that’s all.” Katherine said.

“Why?” Joan asked again, this time softer. Her eyebrows knitted together, and Katherine only now realized they were light brown instead of platinum blonde like her hair. Her pubic hair had been brown, too, which Katherine remembered with an internal cringe and a flash of intense guilt. She would never get over the culpability of harassing this young girl when she was completely naked.

“Why do you care if I have a good time?”

Katherine opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Joan tilted her head at her.

“I mean, you’ve never really talked to me before,” She said, “and the only reason you’re probably talking to me right now is because none of your friends are around.”

Katherine sucked in a sharp breath, but released it softly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the lady at the counter listening with great intrigue, but was pretending to cut some fabric to make it seem like she wasn’t.

“Look,” Katherine said. “If you don’t want to go, then don’t go.”

“N-no, I want to go!” Joan sputtered out hurriedly, like she thought her ticket would be revoked if she didn’t speak fast enough. “I-I didn’t say I didn’t want to, I just-- I wished I was going ‘cause someone liked me, not because they feel sorry for me.”

“This is not a pity thing.” Katherine clarified. She was usually such a good liar, but she could hear the falsehood oozing between her words. Even the lady at the counter widened her eyes in a ‘yeah, okay’ sort of expression. “I don’t feel sorry for you.”

Joan laughed weakly. “Yes, you do.” She said. She gazed down at the roll of fabric in her arms, then hugged it closer to her. ��You feel sorry for me--because you think you’re better than me.”

“I don’t think I’m better than you.” Katherine said.

Joan smiled tightly at her. “It’s okay,” She said. “Everyone does.” She turned to go pay for the fabric, but paused for just a moment and added, “Doesn’t mean it’s true, though.”

------

Joan placed a box of buttons and sequins and string down next to all her other sewing materials and stood back proudly, admiring her precise set up for a moment. There was the sewing machine, her rack of different colored threads, a gleaming pile of needles, the fabric, and then her dress sketches. The crucible lifted his wooden head from the floor and placed it heavily on the table, blinking his broken glass eyes at everything.

Joan summoned--was that the right word?--him again--she had decided he was a boy. She enjoyed his company, even if it were just herself who was controlling all his movements. If she didn’t think about it, then he almost seemed sentient.

“Want some tea, Mama?” Joan called into the den.

Most of the furniture and religious decorations were gone, broken up to form Judgement’s body. But Mama’s velvet throne chair remained, and that’s where she sat, sewing a dark grey embroidery and trying very hard not to look at her devil spawn and her horrid creation. She doesn’t reply to Joan’s question. Judgement let out a hiss of static. Joan sighed and went back to her project.

She picked up her sketches. After going through at least ten different designs, she was stuck on two. The first was long and flowing, with off-shoulder sleeves and a fishtail skirt, while the second had a cross-folded bust, loose skirt, and open, draped sleeves that reach down to her elbows and hang low like flamingo wings. She analyzed the two dress ideas for a moment, showing Judgement for his opinion, then looked up again.

“Mama?” She padded over to her mother. “Do you like this one or this one?”

Jane Seymour did not look up from her embroidery as Joan showed her the two drawings.

Joan waited for a moment, expecting a reaction, then smiled down at the second drawing.

“I think this one’s really pretty…” She murmured, already dazzled by it, even in a simple pencil-sketched form.

“It’s Godless.” Mama muttered.

Joan’s smile disappeared in an instant. She gave her mother a look of extreme offense.

“It’s not Godless, Mama.” She said. “I wish you could be happy for me.”

Mama’s dead, dull eyes wandered up to Joan’s face slightly, but almost instantly turned back to her embroidery. She began weaving the needle through the fabric again.

“There’s a mark on you now,” She said bitterly.

Joan blithely ignored her. “This one’s prettier!” She declared, beaming, and pranced back over to her sewing station in the next room.

“Pretty.” Judgement echoed in a high pitched feminine voice that was slightly edged with static. He coiled up into a spring-like formation so he could watch from a higher view point.

“Yes!” Joan bobbed her head eagerly. “It’s really pretty!” She grinned brightly at her sketch.

“Woe to the woman who makes garments for lustful purposes, for she is prideful and curses and rejects the Lord.” Mama said from her chair. She was looking at Joan intently, now, hands knotted and frozen in her embroidery.

Judgement cast her a dark look, his wooden facial features creaking threateningly as his mouth and eyes move. Joan just furrowed her eyebrows at her mother.

“Sometimes I think you make that stuff up.” She said.

“Ezekiel, Chapter 13.” Mama said. “Read it for yourself.”

“I’ll read it later.” Joan said dismissively, unfolding the cloth she got from the store.

“Read it now.”

“I’m bust, Mama!” Joan whined.

Mama set her needle and thread and embroidery aside, and approached Joan cautiously. Her eyes kept darting over to Judgement, who had his bladed tail poised and ready to strike. Joan took a deep breath and looked up from her project to meet her mother’s gaze.

“You’ve gone so far astray that I fear for you.” Mama said.

Joan hunched her shoulders in slightly. “Do you really think I’m going to burn in hell, Mama, just for going to my prom?” She asked meekly.

“I don’t want to think about what’s going to happen to you.” Mama answered. “Sin knows you now. It’ll find you.”

“Mama…” Joan whimpered out softly.

Mama advanced on Joan. Judgement swelled up, his platelets and wooden scales standing on edge to make him look bigger. Mama took a small step back, but didn’t stand down fully, even though Joan could easily see the terror in her eyes. Her mother wanted to run and hide and pray to God.

“Your sin will find you, Johanna,” Mama hissed. “And when it does, not even Jesus can help you.”

“Jesus will help me.” Joan said. “He will help me if I really need him.”

“Not if he doesn’t love you anymore.”

Mama’s words made it feel like the entire world was coming down on Joan’s shoulders. Her eyes widened and she watched, mouth agape, as Mama turned and went back to her chair to continue sewing. Not even Judgement moved- her mind was too shell shocked to control him.

And then, she’s marching forward before she’s even aware of what she was doing, burning flares of anger urging her onward. Judgement slithered after her, his body making a menacing scraping sound against the wooden floor. Mama didn’t look up at her.

“Jesus loves everybody, Mama.” Joan said, clenching her fingers into shaking fists at her side. “Even me.”

Mama glanced up at her and opened her mouth to retort, but Joan narrowed her eyes into slits and silenced her.

“Don’t say a word,” She warned, “or I’ll vibrate your insides so hard they burst, and don’t think I won’t do it.”

Mama became very pale. Judgement let out a pleased hiss. Joan turned her nose up and marched back over to her sewing station, where she got to work on her dress. Judgement played music that wasn’t religious for once, and Mama did nothing to stop it.

She couldn’t.

------

The black G-Wagen jostled violently as it drove up the dark dirt path that night, going twenty miles too fast on the unpaved road. Branches scraped against the room and mud squelched beneath the tires, and if she weren’t so excited for this, Anne might have been dismayed about her car getting all dirty. She made a mental note to wash it before her father saw the mess on the sides.

“Are you sure Henty isn’t around?” Cathy asked from the passenger’s seat. She was white knuckling the overhead handle, looking a lot less mature than she usually did. Anne rolled her eyes at her.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Anne answered.

“Where is he?” Thomas Culpeper, a distant cousin to Anne, piped up. He was crammed in the back with Maggie, Thomas Cromwell, and Anthony Lee, Maggie’s boyfriend, and kept being throwing from side to side with every bump they hit.

“Funeral.” Anne said. “For his mum or something? Doesn’t matter.”

“Okay, okay,” Thomas said. “I just don’t want to get caught.” The car went over a particularly rough pothole and his head smacked against the window. He whined sharply in pain, rubbing the impacted area, while Maggie and Anthony burst into laughter.

“We won’t get caught.” Anne said.

“Seems like a lot of work for a joke…” Cromwell muttered over the peals of giggling.

Anne jerked her head around, not watching the dark road ahead of her, and narrowed her eyes until she looked like a venomous snake.

“Are you pussying out?” She asked. “Do you want to get out?”

Cromwell stiffened. “No! No!” He said. “It’s a good joke!”

Anne made a pleased noise and looked forward again. Her bright yellow headlights cut through the brambles snarled around the road and illuminated the large grey building coming up in the distance. She finally began to slow the car down.

The night air was a strange mix if humidly warm and chillingly cold. The half moon glowed brightly in the bruise-dark sky, its light twinkling on the surface of a nearby pond and bathing the surrounded apple orchard in rays of luscious silver. A cow lowed from somewhere in the distance. Pigs and chickens snorted and clucked inside the barn.

Anne popped open the trunk and pulled out a thick sledgehammer. Anthony armed himself with a wicked-looking butcher’s knife while Cromwell and Maggie both grabbed a steel bucket each. Anne passed the sledgehammer to Thomas, who swung the ten-pound thing idly, making swishing noises in the air. Cathy waited by the front of the car, her arms crossed over her chest.

“What’s wrong, doll?” Anne asked, sauntering up to her. She stood on her tippy toes and nipped at Cathy’s bottom lip, slithering her arms around her waist. “You look a little blue.”

Cathy ruffled ever so slightly, touching her custom made blue leather jacket as her girlfriend giggled. She sighed and wrapped her arms around Anne, returning the embrace.

“I’m not sure this is the best idea,” She said. “Can’t you just forget about it?”

Anne narrowed her eyes. Her shellac green nails curled into Cathy’s lower back.

“No,” She hissed. “I cannot. I will not forget about it.” She stepped back, huffing, not realizing she looked like a child throwing a temper tantrum in the moonlight. “I was humiliated, Cathy! I can just let something like that go! It was AWFUL!”

Cathy frowned at Anne with a pitiful look.

“And you know who I blame?” Anne went on, fuming with rage. “That goddamn freak!” She kicked a rock and sent it bouncing across the dirt before it got stuck in some mud. “Joan Seymour is going to learn not to play with fire sooner or later. And it’s about time someone gave her a real lesson.”

“Yeah!!” Maggie agreed loudly, always backing up her best friend. Anne grinned at her brightly.

“This’ll definitely teach her,” Anthony said, glancing at the knife Cromwell was twisting to catch beams of moonlight on the blade. “I think I would kill myself if what you’re planning were to happen to me.”

A dark thrill crackled through Anne’s body. Joan Seymour? Killing herself? Oh, the image of that stupid cow hanging from a noose or bleeding out from slit wrists or dying from a bullet to her retarded brain sounded like a dream come true. It filled her with a sick kind of euphoria that made her feel tingly and pleasured. A crooked, bloodthirsty smile curled on her lips. She doesn’t notice the wary glance Cathy gave her.

“Hope for that,” She said. “Come on.”

They all approached the barn, with Cathy and Thomas being stupidly overly cautious despite Anne telling them several times that Old Man Henty wasn’t home. They hopped the outer fence and walked inside, where the smell of livestock became much thicker.

“Ugh, smells like shit in here!” Cromwell exclaimed.

“Well, yeah, dumbass.” Maggie said, rolling her eyes at him. She didn’t appear to be fazed by the smell at all, or was just really good at hiding that she was.

Passing by an indoor chicken coop and fenced area for cows, they soon came to the pigpen. There were dozens of pigs, Berkshires and Welshes and British Lops and British Saddlebacks, either sleeping or moseying around listlessly. A flat white snout stuck through the bars of the fence enclosing their pen and grunted at the newcomers.

Thomas nudged Anthony, then Anthony nudged Thomas, and then the two of them vaulted forward over the fence, squealing and snorting and making a complete ruckus. A few of the pigs didn’t even move from the mud they were sprawled in, not even caring about all the noise, while others screeched and sprinted away.

“Idiots,” Maggie rolled her eyes.

“You’re dating one of them.” Anne said and laughed at the way Maggie’s nose scrunched up. She hopped the fence and stepped into the pigpen, while Maggie, Cromwell, and Cathy waited on the other side.

“Hey, piggy, piggy, piggy, piggy!” Thomas cried, bending over and cackling at a lazy British Saddleback with a thick white neck.

“Where’s your leg?” Anthony asked an orange Tamworth that was missing one of its back legs. “This one.” He then declared. “We should kill this one. It’s crippled. We’d be doing it a favor.”

Anne studied the orange swine. It definitely did have a pitiful aura, what with the way it hopped awkwardly when it moved, but it was much too small.

“We need a bigger one.” She said, scanning the pigs grunting around her.

“Pick one that looks like the girl,” Cromwell suggested from the top of the fence he was perched on.

“You,” Anne pointed to him with an appraising look, “are starting to grow on me.”

Cromwell puffed out his chest importantly. Cathy pursed her lips, but didn’t say anything.

Anne looked through all the pigs, and then spotted one that caused a sinister smirk to spread on her face.

“That one.” She said.

It was a big, fat, pink British Lop so light it looked white in the moonlight it was standing under in the outside area of the pen. It had giant, crusty teats and huge floppy ears that it could barely see out from under. Anthony and Thomas lunged at it, shrieking callouts and laughing maddeningly, but the sow just looked up at them dumbly, its ears just barely shifting out of its face.

Just like Joan Seymour.

“Whenever you’re ready, Tommy.” Anne said to her younger cousin.

It was only then that Thomas seemed to realize that he was holding the sledgehammer...which meant he had to kill the pig.

He hefted it in his hands, held his breath, then raised it over his head and--

Thomas faltered. He grit his teeth, staring down at the sow that was now curiously nudging one of his shoes with its snout, then released the tension in his arms.

“I can’t do it.” He said miserably.

Anne glared at him. Maggie rolled her eyes. Cathy gave him a pitying look.

“Are you kidding me?” Anne said. “Really, Tommy?”

“I can’t, okay?!” Thomas cried. He held out the sledgehammer. “Y-you do it.” His eyes wandered to Cromwell.

“Dude, don’t look at me!” Cromwell said sickly. He leaned back so far he nearly fell off the fence.

“I don’t believe you,” Anne said to her cousin. “Does being a little bitch run in our fucking family or something? First Kat and now you?” She shook her head, tutting.

“Take it.” Thomas said, shoving the sledgehammer forward in the air. When Anne just stared at him he said again, “Seriously, take it!”

“You fucking pussy.” Anne hissed scathingly. She snatched the sledgehammer from Thomas and shoved him aside into the fence. She looked over at Anthony questiongly.

“Don’t worry,” Anthony said, touching his thumb to the honed edge.

“Right down the throat.” Anne reminded.

“I know.”

Anne nodded. She twirled the sledgehammer in her hands and gazed down at the sow at her feet. A disturbing smirk crept back onto her lips.

“Little pig, little pig, let me in,” She sang, circling around the sow. She then did an awful imitation of Joan Seymour’s voice, “Not by the hairs on your chinny-chin-chin!” She hefted the sledgehammer, her expression darkening, crooked smile twisting. “Then I’ll huff...and I’ll puff...and I’ll bash your brains in!”

The sow looked up, innocent black eyes peeking out from under floppy pink ears, and Anne put the sledgehammer right in between them.

The sound was like dropping a pumpkin from a great height- wet, gushy, and absolutely magnificent. The sow dropped to the ground, its skull dented and cracked open wide, blood and brains drooling out. Thomas keeled over the side of the fence and vomited. Anne regarded him with a disgusted expression.

“Anthony,” She said, swiveling her head around to Maggie’s boyfriend. “Come on. Maggie, the bucket.”

Anthony nodded as Maggie hopped the fence and set one of the steel buckets down. Anthony lifted the sow by its thick snout, open black eyes angled towards the moon, and slit its throat.

The blood flow was immediate and glorious. Anne, Anthony, and Maggie all got squirted by the cut aorta. Thomas gagged again.

“Good,” Anne murmured. She gripped the sledgehammer tightly, riding the ways of pleasantly gory ecstasy. “That one, too.” She nodded at a large black Berkshire boar.

“Jesus, Anne.” Cathay said. “Isn’t this en-”

“That one.” Anne repeated.

“Annie, can I cut its throat this time?” Maggie asked eagerly.

“Of course, love!” Anne said, earning a sick squeal of glee from her friend. She lumbered over to the boar, unable to stop grinning. “Don’t worry, piggy, don’t worry,” She cooed to it. “Auntie Annie’s going to bash your fucking head in and you won’t have to worry about the fryer no more!”

She raised the sledgehammer again and smashed much harder than before. Mushed brain matter came spilling out instantly, wetting the dirt of the pigpen. Maggie excitedly cut the boar’s throat and began filling up the second bucket.

“Thomas that isn’t a fucking disappointment,” Anne said.

It took him a moment, but Cromwell realized it was him being spoken to. He perked up, attentive, but wary.

“Yeah?”

“Go get the spare bucket in the car.”

“Anne.” Cathy said. “This is enough.”

“Shut up, Cathy.” Anne snapped. She looked back at Cromwell. “Go.”

Cromwell jumped off of the fence and ran out of the barn. Cathy grumbled something as Anne walked over and pulled her into a heated kiss. She wondered if her girlfriend could taste the pig blood spattered on her face.

“Cheer up, my love,” Anne said, cupping Cathy’s cheeks. “This is fun! No need to be so grouchy.” She kissed her again, letting her tongue snake into Cathy’s mouth.

They eventually pulled back, panting, ropes of saliva connecting their mouths together. Cathy smiled flusteredly.

“I guess...it is a pretty good joke.” She said.

“See?” Anne grinned, kissing down her jawline. Her breath was hot on Cathy’s tender skin. “I told you.”

Cromwell soon returned with the extra bucket. Anne thanked him and went back over to the dead pigs. She took the butcher knife from Maggie and cut open the sow’s belly.

“What are you doing?” Thomas asked. He was ghostly pale in the moonlight and leaning against the fence.

Anne shot him a scornful look. “Making this even better.” She replied and began pulling out the sow’s organs. Thomas vomited once again and she rolled her eyes.

Slowly but surely, the third bucket was filled up with pig guts. Intestines, the womb, the uterus, the heart and stomach. When it was halfway full, she cut open the boar, took its intestines, then sliced off the scrotum and removed the testicles.

The smell of blood was thick, rank, and coppery in the air. Anne was slimed up to her elbows in gore. Everyone was staring at her in wide-eyed awe.

“Let’s go,” She said, slinging the sledgehammer over her shoulder and picking up the bucket of guts. “Don’t spill a goddamn drop or else.” She warned Anthony and Cromwell when they lifted their own buckets. She didn’t trust her pussy cousin, Thomas, to do it.

They all walked back to the car, where they poured the blood and guts into a large cooler that was brought along. Anne didn’t bother cleaning her arms when she got back into the driver’s seat; she quite liked the aroma coming from the mess. She breathed it in deeply and smiled, leaning back in her seat.

“Pig’s blood for a pig,” She mused. “That freak is never going to know what hit her.”

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