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angst-fairygodmother · 3 years ago

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37 and 66 from I love you things with Ollie and Jess?

A/N: Hi Nonny! Thank you so much for this prompt. I’m so sorry it took me a while to write, but I hope it was worth the wait. I went back and forth while writing this between making it a reader-insert and using Jess as an actual OC and finally settled on the latter, because it just felt right. (Which is probably how I will continue to write this pair going forward also.) Word Count: 3493 Rating: G - mostly fluff - heights (and fear of influencing how it’s written), a little swearing, referenced/implied panic attack

Jess closed the shop at 6pm on the dot, giving herself an hour to get ready for...whatever Ollie had planned. There weren’t a lot of places to go out to dinner in the area, and she desperately hoped he wouldn’t start out by inviting her home to meet the infamous Charlie Sway. She chewed nervously on her nail, staring at her closet. She knew she needed something that would work for anything, but her mind continued to run in circles trying to decide exactly what that meant.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d given this much thought to what she looked like on someone else’s account. It felt strange to say the least. But, she mused, not a bad kind of strange. Eventually, she settled on a cute cream-colored sweater and jeans, hoping that the evening temperature dropped enough to make them reasonable.

There was a soft knock on the door and she frantically cast one last look over herself in the mirror, smoothing down her shirt and hair, stomach twisting nervously.

She threw open the door perhaps a bit overenthusiastically, a warm expression on her face.

“Hi,” she greeted him, the single syllable all she could get out as she met those soft blue eyes.

Ollie grinned when he saw her, the excited, adoring expression making her heart flutter. It was hard for Jess not to scoff at the cliché, when she was behaving like the protagonists of the romances she sold by the dozen. But at least he was looking at her the same way, and seemed at least momentarily speechless.

“Uh, do you want to come in?” she offered meekly after a moment, gesturing over her shoulder. “Or I can come out, and we can...I mean...um...”

The two of them stood there, staring at each other dumbly for a moment, on either side of the doorway.

“So...where are we going?” she asked after a long pause ripe with awkward tension. She wanted to kick herself. Ollie had been so easy to talk to from the moment he walked into her store, but now, suddenly they were going on a proper date and everything felt different?

“I have a picnic bag in the back of my car, and I thought we could drive somewhere, and then maybe hike a bit?”

“A hike?” she asked nervously. “Like, up into the mountains?”

“Yeah. There’s a point up there that has great views of the entire town and the lake. Nik heard about it from one of the girls at the bar we were flirting with…I mean he was flirting with mostly. It wasn’t...I mean I didn’t...and this was before I met you…”

“Ollie,” she laughed lightly, tilting her head to one side to look at him. “I’m not the blushing, swooning virginal maiden, and I don’t expect you to be either.”

He coughed, face turning crimson and she couldn’t help smiling fondly. Finally, things were feeling a little more normal, this was still the same Ollie she had come to adore.

“You’re also only here for the summer, or however long it takes you to find your Dad’s record. So I hadn’t set my hopes on serious, or exclusive. I just think you’re cute, and fun to be around, so why not enjoy something and see what happens with it?”

“Oh.” His face twisted as he considered her words.

“However, I don’t think a hike is a good idea. It’s going to be dark soon.”

“There’s still almost two hours before sunset, and I brought flashlights so we can get back down the mountain.”

Of course, he had planned ahead. It would be stupid to plan a hiking date and not account for that, and he was far from stupid. And they were both dressed fine for the occasion. Her mind quested desperately for some other reason that they shouldn’t go and came up blank. So instead she held up a finger for him to wait, and went back to collect her camera. If she were going to do this, she might as well get some good photographs out of it, she rationed. Maybe even one she could sell prints of, if she was incredibly lucky. (She already felt insanely so, when such a wonderful boy wanted to go out with her, so why not see how far that streak ran?)

The first part of the hike went surprisingly smoothly, and it didn’t take long before Jess and Ollie were joking and laughing, scrabbling over rocks like young goats, playing eye-spy with the woods, any weirdness melting away in the evening sun. She barely noticed the way their path climbed, and felt completely relaxed.

Gradually, without her noticing, the trail narrowed and became steeper, until it rounded a tight bend up ahead, nothing but air off to her left and solid rock to the right. She swallowed nervously, trying to keep her eyes from the empty space. All of her joviality dropped away like the ground.

“Jess?” Ollie asked, noticing her discomfort as she edged very slowly along. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. Yeah. Fine. I just...don’t like heights.” She answered, breath and words coming in short bursts.

“Oh. Shit. Um, we can turn back if you want? I didn't realize you--”

“No. No, it's fine. We're here now. I'll make it through. You just might have to hold my hand for the way back down.”

She’d meant it as a joke, a light flirtation to distract her from the many, many feet she could fall with one misstep. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be doing any good, as her mind found a way to focus on both the space and how cheesy the sentence was.

“Do...you want me to now?” he countered, holding one slim hand out.

She flashed him a small smile, taking it with her own and trying not to think too much about how nice, how right it felt. “You’ve been taking lessons with Nikolai haven’t you?”

“What?”

“That was smooth, Oliver,” she teased, enjoying the way he turned red all the way to the tips of his ears.

Eventually, the young couple made it to the overlook, with much gentle guidance from Ollie to keep Jess’s nerves from overwhelming her, and she gasped. The lake stretched out below them, still and silver in the evening light, shining like a mirror. Tiny specks of color, moving too fast or too far for the eye to really track marked the boaters and jetskis, and kites flown from the small public beach. Most of the buildings disappeared into the verdant green surroundings, and the ones she could still spot looked like houses and shops and mansions for Polly Pockets, not people. The sun was just starting to dip behind the mountains on the far side of the lake, hazy outlines of shadow against the sherbert sky.

“Oh, Ollie,” she breathed, stunned. “It’s beautiful.”

He mumbled something she didn’t catch and started unpacking the picnic he’d brought in his backpack. Not wanting to disturb him, and clearly left to her own devices for the moment, she took out her camera, adjusting the lens carefully, capturing as much of the view as she could. Then, on an impulse she turned around and snapped one of Ollie, silhouetted against the forest and the peeks of sunset between the trees, before he could notice. The sound of the shutter, or the finishing touches being put on dinner, made him look up.

“What are you doing, Jess?” he asked, confusion written across his features.

“Taking pictures of beautiful things,” she answered with a shrug, bringing the camera to her eye again.

“No,” he held up his hand to block it, laughing.

“I’m serious. This place, up here away from it all, suits you.”

“You’re full of shit, Jess.” He shook his head, his hair falling across his face.

She took another photo while his guard was down.

“Come sit down. Marlena put together a good meal.”

Relenting after another photo out into the distance, almost wishing she dared to get closer to the edge of the overlook, she carefully disassembled her camera, storing each piece with reverence back in its bag, before sitting across from him. He had set up quite the array on the blanket: simple but delicious looking toasted sandwiches, glasses and lemonade, berries and chunks of watermelon, and what looked like very freshly baked chocolate-chip cookies.

“Ollie, it looks amazing,” she said with a smile, popping a sweet, juicy blackberry into her mouth with a small, exaggerated moan. “And tastes even better.”

He blushed, shrugging and laughing sheepishly. “All I did was carry it up here.”

She rolled her eyes as he deflected yet another compliment. He seemed to always be doing that, much to her frustration, and she made a mental note to find a way to make him see how much she meant them, how true each one was.

Silence fell over the two of them as they started picking at the buffet between them, but it was an easy one, a pause rather than an interruption, and eventually conversation resumed. She asked him about his search for his father’s record and listened as he spoke of the things he had found, which weren’t what he was looking for but seemed to bring (mostly) happy memories of his childhood. He asked for stories of her family, and of what the town was like when summer-people left.

“Sway Lake is a different place,” she concluded eventually, casting her eyes about her on the clifftop, “just like it is from up here. Or frozen in a moment in your record.”

By now the remains of the food had been set aside, and the pair had scooted closer on the picnic blanket, sitting side by side and facing out, instead of across from one another. Hesitantly, Jess shifted her hand closer so that their pinkies brushed, daring him to take action and hold her hand again. He didn’t seem to notice as he turned to face her, eyebrows knitted in confusion.

“I…” he cleared his throat and started over. “You have a really unique view of the world.”

Something in the way he said it made it feel like the kindest compliment someone could give, and it was finally her turn to blush, ducking her head to hide as her cheeks heated furiously.

“I mean I guess,” she fiddled with the edge of the picnic blanket beside her, plucking at a loose thread so she didn’t have to meet his eyes just yet. “I’ve never really thought about it like that...”

“The view up here must be great for photos,” he said, making her laugh at his abrupt change of subject, obviously picking up on her embarrassment and knowing it well.

“Yeah, it is. I’m hoping they come out well. Thank you for showing it to me.”

“The way people were talking, it’s pretty well known...how come you haven’t been up here before?”

“Heights, remember?” she flashed him a half-smile as she tilted her head to one side. “I’ve never had someone invite me before who seemed worth the risk.”

“How do you know if something’s worth it without ever seeing it?”

“You know your record is without hearing it don’t you? Besides, I said someone, not something.”

He froze, blinking owlishly at her.

“Ollie?” she asked after a long pause, wondering what was going on with him suddenly.

“Can I kiss you?” he blurted, and now it was her turn to freeze, the question momentarily incomprehensible.

“Yes,” she breathed, barely getting the word out before his lips were pressed against hers.

The contact was abrupt, almost a headbutt but more romantic. There was a moment of awkward fumbling, of bumping noses and clashing teeth, until their mouths finally slotted together properly. Even after finding the right way to connect, there was a split second of hesitation, and then his hands came up to frame her jaw, pulling her closer, the tips of his fingers teasing at her hairline and the small hairs that had escaped the scrunchie holding most of it back. Keeping one of her own hands on the blanket to hold herself steady, Jess wrapped the other around the back of his neck like an anchor and leaned into the pressure of his soft lips on hers.

All too soon he pulled away, panting breathlessly, and staring at her with an awe that made her own breath catch in her throat. She was half tempted to pull him back into another kiss, if only to make him stop looking at her like that.

A distant roll of thunder shattered the moment, and her eyes flickered toward the clouds gathering on the blue-purple horizon.

“We should probably head back, before that gets here,” she said reluctantly, wishing she had more time.

Ollie nodded in agreement, and the two of them made quick work of packing back up the remains of the picnic. He handed her a heavy black flashlight (that, she noted gratefully, and then laughed internally at her own thought, would double as a decent weapon against a rogue mountain lion at least long enough to run) and set off down the mountain. She tried to follow him without looking down, but the uneven terrain in the growing darkness made that too difficult to maintain. Soon the very idea filled her with just as much fear as looking. The edge of the path seemed to drop sharply, drawing ever closer to her feet in the narrow beam of yellow light, until it felt like she was walking along the very line of the drop.

She stopped short with a yelp, head spinning from the sensation and whole body trembling. The sound made Ollie turn around sharply, placing himself as a barrier between her and the fall as she pressed her back firmly against the rock.

He took her by the shoulders, trying to get her to make eye contact instead of staring blankly at the sight, or lack of sight beyond him.

“Jess? Can you hear me?” he asked. “It’s alright, Jess. I’m right here, I won’t let you fall.”

Her blood roared in her ears and she saw his lips move but it was too loud for her to hear him.

When talking didn’t seem to work, he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her into a tight hug. Her fingers curled into his sweatshirt, clinging to him like a lifeline. Face pressed into the side of his neck she let out a sob, as the world spun around her much too fast.

The rest of the journey down to Ollie’s station wagon and much of the drive were a blur. Jess wasn’t completely unconvinced that he had somehow found a way to carry her down, although that was giving his physical strength more credit than he looked like it deserved. The storm picked up as they drove, clouds turning the sky to black, lit only by the occasional crash of lightning, and rain slamming against the roof and windows.

All too soon, the car stopped, parking in the narrow street in front of her building. They exited the car and promptly Ollie took her by the hand, lacing their fingers together. Not wanting to stand in the rain, she used the point of contact to drag him along, running as if she could dodge the water falling from the sky until they made it to her door. They stood there under the eaves, hair and clothing dripping, facing each other reluctantly, not wanting to say goodnight just yet.

“Tonight was…” he said, pausing.

“Amazing?” she finished, smiling and feeling the light heat of a blush on her cheeks.

“Yeah. That.” He smiled back, and looked for a moment (during which her heart beat like a bird trying to escape her chest) like he was going to kiss her again. “I should let you go inside…”

“Stay over,” she blurted out before she could consider the words.

“W-what?” he stared at her like she’d just grown an extra head or twelve. “Jess I can’t do that…”

“It’s late. And the weather’s bad. And I saw you yawning while we were driving back. I’d worry about you if you tried to go home now.”

“It’s just around the other side of the lake…”

“Yeah, but that’s like half an hour unless you drive recklessly. All it takes is drifting off for a second...please stay?”

“But...what will people think?”

“People,” she raised an eyebrow, “or your grandmother?”

“I don’t just mean her. I don’t want you to be treated like--”

“A slut?”

He shuffled and looked away.

“People aren’t that bad, you know. There are a handful of dicks, but most of town doesn’t give a shit.”

“I didn’t mean…” he frowned. “I’m a Sway. I know people don’t like my family. If you’re seen with me like that...I know what being an outcast feels like, and I don’t want you to have to feel that way.”

“Well I guess you'll just have to make sure no one sees, then.” She smirked, before she sighed. “Look, Ollie. We're grown adults. What we do at night, or any other time, or with whom is no one's business but our own.”

“I know but--”

“No. No buts. I wouldn't have invited you to sleep over if I didn't mean it, or I wasn't prepared for gossip and fallout. It’s up to you. I just would feel a lot better if you did.”

“You really want me to stay?”

She rolled her eyes and fixed him with a look rather than actually answering. The wet breeze sent a shiver over her as she turned to unlock the door, not waiting anymore for him to make a decision.

“And it’s not...too fast?”

She shrugged, taking him by the arm to pull him into the house and into a kiss. Her other hand threaded into his hair and his hovered over her hips as if he wasn’t quite sure he was allowed to touch her .

“Too fast is a myth,” she murmured, breath ghosting across his face. “Besides, I was inviting you into my house, not my bed.”

She’d lost count by now of the number of times she’d managed to make Ollie blush tonight, but each time you did was just as adorable as the first.

“Although, I was going to offer to take the couch,” she said over your shoulder as she led the way toward the furniture in question, “so I guess it was...also...into my bed…this is...I’m making it weird.”

“What? No!” he fumbled to reassure her. “I mean, no. You’re not, not no I won’t sleep in...I don’t want to, without you. Not that we have to sleep together. It’s just. It’s your bed.”

“God we’re a pair,” she said, laughing now as she dropped down and motioned for him to sit beside her. “Tripping over ourselves like romantic baby deer.”

“I just don’t want to mess this up,” he admitted sheepishly, sitting awkwardly perched on the edge of the cushion as if he was going to run at any moment.

“Is there...something to mess up?” she asked, reaching over to take his hand and lacing her fingers through his.

“I think so,” the words may have been a statement but his face was a question as he turned toward her a little more. “I don't want this to be some summer fling, Jess. I want it to be real.”

“Hey, summer flings can also be real. There was this one guy who…” she paused at Ollie's expression and shook her head, “never mind. The point is they're not mutually exclusive. But I appreciate the sentiment. And I’d really like that too.”

“What does that mean though?” he asked.

She paused. “That’s what we have to decide. But...not tonight. It’s late. We should go to bed and talk about it when we’re rested.” She fought back a yawn that emphasized her point as she stood.

He nodded, watching her turn and cross the room, eyes lingering low. It took him a moment to realize when she had stopped moving again.

“Well aren't you coming?”

“What?” he squeaked out.

“It occurs to me, the bed is big enough for two and way more comfortable than the couch.”

“I…”

“I just mean to sleep, for real. And, I guess, maybe cuddling?” She bit her lip nervously. “Unless you're not good with that…”

He stared for another long, awkward moment. “Even with my nightmares?”

She shrugged. “Yeah. I’ll deal. Or maybe having someone else beside you will help.”

Ollie scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping over himself in his rush to join her by the doorway. She laughed, lacing her fingers with his and leading him further through the apartment, silently marveling at how well things had gone, for a first date.

#it only took...almost 2 months to get to this. that's totally fine...#I had to do a lot of tweaking and pronoun conversion #so please (politely) hit me up if I missed anything #Oliver Sway x Jess O'Neill #Oliver Sway x OC #Song of Sway Lake fic #The Song of Sway Lake

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daintykeith · 4 years ago

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DESERVING

Title: Deserving

Summary: A one-shot love story featuring Arthur Morgan and John Marston in which John struggles to understand Arthur's new behavior around camp.

Word count: 1.6k+

Notes: mild cursing | feedback is appreciated!!!

Tags: @southernlynxx @rdr-secret-cupid

I’m your secret cupid, @southernlynxx !!! I'm so sorry this took forever dear; the past few weeks have been totally insane and out of my hands to control. I chose your first wish and decided to mix it up with some good reassurance (happy) angst which i found fitting for the theme;

John trying to understand & accept Arthur’s affection around camp! I hope you enjoy it, happy late Saint Valentine’s day!!!

P.D → I was inspired by this photo I took in my game! Totally worth it.

John never thought it would be like this.

At first, it was awkward—maybe bizarre. But that was just the beginning.

As the sun rose from the West, John walked out of his tent like a dead man; dark bags under his eyes and scratching his side, yawning without shame. Thirty minutes of sleep—or less—felt great. Just what he needed, right? Taking guarding rounds at night for the past few weeks to avoid him. Yes, that man. The one who had become his greatest relief and headache at the same time, Arthur Fucking Morgan.

While John agonized, Arthur was at his best. Refreshed, clean, and glowing like a damn pearl who had found its way to the surface, gleaming under the Sun—too shiny for John’s liking. Thankfully, his tormenting and seductive eyes were nowhere to be found yet. But, why was John avoiding him as if he was a pest? It’s complicated, you’ll understand later on.

John walked to the empty soup cauldron and grabbed the coffee pot next to it and a metallic cup nearby. He sighed as he sipped from the coffee he had just poured himself; feeling the smoke coming off his mouth like locomotor steam. He needed it to be functional, it had become his coal and main source of energy.

He stood next to the fire in the common area, waiting for Dutch to give a speech he had asked everyone the night before to hear. Why the hell would he give a speech so early in the morning when even the rooster hadn’t yet given his call to the sky? He wondered, staring his distorted reflection in the coffee in his hand.

It was a quiet morning, everyone who woke up, quickly waved at John and left to grab a coffee, or so it remained until the feared one appeared. He walked graciously without effort, his shirt had some buttons undone that showed his chest and collarbone, looking like a damn angel. He rinsed his face and John saw with detail from afar how every drop of water dripped down his face and neck. It made him thirsty. That man was no other than Arthur Morgan.

Arthur ran his hand through his hair and over his nape. To John, that man could’ve been the Devil himself walking on Earth, an angel who had fallen from Heaven for his ego. He was too full of himself, afly in making everyone blush in a moment’s notice. Before John could realize, Arthur was staring at the red in his cheeks and grinned, satisfied from his reaction.

“Damn you!” John whispered, looking anywhere but at him as he burned his tongue and narrowed his eyes.

Arthur, with his smug grin, quickly grabbed his coffee and sat next to the fire a few feet away from John, who didn’t know Arthur was just mesmerized with his foolishness, head over heels for a stubborn and reckless but loveable little piece of shit—a nickname truthful to his nature. A true rascal! Against his better judgement and all prognostics, an all-standing jinx befell upon him like rain in a desert.

He admired John from the ground, his strong jawline, the scars on his cheek that ran to his nose and the corner of his lips. However, his foul mouth didn’t catch up with his beauty—quick witted and far too fast for his train of thought that always got him in trouble. Arthur drank from his coffee and looked at John in the eye who, this time, didn’t turn their gaze away but held it dearly.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” John asked with his raspy voice, trying to sound uninterested but contradicted by the widened pupils in his curious eyes.

A walking contradiction, Arthur thought with a grin. “Wanna’ know?” He took a long swig of his cup and let it sit in his lap.

John hesitated for a moment. "No." Nevermind.

The blue-greened eye man cleaned the corner of his mouth with his thumb and licked it and slightly blushed. "What a shame."

John couldn't stop staring Arthur, something had lit in the corner of his mind.

"Anyway, what does Dutch want this early in the morning?"

"Don't know, don't care." Arthur rolled his eyes and looked at his feet.

John gulped, bothered by Arthur's sudden behavior to which he decided to blind the eye on.

"He's been acting... strange," John mutters, making a long pause.

He was right. Dutch had changed; it was the gleam in the eye he had always told them to not have—those of an ambition far too great, burned by being too close to the Sun. Everybody had noticed but kept quiet, making a silent agreement in not talking about the matter. John had a hunch of what it meant, but also kept quiet.

"No more than you; what's going on with ya'? Did the wolves eat the brain whole? You've been avoiding me!"

Did he notice? He knew he wasn't hiding the fact so well, but admitting it hurt his pride.

"The hell you sayin'?! No, I haven't!"

Arthur smiled in response, as if it was the answer he was expecting.

"Why?"

John narrowed his eyes.

"Why what?"

"You know."

He stood up, spilt the coffee left in his cup into the fire and slowly walked to John. His body swung with temptation, a fierce cat-walk with a daring look in his eyes. John felt like his feet were stuck to the ground, unable to take just one step aside to avoid the storm walking straight to him. His metallic eyes were bewitched by Arthur's; he sure knew how to charm him every damn time.

He didn't stop until he towered over John, trapping him with his voluptuous figure.

"Why are you so shy?" He whispered to John in the ear with a burning breath that heated and tinted his cheeks in deep red.

John forgot how to breath. He was so close that he felt their bodies touch and their minds collide.

"I, uh..."

"you what, dear?"

How shameless could the bastard be? Didn't he have any limit?

"I don't wanna talk here; let's go somewhere else." John imposed in a soft mutter.

"Alright."

They went to John's tent taking hands. They were cramped in such a small place, where their breathing burned eachother's skin and only a dim light shined through the entrance. A long pause arrived when the world had seemed to stop rotating and time had gone somewhere else, making everything but them oblivious and unimportant.

"I don't understand why are you doing this," John said with long sigh, finally giving in.

John rested his head in Arthur's shoulder, feeling his body finally relax after the tense moment.

"I thought we were a secret, ya' know?" he muttered, "a thing only you and I knew. Our thing."

Arthur combed his fingers through John's black hair, softly caressing the back of his head and humming in agreement.

"I don't seem to understand why you smile at me every time you see me or why you, like, want to touch me every time you can—or when you look at me like that."

"Does it make you uncomfortable?"

"No! I, ugh... I don't know."

Arthur chuckled. “I get it.”

John sighed in relief. Did it mean he would stop acting weird? I mean, Arthur would always be a bastard no matter how you look at it, but he called it an improvement.

“I'm sorry” he continued ”, but there's no stopping me in loving you.”

What. In. The. World. That's not what he meant!

“Arthur, you're not listening—”

“Every damn word, of course I do...”

“Then why are you doing this?!” John buried his head deeper, frustrated. “I'm an asshole, okay, I get it. But that's not a reason for you to do this to me.” Enchanting me, making me drunk with every word you whisper. Damn you.

“John, I—”

“I don't deserve it.”

A long silence between them came to be except for the more recurrent footsteps outdoors, stumping into the grass and dirt. John held tighter to Arthur, who stepped back only to take a closer look to his face, eye to eye.

“Listen closely, you little piece of shit.”

John flinched to the sudden grab by his collar, wanting to look away but Arthur only held his gaze closer.

"There's no denying that you are an idiot— but my idiot. I'm a fool myself, an old dirty bastard that's only getting older with every day that goes by, thinking that I'm the happiest man alive every damn time I look at you and even though I know I don't deserve it either. I ain't a good man, John. And you fucking know it." He grabbed his collar stronger as if it was a threat, with that dead look in his eyes that had seen the deeds their owner had done.

After Arthur realized what he did, he let John go.

“If it was about deserving, John, you would've never been mine."

He gently took John's hand laid it in his face, placing a gentle kiss in the back of his hand.

John couldn't speak a word. His mind had gone blank except for the beautiful image of Arthur lovingly playing with his fingers, laying kisses in the tip of his fingers, and the words that uttered in the corners of his mind, echoing Arthur's whispers.

"I'm sorry, John. But I beg you, let this damn fool love you and show it to you."

John placed his hand in Arthur's earlobe. As if both had read their minds, they looked into each other's eyes before leaning into a soft, gentle kiss.

Their kisses never tasted sweet. It was rough, with sweat and blood that was so common in there lives. Neither of them deserved the sweet taste of paradise, but they were making one of their own.

“You make me feel like a fool, Arthur.”

“You too.”

John wished this moment lasted forever. He wanted to enjoy the moment when their souls had gotten closer, but a voice outside called.

“Arthur, John, Where are you?!” Dutch called, irritated of waiting.

They separated and held each other's gaze for a moment.

“We should go,” John whispered tenderly as he rolled he eyes.

“Let's go,” Arthur chuckled.

Arthur gently held John's hand before heading out of the tent, ready for the world.

#rdr secret cupid 2021 #Morston #Morston2021 #Arthur Morgan #John Marston #rdr2 fanfic #rdr fanfic #rdr2 photography #rdr2 community #rdr2 #red dead redemption two #red dead fandom #red dead photo mode #rdr2 Morston

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country-club · 4 years ago

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tell me when it kicks in

Reader x Rafe Cameron Summary: you were having a shitty day and decided to go to a party at the Cameron’s. Your friend, Rafe, offers you cocaine. It gets steamy, however, with your mixed emotions and now intoxicated body, your anxiety starts acting up. Warnings: anxiety, mentions of alcohol, drugs and swearing. Let me know if I missed anything. Wordcount: 2.4k

A/n: I described what anxiety feels like for me. It’s not the same for everyone! I have never experienced with hard drugs, so most of the things I just looked up online..

Some days everything feels like shit. They feel like everybody and everything is against you, it is you against the world. Those days feels like all the songs about depression and loneliness you’ve ever heard. Today is one of those days.

It started the minute you woke up and checked your notifications. A picture of your ex showed up on your timeline, kissing the girl who was your best friend all through middle school. The caption read: happy 1 month. With tons of emoticons. You were still friends with the girl, and not only did she not tell you they were dating for an entire month, she also knew you weren’t completely over him.

You spent the day working from 9 to 6 at the shop. Sadly, you had to be the cashier for the day. It was hot and the AC wasn’t working. You had been stuck with the two most annoying colleagues you could imagine; one took too many smoke breaks which led to your break being cut short, and the other talked way too much the girls he had screwed over the weekend.

When you got home, your mom had already eaten dinner with your sibling and left you scraps in the oven. You took a long hot shower and warmed up the dinner your mom had bought. She doesn’t cook well.

There was an empty place on the wall in the kitchen where a photo of your family used to be. Your eyes looked around the kitchen, trying to find the picture. Only when you were cleaning up you noticed it being thrown into the trash bin.

“Mom!”

“What?” she yelled back from the living room. She sounded tipsy, already.

“Did you throw our family picture in the trash?” You walked over to her, holding the picture up. She didn’t even look at you. “Mom! It’s the only picture with dad in it and it never bothered you before.” It is the only picture with him in it. Your mother hasn’t talked to him since the divorce and never seemed to mind the picture, seeing how it’s been a good couple of years now and it hasn’t been taken down.

Minutes after you put it back up, your mother started shouting around the house. She was a nice, smart lady, who likes to have a couple of wines to many combined with the daily sleeping pill. The two of you got along okay, just not when she’s like this. She yelled about what a shitty person your father was and blamed you for her problems, which is totally unfair. You tried to ignore her, not wanting to get into a fight.

“You know what mom, I’m out of here.” And with that you were out the door. She didn’t bother walking after you.

At this point your mind was set on one thing: getting shitfaced and forgetting about this day and its events. And on that note, you drove over to the Cameron’s house. It’s summer which means parties every night at Figure 8.

You didn’t hang out with the Cameron’s much, though you and Rafe would usually be around each other at parties. The two of you flirted a lot, you were friendly. Rafe and you never hung out one on one but seemed almost inseparable when you were with a group of mutual friends. Your friendship was rather normal for the longest time; you didn’t talk about personal things; you would do shots together and sit on his lap at parties. He held your hair when you were throwing up and you would help him mess with Topper. At some point in your friendship one of your friends dared you to kiss him. As drunk as you were, you did. You got up, sat down stripper style on his lap which got you a ton of cheers, and gave him a little kiss on the lips. Rafe had smiled from ear to ear and laughed it off. It had been the same week as your breakup. Things weren’t necessarily tense since, just different. You wouldn’t sit on his lap and the little touches on your shoulders were enough to make you nervous.

There you were, getting out of your car and walking onto the property of the Cameron’s. It looks like a busy night tonight. The yard was crowded, and you were stopped at least 5 times while making your way to the booze. Some asked how you were doing and told you it was nice to see you, a couple of people brought up your ex’s new partner. You mixed in something to drink and tried to find someone to hang out with.

“Hey, Y/n, how you been?” Topper asked as he stopped walking.

“I’m good,” You lied. “where you headed?” You hoped he knew where to find Rafe.

“Basement, want to come with?” Of course, he was going to the basement. No doubt Rafe would be there as well. You followed Topper through the crowd as he led you to the basement, which was a little less crowded. There were a bunch of people rounded up around the couch, mainly girls. You were aware that Rafe was taking and selling cocaine and would bring it to parties. Never had you had the urge to try it, so he never asked. Topper walked past the girls at did this weird little handshake thing with Rafe. Once Topper was done talking to Rafe he sat down next to some girl. Like you, Topper too turned to alcohol when he was feeling down. Not because he necessarily needs to, but his friends keep ‘pressuring’ him to. He’s been going to more parties and throwing them more often as well, since he and Sarah split. With Topper being around more, the two of you grew closer and would hang out outside of parties. He opened up about the performance pressure he felt growing up and in return you told him about your anxiety. You explained to him how much it sucked during high school and the panic attacks you would have when nobody was around. The two of you didn’t bring it up much, but you knew and understood each other a bit better.

Right now, you’re staring around the room, not paying attention to the loud music and conversations going on. Rafe must have noticed you as he was currently standing next to you.

“Glad you came, Y/n.” You did your best to focus on what he was saying. However, you didn’t reply. You weren’t glad you came, just glad you had somewhere to go instead of spending the night home.

“You look like you could use another drink, can I get you something?” All the girls sitting around the coffee table looked like they were having a great time. They didn’t seem to care what anyone thought, and in this moment, you needed not to care about anything.

“Rafe, can I try some?” You were shy to ask, not sure how he would reject. He wrapped his arm around you.

“Sure, baby.” He took you over to the coffee table and made some lines with his credit card. Topper noticed how focused you were and tapped your arm.

“Are you sure, Y/n? Do you know the effects of a cocaine high?” You laughed. You knew he cared, and you knew of the effect of cocaine; you might get anxious or paranoid, however it could also make you confident and give you energy. Rafe sat down in a chair as some of the girls and Topper started doing lines, leaving one for you. You kneeled down and prayed you wouldn’t embarrass yourself. You did your worst and got up again. There weren’t any places left for you to sit so you awkwardly stand in the middle of the circle. Rafe pulled you onto his lap, resting his hand on your leg. You were unsure of when the cocaine would kick in; maybe it already did? It was already hot as hell down here, but it just got even hotter.

“It will only last up to 30 minutes, Y/n.” Rafe whispered.

“It’s like really hot in here.” The others didn’t really notice you or decided to simply focus on anything else. “Can we go outside?” Rafe was about to answer as you already got up of his lap. Your body was suddenly filled with energy, not the tiredness you were feeling before. You told Topper you’d be right back as you took ahold of Rafe’s hand.

“Y/n? I don’t think you should go outside right now-“ He tried to argue as you were already out of the basement. Rafe stopped you from walking out.

“I feel amazing, Rafe. Why haven’t we done this before?” Rafe’s tranquility calmed you down. He liked you too much for you to go down the same road he has.

You felt like you were on top of the world and would get away with anything even though you could barely feel your legs.

“Can I try something?” You have been wanting to try this for the longest time, well, ever since you kissed him on that dare. Rafe nodded as if to give you permission. You got on your toes as Rafe bend down. Your mouth made its way to Rafe’s ear.

“Have you ever been with someone while high?” Rafe cupped your cheeks as you brought your lips back down, placing them on his. Gently at first but getting needier by the second.

“Not yet.” He said once he let go of your lips and took your hand in his. “Would you like to go upstairs?” He checked in with you. You did. The two of you made your way to his room. It was big, that was really the only thing you noticed, your focus being only on Rafe. He barely closed the door as you pushed him against the wall with you body and kissed him. Your hands were on his waist as his found their way to your ass.

You really wanted this. Him. He lifted you up in air so you could wrap your legs around his waist. Making out as he holds you and makes his way to the bed. Rafe lowers you and puts you down on the bed. You scoot backwards to make room for Rafe to crawl on top of you. He hovers over you, holding your side in one hand and with the other holding himself up. You hold his face as you kiss him, lowering your hands to the hem of his shirt. He lets go of your side, sits up and takes the piece of clothing off, revealing his torso. He leaned back down, kissing your neck.

His hands on your body made you feel like you were going insane, craving for more. The feeling of his warm hands on your skin was perfect. Everything you had imagined, and better. It didn’t feel right. No. A feeling of unease overcovered you. The confidence you felt flew out the door. You let go of Rafe’s lips and he stopped unbuttoning your shirt. He noticed you weren’t paying any attention to him anymore.

“Y/n?”

You could hear and feel your heartbeat going over 150 beats per minute. The beats were loud, and your vision was getting blurrier by the second.

“Y/n, are you okay?”

You felt vulnerable, laying on your back. So, you sat up straight, trying to breathe. The heaviness on your chest made it hard to. Maybe Topper was right and taking cocaine was a bad idea. Maybe Rafe was only here because you took cocaine. You didn’t want to look like a fool to him. Maybe that is why you broke up with your ex and they found someone who has their shit together. You are not foolish for being anxious. Oh god, why are you breathing so loud?

You didn’t want to look at Rafe. You weren’t sure why you were freaking out. Your heart was pounding out of your chest. And then you felt two arms wrap around you. Rafe held you close and laid back down on his side, taking you with him. You were facing each other, though your face was more facing his chest. You could feel his heartbeat, beating at a normal rate. As normal as yours felt right now. Rafe was breathing in and out and telling you to do the same. You tried to. Your arms were wrapped around his torso and you held onto him. He whispered some sweet nothings into your ear until you calmed down.

And you did, your head and body calmed down and you were tired.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered; your face now stuffed in Rafe’s neck.

“Are you alright, Y/n?” Rafe was rubbing your back softly. You nodded.

“I think so. I can’t imagine how big of a mess I must look like right now.”

“You’ve looked better.” He joked. “Come here, baby.” Rafe sat back up and you followed his lead. “How’s your head?” You sit facing each other, his hand holding yours.

“Confused and tired.”

“Understandable. You can stay the night if you’d like.”

“Are you asking me to sleep with you?” You were joking, obviously.

“If we can actually sleep, then yes. It has been a long alright.”

It wasn’t awkward between you two. You had calmed down but were left with a lot of mixed feelings and not wanting to take cocaine again for a while.

“How long have we been gone?” You ask while fixing your shirt. Rafe put his on again as well.

“About 30 minutes. Almost as long as a trip should take. How was it?”

“Never again.” Rafe laughed at your comment. “However, it did make me realize I really like kissing you.”

“Maybe we should continue when we’re sober?” You agreed and gave Rafe a kiss on his cheek.

“That’d be lovely.” Rafe got up off the bed and offered you his hand. You took it and got up as well, being pulled into a hug. “Are you alright going back outside for a bit? You can stay in here if you’d like.” You didn’t want to stay alone in his room. You decided to splash some water in your face and find Topper.

“Y/n,” Rafe stopped you from walking out. “how do you like your eggs in the morning?”

You laughed at his flirty comment and thanked him for being so understanding and kind and ‘such a good kisser’, all before going out to enjoy the rest of the party. Luckily for you it wasn’t an all nightery and you got to spend the night with Rafe Cameron.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #obx #outer banks #outer banks imagine #drew starkey

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haphazardlyparked · 4 years ago

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cousin Billy

lol i have spent two days doing literally none of the things i need to be doing, but meg did suddenly get a cousin. :)))

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“Hey, favorite cousin,” Meg said when I opened the door. “I need a favor.”

I opened it enough to get a good look at her. She was wearing some kind of crude brown coverall-trousers and a rough, threadbare shirt, totally filthy hair (and the Meg I saw off wore a gorgeous dark braid, and now all that thick woven glory was a short frizzy cut that had leaves in it, not even dead leaves, golden and red and orange).

She wasn’t even alone; her entourage included a square-faced man larping as a dirty knight, a tall sallow woman with subtly mis-matched eyes that I absolutely did not notice, holding a small blue dragon statue that did not close one eyelid and curl its tail a bit in. It didn’t, because that would have been insane, or worse, in the realm of fantasy, and that’s one place I generally prefer not to go.

I closed my eyes and shut the door.

Meg immediately started banging on it. “Don’t be like that, cuz, open up, please,” I could hear her say, very clearly, followed by the dirty knight who said, “Lady Meg, should we go somewhere else?”

And the tall woman asked, “What is a cuz?”

“Cuz, cousin, my mother’s sister’s daughter,” Meg explained, exasperated yet very thorough in her reply. Just for the record, she hadn’t stopped banging on my door either.

Then the tall woman, sounding very different and perhaps a bit taller than the first tall woman, which I also decided not to think about very hard, murmured, “You have family?”

There was just enough absurdity in that to make me pause. It was not the loneliness that got me, or the the wistful surprise, like the tall woman had only just remembered family was a thing people could have.

I opened the door and sidestepped Meg’s falling hand. “What in God’s name are you bringing down on me, cuz?” I demanded.

I’ve found that holy curses, the kind my grandparents use, are always safest. That took some trial and error, and a lot of hiding under my covers.

Meg beamed and pulled her arm back the second she realized I’d caved and opened the door. “Billy, these are my, uh, friends, Cal, Arina Firedancer, and—“

“Do you call me that in your own thoughts,” the (second) tall woman wondered, but more in statement form; cool and cutting, with none of that breakable loneliness now.

“Shut up, Arina Firedancer, what else am I supposed to call you?” Meg hissed, introductions derailed. But she paused before she took them up again, glanced at the dragon statue, and then decided to keep mum. If the dragon statue snorted, it might have meant that was exactly this Arina Firedancer’s purpose, but I didn’t see the dragon move at all.

“This is fun, Meg, really,” I told my wayward cousin in a way that emphatically declared the opposite. I crossed my arms and kept my eyes on her very normal, dirt-streaked face. “Disappear for a few years and show up on my doorstep like you haven’t bathed in any of that time, and you have leaves in your hair, by the way.”

“Billy, stop pretending you don’t know exactly where I went, please let us in, and no I don’t.” Meg was trying to smile at me when she said it, only she did not sound nearly as foolhardy and blithely optimistic as the last time I saw her.

Well, that wasn’t my problem. But she was family.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, and then I stepped aside and let everyone come in. Meg knew it the minute my security went down, and she barged through the door with a cry of relief and went running for the bathroom.

Typical.

“Alright, dirty knight, tall woman, very inanimate dragon statue—please do not sit on or touch anything until you’ve washed. Actually, just stay here for a minute. Meg will show you the bathroom when she comes back out. Anyone want a glass of water?”

“Yes,” the dragon statue said.

“Anyone?” I repeated, pointedly, and then the dirty knight, who I presumed was Cal, said, “If you would be so kind,” and Arina Firedancer repeated him, word for word and inflection for inflection, neither cutting nor wistful now. She managed Cal’s earnestly obliging politeness so convincingly, I decided immediately not to trust her.

I retreated to get them two glasses of water to sort out amongst themselves. When I returned, they stood huddled together by my door, Cal positioning himself closest towards me, hand not quite on his sword, while Arina Firedancer watched me with her strange, intent stare. The dragon statue drank water.

At the very least, they were good about not touching anything, though I’d long since moved most things from the small entrance hall. There was a coatrack, in the corner opposite two closed doors that filled one side of the hall, all its walls now bare of the photos that used to be there. The hall itself opened up into the living room behind me, with the kitchen hidden off to one side. My bedroom was one of the doors by the entrance, which you’d think was extremely unlucky and maybe unsafe, but then I’d say, let’s think about where my potentially unwanted visitors might be coming from.

The open living room, and the kitchen for that matter, had very big, spacious window-doors that led out onto a little terrace in the backyard. So sometimes it was better to be near the front door. And my bedroom does have two (locked) exits, so it wasn’t like I wasn’t also hedging my bets. If you were me, you’d be this paranoid too.

It wasn’t long before Meg came out of the bathroom and reappeared in the living room, shaking her hands out to dry, and before she could sit on anything I called out, “Same rules apply to you! No touching anything until you’ve showered.”

Meg jerked up from the beige chair she was about to plant her dirty pants all over, caught, and then straightened with a huff. “Okay, fine.”

“And even if I do let you shower, that doesn’t mean I’m helping you.”

“We only need a door, Billy,” Meg said immediately, abandoning the chair to rejoin us out in the little hall, which was starting to feel crowded. There was a strange purpose to her, no longer smiling to lighten the mood.

“You already know how to get back to your”—I waved vaguely in the direction of Meg’s friends, and didn’t look to see what the dragon statue was up to now—“place.”

Meg tried another smile. It seemed off, for some reason, like there really was something desperate to her. I guess a couple of years living in some weird fantasy land commune--yes, that is the story I'm going with--can do that to a person.

“Not back,” she corrected me, and this time her wheedling grin was just as obnoxious as ever. “Somewhere else. Somewhere like… Fairy?”

“Oh are we talking about that now?” someone said, and then gulped down another sip of water. “Can I talk now? Crouching to be this small is extremely stifling. ”

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and counted back from ten. I didn’t care how stupid it made me look.

When I calmed down, I opened my eyes and breathed out. “Meg, you are hands-down my least favorite cousin."

She beamed at me. She knew what I sounded like when I gave in.

••• ••• •••

You might ask why I am still with the thief who doomed me and her knight and their dragon. I could give you a very long and complicated answer about how she also saved me, in her own time, and how the knight and dragon have shown me kindness, and how these are debts that must be repaid. It would be believable. I know how to be believable.

But I record this to be honest. So instead I will think about that space between them, all the things they say, which outline its shape, enough that I can guess at the things they don’t say. They circle each other, some nearly-tangible connection between them, and it’s that thing that I need to see.

It reminds me what it is like to be human, and while I am being honest, I am doing my best to want that again.

Lady Meg’s cousin is… extremely human. Perhaps something humans can become only without the fear of fairy, I suppose, though this one has really been employing the human power of belief to maintain a strange atmosphere in her home. It feels strangely clean. Empty.

She reaches out to Lady Meg and starts plucking leaves out of her hair. I had thought I'd seen them, but they shimmer fully into view when Lady Meg's cousin draws them out, and Meg frowns, washing away the last light of her triumphant, relieved smiles.

"I don't even want to know how long those have been there."

The cousin Billy sniffs. "Me either. You can use the bathroom off my bedroom, and your friends can share the guest one.”

"And you--"

"Yes, yes," cousin Billy says, and her fistful of orange, red and yellow rustles. "I think these might help seeing as they're native to... your destination."

That makes Lord Cal look worried, and Lady Meg rolls her eyes, because that seems to frequently reassure him. Well, it did before the unicorn.

"Let me show you the wash room," Lady Meg announces, while her cousin unhappily examines the fairy leaves. She ushers us through to the next open room. Through there we turn a corner, where there is a door to one side and another room before us, one with high counters, many cabinets and a deep sink. Lady Meg opens the side door to reveal the bathroom.

It is an odd affair, like something between fairy and home. Lady Meg shows us how the taps work in the standing bath and the white chamberpot, and stresses that it's not magic but merely plumbing. She points to the towels folded on a rack, and I cede the first turn to Lord Cal.

Out the door together, we move to the kitchen, the room with the sink where Lady Meg refills the dragon's glass cup. I set the dragon on one of the counters.

"Hey," Lady Meg says, voice lowered in her version of polite. "Am I not supposed to call you Arina Firedancer?"

I look at her for a moment too long before I remember to blink and look away. I know why she’s asking. I shouldn’t be surprised by it anymore, by that directness. “You may call me what you want," I assure her. "I was just surprised… It is very kind of you. " I hadn't expected her to be so courteous.

"Why is..." Lady Meg trails off, then mutters, "Names. Is it that? I'll never understand them."

I shrug. I don't know that any human can, but it feels right to me, honorable, that we don't think in first names, showing how we don't presume to each other's true names. Is that a fairy or human kind of honesty?

When I don't say anything, Lady Meg recognizes my silence and says, "Alright. I'm going to get some clean clothes for you guys, then shower myself."

I wait until she's back with two piles of folded clothes to ask, "And then?"

"Then Billy will find us a door to fairy. Or something. She's really good at that stuff, once you get her to take the blinders off.”

“I didn’t hear that!” cousin Billy’s voice calls from some other room, loud and indignant and very, very human.

The miniature blue dragon's scales rippled. "Your cousin seems very bad at observation," she commented dubiously.

Lady Meg snorted.

#stress what is stress #writing #cal & meg #cousin billy #and arina firedancer #self indulgent 2021

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playingbaseballwithyourson · 4 years ago

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A Comprehensive List of Why REFLEKDOLL is One of the BEST EPISODES

1. I mainly come to this show to watch Ladybug and Chat Noir bitch at each other for a solid 15-20 minutes and, my god, does this episode deliver.

2. “You’d better get going before you lose your clown costume.” I C O N I C.

3. For real, confirmation that Ladybug sees Chat as as much of a goddamn clown as the entire fanbase, it’s great.

4. I know people get on this episode because the ladynoir banter is apparently “”mean-spirited””? But honestly like, banter between friends CAN sound this mean-spirited from an outward perspective while all the friends involved in it are totally fine and in complete understanding that it’s all just joking and in good fun. Ladybug really starts tearing into him (jokingly) and Chat still finishes the sequence by bouncing away yelling “SEE I WAS RIIIIIGHT!” in an upbeat, teasing tone. Like, they’re fine. This is just how they talk to each other as friends and it’s clear neither Ladybug nor Chat Noir take their banter very seriously. (Honestly my banter with my friends can be far more scathing than anything in this episode. XD)

5. Watching Juleka and Luka interact... It’s pure. It’s good. :’3 Just an all around good scene. It’s also nice to follow up on how Juleka’s been dealing with her issues since Reflekta, even though it does turn out she’s made very miniscule progress.

6. Alya’s galaxy brain moment of inviting Adrien to help Marinette with a fashion shoot: Makes a lot of sense and is a great way to capitalize on both the love square’s hobbies to get them to hang out more! It’s the single part of this episode that isn’t a contrivance!

7. Adrienette look cute in the matching outfits. Sorry but they do.

8. Okay, the thing that is truly great about this episode is that everything about it is a massive contrivance to make the kwami swap happens. ML wants it’s fucking kwami swap and it’s going to bend over backwards to make it happen, and it is NOT shy about it and it is NOT sorry. And honestly?? I FUCKING LOVE THAT. Does a kwami swap make logical sense for it to occur without the heroes having planned for it? No. Are we going to do it anyway? YES!!!! BECAUSE A KWAMI SWAP WOULD BE FUCKING FUN!!! That’s what’s great about ML, and this episode is a great showcase of ML’s priorities as a cartoon (which is probably why this episode rubs some of the fandom the wrong way). A kwami swap is illogical, but it’s fun as fuck, so the show is going to do it. That’s the priority above all else. FUN. AND IT PAYS OFF!

Seriously, everything is a contrivance. Why akumatize Juleka again? Reflekta’s power can handicap the kwamis’ abilities to find their humans in the commotion. Why have Marinette and Adrien change for the photo shoot? Get them to take their miraculous off. Why have them keep the kwamis in the car instead of in their pockets? So they can’t find their own kwamis right away. This episode is jumping through flaming hoops to make this happen and it’s fucking gold. Might there have been a much more natural way to have a kwami swap? Yeah, sure, most likely. But literally WHO EVEN CARES cause this episode starts out fun and ends fun, and it works well enough that I don’t give a flumpty. Hell, I appreciate it even MORE for not being shy about its priorities in this episode. Kwami swap fun? Then kwami swap will happen. Fuck everything else.

9. “Are you okay, Marinette?” “YEAH. HE’S TOO HOT. I MEAN--” This is a top tier Marinette flub.

10. I recognize I’m a minority on this, but I fucking love Mayura. She is a goddamn queen. So gosh darn fabulous with the long coat and the fan. I just love it whenever she shows up so I’m glad she’s here. Makes the villains a touch more intimidating in this episode since there’s two, which pairs well with Marinette and Adrien being somewhat off their game due to the kwami swap.

11. Literally any time Tikki and Plagg interact together is great.

12. Adrien telling Marinette to hide in the car... TTToTTT <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

13. No one ever believes me when I say Marinette is pure chaotic energy but she HECKING IS! When she finds Plagg with the cat ring, this girl does not waste a goddamn second. Will swapping powers probably mess them up? Yes, but FUCK IT PARIS IS IN DANGER AND WE NEED HEROES NOW SO GIMME THAT RING. SHE JUST DOES NOT WASTE A GODDAMN SECOND TRANSFORMING. SHE CAN TAKE ANYTHING AND ROLL WITH IT. I LOVE MARINETTE.

14. Also Ladynoire’s design is fucking choice.

15. Okay, go onto youtube right now, look up Mister Bug’s transformation sequence, and look at the way he puts on his mask.... I know right??? :D

16. This is a very personal thing, but I love seeing Adrien powered-up without the cat eyes. This is the only time you ever see it, and trust me while I fucking love the cat eyes, it’s a really eye-catching change to see him with his normal eyes here! Think about it, Ladybug has never seen her partner’s real eyes until this episode. It’s cool! (Marinette with the cat eyes, on the other hand, is neat as well, but I don’t think she wears them as well as Chat Noir.)

17. Adrien smacking himself with the yo yo.

18. I’ve said this before but I find it absolutely adorable how, when swapped, Marinette and Adrien base their new names off of each other, rather than making up new ones from scratch. Mister Bug? It’s Ladybug, but boy. Ladynoire? It’s Chat Noir, but girl. Seriously that’s adorable.

19. ADRIEN USING LUCKY CHARM AND GETTING EXACTLY WHAT HE WANTED IS ONE OF THE SINGLE FUNNIEST MOMENTS IN THE ENTIRE GODDAMN SHOW. I’M SORRY BUT IT IS. IT’S FUCKING HILARIOUS. JUST ADRIEN BY SHEER LUCK SCHOOLING MARINETTE WITH HER OWN POWER, AND THE COMPLETELY OFFENDED LOOK ON HER FACE AFTERWARDS-- IT’S PEAK ML COMEDY.

20. I’m not the first one to make this comparison, credit goes to @buggachat on that, but Marinette in this episode is like the parent trying to teach their kid how to drive but ends up flipping their shit the second their kid touches the gas pedal. And it’s fucking funny. X”D Marinette has a strong sense of responsibility along with an incredibly specific way of how she likes to do things as Ladybug. Her process is you battle the akuma, gather info about your opponent, use lucky charm at the exact right time that only she knows in order to take them down, and then capture the akuma and/or amok. Her routine is pretty broken in this episode, since it’s now Adrien who needs to do all those things, so that combined with Marinette’s acute awareness of Adrien being a Child Who Causes Problems On Purpose has her veerrryyy on edge this whole episode and it’s just fun to watch. Her asking Adrien if they should switch back, correcting him every time he mis-speaks about how to do Ladybug correctly. It’s not a side of Marinette we get to see every day!

21. Additionally, getting to watch her relax for once in a fight since she’s now in the canonical clown costume is wonderful. I love Marinette. I want good things for Marinette. Relaxation and fun are good. She’s got a lot on her shoulders so this episode is nice, especially with the s3 finale in context.

22. Yknow, I can very happily buy that chataclysm doesn’t work on sentimonsters, since it’s already been established that Miraculous magic can protect from chataclysm. (See: Miraculer)

23. I’ve written already about why Mister Bug wasn’t actually bad with the ladybug miraculous, so I’ll only touch on a couple of those points again. But it is weird to me how people cry about Mister Bug being shit at the ladybug miraculous when he’s so clearly not? He just has a lot of stuff to think about that he usually doesn’t have to worry about cause it’s not his job. When to use lucky charm, HOW to use lucky charm, when to use miraculous ladybug, capturing the akuma once it’s released, capturing the amok. He just quite literally never has to put thought into any of that so it’s pretty understandable that he doesn’t have a handle on it just, automatically. Meanwhile, Marinette doesn’t have a ton of extra things to think about with the cat miraculous, AND she’s canonically naturally talented with handling different miraculous, so it’s very believable that she’d be fine? I get people don’t like that cause they have a problem with Marinette (and any WOC) being competent in general, but she’s just a talented girl. We see her take and roll with anything to stop the villain in every episode of the show, so there’s not actually a reason for her to notably struggle with the cat miraculous. But hell, she actually DOES make things worse by chataclysming Reflekdoll, which might have not happened if she paused before just rushing in and using her power (after proudly declaring she is now the Team Clown). But it’s understandable that she didn’t predict the sentimonster to react how it did, and I can see Adrien making the same mistake, so eh.

24. But my point is that in terms of this discourse, I think this episode is fine. It’s about Ladybug and Chat Noir learning that they’re both quite good and very comfortable in their default roles. She’s great at handling her job and he’s great at handling his. That’s a perfectly fine lesson for this episode, and it’s not super necessary for them BOTH to learn that their partner’s job is actually super hard! The episode starts with them teasing each other about their roles, and it ends with that little bit of conflict between them being eased away due to their experiences from the kwami swap. Chat Noir is still a clown, Ladybug still is too concerned with her usual responsibilities to spend a lot of time clowning with him in fights, and that’s okay. They both learn to relax about it. It’s a good lesson for them to learn about each other, and it feels natural for the show to spend some time exploring their dynamic as partner heroes!

25. I actually fucking love how it’s established that the lucky charm works differently for different people. This episode BASICALLY CANONIZES that Marinette’s lucky charm is so insane because SHE HERSELF, IS SO INSANE. Adrien thinks much simpler (which I’ve written about how that’s not a bad thing in previous posts), so his lucky charm is just: You need a mirror? Okay, here’s a mirror. And it’s actually very fun and interesting to me that his ability to use his lucky charm was handicapped specifically becuase he’s only ever watched Marinette use it. Marinette’s lucky charms always yield wildly complicated plans, and that’s the exact thing she’s shouting at him the whole episode, so he expects it to be complicated and thus can’t figure out how to use the mirror. It’s only when they sit down and realize that they’ll have to think on Adrien’s level instead of Marinette’s that they figure out what to do with it! Marinette’s spent the whole episode basically backseat driving for him (understandably), so the fact that the resolution is her meeting Adrien at his own spot and working on his level instead of hers- It’s a good way to wrap the episode up!

26. Duuzu.

27. dID HE JUST DAB?!?!

28. Oh my god he did. And people actually hate this episode, smh.

29. Marinette flirting with Chat Noir will always give me life, and we get so much of it in this episode! Her calling him Bugaboy is this perfect combo of flirtatious and teasing that’s just very on-brand ladynoir. It’s perfect in this episode for literally so many reasons that I don’t even have time to list them cause this essay is already really long.

30. Adrien and Marinette interacting with the others’ kwami? Wholesome. Marinette and Adrien reuniting with their kwamis? Very wholesome. They’re both so attached to their kwamis in different ways, and they’re also together with their kwamis practically every waking moment of their lives. I can imagine being apart from them even for a little must’ve been a touch anxiety inducing, so it’s nice to see how sweet everyone is when they’re reuniting!

31. Adrien says at the end that he’s not cut out to be Ladybug and honestly y’all... That’s okay. Adrien has his role and he’s incredibly good at his role, and Ladybug is incredibly good at hers. They’re both SATISFIED with their roles. He’s not upset when he says he’s not cut out to be Ladybug, not even a little. He very happily takes Plagg back and steps back into his usual territory. Again, he wasn’t bad at the ladybug miraculous. It just came with more to think about than he really wants to, things that Ladybug is very HAPPY to think about, and if their dynamic already works, then he’s perfectly happy to focus on his part and leave her job to her. That’s great!!!

32. Juleka getting to do the fashion shoot... Yay. :’D I just want good things for Juleka.

In conclusion, this episode is pure unbridled fun from start to finish. It’s chaotic, it’s got top tier banter, it’s a phenomenal change of pace from the rest of the series. I actually love watching this episode with folks for the first time because seeing the look of complete shock and glee on their face as Marinette grabs that cat ring from Plagg is just FUN! And at the end of the day, this episode is a statement on three things:

- Marinette is a talented girl. -Adrien is great at his job. - And ML as a show’s priority will always, first and foremost, be fun.

And none of those are a bad thing.

Hope you enjoyed the essay! :D

#miraculous ladybug #reflekdoll #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #ladynoire #mister bug

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years ago

Text

The Crucible (part two)

[UK Tour; Carrie AU 2]

Part 1

Word count: 9240

TW: Child abuse, blood, the r-word again, emotional manipulation, minor implied sexual content (as in: one paragraph and nothing actually happens), underage drinking, vomit

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

-Eve Was Weak-

“Jesus watches from the wall,

But his face is cold as stone

And if he loves me,

As she tells me,

Why do I feel so alone?”

Mulaney looked up from the notebook, which is studded with doodles of crosses and stars and hearts, and set his gaze on the teenager sitting across from him. Her arms are crossed over her chest again and she’s leaned back in her chair, jaw set thoughtfully. She’s got some sass, but was one of the easiest, most well-mannered people he’s spoken to for questioning before. Plus, she made the examination more fun with her snarky comments, which were even able to make his stoic partner who ran the camera, Madeline, chuckle or smile from time-to-time.

“Any speculation as to who the author is?”

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say Joan Seymour.” Katherine Howard said. That sass mentioned before slipped back into her voice, edging her words in a way that made Mulaney huff out an amused breath.

“What do you suppose she’s trying to say?” Mulaney questioned.

“Probably, ‘help me, my mother’s insane.’” Katherine responded.

“Interesting.”

Katherine raised her eyebrows at him, sniffing. She’s poised and waiting.

“Do you consider yourself anti-religious, Katherine?” Mulaney asked.

Katherine snorted a light laugh. “No.” She said. “I just think some people take it too far, that’s all.”

“And you disapprove?”

“Look--” Katherine uncoiled her arms and sat up straight. At Mulaney’s side, Madeline quirked a brow at her change in stance, intrigued. “I’m all for believing whatever it is that you believe, but you say ‘religion’ to me, and I’m thinking da Vinci’s Last Supper. Jesus looks sad. The apostles look miserable. I don’t want to go to that party!”

Mulaney blinked at her logic. Katherine looked back at him, then turned her gaze up thoughtfully. She drummed her pointer fingers against the tabletop.

“Shouldn’t religion be more like Dogs Playing Poker?” She said.

“Dogs playing…”

“Poker.” Katherine finished for Mulaney. “I can’t tell you what any of the apostles are doing in The Last Supper. But I can tell you that the little white bulldog is holding an ace under the table.”

Mulaney unsuccessfully tried to smother a smile. Katherine caught it, grinning.

“See?” She said. “That’s fun! I’m engaged! There’s wonderment and awe! That other stuff is just all ritual and punishment. And it’s way too weird and way too serious.” She leaned back again, studying Mulaney and Madeline’s expressions. “What? It is!”

------

Jane Seymour was a woman of many faces, and not in the mentally ill sort of way, although some people assumed she may have been harboring multiple personality disorder within her wretched brain. She had many masks to wear, some cold and stoic, others sinister and wicked, and a few that may have even been sweet and nurturing. When she was at the local laundromat she worked at in town, several customers reported how she would “look at them like she was assessing their souls”, like she was judging whether or not they deserved to go to heaven. She thought most of them were Godless and muttered about it constantly, regardless of if they could hear her or not. She simply did not care.

Many people thought she would never delve into the sexual world of intercourse, what with all her screws loose that warded away most men and her extreme devotion to Christ, so it was quite shocking to hear the screams that erupted from the Seymour bungalow May 13th, 2005. Police were called, but had to wait to get a search warrant, so they, along with several neighbors, sat on the curb for hours, listening to the piercing cries that split the street in two. By the time police finally burst into the house to locate the struggle, they thought they were too late when they reached the master bedroom, which was covered in blood. But then they saw the woman rocking back and forth on the soaked bed, holding a tiny red baby with tufts of whitish hair to her left breast and everything clicked into place.

Several believed this woman was not fit to raise a child for obvious reasons, but police had no right to take a baby away from its mother, so the infant stayed and grew up in the house she was born in. It wasn’t like there was any place she could go, anyway. Jane’s husband was nowhere to be found.

Henry Tudor is--was--had been a mountain of a man. His arms were like truck tires, round and firm to the touch. He had broad shoulders, a barrel chest, and a huge body to go along with his already giant frame. Coppery gold hair framed his head and his bright sapphire blue eyes struck a stare that could put someone six feet under. Every single aspect of the man’s body boasted of an indestructible juggernaut.

And yet, he hasn’t been seen in fifteen years.

Rumors bubbled up. They always did. Some speculated he ran away to avoid the burden of taking care of a child or to simply get away from his insane wife. Others, mainly rowdy teenagers itching for drama, said Jane killed him and sacrificed his body to the Lord. Because of that, stories of the Seymour bungalow being haunted were created, although there was no proof of anything of the sort. Because they weren’t true. But Jane Seymour had been out to kill.

Her girl-spawn had barely been a few months old at the time. She laid in her homemade crib, gurgling and laughing, staring with strange blue eyes up at a mobile that was made for her. Jane crept up to her and aimed a knife for her throat.

Henry stopped her.

“You shall name her Johanna,” He had rumbled, easing Jane’s hand back to her side. “Joan for short.”

“Like Joan of Arc.” Jane had observed.

“Yes,” Henry had said.

“Hm.” Jane had peered down at the wriggling little beast. “I suppose that does make it slightly less Godless.”

“Yes,” Henry had said again. “Wait and see.”

And then, he was gone, disappearing into the night and never coming back.

Jane should not have let him stop her.

The child, of course, did not know this.

Joan slipped through the front door, but not without noticing a few neighbors peeking avidly out of their own windows, ears pricked. The whole neighborhood, possibly even the entire city, was always so interested in every little detail of the Seymour family’s lives. At least a few of them actually had the decency to duck back inside when they saw her coming up the sidewalk. One didn’t even notice her, it seemed, because he was still staring when she disappeared inside, while another was only pretending to not snoop while she fussed unnecessarily over her rose garden. Joan shot the flowers a sharp look, willing them to burst out of the ground and bite the lady’s nose off, but the front door closed behind her before she could see if anything happened. From the silence outside, she assumed nothing did.

(damn stupid woman wish she’d just go blind)

The smell of cinnamon was drifting through the entrance hallway. Maroon and orange (never red) candles were lit up throughout the downstairs area; Mama always preferred their warm glow over the harsh fluorescence of the overhead lights. Mama’s favorite radio station, WORT Radio, could be heard playing from the kitchen, along with the sound of singing.

Mama’s singing.

“Jesus, possess me!

Sweet savior, be my shepherd

Bless each endeavor

Till I finally join you forever”

A giddy tingling sensation zipped up through Joan’s spine. She always loved the sound of Mama’s singing. Her voice was so silken and honey-slicked, like the gentle croon of an angel. Joan said she should join a gospel, that she would be the best singer in the entire group, but Mama would always wave this off with a dismissive hand and a chuckle.

Joan ventured further into the house, feeling lighter and lighter with each step. She entered the lounge, where a Black Forest cuckoo clock clucked peacefully on the wall. There were many religious pictures and crucifixes in here, but Joan’s favorite was the photo of Jesus leading a herd of baby lambs through a beautiful flowered field. It radiated so much innocence, unlike all the other paintings of punishment and hellfire and sin. It was hung up beside the huge wooden cross with reddened edges over the unused fireplace. Joan did her best to never look at that decoration in particular.

Weaving around the brown felt couch and two moth-eaten velvet throne chairs facing each other, Joan glided into the kitchen. It was an old kitchen indeed, with an oven that squealed like a dying pig when opened and a sputtering gas stove, but everything worked perfectly fine for the two of them.

Two…

“Fly me free of temptation

And the flames of Hell's devastation

Then He will take me

And wash me in the river

I will make celebration

In the joy of final

The might of final

The fire of final Salvation!”

There was Mama, singing along to the song playing from an old radio on the counter, her back to Joan.

She was a moderately sized woman, but had a strong, corded neck and incredibly muscled hands from years of working at the local laundromat. Honey blonde hair framed her face, which was quite beautiful in a weird, overzealous religious way. Reaching brown roots slithered like snakes from her scalp, with only a few white hairs visible. Despite being in her forties, her complexion was more weathered by hardship and discipline than age. Piercing golden brown eyes flickered when she finally noticed her daughter standing there and a smile broke out on her pale pink lips.

“Mama,” Joan said breathily, unable to bite back her giddy grin.

“Ah, Joan,” Mama said, “there’s my sweet girl.” And then she opened her strong arms out wide and Joan darted into them instantly, nestling into her embrace. Mama smelled like honey and laundry detergent. “You’re home early.”

Joan felt her lower stomach twinge and she leaned a little closer into Mama’s chest. She would keep her mouth shut about the incident at school for now. Mama was in a good mood; no need to go and mess that up.

“School--ended sooner than usual.” Joan said, internally wincing. She hated lying, always fearing that she would be struck dead the moment the fib rolled off her tongue, but she would correct herself and tell the truth soon.

Mama hummed. “I see.” She pulled away and turned back to the counter, where she had been shaping bread dough with her wolf-like hands. “Dinner won’t be ready for awhile.”

“That’s okay,” Joan said. “I can wait.”

Mama hummed again. Joan fidgeted anxiously behind her.

“Is everything alright, my darling?” Mama asked, concern in her smooth voice.

“Yes, Mama,” Joan answered. “Just-- umm-- may I go shower?”

Mama chuckled. “Of course, dear.”

“Thank you, Mama.” Joan gave her another quick hug, then scurried up the creaky wooden stairs to her room.

Filthy. She suddenly felt so filthy. She had showered barely an hour ago, but grime seemed to be crawling all over her. Would Mama be safe from it? Was it bad that she touched her?

She tried to remember what Miss Aragon had told her. About this being…

“Normal.” Miss Aragon said. “It’s perfectly normal, Joan. Every girl goes through it.”

Joan whimpered. The spattered mess between her legs had been wiped away by Miss Aragon, a humiliation she would never be able to live down, and she was now fully dressed again, but her clothes felt too tight, especially around her groin. It felt like there were eels alive and writhing inside of her. She squirmed on the grey couch she was seated on in Miss Aragon’s office, a place where most students were forbidden to go into.

“My skin feels weird,” Joan whispered. “I-I’m hot…”

Miss Aragon frowned. Joan looked up at her with shiny, wet blue eyes and a glazed expression.

“It hurts,” She croaked.

“I know, sweetheart.”

“What did I do?”

“What?”

Joan shifted uncomfortably. Guilt surged through her, along with another painful sensation in her lower stomach. She whimpered again.

“What did I do?” She asked again. “D-did I sin? Is this my punishment?” Miss Aragon looked baffled, and Joan wasn’t sure how she should feel about that.

“No, no, Joan,” Miss Aragon said quickly. “You didn’t--you didn’t sin.” She made a face, like those words tasted funny on her tongue, but it disappeared quickly. “You’re a very good girl. All women go through this, like I said. It’s completely normal.”

“But--but I’m bleeding!” Joan cried woefully. She could feel drops of blood squeeze slickly out of her vagina and she cringed. “You shouldn’t-- it’s not-- I-I’m gonna bleed to death!”

Miss Aragon is frowning again, and Joan easily recognized it as a frown of pity. That’s the expression most adults wear when they look at her.

“You aren’t, Joan,” Miss Aragon said patiently. “It’ll stop in a few days.”

Joan squirmed again, wanting it to stop now. She looked up at Miss Aragon helplessly.

“What did you do?” She asked. “To get yours? How did you sin?”

Miss Aragon sighed and Joan instinctively shrunk away. Instead of being struck, however, her coach eased an arm around her shaking shoulders and pulled her in close against her side.

“Oh, Joan…” She murmured, stroking her wet hair. “You poor, poor girl…”

Miss Aragon had then gone on to explain the process of the strange word called ‘menstruation’, telling her how she would bleed for four to seven days at a time every month for basically the rest of her life. It sounded awful. How could God curse females with such a horrible bodily function?

The sharp ache in her lower stomach returned like a tug on her small intestines. She put her hand between her legs, but drew no blood (this time). A new feeling rose in Joan’s sore chest, a yearning, an ache. She felt suddenly cold, as if the sun could no longer warm her. This was it, then, the change was here.

Would she still be Joan after it was all over? When she shed the last of her “uterus lining”, as Miss Aragon had said, would she still be herself? Or would she be someone new?

Would being someone new be all that bad?

Joan swiped some looser, fresh clothes from her dresser and then scurried her way into the bathroom. She didn’t want to turn on the lights, so she lit a few candles instead, letting their warm glow fill the small space.

With muscles that were weak with fatigue, she slowly began to undress herself. First her overalls, then her white and baby blue flannel, her cream colored bra, and finally her underwear. The puffy sanitary napkin--a “pad”--that Miss Aragon had put in for her was spotted with large dark red, almost black stains that looked like gross bodily jelly. It was wilting already, so she carefully removed it and replaced it with one of the many others she had been given, remembering how Miss Aragon had told her to always change them whenever she got the chance or she may get sick.

After throwing away the pad she wadded up with toilet paper, Joan stepped into the bathtub and cranked the faucet handle.

Showering was agony.

Although the hot water had offered her a brief respite from the deep, otherworldly chill that had settled into her body, there was no escaping the pain. Each beating droplet against her limbs felt like a fresh wasp sting stabbing into her muscles and the flesh on her stomach, taut and uncomfortably bloated, pulsed and throbbed with agony every time she moved.

Like before a few minutes ago, like at school, she reached between her legs, and it came back sticky and red.

The smell of the blood was pungent and unnatural. It was nothing like real blood at all. It was more like the rot from her deteriorating insides as her sin caused her to rapidly decay. It made her feel sick, so she stuck her hand under the spray of liquid fire shooting out from the shower head and didn’t pull it back until all the blood was gone.

The smell remained on her hand.

Joan scrubbed vigorously between her legs, which seemed to be permanently stained. Crimson would smear across her pale flesh each time her vagina bled again and she did her best to wipe the trails away with an itchy sponge. By the time she finally gave up, her inner thighs felt chafed and raw.

Joan took to just watching the water and beads of soap run down the slightly rusted drain. Slowly, she sat down, knees bent up to her chest, legs spread slightly. Red drools down the floor of the shower to join the suds down into the pipes.

This reminded her of a time when she was eleven and was violently ill in the shower. She remembered looking up, slumped heavily over the rim of the tub, still in all her clothes, and seeing Mama in the doorway. She had been shaking her head, but had a morbidly amused glint in her eyes. Then, chuckling darkly, she was saying, “You shouldn’t have gotten--”

“--drunk,” Said Joan, her fists clenched determinedly at her sides and her heart hammering in her throat.

The figure in the armchair in front of her turned to look at the doorway and squinted up at her for a moment as though trying to figure out who she was. And then it sagged back into the chair with an air of disappointment. Like it had been expecting someone else, someone better.

Joan stared back through the thick mop of white-blonde hair that had started to hang in her eyes lately because she’d been too lazy to cut it.

She was eleven and standing in the doorway of the house she’d grown up in, feet squared in her tattered shoes (she hadn’t gone and gotten herself a new pair in awhile, though she was long since overdue) and jaw set grimly.

“...You're what?” Said the figure slowly, her weathered, thick-knuckled hands clutching a periwinkle embroidery and a shiny sewing needle.

“I’m drunk, Mama,” Joan said again, feeling a thrill that was equal parts excitement and terror run through her from head to toe as she said the scandalous words. She watched those dark eyes apprehensively, dimly aware through the buzz of alcohol that she was shivering.

Later, on nights when she had nothing better to think about (there would be a lot of nights like that), she would dramatize this event in her head. She’d think about what might have happened if she’d been yelled at, or sent to her closet, or even slapped across the face and sent sprawling. It wasn't that she did this to feel sorry for herself, or to pretend that it had been worse than it actually was.

The truth was that all of those outcomes were things she wished had happened more than what actually had.

From the worn-out old armchair, the figure stared at her a moment longer, before simply shaking its head in silent apathy and looking back down at the embroidery.

“This is why God has left you,” Said Jane Seymour, dismissively.

And then Joan had trudged off, disappointed by the lack of reaction. Usually her Mama would throw an absolute fit over the littlest things she did, but the night she drank alcohol was barren of any dramatics.

An hour later, she would violently heave up all the whiskey she ingested from her system in the shower. It burned more than it did on the way down and made her cry helplessly for her Mama, who knelt by the bathtub and stroked her hair like she was a dog while she threw up all over herself. Mama had cradled her head against her chest when she was finished, mouth and chin still dripping with vomit, and told her what an evil little imp she was in a voice like sweet caramel.

Joan shook her head, scattering droplets across the shower walls and curtain. She looked down and saw a small sea of blood rippling around her feet. Her nose curled in disgust and she backed up further against the back of the tub.

Minutes passed. Joan’s mind was fuzzy and blank for most of the time she sat in the water and her own blood. Her vagina began to hurt at one point and throbbed steadily with her beating heart.

When it was eventually time to get out, she found that the heat of the water had soaked the energy right out of her, and it took everything in her to get dressed again instead of just curling up naked in a corner of the shower and passing out.

The cuts splattering her figure, those that hadn't scabbed over yet, were gooey and red, the flesh around their edges white and puckered from the water. They burned faintly as she stepped back out of the shower’s steamy shelter and into the cold air of the rest of the house.

The light from the candle flames cast her gaunt features in harsher contrast when she peered into the mirror. Her hollow cheeks nearly became empty holes and her sunken eye sockets were black caves. Still, the shiny blue of her eyes was visible even in the cavernous puncture. The fire’s glow reflected off the stygian liquid steel of rolling droplets over her emaciated frame.

The sight of the deathlike girl would send anyone but Mama screaming into the night.

------

“Good news, Kitty!”

Anne came out of nowhere, flinging her arms around Katherine and causing her to jump. They staggered, nearly falling right over, but managed to stay upright in the crowd of students leaving the school. Katherine laughed.

“What can it be this time, Annie?” She asked, shifting her backpack onto one shoulder after Anne pulled away.

“It turns out we are going to college together after all!” Anne declared, smiling widely. “I just got the text last period!”

Katherine felt a surge of happiness go through her, but still couldn’t help but tilt her head.

“Wait-- I thought the Royal College of Music turned you down?”

Just saying the school’s name sent flutters of joy and excitement and awe through her. She still couldn’t believe that SHE, Katherine Howard, got accepted into THE BEST music school in England. Maybe even the entire world!! She couldn’t wait until she got to explore the castle-like campus and fulfill her dream of being a real performer, and although she had hoped that her dear cousin and best friend would be a part of that, she didn’t actually think it would have happened.

But here Anne was, shrugging nonchalantly with a radiant look in her dark brown eyes.

“Yeah, well,” She waved a dismissive hand, “Daddy pulled a few strings and now I’m in.”

Katherine couldn’t help but chuckle knowingly when her Uncle Thomas was brought up. She could only pray for the poor soul at the Royal College’s administration board that must have met the other end of his needle-sharp words.

“We get to be roomies together!” Anne said. “Isn’t that great or what?”

“It’s AMAZING!” Katherine declared, hugging Anne. “I can’t wait!”

The sound of a car broke their embrace and the two of them, along with a few other students in the courtyard, turned to look at the shiny dark blue Ford Mustang honking at the curb. The driver’s side door popped open a second later and a gorgeous young woman, probably twenty or twenty-one, with lush olive skin and curly brown hair came sliding out. She lowered her electric blue Burberry sunglasses and hickory brown eyes swept over the crowd of high school kids in disdainful amusement.

“CATHY!!” Anne cried gleefully. She launched herself at Catherine Parr and the two immediately melted into a heated kiss. Katherine sputtered a laugh.

“Classic Anne,” Maria said, coming up beside Katherine with Maggie and Bessie. “Always can’t wait to jam her tongue down her lady’s throat.” She’s elbowed in the ribs by both Katherine and Bessie for that, making her snicker. “What? It’s true!”

“Come on,” Maggie said, and they all crossed over to the couple. “Alright, children! That’s enough PDA!”

Anne parted from her girlfriend to stick her tongue out at Maggie. Cathy chuckled and turned her gaze to the others.

“Hello, kids,” She said languidly.

“Hey, Cathy,” Katherine smiled at her. The other three greeted the other woman as well. “How are you?”

“Bitchin’ good,” Cathy rumbled, her lips twitching upwards. The lipstick coating them was a dark red color; Katherine believed it was called “Nibble” if she remembered correctly.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Anne suddenly said. She perched on the hood of the Ford Mustang and spread her hands out in front of her like she was about to tell a grand fairytale. “Can you guys believe the stunt in the shower earlier?”

Like that, Katherine’s good mood dropped away and icy guilt slammed into her once again. It made her feel so stupid, as all her friends burst into giggles around her, enjoying the funny memory while she just felt sickened by them. Why couldn’t she be more like them?

“What?” Cathy looked at all of them in confusion. “What happened?”

“Oh, Joan Seymour happened,” Anne told her. “Sixteen fucking years old and that stupid retard just stood there having her very first period.”

Katherine winced at the use of the slur. Why did it suddenly hurt to hear? She hadn't cared when Maria said it earlier in the pool. Was she just now realizing that it was wrong to say?

“I think she’s fifteen, actually,” She said.

“Who cares?” Anne said. “Doesn’t change anything! I knew when I was 9!”

“Wait--” Cathy said, and then she exclaimed, “Gross! In the shower?”

“Oh yeah!” Anne nodded her head enthusiastically. “Blood was just dripping down her legs!”

“All the blood ran into my stall!” Maggie joined in excitedly.

“And she sat in it!” Bessie added.

“All while squealing like a fucking pig!” Anne chortled. “WEE WEE WEE WEE!!!”

“Anne, enough!!” Katherine shouted over all the laughter. “Stop it! It’s not funny!”

Anne looked at her and then said, “Hey, you guys! Stop! Stop! Kit is right. It’s not funny.”

All the giggling died away instantly. Katherine breathed out a sigh of relief--

“It’s fucking hilarious!”

--that was quickly replaced with a sharp intake of breath.

Anne slung an arm around her shoulders. “Aww, sweetie!” She nuzzled her cheek with her nose. “There’s a runt in every litter! A nobody. And our nobody,” She chuckled darkly, “is Joan.”

------

The smell of freshly baked bread hit Joan’s nose when she walked down the stairs and her stomach growled so loud it caught Mama’s attention in the kitchen. Her face flashed dark red, her blush bright against the pale backdrop of her white-blonde hair, and Mama chuckled in amusement.

“Someone’s hungry,” Mama said.

“J-just a little…” Joan stammered shyly.

She really, really was, though. She skipped lunch because she had left school and hadn’t eaten since breakfast, which had just been two pieces of plain toast, but she felt like she was starving. Like it’s been a lot longer since she ate anything. She set her hands on her lower belly and wondered if hunger was another bitter side effect of menstruation.

“Joan?” Mama noticed the way she was holding her stomach. “Is your tummy alright, darling?”

Joan felt an intense flash of fear

(she knows she knows she knows she knows she knows she knows)

lance through her and she inhaled sharply. She nodded, dropping her hands limply to her side.

“I’m okay, Mama,” She said. “Just hungry.”

“Dinner will be ready soon,” Mama told her. Joan could smell the casserole in the oven and her stomach growled again. “Why don’t you go wash your hands and set the table?”

Joan nodded and hurried to wash her hands off in the kitchen sink before retrieving the plates and utensils from various cabinets. She took them to the dining room, a dimly lit room filled with more crosses than anywhere in the entire house. A huge iron one hung above the table, where Jesus’ petrified face of agony could always leer down at her when she was trying to eat. The only other decoration was a wooden picture frame laying face-down on a small shelf. Joan glanced at it and remembered the last time it had been filled by...

...a photograph of Mama’s wedding.

It had been a bright and sunny day, with white clouds floating over the wedding ceremony. In the picture, the newlyweds were standing on the top of the stone stairs leading to the chapel. Above their heads was a tall arch decorated with beautiful white roses, handpicked by the maid of honor. The bride and groom held each other’s hands, the picture of matrimonial bliss.

This was the first time Joan actually saw what Daddy Henry looked like. Mama didn’t talk about him very much, and when she did, it wasn’t ever in a good way.

But these two in the picture looked so happy.

Daddy Henry’s wedding tuxedo had to be one of the largest ever designed. He was herculean, with a behemoth body and golden blonde hair. Dazzling sapphire blue eyes stood out brightly in the photo, so much like Joan’s own. He had a massively wide smile on his bearded face, grasping his bride’s hands in his own huge ones.

Mama was in a beautiful white gown gown that hugged her every curve, with sterling silver feathers sewn into the sleeves and into the frills of the wedding dress. Her lips were painted ruby red and were curled up into a blissful smile as she leaned into the wall of muscle that was her husband, her hands lost within Daddy Henry’s colossal grip.

...Were these really her parents?

Joan had found the photo hidden behind one of Jesus’s birth when she accidentally broke the frame while playing. She was ten at the time, and itching for mischief, so she hid the photo from Mama, despite all the questions she wanted to ask.

It had been a complete accident that Mama found out she had it, when she saw it in her room after she forgot to put it away.

For a long time, Mama didn’t speak after she found the photo. She just gripped it tightly and stared at it with wide, bulging eyes.

“Where did you find this?”

Joan flinched at the edge in her voice. Trembling, she stuttered, “I-I broke a picture frame a little while ago. You didn’t notice, so I picked up the broken glass so that we wouldn’t get hurt. I found it behind the picture of baby Jesus.”

Mama took several deep breaths that did little to calm her. Joan swallowed thickly.

“M-maybe it could help us look for him?” She said timidly.

Turning abruptly, Mama stormed out the bedroom and downstairs. Joan ram after her, crying, “Wait! Mama!”

Mama strode into the lounge and began roughly throwing firewood into the fireplace. Joan skidded to a stop behind her, her eyes wide.

“Mama!” She shouted. “Stop! We have to find Daddy!”

But Mama didn’t stop. She just kept tossing in wood until the fireplace was full, then moved to dousing the logs with an alarming amount of lighter fluid. Joan lunged forward and grabbed her arm as she lit a match and flicked it in. The flames roar to life instantly, illuminating the cold look in Mama’s golden eyes.

“No.” She hissed, and then threw the photo into the fire.

“NO!!!” Joan screeched.

She threw herself at the fireplace, dropping to her knees and shoving her hands into the burning logs. Flames licked at her skin and she howled in pain, but didn’t pull back until she grabbed the smoldering remains of the photograph. It disintegrated in her fingers and she wailed in anguish right before Mama grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her backwards.

“What are you doing?!” Mama cried. Her eyes are even wider now, and Joan saw that she was scared. The smell of burned flesh hung heavily in the air.

“That was going to help us find Daddy!” Joan yelled, tears running down her cheeks. Her hands hurt so badly. Pink and scarlet criss crossed together over her charred skin. “We were gonna find him and he was gonna come back!!”

“No he wasn’t, Johanna!”

“WHY?!”

“BECAUSE THERE IS NOTHING KEEPING HIM AWAY!!”

In an instant, the scalding hot blood in Joan’s veins turned to ice-water. She started to comprehend the implication of Mama’s words, and the tears came out from her eyes faster and faster. She wilted like a daffodil, crossing her burnt hands in front of her chest and grabbing her arms, squeezing them tightly as she bowed her head and doubled over on her knees. The crown of her skull cracked against the hardwood, sprawling her hair like a waterfall of white-gold all over the floor.

“No… No… No...” She wept again and again.

“He doesn’t want you, Joan,” Mama said ruefully. “He didn’t even want me.” She took a deep breath, sadness etched in the grooves of her words. “He doesn’t want either of us.”

Mama knelt and took Joan into her arms, rocking her slowly. Joan tried to grip onto her, but just let out a pained wail when she moved her hands.

“Mama!” She cried. “Mama, it hurts! It hurts!”

“Oh, my poor baby,” Mama said sadly. “Shh… It’s going to be okay, my darling angel. It’s going to be okay, Joan…”

“...Joan? Joan?”

Joan jolted, backpedaling into her mother, who looked concerned. Mama gently cupped her cheeks.

“My dear angel,” She murmured, “what’s wrong?”

(tell her tell her tell her)

Joan swallowed thickly. “S-something happened at school today. Something terrible...”

Mama frowned and brushed a loose strand of hair out of Joan’s face. “Terrible things are the Lord’s way of testing us, Joan.” She said wisely.

“I know, Mama, but the other girls--”

“You aren’t like the other girls.” Mama cut her off.

“But I am, Mama! I am!” Joan said. “I never thought so, but--”

“You aren’t, Joan. You aren’t. You’re special.” Mama’s lips twitched slightly. “Special.”

“You aren’t listening to me, Mama…”

“I’ve heard all I wanted to hear, now finish setting the table, please.” Mama said. She glided past Joan and went back into the kitchen to check on the casserole. Joan slowly laid out the plates, then looked over her shoulder.

(tell her tell her tell her)

“Mama, in the showers today…”

Mama whipped around instantly, her eyes suddenly lit up like hot coals. Joan thought she might have seen a flicker of fear somewhere in there, too.

“What have I told you about showering with the other girls?” Mama said.

“I know, but--” Joan floundered.

“What have I told you?” Mama shouted.

“It’s a sin! It’s a sin!” Joan gave in.

“And as such--”

“But Mama--”

“It is--”

“I STARTED TO BLEED!!”

Silence.

Stillness.

The platter Mama had been holding slipped from her fingers and shattered against the wooden floor. White and blue pieces exploded out in every direction. A few chunks cut Mama’s slipper-clad feet and ankles, and blood slowly began to bud out like blooming roses in May, but Mama did not move. Or flinch. Or even blink. She just stared very intently at Joan like she was hoping she would burst into flames if she leered hard enough.

And then, her face did something strange. It twitched, like all her expressions were falling off one by one, so it looked like a mask for a moment. Then, the skin rippled and creased and wrinkled, and her soft features were eroded away by furious and sinister ones. A sick white light ignited behind her golden brown eyes, like twin lightning bugs of insanity inside the sockets. Joan backed up against the dining room table with a whimper.

“Mama, I started to bleed in the showers and the other girls-- they laughed at me and called me names and threw things at me!” She said woefully. “I was so scared, Mama! I thought I was dying!”

Mama’s face twitched again, and this time her head jerked a little with it. The veins in her neck bulge out of the flesh and pulsed monstrously. Her eyes suddenly looked a lot less golden brown and a lot more brown-red.

“Mama, why are you looking at me like that?” Joan asked softly, quaking.

“The curse of blood,” Mama said quietly. There’s an awful, dry chuckle edging her words. Joan blinked like an oblivious pure white heifer about to be sacrificed to God.

“Mama, you’re scaring me…”

Mama’s entire head twitched this time and then, a split second later, she’s striding across the kitchen with her right hand held high. Joan didn’t have any time to react before she was backhanded across the jaw by pointy, spike-like knuckles. She yelped out in pain and shock, tottering sideways and careening right into one of the dining table chairs. Her body unceremoniously crumpled into it, and she and the chair both crashed to the ground in an ungraceful heap.

“You’re a woman now,” Mama said above her. Her eyes are wide and gleaming, but there’s no emotion in them. “Pray to heaven for your wicked soul.”

“Wh-what did I do?” Joan stammered, rolling over onto her back. She could already feel her jaw welling up with a fresh bruise. “M-Miss Aragon said it’s something all girls go through. Even y--”

Mama hit Joan again, and blood splattered out in a bright red line across the floor. Joan whimpered sharply, tears of pain springing to her eyes. Her tongue instinctively flicked out against her newly busted lip and it stung in response to being licked.

“And God made Eve from the rib of Adam,” Mama said like she was in a trance. “And Eve was weak and loosed the raven on the world. And the raven was called Sin and the first Sin was the Sin of Intercourse. So the Lord visited Eve with a Curse and the Curse was the Curse of Blood.” She leaned down to Joan and her words were suddenly washed with potent venom, “Say it, woman.”

“No, Mama--”

Joan was struck a third time. Smears of her blood are left on Mama’s knuckles.

“Say it!” Mama bellowed.

“No!” Joan cried. She turned sharply and scrambled away, but Mama pursued her and delivered a kick to her ribs that sent her sprawling on her back.

“And Adam and Eve were driven out of the Garden and into the World and Eve found that her belly had grown big with child.” Mama droned on. She lifted her foot and pressed it down on Joan’s stomach, pinning her to the ground. Joan yowled in pain when a cramp seized her at that very moment, deepening her anguish even further. “And there was a second Curse, and this was the Curse of Childbearing, and Eve brought forth Cain in sweat and blood.”

“Mama!” Joan sobbed. The tears were flowing free without resistance, now, and creating small pools on either side of her head. “Mama! Stop it, please! Listen to me!!”

But Mama did not listen. She just leaned down, applying more pressure to Joan’s poor belly, like she was hoping to make all the blood come out now. Joan threw her head back and screamed in pain.

“And following Cain, Eve gave birth to Abel, having not yet repented of the Sin of Intercourse. And so the Lord visited Eve with a third Curse, and this was the Curse of Murder. Cain rose up and slew Abel with a rock. And still, Eve did not repent, nor all the daughters of Eve, and upon eve did the Crafty Serpent found a kingdom of whoredoms and pestilence.”

“Mama, listen!!” Joan yelled. “Stop! It wasn’t my fault!”

“And Eve was weak,” Mama said flatly. “Say it.”

“N-o!” Joan squirmed underneath her mother. Her hands, rough and scarred permanently from the burns she got five years ago, flew up and grabbed Mama’s leg. Two of her fingernails jabbed into one of the cuts on Mama’s ankle she got from the glass and Mama jerked away with a hiss.

“You vile demon!!” She screeched.

Joan fled as quickly as she could, but Mama went after her, just like last time. Just like all the other times.

(if i had a nickle for every time she made me cry in here...)

Her wrists are seized and they both fall to their knees on the floor in the lounge. The impact rattled Joan’s frail body and she could feel more blood drip out onto the sanitary napkin in her underwear.

“Mama, let me go!!” Joan cried frantically. She struggled, but her Mama was much stronger than she was and was able to restrain her. Mama’s body hunched over her, her belly pressed against her rigid spine, practically crushing her frail daughter. “Please! Please, Mama! I’m sorry!!”

“Say it, woman,” Mama whispered harshly in her ear, her words biting like serpents.

Joan sniffled and, with words that were thick with blood from her busted lip, choked out shamefully, “And Eve was weak.”

The grip on her wrists loosened slightly. Mama’s hot breath tickled her ear when she breathed out a dark laugh. A sloppy, halfhearted kiss was pressed to her temple.

“Good girl,” Mama whispered breathily. She leaned back and twisted Joan around so they would be facing each other, but did not release her child from her ironclad grip.

“Mama, why didn’t you tell me?” Joan asked. Her icy blue eyes are filled with tears and sorrow, so much sorrow. “I was so scared, Mama. I thought I was dying!”

Mama shook her head and looked up ruefully. She squeezed Joan’s hands together and exclaimed hugely, “O Lord! Help this sinning woman beside me here see the sin of her days and ways!”

“Stop it, Mama--” Joan squirmed uncomfortably.

“Show her that if she had remained sinless the Curse of Blood never would have come on her!” Mama brayed on.

“Mama--” Joan whined. “Mama, please stop! I don’t understand! What did I do?” She squirmed harder. “Mama, let me go!!”

Mama shook Joan violently, then drew her in close, eyes flashing.

“Ask for forgiveness of your sin.”

“No, Mama.” Joan said, swallowing thickly. “I didn’t sin, you sinned. You didn’t tell me and they laughed.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

Darkness overtook Mama’s features like the black clouds of a thunderstorm. Her face twisted with disgust, and she suddenly looked like she hated her child with every inch of her being. She dug her fingernails deep into Joan’s brittle wrists.

“I did not.” She hissed lowly. “I did not--sin.” She carved off chunks of Joan’s flesh with her nails. “Go to your closet and pray.”

Joan stiffened, her eyes bulging hugely in her skull. She whimpered and shook her head, shrinking down into herself.

“No, Mama,” She whispered fearfully. She could see her prayer closet from the lounge, the door fitted underneath the staircase. It was cramped and dark and hot in there, just how Mama liked it for her. “D-don’t wanna go…” She couldn’t look away from it.

“Pray.” Mama said. “Ask for forgiveness.”

“Please, Mama,” Joan begged, looking up at her mother desperately. “P-please don’t make me go. I-I don’t wanna go. I’m sorry!”

But Mama’s uncaring look of hatred did not change, and inky black dread poured out through Joan’s organs like a thick, dark oil spill. Her breathing began to hitch and pick up, but Mama didn’t seem to care about her worsening panic attack.

“Please, Mama,” Joan wheedled hoarsely. “I-- I’ll bring the Stones again!”

This time, it was Mama’s turn to look scared. But then it morphed into intense enmity and she began to beat Joan senselessly towards the closet.

“You monster!” She howled. “You spawn of the devil! Why must I be so cursed?!”

“The Stones!” Joan yelled as she was kicked and hit and slapped. She rolled to the side, but Mama beat her back down to the floor, slowly getting her closer and closer to the wretched, evil closet. “I’ll bring the Stones, Mama! I’ll bring the Fire!”

And then a powerful kick drove into her belly and her words pitched into a shriek of agony.

“MAMA!!” Joan screamed. “MAMA-- MAMA, STOP!! IT HURTS!! Y-YOU-- IT HURTS!!!”

Mama grappled onto Joan’s arms and began dragging her across the floor to the closet. Even with the sharp, unbearable pain in her stomach, Joan fought her, kicking and struggling and screaming bloody murder, but it was futile. Mama shoved Joan into the prayer closet and slammed the door shut, locking it tightly.

“NO!!” Joan shrieked. She threw herself at the door, causing it to rattle heavily on its hinges. “Mama, let me go!!”

“Pray, little girl!” Mama ordered. Madness curled from her lips like poisonous vipers. “Pray!”

“Please, Mama!!”

But Mama did not let her go. Her footsteps retreated somewhere into the house and Joan sunk to the floor, weeping. Panic started sticking to her lungs like black tar, making it harder and harder to breathe.

Mama was so angry… What if she never let her out?

Dread sped up her thoughts, racing through her veins, filling her with desperation.

No one would even hear her screams, her last dying words, her final prayers…

She began to wheeze, the thick, musty air brushing against her lips. The oppressive stench of her own fear and blood and piss from other times in the closet burned her nose.

Would the neighbors notice? Would they even care?

Pain lighted in her belly again as her chest contracted with her heavy breaths.

Would her teachers, so quick to look away from her black eyes and limping figure, even call and ask where she was?

Joan began to scratch on the door, the frame, the hinges, scrambling to escape, her instincts pitching her action into a fury of movement.

What would they say when her body was finally discovered, a rotting corpse hidden in the darkness of a closet made for holy purposes? Perhaps she would be the talk of the town, even more than usual. The poor Seymour kid, whose Mama went mad after her husband left and God could no longer satisfy her. Who killed her only child, slowly starving her tiny daughter to death one evening while she sewed a new blouse for a customer at the laundromat and listened to her religious music.

Joan’s fingernails scratched harder, grazing the wooden confines of her holy coffin. She could feel the warmth of her blood as the nails began to tear and break, smell the copper of her panic, leaving thin lines of crimson as she clawed frantically.

What if she didn’t starve to death? What if she suffocated? Could that happen? No, she’d read about that before. There was enough air filtering in here, probably. She’d die of dehydration first. Already she could feel her throat constrict, dry and callous, an arid lining of flesh. Spots of light pricked her vision. Tears ran down the side of her bruised face, mingling with the sweat now coating her skin. She felt clammy and cold, yet suddenly too hot, as if in a fever.

“Mama, let me out!” She begged coarsely, the words scratching at her throat.

She could take the hitting or yelling or cursing. Anything but this.

“Mama…”

Joan slumped to her side, shuddering. She looked up and gazed around at the horrors that littered the closet. There were so many paintings of Jesus’s death, all in great, graphic detail. When she was little, they used to give her awful nightmares about evil men nailing her to a cross or Jesus’s bloodied body chasing her through a ruined dreamscape, welding a wicked-looking crucifix made of barbed wires and yelling at her to join him on his cadaverous crucible.

They still gave her nightmares, she hated to admit.

The dead eyes of Christ bore down on Joan’s pathetic, shaking frame. Jesus’s face was contorted into the same expression of disgust and pain as Mama’s had been, like even he knew that she was the worst thing to ever grace God’s green earth. She curled into a tight ball on the floor, not wanting to meet his scornful gaze anymore, and began to pray through her haze of tears.

------

Moonlight cast silver streams on Anna’s smooth, glowing skin, making her look like a goddess of the night above Katherine. Her soft touch sent pangs of pleasure crackling through Katherine’s body like lightning bolts of lust, soothing her mind of all its worries with her warmth. Everything felt good and okay and wonderful again when Anna was with her, holding her, talking to her, loving her. She thought that nothing could possibly bring her down when her girlfriend was there by her side.

And yet, she still couldn’t get the image of Joan Seymour’s naked body covered in blood on the floor out of her head.

Katherine sighed heavily and Anna pulled back, blinking.

“Am I really that bad?” She said, then looked at her fingernails, inspecting them closely. “I thought I got them down to the perfect length this time…”

Katherine managed to laugh. “No, it’s not you, you big silly,” She nudged her playfully. “It’s--something else…”

Anna tilted her head. “What is it?” Worry flashed across her expression and Katherine couldn’t help but feel a flutter of love flap in her chest. She loved when her girlfriend got like this, all concerned over her, even over the littlest things. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Katherine said. She pushed herself up into a sitting position with a sigh. “It’s just-- I did something...not good today.”

“Oh no,” Anna gasped. “Not good?”

Katherine shoved her. “I’m serious!”

Anna laughed slightly. “I know! I know!” She said. “Come on, tell me about it.”

They got dressed and stepped out of Anna’s red Jeep so Katherine could get some fresh air that would hopefully help her tell the shameful story. It was a warm spring night and they were parked on the side of a small grove that had a trail that led to a hiking trail and some camping grounds. Katherine ducked under a tree that was wrapped in blooming vines of pink-white dog roses, pale ghost petals shivering in the breeze. Anna came up beside her and they both sat on a low-hanging branch that was practically grown for the purpose of sitting and telling your girlfriend about the awful bullying you participated in today.

“Did you...hear about the Joan Seymour incident today?” Katherine eventually choked out hesitantly.

Anna actually thought for a moment, as if a fifteen year old girl getting her first period and thinking she was dying hadn’t been the talk of the entire school.

“Vaguely, yeah,” She finally said. “I don’t get into that kind of drama, though. I tend to stay away from it, you know?”

Katherine did know, and that sent fear ricocheting through her body when she remembered it. Of course Anna didn’t like discourse- she’s told her several times before! How could she be so stupid?

Anna peered at her closely, and she knew it was too late to turn back now.

“What does Joan Seymour and her period have to do with you?” Anna asked her.

Katherine swallowed thickly. Fear pounded heavily at her brain, fear of Anna breaking up with her when she told her and leaving her all alone--but didn’t she deserve that? What she did was horrible. She didn’t deserve a girlfriend after harassing a poor little girl, ESPECIALLY when she herself was eighteen and technically an adult.

“I--” Her words caught in her throat for a moment, but Anna’s patient, loving gaze made them all come tumbling out. “I was in there. With her. In the locker room.” She lowered her head in shame. “I--yelled at her with everyone…”

Anna just looked at her for a long time, moonlight glinting in her caramel brown eyes and making them look like they were glowing. Then, she sucked in an impressed breath and said, “You’re right. Not good.”

Katherine felt a cold slicing of fear slash through her, but then Anna’s grave expression shifted into a thoughtful smile. She ran a hand down an ivy-coiled section of the tree and mused, “I kicked a kid in the ribs one time.”

Katherine blinked at her.

“I did!” Anna said, then shook her head and chuckled at the memory. “Reed Mulligan. Big white kid who’ll probably grow up to be a robber or something. Anyway, he beat the shit out of me once in Year 7. And then, in Year 8, he picked on the wrong kid and got his ass handed to him. Everyone ran when he dropped to the ground, but first I gave him a good kick in the ribs. Felt terrible about it afterward.” She peered at Katherine closely. “Are you gonna apologize to her?”

Katherine snorted dryly. “Did you apologize to Reed Mulligan?”

“Hell no!” Anna said. “But there’s a big difference, Kat.”

“There is?”

“This isn’t Secondary School anymore.” Anna said. A flurry of snowy pink petals swirled down from the tree and over their shoulders. “What did Joan Seymour ever do to you?”

------

The prayer closet lock clicked and the door creaked open after seven long hours. Joan stopped crying for her Mama after the first hour and fell silent for the rest, not even asking to eat or go to the bathroom. Probably because she was asleep, curled up into a little ball on the floor, pillowing her head with her arms. Mama knelt down to her, setting one hand on her shoulder and raking the other through her white-blonde hair. Joan’s eyes shot open instantly, and they seemed to glow in brilliant shades of blue in the candlelight.

“Did you finish your prayers, little girl?” Mama asked.

Joan nodded.

“That’s my good girl,” Mama cooed. She kissed Joan’s cheek, saying nothing about the dark indigo bruise bloomed on her jaw. “It’s time for bed.”

“Yes, Mama,” Joan whispered. Slowly, she uncoiled from her position on the floor, shaking out her numb limbs as she did so. Mama watched her with a sharp eye as she rose to her feet.

“Joan?”

“Yes, Mama?”

Mama took a deep breath and stood up, practically towering over her little daughter.

“I know I sometimes do things that I can’t explain,” She said, “but know that my feelings for you never change. Even--if you have sinned.”

Joan winced, but she shook her head and managed to smile wryly up at her mother.

“Mama, you don’t have to say that,” She said. “You love me. You don’t need to ask for forgiveness from me. I know you do what you have to.”

“Yes,” Mama said slowly, nodding. “We have no one except each other, Joan.”

Joan shivered. Her heart ached fiercely in her chest, and she so badly wanted to believe that that wasn’t true, that there was someone out there who wanted her, but she knew that was just wishful thinking. Fifteen years, and the only person who didn’t throw her away was her Mama.

“I’m the only one who cares about you.” Mama said. “No one will ever love you except me.” She cupped Joan’s cheeks and looked at her with maddening adoration and love flickering in her eyes. “You will always be a monster to everyone else.”

And Joan nodded, knowing this would always be true, and whispered, “Yes, Mama.”

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specialagentlokitty · 5 years ago

Text

Steve x reader - The spirit of the forest

Part two:

You waited for him, year after year, you waited patiently for Steve to visit, but he never did. You assumed he died and sadness took over you.

The moment Steve got out of the ice, he was set on going to the forest to find you, and after nearly 2 years he could.

The others were insistent on going with him, but Steve firmly told them it was something he had to do. Which it was, he had to see you again, alone, with no one else there.

He traveled all the way to Alaska, all the way to Tongass National Forest, and he froze.

“Stick to the trails, there’s been weird sightings.” The ranger warned him.

Steve’s head snapped towards the ranger who thankfully didn’t recognise who he was. Steve pulled his baseball cap down a little lower and took a few steps closer.

“What do you mean?”

The ranger shrugged and looked up before going back to what he was doing.

“People have claimed there’s something out here, a woman dressed in orange with a fox mask. She usually appears only near the river, it’s just a myth, I’m just obligated to warn you.”

Steve nodded to himself and gave a little smile, it sounded like you.

“Thanks.”

With that, Steve adjusted the straps on his bag and stepped into the forest, completely unaware of the shadows watching him, the shadows that watched everyone enter the forest.

Reaching into his jacket, Steve pulled out a mask he had hidden, it was aged and cracked in a few places, but it was still the same. Your mask, the one he gave you.

You were sat on a rock by the river, minding your own business when a spirit, the form of a moose came over.

“Someone who holds your mask enters....”

You lifted your gaze, from under the mask you connected eyes with the spirit.

“Impossible, I gave that mask away over 70 years ago.” You muttered.

“The mask is aged, but the man is young...”

You frowned and turned your gaze to the water, watching as the sunlight reflected of its surface. Could Steve have survived? Had a child? Started a family?

It pained you to think, but you hoped he had. You hoped he had lived a happy and fulfilling life, but it still didn’t explain why there was someone carrying your mask walking in.

“Guide him safely my friend, lead him here.”

“As you wish...”

The moose turned around and ran off, getting lost into a mess of trees. He ran and ran until he found the trail, and then ran along it until he came face to face with the mask holder.

Steve heard the pounding of feet and he looked around, coming along the trail was a moose and he quickly jumped away, but the moose stopped and stared at him.

He stopped and stared back, something about this moose wasn’t right. Maybe it was the thin whips of smoke that seemed to come from his body.

“Follow...”

Steve nearly jumped from his skin, never had he expected that. He watched the moose turn around, casting a look to Steve, it started to walk.

“Are you a spirit?!” Steve yelled.

He jogged over to the moose and walked in line with it, insane, yes. But the creature had just spoke to him, so clearly it wasn’t an ordinary animal.

“Yes... one of many...”

“I’m... looking for a spirit...” Steve muttered.

“You seek the fox...”

Steve nodded his head.

The moose turned to him briefly before looking away and walking off the trail, Steve still following.

“Do.. you know where I can find her?”

“I shall lead you to her, you mustn’t touch her. Should you touch her she will disappear and he spirits will claim you...”

Steve swallowed nervously and nodded in understanding, not asking anything else.

It took a while, his legs were a little tired, but soon the rushing of water filled his ears, and he broke through the tree line.

He scanned the area, and found who he was looking for.

You.

You were sat on a rock, your face tilted towards the water, a mask just like his on your face, next to you lay a jacket he all but remembered.

He opened his mouth, but before he could speak you turned towards him and the spirit. The spirit walked closer, the pair of you having a hush conversation before it disappeared into the trees once more.

“Where did you get the mask from?”

Steve smiled softly fiddling with the mask a little.

“You gave it to me.”

“You are mistaken, I gave that mask to Steve, nearly 70 years ago.”

Steve sighed a little sadly, you had waited all this time. He felt horrible, you waited and waited, he wondered if you hated him for it.

“I am Steve.”

You didn’t believe him, he could easily tell.

“Steve was small, frail. My fragile soldier. He would be old by now.”

“I was part of an experiment, then I was frozen in ice. I’ve been awake for two years.

You scoffed and shook your head at him, clearly he weren’t buying a word he was saying. Steve had to think, there was something that had to make you believe him, then he had an idea.

“I can prove it.”

“How?” You asked.

You jumped from the rock, now standing barefoot on the grass.

Steve thought for a minute then nodded to himself.

“You’re name. I know your name.”

“Only one person knows my name.”

“(Y/N)...” Steve whispered.

Your eyes widened and you slowly reached up, pulling the fox mask from your face to reveal your shocked face, your mouth slight agape.

Steve’s heart fluttered, you really hadn’t changed a bit.

Slowly you walked closer. He was now taller than you, so when you got to stand in front of him, you had to tilt your head up to look at him.

Your (E/C) eyes stared into his, tearing up a little.

“My Steve...” you whispered.

“It’s me...” he replied.

You raised a hand to touch his face but quickly stopped yourself and lowered it.

Steve laughed quietly and took the old mask, carefully placing it on your face, he leant down and kisses that same spot you kissed all those years ago.

Steve pulled back and wiped a stray tear from his face.

“I love you, I love you so much.” He whispered.

“I love you Steve, my Steve...”

You took the mask off and placed it on top of the other, holding them back.

“Spend the day with me?”

Steve happily nodded and pulled out a bit of fabric which made you laugh. Both of you tied the opposite ends around your wrists and started to walk.

You picked up his jacket and the both of you wondered.

You talked, you joked, you caught up and informed each other on what you had missed. Steve told you all about the war, Bucky, the serum, his new team and friends.

You told him about the forest, and the few people you met, about what you did and how it was.

Steve took plenty of photos of the day, he wanted to draw you, he wanted to have you close in some way.

As the sun started setting, its orange and golden hughs lighting up the sky, reflecting off the water.

You stood by the river, your eyes locked into Steve blue ones, you could see his pain, and it reflected your own.

Slowly you untied the fabric from your wrist and let it fall loosely by Steve’s side. You placed his jacket and the masks on the floor.

“Steve...” you said softly.

Reaching up you pressed your palm to his face, and his eyes shot open, his heart shattered.

“No! (Y/N) you can’t!”

It was too late, you pulled your hand away, light blue orbs emitted from your fingers and you smiled a soft sad smile, you opened your arms and gave Steve the warmest smile he had ever seen in his life.

“I can touch you...”

Steve wasted no time in hugging you as more blue orbs pooled out from your body. He savoured how you fit perfectly against him, how you were the perfect height for him to rest his chin on your head.

You pulled away a little and placed your hands on his cheeks, your eyes shining with happiness. Slowly you leant in and kissed him, and Steve leant back, kissing you softly.

You were perfect, his perfect match. Your lips fit perfectly with his, but it was gone all too soon, he felt he pressure fade and tears streamed down his eyes, and he dropped to his knees.

Steve opened his eyes and watched as the blue orbs floated into the sky, the soft voice reaching his ears.

“Thank you Steve Rogers....”

“You’re welcome (Y/N)...”

Steve wiped his tears and can collected his jacket and the masks, cradling them to his chest, the last things he had of you.

Steve felt a soft hand on his shoulder and he looked up, there stood another wispy figure. Another spirit.

“She’s... she’s gone...”

“We know... we thank you...”

The spirit helped Steve up and he found there were a lot more, in the twilight he could see he spirits perfectly.

“All she ever wanted was love... you gave that to her...”

“I... I wanted to be with her...”

The spirit nodded its head, and placed a hand to Steve heart.

“You will find her again...”

Steve’s eyes lit up with hope, he eagerly awaited the spirit to speak again.

“Return to your city... there you’ll find her again... there she’ll be free...”

As the last rays of light faded, so did the spirits, all muttering their Thank yous as Steve started to run back to the trail, he could only pray the spirit was telling he truth

#marvel #marvel x reader #marvel x you #steve #steve rogers #stever rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rodgers imagine #steve rogers x you #steve x reader

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canonicallysoulmates · 4 years ago

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Hi. Hope you're doing well. Can I ask you to give me a run down on the whole Louis and Harry situation? I listened to their music on and off but never followed their personal lives (other than the highly publicized thing with TS). But the situation, from what I gathered, seems... Interesting. What are the theories here? Hope it's not too much trouble. Thanks.

Hi, anon!

Sorry, it's taken me so long to reply to you but I wanted to find and provide some links with more information on the things I will be mentioning.

Now I'm going to do my best to give a quick rundown of Louis and Harry's history touching upon some of the bigger theories but Larry is a lot, it's multiple theories and years of history and multiple things seemingly happening at once like doing the research for this I fell down this hole all over again because there's just so much so this turned bigger than I was planning but let's get into this...

For those that don't know Louis and Harry are singer-songwriters that started their careers as members of the group One Direction. From pretty early on in the conception of the band fans noticed the close relationship between Louis and Harry and it wasn't too long before tumblr gave them a couple name: Larry Stylinson.

Now, all 5 boys were close and got along well but Larry was magical to look at:

And what at first was a tumblr/fandom thing kept growing to the point it left fandom in a way I'd never seen before and have yet to see again with a lot of focus being put on Larries (people who believe in larry) themselves with articles being written about the theories and those who believe in them in an often mocking way; Larries were turned into villains, mocked and painted as silly little fangirls by the fandom and the media, and to this day we are still looked upon that way by those in and outside the fandom (and even by those who were once larries but that's a convo for another day).

Point is Larry grew and theories are aplenty, so let's look at some of them…

Theory #1: Louis and Harry are/were romantically involved and made to hide their relationship by management.

As I said, there's a lot of theories surrounding these two but this is I'd say the original one, the biggest one, and the one a lot of other theories come back to; I don't know when speculation about the boys' sexuality and their relationship started but it has been going on for years to the point, as I said, that it left the fandom.

The theory is self-explanatory: Harry and Louis have been together since their X Factor days but made to hide their relationship by their management for years, and all the girlfriends they have had publicly have been beards including Miss TS herself. (As a bonus fact, that made a lot of people in this fandom dislike her, and some think it’s because of Larry or because she was dating Harry, no it’s because she shaded him multiple times.)

You probably noticed that I said "are/were", the reason for that is that there are some larries (are you still a larrie if you think they've broken up?) that believe Louis and Harry were together but have since broken up. That's not the case with all larries since there are also plenty who believe they are still together, and some who even think they got married in 2013, I'll talk about that a little bit more later on, for now, let's go back to the early years and some of the things that made people believe in this love story:

This is not in chronological order by the way.

Other than the heart eyes, soft touches, and overall fondness displayed towards each other by both boys there was…

That time in a radio interview when the boys were asked about girlfriends or boyfriends and Harry said Louis’ boyfriend and management were heard saying to take that bit out. Now there is some debate about whether Harry said Louis’ boyfriend or we're all each other's boyfriends so I suggest taking a close listen.

Harry saying his first real crush was Louis and that it was mutual.

The autograph signing where a fan asked Harry if he and Louis were dating and he said yes.

The AIMH tweet:

Louis being asked if he does romantic things for his partner and answering he once cooked a chicken stuffed with mozzarella wrapped in parma ham (a dish he mentions often) but he's also said in the past he's only cooked one proper meal and his first cooking experience was with Harry.

You can also check these timelines from the early years for more examples and cute gifs and photos: Larry 2010 timeline, September - October 2011 timeline.

Those are just some of the reasons people believe in Larry, it's not even the tip of the iceberg; I'll be talking about the tattoos and song lyrics in just a minute but before we move on to the next theory I do want to add what happened with Larry in the public eye.

Those familiar with my blog know about separate narratives well Larry didn't get a separate narrative they got an "enemies" narrative. When the rumors got too big about them they got shoved farther into the closet, they rarely interacted, they weren't seen together and rumors were spread through managements favorite gossip newspapers that they were feuding and hated each other.

And to this day some fans and solo stans claim this to be true even though Louis has complimented Harry on his solo music, said he’s proud of Harry work in the movie Dunkirk, said in an interview that Harry messaged him congrats when he released his single:

and Harry follows a bunch Larry accs and Louis fan accs on twitter.

Theory #2: Complementary tattoos.

Also, called matching tattoos by some but they're actually more complimentary not matching but anyways this is another reason why some believe in Larry, it technically falls under fact but for this answer, I'm going to present it as a theory simply because neither of the boys has outright confirmed that their tattoos are meant to complement each other.

Harry and Louis have several complimentary tattoos there's the famous rose(Harry) and dagger(Louis):

The Ship(Harry)and Compass(Louis):

The Oops(Louis) and Hi(Harry) (this one has a more personal significance as there’s a theory that those were the first words the boys said to each other):

The Rope(Louis) and Anchor(Harry):

Masterpost of Louis and Harry’s tattoos.

Theory #3. RBB and SBB

This one is harder to explain, and as far as I know, it's still a fandom mystery.

It all starts when at some point during the boys' Where We Are tour a fan throws a rainbow teddy bear on stage. Someone kept the bear, put some tape on it to make it into bondage bear and the bear got a twitter account. Yes, the stuffed bear got a twitter account, I know it sounds insane but it's a thing that actually happened. At first, it's just silly fun with the bear appearing on tour and tweeting, at some point the bear gets named Rainbow Bondage Bear or RBB by the fans, then the bears twitter acc gets suspended and he is not seen again.

The boys start a new tour, their last tour, the On the Road Again Tour.

The boys are back on the road and so is RBB! Once again, at first, everything is silly fun with the bear appearing on stage when one day out of the blue….a second bear! A small one. This second bear gets labeled Sugar Baby Bear or SBB. The bears are always together, the costumes get more elaborate, the boys don't acknowledge them, and the fans have no clue who is behind it all.

Then things get weird…er, the bears start posing with props including books like a biography of someone coming to terms with their sexuality.

And remember how I said some fans theorize Harry and Louis got married back in 2013? Well, on September 24th the bears appear as always on stage, this time dressed in wedding outfits in front of a signed picture of a man named Larry. On the 29th Harry tweets:

The theory is that Harry and Louis got married on September 28th, 2013.

The number 28 does seem to have a lot of significance for the boys with Louis even having it tattooed on his body.

And there was that recent "Louis Styles" moment from Roman Kemp who is from my understanding friends with Harry. And after that happened Christian Saad who Louis follows tweeted (and later deleted):

And liked:

Make of that what you will.

Back to the bears...after that things get even weirder, the bears get security, they get another twitter account, they keep posing with props, things get more and more elaborate and none of the boys acknowledge it. At one point the boys are set to appear on Kimmel and a really mocking potato bit is done which offends fans, that same night RBB and SBB post a picture looking as angry as two stuffed bears can be next to a box of mashed potatoes.

When the boys are finally asked about the bears all of them immediately look at Louis - and I just have to say Niall's reaction will never not make me laugh - and when he says nothing Harry says he believes it was the crew, and the boys act like they have no idea what is being talked about.

The theory is that Harry and Louis were behind RBB and SBB and were using the bears as a way to communicate with fans.

RBB & SBB masterpost

Theory #4: Song Lyrics.

Okay, last theory we will be discussing on this ask. I hope you’re still with me on this way longer than intended post.

As I said in the beginning, both boys are songwriters and it is theorized that both have written songs about each other and their relationship. There are parallels in their lyrics and Music Videos* (*Walls and Lights Up also have similar themes song-wise.)

Among the songs that are said to be about each other is Habit from Louis first album Walls, which contains the lyric:

“come so far from princess park”

And Sweet Creature from Harry’s first album:

“And, oh, we started Two hearts in one home”

The lyrics I highlighted are significant because Harry and Louis lived together in Princess Park Manor.

And if you take a close look at the lyrics both songs also have similar themes, with both being about a relationship that has its struggles but they’re both still deeply in love with the person.

Now Harry was actually asked in an interview if Sweet Creature was about Louis and after stumbling a bit he eventually answered that he didn’t want to tell anyone that they’re wrong on what they’re feeling about a song even if they’re not necessarily right but he thinks if you really listen to the lyrics you can work out whether it’s about that or not and he leans towards no.

It’s pretty funny to hear him stumble around for an answer that could have been answered with a simple yes or no.

A funny comparison that was often done is that in another interview Harry was asked about another one of his songs, ‘Two Ghost’ and if it was about TS because it was rumored on the media that it was; he tries to dodge the question at first but when the radio host introduces the song as the one about TS Harry screams out and shouts ‘NO!’.

Something to note is that Harry’s stumbled through answer on whether or not Sweet Creature is about Louis is presented in the media as Harry flat out squashing those rumors, while Harry’s scream of ‘no’ during his Two Ghost question is ignored with the media focusing instead on him saying that it’s self-explanatory, with some acting like its confirmation and some even writing articles about all the TS hints in the lyrics.

And there you have it anon a not so quick rundown of Harry and Louis that doesn't even cover the tip of the iceberg and some of the bigger theories surrounding them. I hope you found this informative and that is answered your question!

One last Larry gif for the road (this one’s one of my favs) 💙💚

#larry stylinson #larries #larrie #larry #anon #ask #i'm more used to talking about j2 so this was different #annianvi #in case you want to read about another believed to be closeted relationship #tinhat things #non spn #Anonymous

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imdoingthismspaintadventure · 5 years ago

Text

In which we close a narrative loop and dave is a tsun

Dave: Get the damn beta and save your friend's life!

Let’s get a move on!!

Finally the betas are easily accesible when we want them to be, instead of spending 40 pages finding them by doing things like throwing cakes out the window

This notion strikes you as nonsensical. You can't imagine how a video game could save someone's life, and in any case, you're quite sure no one you know is in any danger.

.... fucking what

Is this before the other things? Have we gone slightly back in time in terms of the general story? Is this while John was fucking around in his room?

....Does this mean that we will lose these betas somehow in the inmediate future because nothing can ever be easy? Oh no

Anyway, these are your copies of the beta you received in the mail recently. You've labeled them with your name in BOLD RED PRINT to distinguish them from your BRO's copies, who labeled his in kind. Neither of you really gives a shit about this game or has any intention of playing it, but you'll be damned if you'll let that get in the way of your campaign of one-upmanship.

What is it with these kids and weird family relationships?

I predict we will lose our copies and we will have to get Bro’s copies, based on that each kid so far has had their parent/authority figure as an antagonistic force.

Dave: Bleat like a goat and piss on your turntable.

Oh god this is indeed a pattern we are going to be following!

We had the “wrong name” bit, the “find your arms” bit, the “idiotic command” bit....Are we going to do them again for GG when they are introduced? I wonder what this command will be then.

You would never consider allowing any fluid even remotely resembling urine to touch your beloved TURNTABLES. That would risk breaking them, and a world without the gift of your godly science just doesn't sound like a place you want any part of. While you're at it, you might as well wipe out human civilization with a meteor or something ridiculous like that which will probably never happen.

I like that the “on your turntable” part is the outrageous part of “bleat like a goat and piss on your turntable” for Dave. Kid values his raps more than his life. Although it’s probably true that the world would be lesser without those wonderful, wonderful things.

And yeah, nothing to worry about with meteors and such, Dave. I’m sure nothing bad will happen, ever. Just like how those game copies you have are going to be safe and accesible forever.

That sort of thing only happens in stupid idiot movies for stupid idiots.

Oh come on, I’m sure you can find a bit of value in them, even if it’s in a “so bad it’s good” kind of way.

==>

...wait, are you really considering it?

You will however contemplate bleating like a goat for IRONICALLY HUMOROUS purposes at a later date.

...I will keep that in mind in case it comes up later.

If PS has taught me anything is that these comics are Chekhov’s armories

Dave: Examine closet.

So inside the closet there is yet another package (probably a gift from John, judging by the pattern we seem to be having. Seriously, do all these kids send each other presents in the same manner? ) and some sort of drink?

This is your closet. This is where you keep a lot of your crap.

Most accurate description of a closet ever

Like that BOX. And that bottle of... what is that? Is that...?

.....

Is that seriously a jar of piss? I would say “wtf” loudly, but your room is such a weird combination of things (including those weird fetus/ dissecated animals/ weeeeird shit) that I wouldn’t even be suprised

Dave: Check the blue box.

.....WHAT?

W-Why is there the BLACK OILY SUBSTANCE THAT STAINED THE KITCHEN WHERE JOHN IS STRANDED IN THE VOID HERE, ON THE PACKAGE??

Does the oil have multiversal properties? If it stains one’s house it also retroactively stains his possesions?? Or is this package from after those events?? Has it gone back in time??

WHAT??

But first let’s stop for a moment to appreciate the fact that Dave has a signed Stiller poster

This is the package that your friend John Egbert sent you for your 13th birthday a little while ago. It now contains nothing except a NOTE and a CERTIFICATE OF AUTHENTICITY vouching for the genuine Hollywood memorabilia which the box originally contained, and which you are now wearing to be IRONIC but also to be INCREDIBLY COOL IN A WAY SOMEHOW INTANGIBLY RELATED TO THE IRONIC NATURE OF THE ACCESSORY. You find it sort of exasperating to explain these subtleties to people.

John gave him the shades!! And they are apparently the real shades Ben Stiller wore in the movie!! That means that they are not *the* universal shades of PS, unless the shades in the Stiller bust were these ones and they somehow ended up there. But isn’t PS a videogame in this universe? But these shades had the universal glow?

Let’s not think too hard about that. It’s probably just an easter egg.

Also Dave please write a thesis on irony, the world needs it please.

The BOX also included a signed photo of BEN STILLER which now proudly hangs above your closet. Proudly and IRONICALLY.

I really like this totally (un)cool hipster kid.

Dave: Take box.

ohwahtthefuck

WHY ARE THE SYLLADEXES GETTING WORSE???

So it classifies things based on the balance of consonants and vocals in the name of the object and assigning an index value like in a hash map.

Oh boy this is a completely useless one in terms of getting shit done quickly, unless you have a godly grasp on words and their composition.

You captchalogue the BOX through your HASH MAP FETCH MODUS. Your modus's current HASH FUNCTION resolves the index by valuing each consonant at 2, and each vowel at 1. The total is divided by your number of cards, and the remainder is the index. BOX = 2 + 1 + 2 = 5 5 % 10 = 5 The BOX is captchalogued in card 5.

Just...LOOK at this

Look at this madness.

Dave: Examine jar of unknown yellow substance in the closet.

I don’t know why, but the combination of the quick turnaround, the fanfare and the fucking apple’s face makes this way more funny than it should be.

So it WAS apple juice after all.

Oh hell yes. It is an unopened container of APPLE JUICE. You thought you were all out. It is like fucking christmas up in here. This is so great. You've got to tell John about this immediately. He'll be so excited.

Oh wait, is this before the first conversation, when Dave and John talked about Little Monsters and Apple Juices? Is this why that conversation was as out of left field as it was?

I see how it all fits together now

Dave: Take juice.

You captchalogue the JUICE into card 7. 2+1+1+2+1 %10 = 7.

Dear god is this system nightmarish

Dave: Access Pesterchum and pester John.

Oh I can see the loop closing!

In addition to letting your buddy know about this outstanding juice windfall, you figure you'll wish him a happy birthday while you're at it. In your own cool, sort of roundabout way of course. Good thing you looked at that box he sent you, or you might have forgotten. You also might as well ask him about that beta. The kid's been harping about it for weeks. It would be cool if it came on his birthday. He'd be one happy camper.

Dave is such a tsundere in his friendships holy shit. You care about your friends a lot you dork

That background is rad

Wtf is “Complete Bullshit” as an app. (Probably some complete bullshit)

Ill beats because the laws of this universe demand it

Hephaestus, isn’t that the god of the blacksmiths and craftsmen? Cool icon. Reminds me of those flash games where the icons all fought each other.

Of course his emote in Pesterchum is S m o o t h

-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 18:13 -- TG: hey so what sort of insane loot did you rake in today EB: i got a little monsters poster, it's so awesome. i'm going to watch it again today, the applejuice scene was so funny. TG: oh hell that is such a coincidence i just found an unopened container of apple juice in my closet it is like fucking christmas up in here EB: ok thats fine, but i just have one question and then a word of caution. have you ever seen a movie called little monsters starring howie mandel and fred savage? TG: but TG: the seal on the bottle is unbroken TG: are you suggesting someone put piss in my apple juice at the factory EB: all im saying is don't you think monster howie mandel has the power to do something as simple as reseal a bottle? EB: try using your brain numbnuts. TG: why did the fat kid or whoever drank it know what piss tasted like TG: i mean his reaction was nigh instantaneous EB: it was the 15th day in a row howie mandel peed in his juice. TG: ok i can accept that TG: monster B-list celebrity douchebags are cunning and persistent pranksters TG: also fred savage has a really punchable face TG: but who cares about this lets stop talking about it TG: did you get the beta yet EB: no. EB: did you? TG: man i got two copies already TG: but i dont care im not going to play it or anything the game sounds boring TG: did you see how it got slammed in game bro???? EB: game bro is a joke and we both know it. TG: yeah TG: why dont you go check your mail maybe its there now EB: alright.

And they DID indeed have the exact same conversation!!!

We are indeed back in time!!

We are sooooo gonna lose those Betas!!!! : D

#Homestuck #Homestuck liveblog #mspaintadventures #mspaintadventures liveblog #act 2 #Dave Strider #john egbert

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elenatria · 5 years ago

Note

Jarllan HC: salty Jared because Stellan won the award while he didn’t. His jealousy turned into passionate & steamy night.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22268644

He hadn’t talked with Pierce for more than a year. They had exchanged a couple of emails and photos from that insane Mamma Mia II afterparty but that was it, Stellan had to quickly fly back to Vilnius and put those horrible fake brows back on. His stay in Lithuania was all work, jokes between takes, late-night drinks and booing Jared and Emily for their World Cup win over Sweden. Saturdays were reserved for dinners with Swedish specialties because, for all their bragging, those obnoxious Brits knew shit-all about cooking. Truly, he had no time for anything or anyone else.

Now he finally had the chance to catch up with Pierce and his sons while the ceremony’s afterglow lingered on and mixed with the alcohol in his veins. He took their hands in his and shook them vividly, praising them for their consummate appearance on stage (“Although Brad Pitt made you chase him a bit, didn’t he?” he teased Dylan, the eldest of the two, as he ruffled his long silky hair).

The boys walked off and Stellan smiled as he watched Dylan trying to brush his impeccable hair back into place. When he turned to ask the waiter for another glass of beer, he caught a glimpse of that familiar graying head bobbing about happily, nervously, hovering over a sea of shaking hands and cheeks leaning for a kiss, dropping humbly at every word of comfort and every “You should have won that Globe”. So many people had spent the evening telling Jared the same thing over and over again that Stellan could read their lips by now.

He also knew he was staring like a smitten teenager but he didn’t care, he just stood there, drinking in every little detail: Jared’s rimless glasses sliding down his nose with every little bow, full lips puckering every now and then for a kiss, hands crossing coyly in front of his crotch like a debutante at her first dance. That wasn’t his first “dance” and Stellan knew it, they both knew it; Jared had been accepting praise alongside consolation for way too long.

The Swede meant to make a cheeky remark about “the Duke of Edinburgh”, the lanky ever-smiling Brit whose arm, just as empty and trophy-less as Jared’s, was hanging over his boy’s shoulders (probably sharing with him the bitter cup of defeat) but as he swiftly turned back to Pierce, he felt the floor tremble like jelly under his Armani shoes.

Pierce quickly slipped a hand under his arm. “Eeeeasy now, buddy, even I don’t drink that much,” he laughed helping him down to the sofa with careful steps.

“You never drink that much,” Stellan mumbled wrestling with his pocket for his glasses, only to remember he had been wearing contacts since morning.

He squeezed his eyes shut, then flew them open in a hopeless effort to get rid of the fogginess that made him feel like he was swimming in a cloudy fish tank. “You’re just not Swedish enough,” he growled swiping a wrist over his feverish brow.

Pierce chuckled and leaned over him. “You okay, old man? Want me to bring you some water? You’re all flushed.”

Stellan huffed out a deep breath, his quivery knees a bitter reminder that he wasn’t so young anymore, and dragged Pierce’s hand over his lap, cupping the back of his neck for support until their foreheads touched. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he slurred against the bearded man’s lips, “just a little tipsy.”

A familiar figure flashed behind closed eyelids, a hoarser voice, a different beard. Stellan needed more than water, he needed those rimless glasses looking up at him with the same boyish astonishment they had when they first met, he needed--

A reassuring pat on the knee dragged him out of his daze. The dream, the graying red hair, the fifty-eight-year-old schoolboy with the wide-eyed admiration was gone.

“Water it is then,” Pierce said with a broad fatherly smile and headed for the buffet.

The minute Stellan felt Pierce’s weight lift off the sofa, it all came back to him - his moment of glory frame by frame, as if watching the movie of someone else’s life: that handsome kid on stage uttering his name in one single breath, Jared jumping to his feet to clap before he could even swallow (what was it he was munching, wild mushroom risotto or vegetarian taco?), the endless walk to the stage (because they had to stash an old man way back on the balcony, they just had to).

He thought he’d be cool and aloof about it but he wasn’t – not for the first couple of seconds. Those long and crowded corridors, those endless steps, those blinding lights on a podium he never thought he’d walk on, it was a lot to take in. He was panting out the words, sweat breaking beneath brows styled especially for the occasion, until he found his zen-like composure again and turned his talk into what every acceptance speech should be like: a joke.

To his bewilderment, it wasn’t a joke everyone appreciated; when he returned to their table, Jared pretended he was more interested in those tedious “thank you” lists of shiny smiling people he hardly knew than in congratulating him, shushing him every time he leaned in to comment or jest about this dress or that hairdo.

He did get his tight congratulatory hug from Jared as soon as they joined HBO’s after party at Circa 55, lips planting a soft meaningful kiss on his cheek as they breathed “Well done, Stellan, well done”, a perfectly coiffed beard tickling his bare jaw and those pallid hands, hesitant at first, pressing boldly on his ribs before sliding up just enough to make him feel the warmth, the need.

It didn’t last more than a few seconds, Craig broke into their space demanding his own hug with open arms, but it was enough to have Stellan reeling and seeing Jared naked at the bottom of every glass of beer he downed for the rest of the evening.

As soon as Craig broke the spell, Jared, as if waking from a trance, cleared his throat and stated he was dying for a drink. If Stellan could judge by his past habits, he probably was. Like an elusive leprechaun the ginger-haired man disappeared into the crowd before Stellan got the chance to tell him how much he wished he could share the Globe with him.

They didn’t exchange a single word for the next three hours. Stellan spent the evening boasting to his fans about the weight of his Globe never denying a selfie, while Jared made the rounds near their reserved tables, feting their victory and accepting congratulations that more often than not sounded like condolences.

By the time they were both alone, most guests were gone; they were left tired and silent, engulfed by the chattering of strangers, slow music and half-empty dishes.

The Prince of Sunken Cheeks, Long Faces and even longer arms who had claimed Jared’s shoulders earlier was nowhere to be seen. Mister Jared Francis Harris, his back bathed in red and gold, stood alone leaning against a column, statuesque and beautiful in his black tuxedo.

For some reason his posture reminded Stellan of something his agent had emailed him a while back: on Thanksgiving morning and just as awards season was kicking off, Jared had taken a photo with his back turned on the camera, gazing at the ocean from his house in Miami. He was dreaming with his eyes open, contemplating years and years of hard work, wins and losses. He deserved the Globe, Stellan pondered, and that photo was more than a moment frozen in time: it was a moment when Jared was truly happy - a moment when he still had hope.

Stellan glanced at the black leathered case he had left on the table; inside of it the gold-plated piece of zinc he had been handed a few hours ago was already losing its luster. He turned to look at Jared’s back again, drumming his fingers on his thigh. He stroked a hand over the creases of his jacket and walked up to the lonely bespectacled man by the pillar, determined to lift his mood. He was too old, too Swedish, too drunk to let the people he cared for dwell in childish frustration.

“There you are!” he boomed startling Jared out of his statue-like stillness. “I thought you had gone to sleep.”

Jared’s face was lit by a faint smile, his hands buried deep into his pockets. “Sleep? Nah, sleep is for the old.”

Stellan’s lips curled with inebriated joy; he wrapped an arm around the shoulder he had been waiting for hours to reclaim and squeezed hard. “I have news, HBO wants us to work together again, did they tell you?”

Jared tensed under his touch, then huffed out a chuckle. “Is that right,” he murmured with a slow uninterested nod.

Stellan stroked his furrowed brow. After all the success “Chernobyl” had at the Emmys and the Globes, he found it hard to believe he saw no joy in his colleague’s eyes. “Come on!” he shook him. “You should be happy!”

Jared scoffed crossing his legs, his arms still rigid against his own ribs. “Happy.”

Stellan let his hands fall limply on his sides. “You mean you’re not happy?” he muttered, his jaw dropping in bewilderment. “You don’t want to work with me again?”

Jared clicked his tongue swaying his head from side to side as if trying to decide which set of words would hurt less.

Stellan felt his breath catch. He didn’t know if it was the alcohol, the post-award depression starting to kick in or Jared’s vacant stare avoiding him - as if the two men hardly knew each other anymore.

“You don’t want to work with me?...” he repeated weakly, his confidence leaking out of him one shallow breath at a time.

Jared turned at last, holding his gaze with his own blue, unfathomable stare. “It’s not that simple.”

“What? What’s not that simple?”

“I love working with you, Stellan. You know that. It’s just that—”

“Just what?”

“I’ve already been offered other projects.”

Other projects.

Stellan had never felt so lost before.

There were times in his youth when he’d play in experimental films and soft-porn films and it felt weird and stupid and hilarious - but he was okay with it all, he did it proudly, he knew he had made the right choice. There were times when he had to leave his boys and his girl for months on end, and he’d call them up or pack them all on a plane and take them to stay with him, just to come back from fifteen hours of shooting every day, have a drink with them for five minutes before crashing out on the sofa. That was enough to help him shrug off his guilt and keep doing what he was doing. He never felt disheartened or disoriented, not even when he took a divorce; he never lost his faith, his clarity. He didn’t know if it was bravery or recklessness or some false sense of security but it was always there, it was what kept him going: knowing he’d win no matter what.

But he wasn’t winning now. He never knew what it meant to feel utterly naked, stripped of all hope. For the first time in months he held Jared literally in his arms and the man was slipping away from him like sand in the wind.

Other projects.

His lips spat out the words before he could form the thought itself. “What other projects?”

“Well,” Jared said scratching his head, “there’s this thing for Apple based on Asimov’s books—”

“Apple?!” Stellan scoffed. “Apple is yet to produce any successful TV shows, are you kidding me? Tell them to stick to iPhones, Jesus Christ.”

“Yes, Apple Plus is new but it has potential,” Jared insisted. “And it pays.”

“You mean HBO doesn’t pay?” Stellan retorted.

Jared breathed out an impatient sigh. “Apple pitched ‘Foundation’ to me months ago,” he said, his brow creasing as a red flush crept up his cheeks. “And I need a job. Where were your HBO people when I needed them? Waiting to see whether I’d get a major award or not? Well I didn’t.”

“They are not my HBO people,” Stellan growled, stunned by Jared’s sudden outburst. “And you got lots of awards, don’t whine.”

“Whine,” Jared breathed, squinting in disbelief. “You make it look so easy, don’t you,” he shot back, his blue eyes cutting through Stellan like shards of ice. “Flying all the way from Europe just to get the award and go back. No parties before that, no promo tour, no social media for you. But of course. It wasn’t in your contract, none of it was.” His nostrils flared as he squeezed his lips shut. “No other distinctions before tonight,” he raged, “nothing to herald your triumph or keep you on your toes. No anticipation, no promises, and no days of endless doubt. Just you in your three-piece falling from the sky, snatching the biggest award and then BOOM, back to Sweden. As if nothing happened, as if nothing changed.”

Stellan took a beat to take it all in, holding back the turning of his stomach as the beer’s yeasty sourness reached his mouth. He staggered, trying to keep steady on a floor that felt more jelly-like than ever. “… Okay, now I know you’re drunker than I am,” he slurred grabbing his stomach.

Jared huffed out a chuckle and turned the other way.

“What does this have to do with you agreeing to do that Apple thing?” Stellan protested, bewildered. “Have you signed already?”

“Of course I have,” Jared snapped, “don’t you read the news? It was all over twitter - oh I forgot—” He shook his head crossing his arms like a man who had lost all patience, all hope in humanity.

Stellan furrowed his brow, the realization that he was losing Jared striking him harder than a bucket of freezing water. He was beyond somber now. He was depressed.

“I’m really sorry…” he muttered pressing his shoulder against the column, his long hands disappearing into his pockets as he leaned closer to Jared’s ear. “I didn’t know how bad it was for you.”

Jared threw him a side glance cocking a slightly intrigued brow, his lips fighting to remain shut and unforgiving. He turned back to the stage watching the pianist play an easy, forgettable tune. “It’s quite alright,” he mumbled bitterly. “Thank God it’s all over...”

That phrase, so familiar--

Stellan, still fighting off gallons of beer clouding his brain, couldn’t resist quoting a film, any film, just to lighten the mood. Given his state, it wasn’t such a bad idea to focus on something other than Jared’s foul mood.

“Isn’t that from… from…” He snapped his fingers. “Oh I know,” he said, proud of his memory overcoming his drunkenness. “‘My Fair Lady.’”

Jared blinked once, twice, before staring back in utter disbelief. “You just had to mention my stepfather now, didn’t you.”

Stellan clamped his eyes shut, regretting every single word; he knew about Rex Harrison, how he hated children and never missed a chance to show it to the three Harris boys. He knew how happy Sexy Rexy was when the boys were sent off to a Catholic boarding school, Jared had told him all about his mother’s second marriage over a bowl of beef Rydberg and two bottles of wine. That was the only dinner Stellan had prepared with Jared as the sole guest during the “Chernobyl” filming, the only chance they had to open up to each other.

The chance they wasted.

“Okay, that was a perfectly wrong way to continue the conversation,” he apologized. “It just… It feels so lonely without you,” he muttered giving the base of the column little kicks, his eyes glued on the floor. “I don’t want to do this if you’re not there. The HBO thing I mean.”

“Well you don’t have to,” Jared said icily.

“They want both of us,” Stellan insisted. “It’s about two strangers meeting on a plane that flies over Europe. It’s about Brexit, a dystopian scenario speculating on the future of the continent. One of them carries a briefcase with--”

“You can tell Pierce about it,” Jared cut him off.

“Who…?”

“Pierce. You look great together.”

Stellan’s mouth slacked open. That total prick, that fucking elusive leprechaun. He had been spying on them the whole evening.

“What does Pierce have to do with anything?” he roared not believing his ears. “He’s already booked for the next two years.”

“Oh, is that why you chose me over him, because I was the one available?” Jared snapped. “Good to know.”

“For crying out loud, Jared, he’s my friend,” Stellan exclaimed throwing his hands in the air, “and you’re… and you’re—"

“What am I?”

That inescapable cold stare again; Stellan pressed his lips together in a stubborn pout. If Jared wanted him to say it, he wouldn’t indulge him, no way. Not a word, not a breath, not unless he stopped being a child. Fifty-eight-year-old children were beyond his area of expertise.

“A pain in the ass,” he blurted out instead.

From where he was standing he couldn’t see Jared’s expression, only his flustered ear and the edge of his bearded jaw. Still, that unmistakable dimple on the other man’s freckled cheek made his heart miss a beat.

Did he just…?

Yes, he did. Jared was suppressing a smile.

Jared shook his head and gazed at their table where Johan was lowering the rim of his hat over closed eyes before sinking into his chair, sleepy and half-drunk. “You really should give it to Pierce, you know,” he insisted, not without a tint of sadistic joy. “He’s just as British as I am. Or Colin -- oh he would be just perfect.”

Stellan let his jaw hang and closed it several times before he could form a single word. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh I’m dead serious.”

Stellan heaved a deep frustrated sigh. “Jared, I haven’t played the jealousy game since I was sixteen, shirtless and in a straw hat. There’s a perfect explanation for what you saw, I was drunk and Pierce was helping me sit. What is your ‘Prince’s’ excuse for laying his hands all over you?”

“My ‘prince’? What prince?” Jared blinked behind his glasses, baffled.

“Oh for fuck’s sake…” Stellan said squeezing the bridge of his nose. “What’s his name.”

Jared’s eyes widened in shock. “Oh you don’t mean—” His jaw dropped. “You can’t mean… Toby.”

“YES, thank you.”

Jared opened his arms, his mouth gaping incredulously, as if he was asked to explain why one and one equals two. “Yes, we were laughing that’s why he leaned on me, he was saying that the Globes were glorified dildos, nothing more.”

“Oh!...”Stellan yelped arching his brows. He looked left and right wondering if he wasn’t the only one who had heard the insult. “Oh, but this is getting better and better…!”

Jared’s face changed in an instant; he wasn’t high on his own rage anymore, he wasn’t resentful or bitter. He was as hurt as Stellan was.

And just as lost.

“I’m-- sorry,” he stuttered hanging his head. “It was only a joke. I shouldn’t have told you.”

“Oh it’s fine,” Stellan said coldly, his face a mask of stone. “It’s good to know what you have in your head. What you think of me. All these months of working together when all I needed was this one evening. Quite enlightening.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose once more, hoping he could get rid of those fucking contacts as soon as possible - or maybe gauge his eyes out, why not; the headache that was beginning to replace his alcohol-induced cheerfulness was threatening to split his skull in half.

Jared took a shuddering breath. “Stellan…”

He almost made a move to get closer to him. He stopped.

Stellan wasn’t listening to him, wasn’t seeing him anymore. His eyes darted around looking for the closest exit until they settled on the big black box on the table. For a moment he wished that kid on the stage had never called his name; he wished he had kept eating his risotto without giving a fuck.

Not having any fucks to give was a state of mind, a way of life. Maybe he should go back to it at some point.

He fumbled in his pockets for the cloakroom ticket, shoved the black case under his arm and stormed off.

“Where are you going?” Jared shouted after him.

“Catching the earliest flight to Stockholm,” he thundered, not looking back. “My glorified dildo needs a mantle to sit on.”

#jarllan #golden globes #jared harris #stellan skarsgard #jealousy #ao3

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hillnerd · 6 years ago

Note

Idea: Hermione has an accident and loses her memory. What would Ron do to make her fall in love again?

My initial reaction to this prompt: OH NO. That is a good way to F^CK me RIGHT UP. Also I would read the hell out of any fic like this. I’m sure there must be a memory loss fic like this out there- so let me know guys! BUT THEN I HAD TO KEEP WRITING...Lots of ways this can go! Here’s my take (2.7k words) :

So in this scenario- it’s about five years after the war. Things are finally a bit more peaceful, but they’re still rounding up the last of the war criminals every once in a while- one such war criminal is brought in to the Ministry and Hermione is helping with the case- somehow they wrestle a wand off of someone and have Hermione at wandpoint. That’s when they decided to do a terrible spell to ‘teach the presumptuous m**blood a lesson.’ They hit her with a spell and she passes out.

She wakes up in a hospital she doesn’t recognize- her head is pounding. She is sitting up on the bed very confused when a tall red headed man walks into the room holding a mug of tea.

“Hermione, you’re awake!” he says, looking relieved and like he really really cares. She has no idea who he is. Perhaps he’s one of the doctors? He’s not wearing a white coat- but some of them are more casual right? Then he’s holding her hand which seems very odd for a doctor. Then he leans in and kisses her. She slaps him.

“Don’t touch me!”

He looks at her stunned. Some doctors(??!!) come in responding to her yell, they are wearing bright green uniforms, and are waving a bunch of sticks at her. She begins to panic. What is going on?! So she’s feeling insane- and like something is deeply wrong with her and is witnessing people staring at her like SHE’S the one who is nuts as they wave sticks at her like a bunch of lunatics. Finally she lets out a yowl of, “What’s going on? Where are my parents! Stop pointing those sticks at me!’

“Hermione?” The redhead asks, looking at her fearfully. He tentatively reaches towards her.

“I said don’t touch me! I don’t know who you are, but if you think you can come in and start kissing a stranger, you are very much mistaken! I’m going to report you!”

One of the strange doctors/kidnappers points a stick at her and she feels a flash move through her body- making her suddenly feel very sleepy. The last thing she sees is the red headed man looking at her in shock.

She wakes up restrained, but calm. She’s on some medication of some sort they say- ‘Potions.’ Whatever… Where are her parents? They ask her questions about things she remembers- She can remember her childhood, then snippets of summer and winter vacations, a few dinners with her parents- some odd memories of Australia… Her memories just seem to get vaguer and vaguer. Those are the last memories she has that are clear. Even through the potion, she feels fear gripping her. She asks how old she is- she’s almost 23. What??? When she looks in a mirror she’s shocked, as on many levels she still feels she’s just a teen.

The ‘healers’ do a lot of tests after giving her some sort of medicine that makes her feel even calmer-

They explain magic. It’s a think apparently. She’s magical. She seems to have lost a great deal of her memory.

They just had a vague notion of what the spell cast on her would do after they translated it (because spells are all in latin and there were multiple witnesses to the spell.) They thought it might be a spell to make her unable to remember spells or inhibit her magic. Instead it is something far far worse.

They figure out all her magical memories have been stripped from her mind. This isn’t just spells and such- this is everything linked to magic at all. Every person, every memory touched by magic. The spell caster basically wanted to make her a ‘muggle’ the only way they could.

The Healers have no idea if they can restore these memories or not, as the spell used is not one they had heard of before.

They bring forth a ton of people to see if she can recognize any of them- she doesn’t know any of them- a black haired man, a ton of red heads, a weird girl with blonde hair- an endless sea of people. The only one she can remember the name of is Ron, and that’s only because apparently he’s her fiance, and it’s hard to forget someone practically molesting you in a hospital.

They give her a stick to see if any route memories of magic come to her. She waves her wand about and says ‘abra kadabra’ which makes them all look very frightened as they take the wand from her saying she could have killed someone! What? With the stick? Sorry- the wand?

She wants to go home!

She wants nothing to do with the wizarding world and all its nonsense- she wants her parents.

Her ‘friends’ she’s introduced to all seem to want to push her to stay, so she can try to prod her memory more and do more of the ‘do you recognize this?’ game, but she doesn’t want to listen to any of them at all. Who even are they? The only one who doesn’t push her is Ron. He hasn’t tried to touch her again since he found out about her memory. He has barely spoken to her, but hasn’t left the hospital, even though she’s been there a week since waking.

She tries to give him the engagement ring on her hand- which he urges her to keep. She thinks it ridiculous to be engaged to a stranger- but he almost brokenly says ‘maybe you won’t be one eventually…’ so she keeps it. She hadn’t thought about how hard this would be for him- the stranger who loved her? She feels a touch cruel now for trying to give the ring back. There is something about this Ron fellow that makes her not completely hate the idea of trying to get to re-know him. Someday. Not now though.

Everyone is pushing her and pushing her (except Ron and the odd blonde girl with protuberant eyes)- but Ron mournfully is like ‘I’ll support you… Just do what you want. Whatever will make you happiest.’ She wants something familiar and calming- which is to be with her parents at home.

They seem pleased to have her, though worried. They’re tiptoeing around her like she’d insane- and maybe she is now? How sane can you be when you are missing half your life and everything that you learned. She thought this would be a way to heal- but honestly she feels on edge and like all the thoughts and learning she’d ever done had been stripped away from her. She feels oddly empty and lonely.

The healers said they’d be doing research on her spell damage- as if they blindly go in with their normal spells they could make it permanent- if it isn’t already. So they say she can leave- she can do magic- perhaps try things to spark her memory. They’ll do weekly tests to make sure of improvements/worsening memory but beyond that she doesn’t have to go to the hospital again.

A trunk of items that might help her with her memories is brought by Ron about a week into her stay. He came all this way and is looking at her with such intensity she decides to invite him in. After all, he’s basically lost his fiance. Maybe it would be interesting to get to know him and wants to see why she had wanted to marry a man who, so far, seemed good looking but beyond that not all that impressive. He is polite, doesn’t push things, as they go through the trunk. There is nothing very personal in there. He decided to start with her old school things- nothing all that personal yet- since that was how she was first introduced to the wizarding world, and she’d always been into academics. That was thoughtful, she decides. She definitely wouldn’t have been comfortable looking at photos and being forced to remember things.

There are tons of books, quills, and she sees her handwriting all over the place- not in spiral notebooks but in long pieces of rolled up parchment like she was writing patents of nobility or something. She laughs at how stupid and inefficient it is to have things on scrolls. Ron quietly watches her as she looks through it all. She begins looking through the books and finds them fascinating.

“I could really do… This is real then? Real magic? That I could do?”

“You are the most brilliant witch I’ve ever met,” he says nodding. Being called witch makes her feel uncomfortable. Sounds more like an insult than a positive identifier.

Ron asks if she’s curious to try a spell.

She decides yes. He conjures up a feather like object- from nowhere! And has her try a spell called ‘Wingardium Leviosa.’ She says it wrong and he coaches her to say it ‘Levi-O-sah, not LevioSAH’- and the little flick at the end. She does it! She made the feather float! They’re grinning at each other, though she sees he looks misty eyed.

He’s being really patient with her as she learns such an easy spell. Apparently from their first year at Hogwarts. There’s something fascinating about him; his lopsided grin, his shockingly red hair, his blue eyes- how tall he is, and how genuine and sweet he seems. He doesn’t treat her like she’s nuts or to be pitied.

She asks him to tell him about himself, as she doesn’t know anything. He does- all about his family (A few stories making her laugh as he describes people and does the voices for them), his job, his favorite things including some sport she’d never heard of, and Chess.

“Oh! Let’s play chess,” Hermione says. Her dad has a board somewhere in his study. They play chess and he beats her very quickly. She tries a few times, but it’s like playing a computer. He’s smart.

She has to admit- her ‘fiance’ is seeming more impressive by the minute. He’s good looking, sweet, thoughtful, funny, smart. It was like going on her very first date, really. A very nice first date. And she already knows he loves her- I mean, they’re affianced!- but even if it weren’t for that, she could tell with how he looks at her. He hasn’t tried once to bring up their own history or force anything.

An alarm goes off from his wand, and he looks at her regretfully. He has to go to work- but maybe he can come by again? Beyond taking her to the hospital, as her parents can’t get into St Mungos.. She says she’d like that.

Each week they go to the hospital together, each week she’s the same. Ron keeps coming to the house though! They try more spells, play more chess, he brings her cat from their place (their place!- what an odd thought!) and the cat is the most perfect things in the world she’s ever seen. He goes with her to St Mungo’s for them to try spells on her after a month- they don’t work. This is just the first round! Don’t lose hope!

His visits get longer each time, and by her asking, not his. She asks Ron for more and more of the stories of their youth- the adventures they went through- the war stuff. She’d been through a war? She’s nearly died? It’s especially hard for him to tell of the people they lost, including his brother dying. She holds his hand hoping he know she cares.

He brings Harry over a few times too, and Ginny- and brings over Luna and Neville. George. Little Teddy and his amazing hair. More and more people visit her. The wizarding world really has some wonderful people in it.

She reads about apparition and flying- and he does apparition with her in her parent’s house (Which gives her a thrill as the two of them are so physically close) and he swears he’ll take her for a fly when he can.

She’s feeling more and more herself (well, she THINKS it’s more herself) and slowly she starts to become more and more comfortable with the wizarding world- getting to visit the Burrow, Harry and Ginny’s place (they’ve just found out they’re pregnant!), Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, and Hogsmeade. Ron takes her for a fly at The Burrow. She doesn’t think she’d ever like to do it on her own, but with him it was quite magical, his arms wrapped around her as he guided them around at a steady pace. She gets to watch him and everyone else play quidditch, which is very impressive. He’s so fast- they all are! Especially his little sister! She says she’ll bring Hermione to one of her professional matches soon. Ron shows her his childhood room, which makes her laugh at how adorably shy he is about it- this incredibly tall man, who’s been her guide through everything- being embarrassed to show her his room.

That’s when she realizes- she’s starting to become smitten with Ron Weasley!- he’s a little rough around the edges- he curses a lot, jokes a lot, is informal etc- but he’s been a real gentleman with her, patient, and perfect.

She decides she’d like to see their place- her and Ron’s. He tells her to give him 10 minutes (As he hasn’t been keeping it as nice without her there…) He apparates her there after he’s cleaned, and even though she knows she doesn’t remember the place, it feels familiar. It’s how she would have wanted things to be. He gives her a tour- There are book shelves all over, and it has character- and there are photos of her and Ron kissing and being obviously a happy couple.

He’s keeping his distance from her as she looks at the photos on the mantle. Ron is looking at her with that intense look she’s seen on his face at times- the look of sadness, longing, love? She talks to him about the thoughts going through her head- how it’s odd to think that she’s been kissed. They only had one bed, so most likely she’s done all sorts of intimate things with him she can’t remember. She feels like her body should know it, somehow, but she feels the same. She decides she’d like her first kiss to be with him. He’s uncertain.

‘Are you sure? I mean… I don’t want to push you!’

‘I promise I won’t slap you again,’ Hermione says with a smile.

It’s a very chaste kiss, but it’s wonderful.

She falls for Ron one day at a time. She eventually wants to see where she’s been working- realizing she hasn’t seen it yet- and that’s when it strikes her how broken she feels having all her memories gone. She sees the pitying looks on people’s faces- they seem to think she’s an imbecile now! And she realizes she might just be one now- she doesn’t have an education anymore. What is she fit for? What will her future be!? She’s panicking, but Ron is able to calm her a bit when he says no matter what, she’ll have support for whatever future she chooses- and she can catch up and be amazing at anything.

It’s been several months- they’ve tried cure after cure at St Mungo’s- but no progress is made.

Over the months, she has fallen in love with Ron (again) and is ok with moving back in with him. He’s her fiance, after all- so she doesn’t feel odd for doing this so quickly. They have history she doesn’t remember- but it just feels right.

Things are very chaste for a long time- and they have a good routine where she is trying to catch up on 7 years of Hogwarts education (both on her own and with correspondence with teachers) and magical law.

They get intimate over time and it’s odd how he knows her body better than she does as she’d never done all that much to explore her body’s wants by herself- but he knows all sorts of ways that she likes being touched. She’s happy that some day she will marry him- even if she never remembers their initial timeline again.

One not so special day the healers think they have a solution. They have gathered a tons of memories from Ron and Harry and everyone else they could find- and think they can use this and a lot of other spells to perhaps access the hidden ones in her mind and help ‘unlock’ them if you will- they do the spell. It doesn’t seem to have worked. Hermione didn’t think it would. They go home, feeling a bit deflated but Hermione says: “In the end, it doesn’t matter if I remember all that or not. I’ll always love you.”

She suddenly has a bit of a headache as they go to sleep together, cuddling in a way that makes her feel so protected and calm, despite the disappointing day. She wakes up with her head hurting even worse than the night before- and stumbles into kitchen. Maybe she’s hungry?

“I’d love if you could conjure up some croissants,” she says to Ron who is making some tea.

He recites off Gamp’s Laws of Transfiguration.

“That was impressive!”

“Always the tone of surprise,” Ron says with a smile.

Then something clicks.

“Wait… Say that again?”

“Gamp’s laws? Merlin, I knew quoting that brainy tosh would turn your head. We’re not using that in the bedroom,” he jokes, but she’s not laughing. He looks at her seriously now. She’s making that face she makes when she’s working out a puzzle.

“You’ve said that before…” she says feeling like she’s reaching for a dream she can barely remember. “The ‘always the tone of surprise.’ You’ve said it… And I’ve said it…”

Ron immediately is helping her sort it out. Telling her where the memories are from- as he says it those specific memories from Bill and Fleur’s Wedding and from after the Battle- the feel of hugging him when he was alright- They’re back- clear as day! She can remember them.

“Quick! Say something else you’ve said!”

They start going through memories and they start clicking into place- she is able to provide more and more of the memories without him prompting things.

It takes weeks- but her memory is finally back. There are times where certain obscure things are a bit vague- but they snap into place as more structural memories are snapped back into place.

In most ways she’s so happy her memories are back- She can remember all the good times, all the spells, all the little moments that made her become the person she is today. Some days when she has to mourn for people or remember something horrible she wishes they weren’t back- but getting to remember all the moments she shared with her friends, and with her Ron- they’re worth the hurt.

Plus, it’s not everyone who gets to have two first kisses with the love of their life.

#romione #memory loss #hermione granger #ron weasley #romance #my writing #head canon #Anonymous

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stayforya · 6 years ago

Text

LOST & FOUND

member: kim taehyung

genre: soulmate au!

words: 1.9k

summary: paris. heartbeat. countdown. touch. the event line intended to happen in order to find your soulmate.

I’ve always dreamed about Paris. Something about that place invited me, made me curious, as if there was a reason – a reason to be there. But I never thought about it a lot, it just came into my thoughts automatically sometimes.

The time came. My first trip to Paris was planned, the first one ever with my own money invested on it, and that made me extremely excited. Maybe the adult life is about happy moments when we fulfil our childhood dreams.

Sunny and cold Paris. As beautiful as ever, so much better than in my imagination. Words weren’t enough for this – walking on the street, everything looked like art and smelled like French cuisine. I felt at home, even though I was never there; my heart started to explode in feelings I never felt before. Ecstasy.

The feeling didn’t stop. As I kept walking, my heartbeat just increased. I was worried it was a panic or anxiety attack, but I didn’t feel anything else that would characterize this kind of disorder. What could trigger my mind that made my heart pulsate crazily like that?

Agony. Not as if something bad would happen, but as if I was expecting for this moment. Like a clock. The heartbeats were rushing like a clock on the wall, like a countdown. I kept walking, appreciating the most beautiful place I’ve ever been to. Since it was morning, Eiffel Tower wasn’t lighted up but was there, unaffected. Everybody watching it, everybody who waited a lifetime to see it.

However, that wasn’t what my heart was rushing for. Heartbeat just increased more and more, to the point I got desperate – “am I about to die?”, I thought, still I had no other sign of dying.

That’s why I took off my phone from the coat and started to take pictures. The place from where I saw the Eiffel Tower made it look prettier than it would be if I was closer. I always liked watching things from distance, perhaps the view gets better and I could see things as a whole.

Heart pumping blood so loud I could hear, yet I ignored it. The sound was like a clock, no, it was like a time bomb about to explode. It was driving me crazy already, when everything I wanted to do was to enjoy the city of my dreams. Was it happening for a reason? Which one? All my life I waited for this moment to happen, but not like that. I couldn’t bear that anymore. I was about to just sit down and wait for it to stop, so I started walking faster, far from people around me. It didn’t stop, it wouldn’t stop, I could keep running and running and it would only get worse, my mind was terrified of what was about to happen, my body was giving up, I even tripped and was about to fall and then it changed.

It stopped.

My heartbeats dropped to the usual rhythm.

I felt a hand grabbing my wrist so I stopped.

Time was also stopping.

“Are you alright?”, a calming voice into the void.

I turned my body towards the voice and found a man. He was peaceful. I never saw him before, nor felt like I was supposed to know him, but for sure I felt peace. His eyes didn’t look at me, they looked through me.

People were passing by and still it was all silent in my mind. His voice echoing inside my head and his lost eyes trying to recognize me. I couldn’t tell what he was feeling, but he found something. I saw the exact moment when his lost eyes became confident, he blinked once, twice, and then his face was more serene than ever. My heart calmed down and because of that I could finally let go of the man’s hand, standing there, straightening my coat.

“Yes”, I answered.

If it was for my own force, I would just thank him and keep going. However, my feet were stuck on the floor. Also, when I thought about leaving, my heart meant to start palpitating again like before. Was it about him? That man in front of me. It felt like exchanging only these two phrases weren’t enough. So I became so curious I couldn’t go away without saying something else – still I didn’t know what.

“Do you need something?”, he questioned.

“I… Hm, I don’t. I’m ok.”

He nodded and we were about to go apart. We turned our backs to each other, and in that moment, even though my heart didn’t start to beat as hard as before, I felt like I couldn’t go away. It wasn’t over yet, but what else we could do? Bumping into each other and checking if everything was alright – that’s what we were meant to do and we did.

“Hey”, he turned himself to me.

His hand position and his eyebrows suggested he had something to ask, but didn’t know how.

“What’s your name?”, I just let it out without thinking too much. I said it so fast that maybe he didn’t understand.

“Taehyung”, a little smile lighted up that handsome face. Paris lost its charms at the moment I noticed him. It wasn’t just about his features, it was something else coming out of him, like his aura. I don’t know much about those mystic stuff, but maybe his pure heart was showing up on his face, and that made him even more enchanting. “Yours?”

“I’m y/n.”

“That’s- that’s a beautiful name”, he ran his hand around the neck and smiled, a bit shy.

“Thanks”, I did the same. “Is it your first time in Paris?”

Ok, but why were we hitting a conversation in the middle of this open place full of tourists amazed by the Eiffel Tower? I also noticed the camera he had in his right hand. He was wearing glasses, too. The whole outfit wouldn’t fit better anyone other than him. He knew his own style, I noticed that for sure.

“Yes, it is. I’ve been just walking around and taking pictures.”

“By yourself?”

He looked at me and smiled again, then looked somewhere else.

“Yes. It gets a little bit complicated to take pictures of me, but I’m ok appreciating the view.”

Talking to a stranger like this, I didn’t have any shame anymore. That’s why I offered to take a picture of him in front of Eiffel Tower.

“Oh, can you?”, he seemed surprised. How could kindness surprise a kind man?

I nodded and took the camera. He posed as serene as ever in front of the view, and side by side, there wasn’t a beautiful day that could beat the beauty of his heart. I knew it was crazy to think like that, I didn’t even know that guy. He could be a murderer or a bad person, but I felt he was special. Anyone could feel. My insanely pounding heart calmed down in the exact moment he touched me, there was definitely something particular about him.

He smiled while scrolling through the pictures I took. There were so many questions in my head, but maybe just for once it was fine to take this risk.

“Now you.”

“Hm?”, I asked, confused.

“Stand there so I can take a picture.”

“We barely know each other; I don’t know if I can trust a stranger to take pictures of me with his own camera.”

“I’ll delete if you don’t like”, he said.

I put my hands into my coat’s pockets and stood there, waiting for him to take a photo. He didn’t take one. He probably took a bunch of them while I was moving, which could even become a gif if put together.

I went closer so I could see the pictures.

“Wow, I like them”.

Close to him. Why did it feel warmer? Why did it feel comfortable?

We both felt that. We felt something was going on, but no one could talk about. It was way too weird to meet someone and feel like that. As if everything that ever happened paved the way until that day. My heartbeat slowed down at the moment I met him, what did it mean? I couldn’t stop thinking.

I was confused.

“Well, I think I’ll… go now”, I said avoiding eye contact.

“Wait”, he said. “I’m sorry, it’s just that…”

Just say it, Taehyung. He was pondering too much.

“It’s my first time in Paris. And since yesterday, when I arrived, I felt lost everywhere I went. Sorry for telling you this, it might sound-”, he was also confused.

“What, exactly?”

“When I saw you tripping and I helped you. It’s like something… happened? I don’t know. Did you… feel it?”

Taehyung was especially careful with his words. Of course, we just met. Do you have this kind of conversation with a stranger? I don’t think so.

“My heart was beating way too fast, that’s why I tripped. Don’t know why it started to beat like that, but when you touched me it kind of calmed down. Is it too weird? I don’t know if there is any relation, I’m sorry.”

“Really?”, he raised his brows.

“I’m sceptical with these stuff, to be honest.”

“I’m not sure what happened. It’s not like I already knew you, not this kind of feeling. But something like… this moment was meant to happen?”

“Yeah, that’s right”, I agreed with him. The conversation got too deep and we were still there. In a place full of people, life was rushing around us, but we remained stuck there.

“Let’s try going on separate ways, maybe it works.”

Should we say goodbye?

“Yeah, ok... hm, bye, then.”

He started walking away but looking at me. Nothing was bringing him back, but I got distressed as long as he distanced himself. I started to walk away too, missing something. Why was that happening? I was just an ordinary girl with a happy ordinary life before crossing his path. I turned my back at him and got into that crowd. Maybe if I kept going and ignoring, it would disappear.

The more I walked, the better. The anguish was vanishing while the sunshine kissed me softly. I felt warm in the midst of Paris’ winter.

Not because I was parting ways with Taehyung. At the second I sensed his hand on my wrist again, I knew. He was running back to me and that was why it felt better. Warmer. Comfortable.

I turned myself to him.

“What-”

“I don’t know what’s going on. The more I distanced myself, I felt lost again. I have no idea of why this is happening, but we’re not done yet”, he said and I frowned as he frowned. “Let’s… let’s just meet again.”

“Again? When?”

“Now. Guide me through Paris, if you can.”

“I’ve never been here before.”

“But I feel safe.”

“Safe? Taehyung, I-”, my heart fluttered.

“Are you experiencing the same?”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

“Then let’s try.”

“Spending time…?”

“Yeah, anything. As long as we stay like this. I don’t want to feel lost again”, his eyes said so much.

“I really find it crazy.”

He agreed. I could be making the wrong choice, but I wasn’t. To touch his arm and guide him to walk together was the best choice I made that day. I honestly didn’t know how he could find safety in me. And I didn’t know how my heart found calm in him. I didn’t know the reason, but I knew there was one. It was enough.

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sick-raven · 5 years ago

Text

Ghosts of the past - Chapter 4

Chapter 1 + warnings

AO3

Previous chapter

Chapter 4

Miranda felt like after a week-long party. Sure, she had to walk off even worse before and even now she put up her brave face, but in reality, she just wanted to fall into bed and sleep.

“Would you tell me what happened?” asked her professor Crane. He took her to his house. They had to look ridiculous, if any neighbours have seen them, they had to thought Crane is bringing home drunk woman for sure.

He fixed her. Let her sleep whole day. Just once he attempted to touch the bell. She punched him. Went back to sleep. Now they finally had a chance to talk over a hot tea. He didn’t even have visible bruise. Miranda had to be very weak when she knocked him.

“It’s Gotham. Stray bullet hit me.”

“Please don’t lie. Little honesty should be in place after I saved your cute neck.” Miranda realized she likes his approach. Jonathan was straightforward, didn’t let her fuck around and had enough sass to not sound like a complete posh jerk. Just a jerk.

“Someone hit me,” she explained. “I didn’t ask. I don’t know who. They just want me gone.”

“What are you?”

“An assassin.”

“I figured so much.”

Miranda drank her tea thinking. She didn’t like what she said next, but what the hell. “Thank you for helping.”

“You didn’t give me much of a choice.”

“I think you had plenty of possibilities.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve read about your university research.”

No change in his demeaner or tone of voice. “When?”

“Before I moved here.”

“And you decided to visit me anyways?”

She shrugged. “Yeah. I don’t have much to lose. And I’ve dealt with… shady people before. Nobody died during your experiments. They just went completely bonkers.”

“Those are dangers of science. It got out of hand. I am changed man since.”

“Now you are the one lying. What about the wannabe Halloween costume?”

Jonathan smiled a little. Then he intertwined his fingers. “Are you willing to test a medication I have made?”

“After this conversation?” Miranda laughed. “Sure, I guess, I have nothing to lose.”

He nodded. “You say you don’t feel fear. I am going to make you.”

“I doubt it, but you are welcome to try.”

He walked away. Miranda has finished her tea. She wondered why she even agreed to this. She knew it won’t help. Nothing ever helped. No medication can make them go away. Her brain was fried. Maybe Crane will fry it some more. That might help.

And partially she was really interested in feeling again. Anything. Fear would be nice change of pace.

Jonathan returned with his stupid mask on. Miranda noticed his eyes through rough holes. Home-sawed potato sack you would put on dummy at farm. He carried a small vial.

“You don’t have to be so formal,” she said.

And then he opened the vial and out flew gas. Miranda coughed, the smell was terrible. Even rotten eggs are pleasant compared to this. “Damn,” she commented, “use air freshener.”

“What do you see, miss Bradbury?”

Her head started to spin. She looked up. Colours, shapes… The hallucination was there. It seemed so real. Scarecrow’s face was burning, heated wax fell from it on the ground. She felt the heat as if her skin was burning. His voice sounded like screeching.

But the feeling of fear wasn’t there. Her sensors were overloaded, her brain wanted to shut down, her flank hurt, and the pain spread slowly through the whole stomach.

“You look wild, burning,” she said. She looked around the room and yelped. There! The ghosts! Shadows, standing, waiting!

“What is it?” asked the burning man.

Miranda didn’t answer right away. It was weird. She looked in their dark faces. There were no details and yet she remembered perfectly. The grimaces of pain and death. Miranda didn’t see them go. But that didn’t stop her imagination. Dying in an instant, took away, crushed by rubble, expressions of hate aimed right at her. She tensed, expecting them to get her. Choke her, kill her, take her among them.

“They are here,” she whispered as if the ghosts couldn’t read her mind. “But they are not real.”

“No, they aren’t,” agreed the burning Crane.

“You don’t get it,” she continued silently. “The feeling… it isn’t… I have the bell.” She shook her head and closed her eyes. “It’s not them. Not really.”

She smelled the rot again. The pain increased and spinning worsened. The hallucinations got crazy. The shapes rotated all over the place changing into fractals, colours burned her eyes. She though she will puke.

No fear, just disgust.

She started to laugh.

“What’s so funny, Miranda?”

“It’s nothing,” she explained laughing. “I’m just high.”

***

The wound was healed. It took a week of doing nothing and few days of hating herself for doing things that hurt her.

Miranda was at Crane’s place every day. Only result of his experiments was constant headache and weird taste in her mouth. Drugs gave her symptoms but not feelings. She trembled – without fear. She cried – without sadness. Nothing helped. She didn’t feel different. When she took the charm down, she was still dying.

She was losing hope. She had fun, yes, she actually liked visiting the weird doctor. She loved looking in his eyes and catching sparks of excitement in his otherwise cold demeanour. The small talks he tried to avoid also cheered her. But what’s that good for? She wasn’t getting better. Or worse. The status quo was driving her insane.

And the random shadows… She thought the hit continued but every time she ran to face them… nothing.

She was a lost cause.

“I am a lost cause.”

“Why do you say that?” asked Jonathan.

“You can’t help me.”

Jonathan stopped looking at a new tincture and raised his eyebrows. “I think I can. You just need to be patient.”

“No,” she disagreed. “It’s impossible.”

“No wonder you don’t get better. You give up right away.”

Miranda sighed annoyed. “Let’s stop this. You can’t help me.”

He started to look visibly upset. She hasn’t seen him like that yet. Glimpse of negative emotions here and there, but until this point none of them were real anger.

“I can help. There are many ways…”

“Useless.”

“What did you say?” he raised his voice. Miranda blinked in surprise. She didn’t expect reaction like this about something as silly as research.

“I said…”

“I heard you!” he snapped. “You shouldn’t have come if you think I am useless.”

“I…”

“Crazy professor with crazy ideas, that’s what you think?!”

Miranda didn’t say anything. She felt attacked but at the same time tiny silent voice in her head told her the outburst was not aimed at her. You cannot argue against that.

“Let me remind you I could have killed you. Am I useless? Lanky, stupid Crane? You should thank me for sparing you!” His face was red from anger, his eyes weirdly distant. He didn’t argue with her. But she had about enough.

“I think you also need professional help, Crane.”

“You bitch!” He jumped on his feet a tried to hit her. She expected that. Caught his wrist, bended his arm. He screamed, more from annoyance than pain. With a little kick under his knee she made him fall on his knees. Pacified, he tried to wiggle away but she stopped him. Grabbed him by hair.

“No, you don’t, you crazy bastard,” she told him. “I don’t know what your problem is but consider our cooperation over.”

“You will be sorry, Miranda.”

“Oh, spare me the theatrics,” she rolled her eyes. “I’ve decided not to snap your neck. Who should be grateful now?”

Jonathan grinded his teeth but said nothing.

“Good boy.” She let go of him, took her bag. “Thanks for the tea.”

“Burn in hell.”

“See ya there.”

She left, feeling weirdly bummed. It wasn’t his behaviour that got to her. No, it was… She didn’t think he can help her. But she really enjoyed their weird talks. When was the last time she could have been open to someone? Yeah, I kill people. I like it. No, I don’t have insurance, can you get that as a murderer? Sure, I will take new meds, doc.

“Fuck you,” she mumbled.

At the lamp stood a shadow. She walked to it and realized it was only her eyes playing tricks again.

***

At home Miranda found an envelope on the table. She weighted it in her hand, thinking. Nobody had access to her place. This might be a trap. Or the information she wanted.

Who cares if she blows up?

She opened it. Nothing. Just bunch of papers and a flash drive with little bat symbol on it. She scanned fast through the documents – photos of old texts and transcripts.

“Thanks, B,” she mumbled. She made tea and started to read. The text made her angrier every second. It was nothing useful just description of the ritual and its victims.

Before suicide missions people performed this. They drank and ate together, swore an oath and then tasted each other’s blood. The bound was complete with hallucinogens and night of dancing and sex. Then the ritual was done, and the group went to die while fulfilling their task.

It was said that if someone broke this bond, they became hunted by their former fellows. Most of the survivals died within a year. It was like a countdown going down. If they didn’t kill themselves, it took year and a day, and they just collapsed.

Miranda bit her lip. Year and a day. It fit. That’s when she got her charm.

No mention of anyone surviving as long as her. No mention of anyone healing this madness. Miranda sighed. She didn’t believe in magic. These stories were only that – stories. The guilt made itself into psychosis, that’s all. No magical base.

She set the papers aside. The day started horribly and ended on even worse note. Miranda was tired and annoyed. Sad? She wished. She would let this sink deeper and cry, but it wasn’t possible.

She just didn’t want to die. This was her source of energy. She would do anything to keep herself alive. Degrade herself, betray, beg even. There was no dignity in death! She cannot let them take her, can she?

It made her remember. She didn’t always feel like this. Training and suffering clouded her mind. Death sounded much better than continuing the way she was. Running away wasn’t an option. Tundra in the middle of nowhere would kill her, if League members didn’t catch her first. Those deaths would be more painful than anything she could inflict on herself.

The knife was the best option.

“Kill yourself? You are crazy, girl. You are too weak to do that,” her master laughed when she found Miranda in her room prepared to end it. “You belong to us, so does your life, you cannot take it and you know it.”

That angered her. They never took her seriously, as if she wasn’t a person. Just a tool.

But fear stopped her hand.

“See,” master laughed.

And then Miranda stabbed herself in the chest.

She regretted it immediately.

‘I don’t wanna die,’ she realized.

“Idiot can’t even kill herself properly.” These words were the first she heard when she woke up. And that’s when she decided to run when she gets a chance.

Fucking ghosts won’t get her! She lived through so much shit, she won’t give up now! She wanted life! To have everything! She might be crazy, she might feel like shit, and nobody can help her, but she needs to get her marbles together and figure out how to fight those fucking ghosts.

“Fuck you,” she snapped at her imaginary master. “Suck a dick.”

***

Next morning was blurry for her. She got ready for work, she went there, she smiled at customers, she was pleasant, she sold some toys. She didn’t feel any of that. Her mind raced in circles. The ritual wasn’t magical. She was just crazy. But if so, why wasn’t she fixable?

Maybe she didn’t want to get fixed. If she felt, she would have to stop killing because she would cry over her victims. If she felt, she would tremble in fear under the idea of losing her charm. Maybe she was content, and she shouldn’t fight it anymore.

The door bell chimed. She smiled to welcome a new customer, but her expression grew cold quickly. Jonathan Crane walked to the counter, bouquet in his hand. Miranda reached under the desk to hold a gun.

“Miss Bradbury,” he started without greeting. “I’ve come to apologize.”

“Apologize?” she repeated.

“Yes, for my behaviour the other day. It wasn’t appropriate and I was out of line.” His expression and tone were sincere. She never heard so much colour in his voice and it took her by surprise. “I hoped you will accept this as a peace offering. And also, invitation for dinner tonight.”

She was speechless. Carefully she looked at the flowers – they looked legit, no poisonous strings attached. Miranda let go of the gun.

“Yes, you were out of line,” she agreed. “I don’t know what memory I awoke in you, but you should know I’ve never meant you when I said useless.”

“I am aware, miss Bradbury. I thought over our conversation and I jumped to conclusion. That’s why I wanted us to talk like two almost sane and almost moral adults.”

That made her smile. “Damaged seek damaged, am I correct? Thank you, professor, I accept your apology and I will gladly sit with you.”

“Brilliant. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“I’ll be ready for you.”

Jonathan smiled and Miranda wondered whether he understood the raised finger. If he didn’t, it will be one hell of an evening.

Whole day she couldn’t keep eyes of the flowers and she was smiling like an idiot.

Next chapter

#batman #fanfiction #jonathan crane #writeblr #writing #sick raven writing #ghosts of the past

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