#Let Anne be comforted for gods sake she needs it

[mothicalspoken]

I’ve got you.

#Wanted to do a short little doodle before bed and ended up with this #anyways I’m a little worried abour how her parents are gonna find out about her glowy blue powers #Let Anne be comforted for gods sake she needs it #…why is it only now that I’ve realized what comforting actually means #I’ve always thought you had to say words that would convince the other person that they could get out of thier situation or that they’d #okay in a logical sense #Anywyas #Amphibia #Anne boonchuy #Mrs. boonchuy #Amphibia spoilers #How many pieces have I done in monochrome now…

[the-iceni-bitch]

The Bitch is Back

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x fem!Reader (OTP)

Words: ~2.8k

Summary: You run into Ransom’s cunt of an ex again and it goes about as well as expected.

Warnings: explicit language, Ransom looking like a whole snack, fluff, that blonde bitch, Linda being a cunt, extremely abusive language and allusions to past emotional abuse, more angst than I had intended, my undying love for these two idiots, too many feelings

A/N: I hate her, I hate her, I hate her, I hate her, I hate her, I hate her! Sorry everyone, the angst took over this one and what I had intended to be another fun romp a la Girl Fight turned into a pit of emotion that I couldn’t dig myself out of. I’m gonna go cry.

“Baby, you know we can just go home, right?” Ransom gave you a tired but indulgent smile when he looked at you, tucking his fingers under your chin and tilting your head back so he could look into your eyes while you swallowed thickly.

“No, I’m not gonna give your mother the satisfaction of seeing me duck out of this thing.” You got that stubborn set to your jaw that told him to quit trying to take care of you, because proving to his bitch mother you could actually make it through one of these stupid events without causing some kind of scene was more important than your comfort right now.

You felt bile rise in your throat and swallowed it again. This was fucking ridiculous, you weren’t even on a boat, just the dock. But you still felt like you were going to vomit at any second, watching the motion of the boats rocking on the water making your gut lurch. It almost made you wonder if Linda knew about your stomach’s aversion to being on water when she had insisted on the two of you attending their fucking sailing club’s final regatta. 

“Here we go, one scopolamine patch.” You could’ve kissed Anne when she handed it to you, grateful that Ben’s boat was moored in this marina so you didn’t have to spend the rest of this stupid thing constantly swallowing your own vomit. “Why didn’t you bring your own?”

“She said she’d be fine if she didn’t actually go on the boats.” Ransom ignored the glare you shot him when he talked to Anne over your head, rubbing your arm softly when he pulled you closer to him.

“Did I tell you how much I hate that you two get along?” You frowned when Ransom pressed his lips to your hair, slapping the patch on your neck and sighing when you felt your stomach start to settle.

Anne just laughed at you, shaking her head as she sipped on her cocktail and leaned against Ben. The fact that this guy actually treated you like you deserved did a lot to endear him to her, even if he was an asshole sometimes.

You had been worried at first about introducing Anne to Ransom’s idiot friends, no matter how much they had grown on you. But your friend could hold her own, her no nonsense attitude endearing her to the girls as she chewed out Logan for some dumbass comment while Dylan and Chaz just chuckled that now there were two of you.

This was one of the few things that you actually felt out of your element with, since you could not give a single fuck about sailing with your stupid seasickness. But you could tell Ran was enjoying himself, and every fucking time he got near the water he looked so fucking windswept and dreamy so it was well worth the nausea. That was all gone now though, the scopolamine making you feel just the tiniest bit drowsy and pleasantly warm while Ran pulled you tight against his chest as he whistled for his team’s boat between nuzzling himself into your hair with pleased little hums. Even Linda giving you some vicious side eye couldn’t break you out of your good mood, the warmth of Ransom wrapped around you like a balm for your typical nervous energy. Then you heard Jess mutter an “oh shit” and the sound of a bratty, whiny voice broke right through your pleasant haze and made your spine stiffen.

“Rannie?” That fucking blonde bitch would show up to something like this, just to ruin your day. “I thought that was you. Oh, still with your tramp, I see.”

“Sloane.” His grip around you grew almost painfully tight, growling into your neck as he did his best to take deep breaths. “Don’t you have some puppies to skin, or something?”

You grabbed his hand and wound your fingers through his as you felt him tense up, pressing your lips to the inside of his wrist in an attempt to help him calm down. It had been your sincere hope that after you beat the shit out of this cunt you would never have to see her again, but when had you ever been that lucky?

“Aww, Rannie, thought you couldn’t talk without this bitch’s permission.” She looked mildly uncomfortable when you shifted your gaze to her, your eyes narrowing in a warning that she chose to ignore. “Been missing you a whole lot, baby, when’re you gonna stop slumming around?”

“What the fuck do you want, Sloane?” You were chanting over and over in your head that you were not going to fight this cunt, catching Anne starting to square up from the corner of your eye and giving her a small shake of the head to get her to stand down.

“I’m not talking to you, slut.” She must’ve been drunk, you had definitely taught her her lesson last time. “Just because you can give this bastard a good, sloppy fuck doesn’t mean you get to keep him. You don’t know what he really needs, and he’s too fucking stupid to tell you. God, you’re only sticking with him because he’s such a good fuck, right? That’s like, his only redeeming quality, except for the money. And you and your low class pussy don’t even know what to do with such a fine piece of eye candy.”

“Ok, you need to leave, Sloane.” Ransom may have been full of the anxiety he always felt around his ex, but the way your whole body was wound tight like a spring let him know you were ready to get violent. So he pressed a brief, soothing kiss to your hair and moved to guide this drunk bitch away from another beating.

“Don’t you fucking touch me, god, you really are a fucking moron.” Sloane jerked away from him when he tried to guide her away from your group, turning and sneering derisively at him. “Fuck’s sake, Linda was right, she really should have aborted you so we wouldn’t have to deal with your stupid bull shit.”

“What the fuck did you just say?” You reached your arm out to grip Ransom’s shoulder on instinct when he recoiled like he had been slapped, pulling him towards you protectively as you stared disbelieving at the people around you. “What the fuck did she just say?”

Sloane was just grinning at you wickedly as she sipped on her drink, like she had never and would never do anything wrong in her life. You almost forgot your promise you’d made to not get yourself kicked out of this event, but then Ran was clutching at your waist and making a choked sound and you turned back to him with concern.

There was no one to hold back Anne though, and she hadn’t made any promises about being on her best behavior. So she handed Ben her purse and punched that bitch right in the jaw.

You just gave a grateful look to your best friend before she bitch slapped that twat, security already starting to rush towards the fight as you guided Ransom towards the parking lot while he tried to regulate his breathing.

“Baby? Hey, Ran, look at me.” You’d never seen him look so completely lost, his eyes glistening with pent up emotion when you finally got him to look at you and you felt your heart break. “Oh honey, can you make it to the car?” He just nodded at you as another strangled sob escaped his throat and every fiber of your being ached to give him some form of comfort. “Ok, gimme the keys.”

He handed them to you and you wound your arm around him to guide him towards the beemer, letting him lean heavily on your shoulder and murmuring soft, soothing noises to him as you tried to think of something you could do for him. You knew that bitch was an abusive piece of work but Ran had been so hesitant to talk about it and you didn’t want to push him about it before he was ready, but if the way he reacted to her barb was any indication of how she treated him you might end up killing that bitch.

Ransom’s breathing seemed even more ragged by the time you reached the beemer, barely giving you a chance to shove the front seat down so the two of you could climb into the back and you could instruct him to stretch out over your lap. Your own throat was starting to get tight when he let out a wretched sob, the fingers of one hand running through his hair while the other smoothed over his chest as you watched his face closely.

“Baby, I need you to breathe for me, ok?” You were trying your best to keep your voice low and even, taking a deep breath and waiting for him to mirror your actions until he was pressing his face to your stomach with a piteous whine once his breathing had regulated slightly. “That’s it, you’re doing so good, Ran, just keep breathing.” 

He sighed deeply when you continued murmuring soft words of praise to him, his fingers curling over yours on his chest as he looked up at you and felt the softness of your gaze spread like warmth through his body. 

“I’m sorry.” He moaned when you pulled gently on his hair, his voice raspy with the tears he’d managed to swallow.

“No, baby.” You curled over him and brushed your lips over his forehead, trying not to cry when he wrapped his arms around your neck and let out another shaky breath. “You don’t apologize, ever, you hear me?”

“I thought I was over this shit.” He buried his face in your neck and breathed deep, your warm scent washing over him and finally making him relax. “I don’t want to put this on you.”

“Listen to me, Ransom.” You pulled back a little so you could gaze into his eyes, resting your forehead against his and maneuvering until you were laying next to him across the backseat. “I don’t know if you really think I’m just with you for the sex or what, but when I say I love you, I fucking mean it. I love all of you, so much, and that means that you can put all of it on me, ok? I’m not going anywhere.”

“Fuck, I love you, too.” He whined when you pressed your lips to his gently, drinking you in and pulling you to him as tight as possible when you let him deepen the kiss. “Need you so much.”

“I know, Ransom, I’m here.” You moved your lips up to his cheeks when he finally let his tears start to fall, kissing each one that stained his cheeks as you splayed your body over his while he held you. “My sweet boy, it’s ok. Let go for me, baby.”

He buried his face in your shoulder and did as you asked. It wasn’t loud or dramatic, but you could feel the warm wetness of his tears against the bare flesh of your neck while his chest heaved against yours. You cooed soft words of encouragement into his hair as he wept, letting a few of your own tears fall as you felt the tension slowly seep from his body.

Neither of you were sure how long you laid there tangled with each other, but eventually Ransom felt the last of the pain drain out of him until he was sinking against the seat with exhaustion. Having you there with him was like a balm for his soul, the way your eyes moved to search his once you felt him let out a deep sigh making his lips quirk in a small smile. His eyes were brilliantly blue from the tears he had shed, but you could see a glimmer of something hopeful there, and that made you relax. You sighed when he framed your face with his hands and pulled your lips back to his, the kiss chaste but full of emotion that he was too exhausted to vocalize at the moment.

“You ready to go home?” You pressed your hand over his heart when you leaned back a little, glad to feel that it had slowed down to a normal rhythm as he nodded for you. “Ok, you just stay back here and rest, alright? When we get home I’m gonna draw us a nice bath and we’ll just spend the rest of the day vegging.”

“That sounds good.” He watched you climb back into the front seat with a deep breath, squeezing your hand when you let it linger on his chest before letting you pull it away with reluctance.

You peeked at him through the rear view mirror before pulling out, relieved when you watched his eyes drift closed as he sagged into the seat and let his exhaustion take over. It almost hurt you how much you loved that man, and if you ever saw that cunt who hurt him again, there was a good chance you were going to jail for him.

Ransom was still dozing by the time you pulled up to the house, but he roused quickly when he felt you shake him awake. He let you help him out of the car and smiled warmly at you when you brought your hand up to cup his jaw, humming contentedly when you let him bury his face in your hair as you guided him into the house.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek once you were inside and instructed him to go to the en suite while you got some wine, watching him closely as he headed up the stairs before moving to grab a good bottle from the rack. There was a buzzing from your purse and you pulled out your phone, texting Anne that everything was ok and no, you didn’t need her to smash that bitch’s windows in. She was detailing all the ways she was going to fuck that cunt up and making you chuckle when suddenly the last caller ID you expected flashed across your screen.

“Can I help you with something, Linda?” You poured the Syrah into a decanter and moved to grab a couple of glasses, curious why exactly she was calling you.

“Y/N…” she sounded massively uncomfortable but you could not bring yourself to give a single fuck. “I just… I heard what Sloane said and I wanted to make sure Ransom was alright. He wasn’t answering my calls though.”

“Good for him.” You chewed on your lip as you considered what you wanted to say to her. “Was she lying?”

“What?”

“Did you tell your own child you should have aborted him? Or was that abusive cunt you kept forcing down your son’s throat being a lying bitch?” 

“I never… I didn’t tell him.” She still sounded like she thought she was in the right, and you might have spit in her face if she was in front of you.

“Oh, but you said it, didn’t you?” You sneered and downed the glass of wine you’d poured when you saw her number pop up. She didn’t deny it, and you quickly moved to pour yourself another glass. “You’re a fucking piece of work, Linda.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.” You could  practically hear her spine straightening over the phone and you rolled your eyes at her. “You don’t know what it was like trying to raise him. Stubborn and spoiled and…”

“Goodbye, Linda. Don’t fucking call either of us again.” You hung up before she could continue, tossing your phone across the counter and draining your glass before grabbing the decanter and glasses before heading upstairs.

“Hey, baby.” He was already soaking when you walked into the steam filled en suite, his head leaning back against the edge of the drop in tub and giving you a lazy grin. “You have trouble picking a wine?”

“No.” You set the decanter and glasses on the tray at the tub’s edge and pinned your hair off your neck before getting undressed and sliding into the water with him. “I had to talk to your mother.” 

“Oh, you had to?” He pulled you against his chest and sighed when you tucked your face into his neck.

“Yeah, I wanted to make sure she didn’t disturb us for the rest of the weekend.” You took a deep breath when he started trailing his fingers over your spine, the warmth of the water seeping through your body and helping you relax as you sank into him. “You wanna talk about what happened?”

“Later.” His arms wound tightly around you, nuzzling into your hair and breathing in the scent of you that always made him feel like he was home. “Just wanna hold you for now.”

#natalie writes #ransom otp #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x female reader #ransom drysdale fluff #ransom drysdale x y/n #ransom drysdale x you #ransom x you #ransom x y/n #ransom x reader #ransom drysdale angst #ransom angst #angst #fluff #too many feelings

[mindofharry]

i had a thought of medium/ghost hunter!Y/N and a clingy ghost!harry…… here’s a small blurb for it <3

“So you’re a ghost hunter?” The girl asked as Y/N sorted her crystals. She smiled and nodded, although she didn’t like the term ghost hunter it was the easiest way to explain her gift. There are people that think it’s the coolest thing ever, to be able to speak and communicate to people who have passed on. But the majority of people in her town really don’t understand, and Y/N can sense their fear. She prefers the term medium, but for the sake of this little girl - who couldn’t be older than ten - she’ll let it go and be Y/N the ghost hunter today.

Y/N opened this store with her mom. It had everything a young medium or spiritual person would need. Although people don’t treat them with the respect they deserve, they fully believe in karma. They give back to the community with their lively spirits and practices, and their shop brings people from all of the country. There’s also teenagers on every corner trying to get ouji boards where ever they can, see Y/N tries to guide them with better things. Ouji boards are not good, Y/N absolutely hates them.

Y/N looked at the little girl, leaving her crystals for a moment. She could sense a lot of things. This girl is gifted too, she just needs a little push. She’s surrounded with good energy and especially good spirits.

“And you’re a ghost hunter too, right?” Y/N asked and the girl gasped.

“I am?”

Y/N giggled and nodded, placing a finger over her mouth as the girls mother came back. The mother had a few crystals, candles and looked exhausted to say the least. Y/N tilted her head at the mother, as she began to look through everything she was going to buy.

“Is there something bothering you?” Y/N asked and the mother sighed.

“Is it obvious?”

Y/N nodded with a soft smile.

“I can help you sage your house if you’d like? Maybe try and get the spirits to leave. My mother taught me everything she knew and she was a smart woman” Y/N stated proudly, the girl squealed.

“She’s a ghost hunter, momma!”

Y/N winked at the mom before handing a tarot card to the girl. “I need to show something to your mom, why don’t you try and sort some of these tarot cards out?” Y/N said and the girl excitedly got to work.

Y/N held the moms hand and walked her into the back of the shop.

“It’s your son, right?” Y/N asked and the woman gasped looking around. Y/N couldn’t sense any fear, she just seemed so tired. The woman sighed and nodded.

While Y/N was looking over her aura she saw the name tag on the woman’s shirt. Anne.

She obviously came straight from work, something is definitely trying to come through. Y/N didn’t sense any malice intent or bad energy, but she’d need to do a proper reading to get a better understanding of this spirit.

“Harry. My son. God, i’m not into those ghost things, i never believed in it. But then so many things are happening and it’s beginning to scare me. I thought if i put a few crystals around that this thing might go away” Anne said and Y/N nodded, wincing at her choice of word for the spirit.

“I see emily, my daughter, talking to herself or leaving notes at the door all the time. I adopted her shortly after harry passed away. And i feel like maybe he didn’t like that?” Anne said shaking her head.

“I’m sorry to drop this all on you, but no one believes me - us”

Y/N smiled and squeezed anne’s hand. “Your daughter is very special, she’s a light. All the things she’s doing is to keep you both safe. And your son? A light as well. There’s is no malice intent with him trying to contact you. He just wants to say hi” Y/N said and she could feel the relief anne was beginning to let herself feel.

“Would you…. Would you still come over? I’ll pay you how ever much you want. I just, I just need to get a full night sleep”

“Of course. I’d be happy to. Let me close up the store and i’ll follow you and emily in my car”

After gathering the stuff Y/N needed and closing up the store, she got into her car and followed anne closely. She could sense the spirit following them, he seemed nice, kind even.

“I know you’re in here” Y/N said tapping her fingers against the wheel. This was rare, new for Y/N. Usually she has to get her candles and crystals out — but this spirit is very prominent and wants to be seen.

“I’m here to help, harry. I want to help you communicate with your family. I do not mean any harm or to disturb you” Y/N said.

“I know”

It was small, a whisper. He was sitting in the back, definitely.

“Your mom is tired, harry. Can you tell me why you need to talk to her so badly? Did something happen to you before you passed on?” Y/N asked and she could hear a sigh. She almost felt excited, she couldn’t wait to talk to her mom about it.

“I miss her”

Y/N pouted and nodded.

“I understand. It’s hard for you, right?”

She couldn’t imagine the pain this spirit was going through — although she feel how kind and calm he is, she could also feel who sad and in pain he was. Emotionally that is. Y/N is going to do everything in her power to make him comfortable.

“So hard. I just want to hug my mum” He said and Y/N nodded.

“Well, i’m going to try and help you as much as i can. Is that ok?” She asked and she could feel him move himself to the front of the car. He was getting more comfortable, that made her feel good. Her job is to make spirits comfortable and happy before they move on. Harry is definitely comfy, but he definitely not moving on anytime soon. She doesn’t mind being stuck with him for the time being.

The car infront of her pulled into a nice driveway, the house is beautiful. Small, but cozy. She could feel harrys annoyance making her giggle a little.

“I think it’s nice. Suits your mom” Y/N said and harry huffed.

“I miss the old house”

Before he could complain more, Y/N got out of her car and skipped up to emily and anne. Emily still had a few tarot cards in her hand, playing with them like pokemon cards. Y/N smiled to herself and followed them into the house.

“Where’s all your gadgets?” Anne asked.

“Don’t need them anymore! But i can still do a little ritual if you’d like?” Y/N said and anne shook her head confused.

There was a tap on Y/N’s back, she turned around and saw harry. This was the first time she was able to see the spirits. He’s beautiful, is the first thing she thought. Long brown curls, cheeks flushed and eyes forest green. He’s wearing a floral shirt and tight black skinny jeans with converse on his feet.

“Harrys here with us right now” Y/N smiled and nodded at harry. He seemed a little nervous now.

“I uh don’t know what to say” Anne said her voice shaky. Harry was very close to Y/N now, he liked her.

“Ask me any question, or just tell him about your day. He misses you” Y/N said and Anne sat down biting back a sob. Harrys eyebrows furrowed and he sighed.

“Please don’t cry” He mumbled taking Y/N’s hand. Y/N smiled softly putting her hand over his.

“He said to not cry. I think it makes him upset”

Anne quietly laughed to herself and shook her head.

“Ask him does he like me!” Emily asked pulling at Y/N’s skirt. Y/N bent down and whispered into emily’s ear.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself”

The day went quickly, and Y/N was tired. These readings took a lot out of her. But she loved making people happy, especially people as kind as Anne and Emily. They needed this to heal, Y/N is so happy they chose her as their guide and to include her on their journey.

“You need to rest” Harry whispered in Y/N’s ear as Anne gave her tea. Y/N shushed him and sipped the drink, it was delicious. She loved tea, her mother made it all the time for her. It calms her.

“Y/N….”

“Y/N”

“Y/N!” Harry yelled making Y/N jump and nearly spill her tea. Anne and emily looked up and Y/N just cleared her throat.

“I think it’s time i go home” Y/N said and Anne nodded. “Of course! You’re welcome back anytime. I’m sure emily will come visit you at your shop too” Anne said, bringing Y/N into a hug. Harry was behind Y/N and followed her to the door. Y/N turned around and smiled.

“Bye harry!” She said waving and harry pouted.

“No”

She raised an eyebrow and laughed to herself.

“No?”

“Yeah, no. I’m coming home with you.”

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #ghost!harry styles

[mandoalorian]

I Believe In Love [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader] — Eight: Courage

Summary: When you find your calling to leave Themyscira, you venture out to the World of Man with intentions of helping and healing a very specific person's relationship with his son. You've heard his voice before, but only in dreams. You've felt his pain and anguish and you've never been able to relate to anything more. But things don't come easy for you, and they certainly don't come easy for him either. [This series contains spoilers for WW84 and is my interpretation of what happens after the movie ends].

Warnings: canon typical violence

Word count: 5,000>

Masterlist 

Previous - Chapter Eight - Next

You awoke to the phone on the nightstand ringing. Maxwell groaned, rolling over and pulling the pillow over his head. You tiredly opened your eyes before taking the phone off the hook and holding it against your ear. “Hello?” you asked, your voice hoarse and your throat sore. It must have been the implications of yours and Maxwell’s actions from the night before. Max moaned and wrapped his large arm around your naked body, pulling you into his chest and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“It’s me,” Diana snapped back quickly. “I’ve been calling your room for the past fifteen minutes. What’s going on?”

“O-oh,” you groaned, rubbing your eyes and pulling out of Maxwell’s grip. You sighed and propped yourself up on some pillows. “I’m sorry Di, I guess we must’ve slept through the phone call. I didn’t hear anything.” you admitted.

“Listen, we only have two days in Greece so if we want to find the dreamstone we have to work fast. Meet me in the lobby in fifteen minutes or I’ll go without you. I already have a lead.” Diana instructed and you heard the phone slam back down on the hook with a ring.

You turned to Max who had fallen back asleep, his snores gentle and light as his chest slowly rose and fell with every breath. He was so peaceful. When he was asleep, it was one of the few moments where he wasn’t ridden with stress or anxiety. And you wished you had the rest of your life to admire his tender movements.

“Max, wake up, we have to go.” you whispered, shaking him gently.

Maxwell mumbled something incoherent and rolled over, resting his head in your lap. You smiled, feeling your cheeks heat up as he shuffled further into your body. You smoothed out his golden hair and traced the features of his face with your index finger. So beautiful. So perfect.

You imagined spending every single one of your future mornings like this, in bed with him, his face buried in your lap and his gentle snores echoing throughout the room. Your naked legs were tangled together and neither of you had ever felt so comfortable in your life.

“Max, baby,” you cooed, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss into his forehead.

“Mmm, good morning.” Maxwell grumbled, rubbing his tired eyes.

“We slept in,” you sighed, letting your hand trail down his body and lazily circle his tan chest. “Diana is waiting for us downstairs. We have to go.”

“I don’t want to,” he whined, almost child-like. “Wanna stay here with you- foreverrrr.” he purred, pressing a tired kiss to the inside of your thigh.

“Maxie, please don’t make this any more difficult than it needs to be.” you hummed seriously, although you were trying to hold back a smile. If anything was going to wake Maxwell up, it would be that nickname. He opened his eyes and pulled off you.

“Okay princess, I’m up.” He said, running his hand through his wavy morning hair.

“Princess? I told you I’m not a-” 

“Think of it as a term of endearment, sweetheart.” he said, pressing a kiss into your nose. 

“Oh.” was all you managed to breathe out before his lips caught yours.

***

Just as she had stated, Diana was waiting for you in the hotel lobby, dressed fully in her red,  blue and gold warrior costume. It had garnered quite a bit of attention, but nothing Diana Princess of Themyscira wasn’t used to. 

“You said you had a lead?” you quizzed, quirking your eyebrow and taking a step closer to Diana.

“Yes, Dr. Minerva,” Diana said, immediately glancing at Maxwell who’s eyes had become comically wide. The name clearly meant something to him. It rang like alarm bells in his head. “Or Barbara, as myself and Max know her as.”

You turned to Max, confused as to why Diana was being particularly smug. She’d acted the same when she mentioned Barbara and Max back at the Smithsonian yesterday. “Who is this Dr Minerva?” you asked him, looking at him with the most innocent, doe eyes. Your voice was soft but riddled with curiosity. He wanted to tell you, he wanted to tell you everything it’s just… things were difficult. He’d done things with Barbara that he’d be afraid of you knowing; afraid of what you might think or if you will think any less of him. He couldn’t stand the fact you genuinely had no idea. It was a long complicated story. He hoped to tell you it one day - but knowing that you might not have much time left on Earth, was it really worth it?

“Maybe Diana is better off explaining.” Maxwell scrunched up his nose, dismissing your question. It brought back too many memories that Max would prefer to just ignore. Even though ignoring his past trauma was how he got into this mess in the first place. If he’d learned one thing from Diana, it was that he must face the truth no matter how difficult it may be.

“No,” Diana shot back, but her voice wasn’t laced with venom as Maxwell expected. “I think you’re better off answering this one.” Diana smiled a perfect smile. Maybe smug wasn’t the word to describe Diana’s demeanor, but she certainly knew something that you didn’t, and she was being particularly hidden about it.

“Well Max?” you narrowed your eyes. Why was he being so secretive? Who was this woman?

“Uh-,” Maxwell trailed off, avoiding all eye contact. He took in the features of your face, admiring your beauty with all he had and thinking about how he didn’t want to lose you. He loved you. And you deserved to know. If Max could open up to you about his childhood and about his pursuit of the dreamstone, he could tell you about his short-lived relationship with Barbara-Ann Minerva. “Shit, okay. I had been searching for the dreamstone for a long time when one day, a newspaper headline told me that there was a robbery at a jewellery store, and that the Smithsonian had all the stolen treasures. Including the dreamstone. So I went to the Smithsonian and requested to see Dr. Minerva because I did my research and I knew she was the fresh faced gemologist they just hired a week earlier. And she was… beautiful,” Maxwell seemed to get lost in the memory of her vibrant blue eyes and blonde wavy hair. His lips then curled into a frown. “But so ditzy... I saw straight through her vulnerabilities and insecurities in an instant and I used that to exploit her and get the dreamstone. I gained her trust when I told her I’d be donating to the gemology department at the museum, I charmed her at the charity gala and I wooed her in her office and took the stone.”

Maxwell seemed to gloss over the chain of events but it didn’t really matter. He’d explained what he needed to. You felt a pang of jealousy strike your heart at his revelation. You had been made aware from Mrs Stagg, Ted and Julianna, Diana, and even Max, that he’d done bad things and made terrible mistakes, but you couldn’t help but feel an irk over what had happened in Dr Minerva’s office. “Wooed her?” you quoted him, folding your arms over your chest. Maxwell blinked, but then sighed and reached out to hold your hand.

“Really?” Diana sighed. “That’s what you're focused on right now? Dolos lives. The God of Lies lives.” she shook her head in disbelief and you bit your lip, supposing that she was right. You had bigger things on your plate. You were a goddess for heaven’s sake, you couldn’t let the irrational human emotion of envy consume you. But you had noticed the way his face softened when he was reminded of Dr Minerva’s beauty. And you couldn’t help but feel the urge to know what exactly went on in her office, the night of the charity gala. After a brief moment of silence and exchanged glances, Diana opened her mouth again. “I had a contact in D.C., Babajide, who knew all about the dreamstone and the powers of the God of Lies. Myself, Barbara and Steve met with him when we found out Maxwell had become the dreamstone.”

“Hey- how did I not know about Babajide?” Maxwell frowned. He’d been researching the dreamstone for years and he’d never known of such a man. A man who supposedly had all the answers about the stone.

“Irrelevant,” Diana rolled her eyes. “Seriously guys, this is important. You need to pay attention.”

“I am!” You and Maxwell exclaimed together, in an unpredicted unison. Diana quirked an eyebrow and you felt a warmth cross your cheeks. Ancient Olympian tales would describe moments like that as soulmate-ism. 

“Babajide knew so much about Romulus and the exact dreamstone that Max got a hold of so I paid him another visit and found out he had knowledge on Dolos’ dreamstone too. Only…” And Diana let out a long sigh before pinching the bridge of her nose. “He told me that Barbara had visited him a day earlier, asking him of the same knowledge. ‘Asking’ is putting it nicely. Apparently Barbara was a menace and threatened Babajide. And Babajide told her everything he told me. It’s more than likely that Barbara is already here, in Greece, seeking the stone for herself.” 

“She sounds dangerous.” you said quietly. Maxwell held his head in his hands.

“I don’t think I can face Barbara again.” He said, shaking his head, fearful.

“Max I don’t think we have a choice. We have to get the dreamstone before she gets it. What do you think she’ll do with the stone once she has it?” you asked Diana.

“I can only imagine the worst,” Diana shook her head in dismay. “Barbara was complicated… she craved power just like Maxwell only… she had nothing to lose. I fear that she’ll wish to become the dreamstone.” As the word’s left Diana’s lips, Maxwell’s heart sank and he ran off, disappearing amongst the lobby crowds. “Do you think he’s okay?”

You stood for a moment, watching as his dirty blonde hair descended behind the grand staircase. No, of course he wasn’t okay, and you were the only one who truly knew how much this business with the dreamstone had affected him and harmed him. He had come so close to losing everything and so learning that Barbara might make the same mistake as he did, hurt him too. No matter what happened between Barbara and Maxwell, he clearly cared about her. “Excuse me.” you told Diana, following Maxwell through the crowds.

You just noticed him heading through an alcove and outside of the resort. He pushed his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose and stood by the pool, relishing the fresh air and trying to regulate his panicked, erratic breathing. “Max! Max!” you called after him, pushing past the people until finally you were by his side, grabbing his hand. “What happened back there?”

Maxwell said nothing, instead he just looked into the golden horizon. “Max?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t be here,” he told you. “You have Diana. What use am I?” 

“We need you Max,” you promised him, placing your hand on his cheek and gently turning his head so he was facing you. “I need you.”

Maxwell smiled softly and felt himself lean into your warm embrace. “I’ve never felt needed… or wanted… until I met you.” he confessed and you felt tears prick your eyes at his admission. You knew that feeling all too well.

“I know, me too. Back home, all the other Amazon’s were fighters and warriors… like Diana. But not me. They made me feel useless… like I had no point. Like I was a mistake. My mother would tell me that Zeus created me for a reason, just like all the other Gods and Goddesses, and that one day I’d serve my true purpose. That’s why I’m here today, with you. I already know that the years of humiliation and feeling like an outcast will be worth the few days that I get to spend with you, Max.”

Max sighed softly. “I never thought a Goddess could feel like an outcast,” he told you and you pursed your lips into a fine line, nodding in affirmation. “I’m sorry.”

“I think we have more in common that meets the eye.” you giggled softly, dropping your hand flat against his chest. Maxwell wrapped both of his big arms around you and pulled you into a hug.

“I think so too,” he agreed, pressing a soft kiss into your hair. “We better catch up with Diana then,” he told you, taking your hand. “Let’s put an end to this.”

***

You had been walking for miles in the blazing Greek heat. Maxwell had unbuttoned the top of his shirt and his collar was slightly wonky. His hair may have been disheveled and the blonde locks may have been sticking to the pearls of sweat that beaded along his forehead, but you still admired his beauty. He was truly wonderful. He was quiet most of the journey, and he didn’t have the agility or stamina that you and Diana had. Sometimes you’d have to take stops and have water breaks or toilet breaks. You tried to include him in conversation but his discomfort wasn’t lost on you. It was clear enough that his relationship with Diana was complicated, to say the least. Little did you know, the three of you were about to become a whole lot closer. You and Diana laughed and talked for hours, sharing stories about your time together on Themyscira.

“Zeus is my father. Zeus is your father. We’re basically sisters,” you nudged her, and she giggled. Maxwell scrunched up his nose. Sisters?! He ran a hand through his hair and continued to listen in your conversation. “It’s just unfair that you got to be Princess of Themyscira and I was stuck living a sheltered life with my mother.”

“It wasn’t always easy being a princess,” Diana scolded, but in a warm and polite manner. “It was all about duty. But hey- you’re a goddess, you know all about that.”

If Maxwell Lord had a dollar for everytime he thought he was in a fever dream… he might have been able to afford Black Gold Cooperative’s utility bill. He’d always been a realist. He’d never engaged in fantasy movies or novella, but there was something about overhearing a conversation between a Demi-god and a goddess that just didn’t feel real.

He knew it was. He’d seen Diana in action himself. Hell, he’d seen the powers you possessed. Albeit, when Diana mentioned how you possessed double her power, he was shocked to say the least. Diana could barely hold off Barbara in the White House but with you here? For once Maxwell finally felt hopeful. 

As you furthered deeper into unknown plains, a sudden coldness enveloped you all. It was like a dark, enigmatic spirit ghosting between the three of you, and just like everything else that had happened over the past four days, it couldn’t be explained.

“Do you feel that?” Max finally asked, breaking his silence as he folded his arms over his chest. A shiver raced down his spine as Diana increased her pace and approached the forbidden tomb. “Look at this place. She took us to an ancient burial site, it seems. Like ancient Greek ruins.” he told you, scoping out the place.

“I feel that, yes.” you hummed, your mind wandering the origins of the cold air. Diana’s cries alerted both you and Maxwell as your heads both snapped in her direction and watched her push an enormous boulder away from the tomb, revealing an opening.

“Are you as strong as that?” Maxwell asked, his mouth gaped open in shock.

“Stronger.” you winked before taking his hand and dragging him towards Diana.

The cold spirit then enveloped you, Diana and Maxwell, whispering words of admission, encouraging you all to come forward. “Don’t you think it’s a trap?” Maxwell asked once you were deep enough in the cave that you had hit a point of no return. Even if it was a trap, there was no going back now. You were faced with two path-ways.

“The Sword of Athena is this way,” Diana pointed to the right pathway, otherwise known as the pathway she stood before, and then she pointed her other finger to the left pathway, “and Dolos’ dreamstone is that way. I say we split up and rendezvous here. Maxwell, come with me.”

“Wait what?” Max asked, narrowing his eyes.

“No,” you told Diana firmly. “He is coming with me.” “You really think it’s wise to let Max Lord accompany you to get the dreamstone?” Diana quizzed quietly, stepping closer to you and breaking any distance. Her dark eyes flicked between you and Maxwell. “After everything he’s done.”

Diana’s hiss was quiet, but not quiet enough to go unnoticed by Maxwell. He knew he wasn’t going to do anything. He was a changed man - but the realization that he’d have to prove to the people he hurt that he was changed, suddenly overwhelmed him. He’d have to prove himself to Diana, and even prove himself to Barbara before he could put all this behind him. There were still steps Max Lord had to take in order to gain full closure of his trauma.

“I trust him.” you said through gritted teeth. Maxwell felt a wave of relief. You were so pure of heart. So angelic. You took his hand, nodded goodbye to Diana, and guided him through the left path-way.

“How much further?” he asked. You had been walking hand in hand for around five or ten minutes, only your lasso of Hestia illuminating the cave. Before you could reply, you felt the walls and ceiling of the cave begin to vibrate and crumble. “What’s that?!” Maxwell asked again, this time panicked and looking around erratically.

“We might not have much time.” You said, feeling your own heart rate increase speed as anxiety settled in you.

Something wasn’t right, that much was clear. You tightened your grip on the businessman’s hand and began to run, pulling him with you. Within seconds, you had reached your destination. Maxwell was heaving and panting but he straightened up and fought for composure when he noticed a dim, amber light illuminate your skin. It wasn’t your lasso of Hestia… not this time. He slowly looked up and followed your gaze, gasping when his eyes set on the dreamstone.

You had completely frozen up, struck by awe as you took in the beauty of the citrine stone which stood erect on top of a Greek pillar. “Wow.” you mumbled, swallowing the hard lump in your throat.

The stone was practically identical to the one Maxwell had utilized just a week ago, and just seeing it again, in its full glory, sent electric bolts of dread through his body. He couldn’t be here. He couldn’t do this. Not again. Being in the same proximity as the stupid stone that had ruined everything sent Maxwell into his fight or flight. “I can’t- I can’t do this.” Maxwell shakily declared, his coffee coloured eyes glazed with panic.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, taking both of his hands and coaching his breathing. “Let me get the stone and we can head on out of here.”

Maxwell closed his eyes and nodded. If you could trust him, he could certainly trust you. You brushed a chaste kiss against his lips and pulled away from him. It only took a few steps on your approach to the stone before the walls began to crumble again, even more so than previously, and the ground beneath you began to split.

“Shit!” Maxwell cried as he stared at the crack in the floor between you both. It was deep and only getting deeper. If you didn’t run now, you might have gotten separated. He called your name, terror rampant in his voice. “Hurry!”

As you were about to grab the stone. A voice stopped you. A voice that Maxwell thought he’d never hear again.

“The stone belongs to me.” she said coldly. You huffed and opted to ignore the grave voice, taking the dreamstone from the pillar before spinning around on your heel and turning around.

And when you saw the sight before you, you dropped the dreamstone and let it fall to the rocky ground beneath you. Trepidation consumed you and suddenly, it felt like your whole life was on the line. “Maxwell!” you cried, your hand immediately dropping down to your lasso and curling your fingers around the rope. You scowled angrily, your gaze flicking between Max and the woman who was holding him by his neck.

“This- this is Dr. Minerva!” Maxwell choked, tears streaming down his cheeks as Barbara tightened her grip around his throat. Her once blonde hair was white and knotted, and her black kohl eyeliner smudged down her cheeks. Her tights were ripped and a sleeve was missing from her Cheetah print fur jacket. She is not at all how you’d imagined her.

“Let him go!” You begged as anger swelled in the pit of your stomach. “Let him go now!”

Maxwell’s eyes squeezed shut and he let out a groan, his knees wobbling as he struggled to even stand up straight. It was only Barbara’s strong grip of his neck that was keeping him upright. He was hurting. The love of your life was in pain.

“Give me the stone.” Barbara growled.

You picked up the dreamstone and passed it her way. She took it, willingly and let go of Maxwell, throwing him to the ground. The glint in her eye as she analysed the citrine was enough to terrify you. You ran to Maxwell’s side, dropping to your knees and nursing his body.

“Hey! Max, are you okay?” You whispered, smoothing out his hair and running your fingers along his face. He nodded wearily, rubbing the scratches on his neck from where her sharp, cat-like, fingernails had dug into his skin. You helped him to his feet and swung an arm around his body to support him.

“Barbara.” he called, gaining the attention of the doctor.

“No,” you chastised Max. “Don’t. There will be another opportunity to get the stone.” But he wasn’t going to give in that easy, he had to play his cards right. Luckily for you, manipulation was one of Maxwell Lord’s most tactful skills.

“Barbara, did we end things on a bad note? I must admit, I thought we had something special… me and you.” Maxwell said, his voice hoarse. He pulled out of your arms and sluggered towards the gemologist, who had finally looked up from the citrine stone and towards the businessman. For a split second, you saw a glimpse of humanity flicker in her eyes.

“You renounced your wish,” Barbara said, her grip on the stone as tight as ever, but her heart ached as Maxwell approached her. “You were weak. The dreamstone deserves to be with someone like me.” Even her words sound forced and unnatural - like they weren’t really coming from her. Had she not renounced her wish? You wondered what she had even wished for. 

“I couldn’t agree more,” Maxwell coaxed. He had gotten so close to Barbara, he was able to cup her face and rub the height of her cheekbone with his thumb. It was an action he’d performed on you many times, but even watching this play out, with your own two eyes, you could tell it was different. It was colder and more forced. He had that fake television smile, not the smile you had been blessed to see so many times. “I just hoped things could’ve been different between us.”

“Max, what are you saying?” Barbara asked, goosebumps lacing her arms and you noticed the way her grip on the dreamstone loosened under his touch.

“Everyone has something to lose,” Maxwell whispered. “I could have all the power in the world but it would mean nothing to me if I lost Alistair, my son. Tell me Barbara, does that really make me weak?”

Barbara considered his words for a few moments. “No.”

Maxwell nodded. “What do you have to lose?” Maxwell whispered, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

Barbara sniffed, a single tear dripping down her cheek. She was once so warm and compassionate, so friendly. There was one thing. Only one thing she thought about losing.

Just then, the dreamstone slipped from her grip as the lasso of Hestia curled around it and pulled it away from her. But it wasn’t your lasso.

“Diana!” Barbara gasped, her face hardening as she quickly and fiercely wiped her tears away. “That dreamstone belongs to me!”

“I can’t let you do this Barbara!” Diana cried. “This has to end now!” You and Maxwell ran towards Diana and she passed you the dreamstone. “Get out of here!” I’ll hold back Barbara.”

You handed Maxwell the dreamstone and equipped your own lasso, circling it around until it wrapped around a rocky ledge at the end of the cave. “Hold on to me. One hand around me and keep tight a hold of the stone!” you commanded as the walls of the ancient temple began to crumble around you. Just before you set off, you saw the silver gleam of Diana’s sword of Athena as she wielded it before Barbara.

“Shouldn’t I hold on to the lasso?” Maxwell asked, sliding an arm around your waist and holding the stone tight against his chest. 

“Just trust me!” You shouted over the loud rumbling around you. You gripped on to your lasso firmly with both hands before shooting off in the air.

“Whoa!” Maxwell screamed, squeezing his eyes tight shut the second his feet left the ground. “Are we flying?! Are we flying?!”

You giggled as your bodies glided through the air. Max might have been holding on to you for his dear life, but somehow he knew he would be okay. That he’d be safe and you wouldn’t let him get hurt. You rapidly approached the entrance to the cave and used the last of your might to safely land. Maxwell had no time to catch his whereabouts when his feet hit the ground, as you clipped your lasso back to your belt and ran with him to the edge of the ruins.

You hadn’t been in there too long, but by the time you had exited the ancient temple, it was already nightfall. You looked back and there was no sign of Diana. She must have still been in there with Barbara, and you wondered what was going on. 

When Maxwell held the dreamstone, he felt opportunistic. He could make a wish. He had the possibility to make a wish again and have a do-over. He knew where he went wrong last time. He could make it right. He could wish for you to stay… and for you to live a peaceful, happy life with him and Alistair. He could wish to win the custody case. He could wish for so many things. But it was the softness of your touch which interrupted him from his intrusive thoughts. The way your fingers gently grazed across his knuckles and you held his hand.

“We have to destroy it now.” you whispered, looking into the glowing citrine rock. 

“We?” Maxwell questioned. His eyes were dark and wide. “We don’t even know how.”

“Only the truth can destroy the lies. But my mother said I had to believe in love. Love would destroy the stone. Truth and love… truth and love…” you chanted as you tried to piece together the puzzle.

It suddenly hit Maxwell like a ton of bricks. “True love,” he said out loud, his gaze flicking from the dreamstone to you. “True love will destroy the stone.”

It made more than sense, and Maxwell had worked it out on his own. “You’re right…” you whispered. You squeezed Max’s hand and then reached over to the dreamstone. You placed your hand on the stone, and the tips of your fingers touched the tips of Maxwell. As you both held the stone together, the magic began to work and the stone  grew hot and tingled your skin. Very soon, Dolos’ dreamstone - the final dreamstone - fizzled away into a pile of glittering dust and blew away in the cool Greek wind.

You and Maxwell both stood there in silence, still holding your hands out, but this time there was no dreamstone. You had done it. The dreamstone had been destroyed. The God of Lies was dead. It was over. 

“You did it,” Maxwell was the first to break the silence. “You destroyed the dreamstone.”

You had both been thinking the same thing. The fact you had both placed your hand on the dreamstone and that your combined energy was enough to disintegrate the possessed rock. True love. It was hard to know what to say. Of course you were in love with Maxwell Lord, and knowing that pretty soon you’d have to leave him, made your whole body ache to the core. And Maxwell felt the same about you. He’d never been this happy in his life - but spending his days with you and Alistair felt so special. You were his guardian angel, sent out from Themyscira to aid him and help him. To rescue him. How could he not love you? But still, neither of you said anything. How could you ever tell him that you loved him when you were going to leave him? It would only make things harder when it was time to go. You winced and blinked away unshed tears.

“No,” you whispered, turning to look into Maxwell’s honey coloured eyes. “We did it.”

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[sakura-83]

Things from Anne with an e that I feel like writing down

Season 1 Episode 7: Wherever You Are Is My Home

⚠️WARNING!!!⚠️ this episode not only talks about suicidal thoughts but also a character trying to commit such acts, of you are sensitive to this I suggest you just skip this post or at least skip #75-77

1. Anne calling it comforting that no two snowflakes are alike, as well as calling snow a sign of gods forgiveness as he blankets the dead world in a beautiful frost

2. Josie gossiping about her while she’s RIGHT THERE

3. Her and moody just talking

4. “And I love Christmas, don’t you?” “I don’t know, but I plan to.” “Did you not have Christmas at the orphanage?” “There wasn’t much to it really. I’m not sure why Father Christmas wasn’t able to stop there, maybe the matron scared him off.”

5. “Do you at least know if they’re going to keep you?” “Keep me!?”

6. Anne trying to sing with the others but the other voices quickly fading out as she panics and rushes home

7. “They’re not going to send you back, you’re in the Bible and everything!”

8. Marilla has every right to be angry that Matthew rushed their home without even discussing it

9. “I knew you’d lose your head-“ “Oh, I oughta smack yours right off your shoulders!”

10. Matthew is prone to heart attacks, the very same thing causing his death in the books

11. “He’s had an episode of the heart” just a funny way to say heart attack, sort of long winded

12. Marilla not understanding the complex math because she had to leave school when she was young

13. Anne helping her with it because she’s top of her class

14. “Not keeping you? You’re a Cuthbert, for better or for worse! No getting out of it now.”

15. The awful bank not relenting on the payback schedule despite the fact that Matthew cannot work. Corporations are cruel and ungiving despite the human struggles and needs of its clients and it hurts. I know the bank invested that money and they need it back but Matthew was indisposed by a tragic event and to not only not extent but to SHORTEN the payback schedule is just unfeeling

16. Marilla putting out an ad to the mainland to take in borders

17. The terrifying idea that you must sell everything you have in order to survive

18. Marilla being desperate yet still too prideful to accept charity

19. The fact that it not only effects the family but also Jerry, as they can’t afford to pay him. It puts him out of a job and lowers his families income

20. A reoccurring theme I love in this show is the idea that the characters will give up their belongings, no matter how sentimental, in the name of family. Matthew selling his dead brothers watch, Marilla selling her grandmothers brooch, Anne selling the dress of her dreams, all because no matter how important these items are, they are just things. That family is more important, so even though it pains you to have to give those things up, you do it in the name of love for others

21. “Theyre just things.”

22. Anne feeling sorrow and yet being excited to stay at aunt Josephine’s

23. Despite being told she can keep the dress, Anne insists on selling it back because it’s a family effort

24. Anne being exited for a solo adventure and then getting stuck with jerry

25. Jerry has to be there to get money Anne his family is hungry :(

26. “I don’t actually need your help.” “When’s the last time you drove a sleigh? Auctioned a horse? Let’s go.”

27. Diana giving her things to sell as well

28. Jerry knows how to drive a sleigh?????

29. “It’s not so bad to ask for help sometimes, y’know?” “If I needed help I would say so.” “No you wouldn’t.” “Yes, I would.” “Wouldn’t.” “Would! Times infinity.” “What???”

30. Jerry singing in French

31. “No singing. I mean it. I’m serious, Jerry! This is an important journey! I WILL KILL YOU WITH MY BEAR HANDS!”

32. Jerry grinning as she gets madder

33. Anne bring mystified by the dress shop

34. “I’m here to return a dress.” Is something wrong with it?” “Not a thing.” “Do you not like it?” “It is my very favorite thing that I have ever possessed in life. But I need to return it to help my family.” “You’re Anne, Matthew’s Anne!” “I am! How nice it is to hear it said that way.”

35. Anne being upbeat until Jeannie asks what’s wrong and then ask just breaks down

36. Poor Jerry waiting outside in the snow for her

37. Either Matthew spent some much money on Anne’s dress or Jeannie gave her extra, or both

38. “Did Matthew really spend this much?..” “You’re worth a lot to him.”

39. “I hate to say goodbye…” “😏 I won’t be so long~” “To the HORSE, Jerry. Why are you so annoying.”

40. “You’re a good horse Birdie, try to remember that. Someone will be very lucky to have you.”

41. Birdie really is a beautiful horse though

42. Anne’s little “my parents are spies” act she uses on the pawn broker

43. The pawn broker is so understandable rude because of his profession, it makes him equally annoying and funny

44. “What a piece of work you are.”

45. Anne is so good at making up stories on the spot

46. “If you can’t afford it I completely understand.”

47. I love how snide remarks of “being a good Christian” are frequent and effective insults in the 1800’s

48. Poor Jerry doesn’t just get beaten up and robbed, he gets brutally beaten by two grown men and there’s nothing he can do despite that being… his last paycheck. That was the last income he was going to give his family and he’s so ashamed of himself that he keeps apologizing for it despite most of the money being his. He apologizes to Anne, to Matthew, it bothers him for months to come

49. Gilbert’s back!!

50. “Still seems unreal. Even though I just sold all our… everything.”

51. “He’s a good man.” “I love him with all my heart. I don’t know what if do if…”

52. Them arguing over not arguing

53. Anne apologizing

54. “Anyway…” “Anyway..”

55. I genuinely didn’t realize that the men who beat up Jerry are the same men that took in borders at green gables, I got the same face blindness as Jerry himself

56. “I’ve missed you.” “Yeah?” “At school, theres.. no one to compete with.” “”You want to spell out a few words for old times sake?” “How about… truce?”

57. Jerry thinking Gilbert was going to hurt Anne and take her money and immediately jumping in to stop him despite swaying on his feet

58. When Anne asks him if he’s okay he immediately starts apologizing about the money

59. “I don’t like the city.”

60. “Just take care of yourself, and come home someday.”

61. Anne and Gilbert staring at each other quietly

62. “This is a palace, not a house.”

63. Jerry assuming that they’ll make him sleep in the stable instead of inside the massive house

64. “I’ll look after belle.”

65. “This city is rife with ruffians!”

66. Aunt Josephine insisting on helping

67. Matthew lamenting his own life, talking of how his life insurance will give them a sizable sum and how he drags them down despite them needing him

68. “Anne loves you, you have to remember that.” “But her future…” “Which do you think she would choose, this house or you?”

69. Jerry bring terrified to stay in a room by himself because he’s always had his family around him

70. Anne making room for him only for him to sleep upside down

71. “Don’t worry, I don’t kick like my sisters.” “Yeah, you’d better not.”

72. “Everything will be alright. It’ll be alright..”

73. Aunt Josephine helping by paying for Jerry to work at Green Gables, as well as giving Anne books

74. “We’ve been together all these years, thick or thin, so don’t think I’ll put up with you slipping away now. Anne will be home today, and she’ll be very happy to see you.”

75. Matthew trying to kill himself because the life insurance would pay off the debt he caused

76. Jeannie happening to show up and find Matthew with the gun just in time as he tries to hide what he’s almost done from her, realizing what he’s done

77. The way they stress how his passing would effect Anne the most because of what they mean to each other, that she will suffer without him despite what he’s trying to do

78. “Don’t ever get old…” “Too late for that.”

79. “You would’ve left us that way!? Left me?..”

80. “Give it back. I won’t take charity.” “But.. love isn’t charity.” “I won’t take it.” “Nay I ask why not?” “We will not be pitied! I don’t want people thinking we can’t fend for ourselves.” “Well at the moment we can’t, and I’d sure give my last bit of strength or my last dollar to help a friend. Then I know that friend would feel grateful and loved above all else. And I do. I feel very grateful to have such a dear friend as Miss Barry. Sometimes you just have to let people love you Marilla.”

81. Anne selling her cleaning services to make steady income

82. “We’re rich, aren’t we Matthew?”

83. Jerry carving a star for the Christmas tree!!!!!!

84. Anne’s friends coming to sing carols at their house

85. Anne helping Matthew walk outside

86. Not Nate :(

87. Nathaniel, the bane of my existence

#renew awae #awae #anne shirly cuthbert #jerry baynard #mathew cuthbert #marilla cuthbert #josephine barry

[queenmarytudor]

The Spanish Princess S2 rewrite

The wonky timeline and horrible inaccuracies of The Spanish Princess season 2 inspired me to plot out the season myself.

I made some minor timeline changes to make things flow easier, speeding up the time between events while ignoring Catherine’s first daughter born in 1510 and Mary’s 1518 French betrothal - but I can guarantee my version is 100% more accurate than Emma Frost’s ;)

I used the same following events in the series as rough reference points: 

Birth and death of Prince Hal - episode 1

Battle of Flodden - episode 2

Princess Mary’s birth - episode 4

Field of the Cloth of Gold - episode 6

but I’ve dramatically altered the context, featuring a lot more festivities, the births of Margaret Douglas and Frances Brandon, and Henry VIII’s affair with Mary Boleyn!  

EPISODE 1 - SIR LOYAL HEART (1511)

King Henry VIII and his new bride, Queen Catherine of Aragon, are crowned king and queen of England, to great rejoicing.

The new court is full of revels; Henry dresses up as Robin Hood to surprise his young queen, along with his band of merry men. An amused Catherine is declared his Maid Marian. The happy king and queen dance together, while Mary, Henry VIII’s sister dances with the king’s best friend Charles Brandon. After the revelry, Catherine confesses to her husband she is with child.

Henry writes to his father in law Ferdinand that he considers him his new father, and prefers an alliance with him rather than any other prince.

Catherine is sent a blessed girdle by her sister, Margaret queen of Scots, to guarantee a safe birth. She had been given it by Catherine previously to use in the birth of her son, prince James of Scotland, and hopes it gives her similar luck. Catherine is touched by the kind gesture. 

On New Years day, Catherine gives birth to a prince, named Henry for his father.

Henry goes to a shrine, Our Lady at Walsingham, to give thanks while Catherine recovers. The king of France, Louis XII, is made godfather of little Prince Hal.

When Catherine is churched and returns to court there are jousts to celebrate England’s new heir. Henry jousts as “Sir Loyal Heart”. His sister Mary gives Charles Brandon her favour before the pair joust. Henry is victorious, but Charles admits privately to Mary after that he let the new father win. Catherine happily awards her husband the main prize.

A grand feast follows, where a jubilant Henry encourages the people to take the gold from his costume. A stampede follows, and the laughing king and queen must be helped to safety.

Their happiness is interrupted by the sad news that prince Hal is dead.

The court is plunged into grief, and Henry, in an effort to distract himself, declares war on France, wanting to win back the land lost to England. He asks a mourning Catherine’s help in convincing her father to fight with him. She agrees eagerly; God has taken her son, but he will surely bless them with another when they defeat their ancient enemy.

EPISODE 2 - FLODDEN (1513)

There has been several months of planning war against France, and Catherine is in the early stages of pregnancy. She talks to the Venetian ambassador about hiring Italian ships for an invasion, asking about the cost. Henry admires her attitude, and declares her regent of England while he is in France. 

On the eve of her husband’s departure, Catherine tells him their child has quickened, leaving Henry even more eager to win for the sake of their son’s future inheritance.

Before they cross the channel to fight, Mary promises Charles Brandon to look after her brother. He reassures her they will both be fine; Mary says he’ll look after the king, and she the queen.

In France, Henry, Charles, and the other men wait on Catherine’s father, Ferdinand of Aragon. He never arrives, and Henry is incensed to discover he has been betrayed. He successfully lays siege to Therouanne, taking the town and demolishing the walls, creating large fires. They carry on, leaving destruction behind them.

Meanwhile in England, a now visibly pregnant Catherine heads the Privy Council meetings and realises they will have to fight the Scots, allied with the angry French. She writes constantly to the king’s almoner, Thomas Wolsey, worrying how her husband fares.

Catherine, helped by Mary, busies herself preparing essential items for battle, including sewing banners of the royal arms of England and Spain.

Margaret writes a letter pleading her sister not to attack, but Catherine burns it and rallies her soldiers with a rousing speech, saying “English courage excels that of all other nations!”. The soldiers proudly take her banners to battle at Flodden field, where they slaughter the Scots.

Catherine and Mary wait anxiously before England is declared victorious and Catherine is brought James IV of Scotland’s body. She wants to send his head to her husband, but her men persuade her not to. She sends her friar, Friar Langley, to Scotland to comfort the now widowed Margaret.

Across the sea Charles Brandon distinguishes himself by capturing a gatehouse at Tournai. Henry is sent James IV’s bloodstained clothes and a letter from Catherine informing him of her success. Inspired, Henry leads the successful assault on Tournai.

In England, celebrations continue for their victory, but are dimmed when Catherine goes into labour early and gives birth to a stillborn son. Mary comforts her, promising Henry will be home soon.

Henry returns from France victorious, creating Charles Brandon the Duke of Suffolk for his actions. He assures Catherine all will be well now the enemy is defeated, as his sister Mary is to be betrothed to Louis XII of France to make peace between the two countries.

EPISODE 3 - GRIEF (1514)

In Scotland, a grieving Margaret is comforted by Archibald Douglas after being declared regent on behalf of her son, the now king James. He can relate to losing a spouse, as his wife died not long ago. 

In England, Catherine is pregnant again, and sews Henry’s battle torn shirts as Mary gets fitted for her wedding dress. Henry’s sister is horrified at having to marry the French king.

Wolsey is now the archbishop of York, and Catherine is beginning to resent his growing influence and power at court. Henry has come up with an idea to claim Castile on behalf of Catherine. He and Catherine argue viciously over it. She thinks it is ridiculous; even if she agreed to fight with her father over the land, Castile is her sister Joana’s before hers, as their mother’s heir. Henry says Joana is mad and incapable of ruling, and therefore it passes to her, and by extension, him. 

Catherine is miserable, not helped by her bad pregnancy. She is constantly sick, but disguises her pain to say goodbye to Mary. At the waterside before her departure, Mary gets her brother to promise she can choose her second husband. Henry agrees, and Mary sets sail for France with several ladies in waiting, including Mary and Anne Boleyn.  

In Scotland, a lonely Margaret finds herself falling in love with Archibald Douglas. 

Catherine is torn between her husband and her father, even more so when Henry decide to send Charles Brandon over to France to discuss a new alliance with King Louis against him.

In France, Charles talks to Louis about an alliance against Ferdinand but the French king is reluctant.

Catherine goes into early labour and gives birth to a son they name Henry for his father. He dies minutes after birth in his parents arms, and both are devastated.

Charles Brandon informs Mary of the queen’s loss; both comfort each other before Charles reluctantly sails back to England.

In Scotland, Margaret secretly marries Archibald Douglas, breaking the terms of her regency.

Back in England, Charles tells Henry he tried his best but Louis refused. Henry reveals he has dropped his plans to get revenge on Ferdinand for the sake of the queen.

Henry tells Catherine he has realised there are more important things to focus on - like her, recovering. They cuddle in bed, brought back together in shared grief for their son. 

EPISODE 4 - THE THREE QUEENS (1515 - 1516)

In Scotland, Margaret’s secret marriage is discovered when she becomes pregnant. Besieged and desperate for help, she sends a letter to her brother in England.

In France, Mary becomes a widow after King Louis dies. Henry sends Charles Brandon to bring her home, not before making him promise not to marry her. As she had with Margaret, Catherine sends her friar, Friar Langley, to comfort another Tudor widow; she has no need for him now as her prayers have been answered - she is with child again.

In France, Friar Langley tells Mary that the privy council, especially Wolsey, will never let her and Charles be wed. The pair marry anyway, helped by the new French king, Francis. Francis also gives his blessing for the Duke of Albany to take up the regency of King James in Scotland.

Henry is furious with both of his sisters, as Mary has married without his permission and Margaret urges him to send an army to help her. Henry refuses to send an army, but says Margaret can stay at his court.

Archibald urges Margaret to obey the council and surrender her son to a newly returned Albany, but she refuses. After a long argument, a defeated Margaret turns over James to Albany and flees with Archibald to her brothers court for the sake of her unborn child.

Mary reminds Henry “as you well know, I have always borne good mind towards my lord of Suffolk.” She beseeches him to “keep all the promises that you promised me when I took my leave of you by the waterside.”

Wolsey convinces Henry to allow Mary and Charles to return home to England if they pay a fine. To sweeten her brother’s disposition, Mary steals a large French jewel, the Mirror of Naples, for him. 

On the Scottish borders, Archibald refuses to cross into England with Margaret and reveals he intends to make peace with Albany. A betrayed Margaret carries on to London without her husband.

Mary and Charles return home to England, but her lady Anne Boleyn decides to stay on with the new French queen.

All 3 Tudor queens, Catherine, Mary, and Margaret, are now back together in the English royal court, and pregnant.

Margaret has still not forgiven Catherine for the role she played in her first husband’s death. She asks for her blessed girdle back, and Catherine agrees. 

Shortly after, Margaret gives birth to a daughter, also named Margaret. Catherine visits her and apologizes for the hurt she has caused. She gives her new dresses and jewels that befit the queen regent of Scotland, and Margaret thaws.

Catherine tries to reconcile the three Tudor siblings, saying their children will all be cousins and it would be a shame to make them enemies as they will be the future royal family. 

Henry forgives his sisters; he delights in wearing the Mirror of Naples Mary has stolen from King Francis, and tells Margaret Archibald’s actions were “Done like a Scot”.

Grand jousts are put on to celebrate Mary and Margaret’s return to court. Catherine and Mary watch on proudly as their husbands compete against each other, while Margaret is cheered by a letter arriving from her husband, saying he is trying to negotiate with Albany.

Catherine successfully gives birth to a little girl, named Mary in honour of her aunt. Wolsey, now a Cardinal, is made her godfather, while Margaret Pole is made her godmother and governess. A delighted Henry assures the Venetian ambassador “We are both young; if it was a daughter this time, by the grace of God the sons will follow.”

EPISODE 5 - MAY DAY (1517 - 1518)

Henry and Catherine are head over heels with their surviving child, now a thriving toddler. Mary is constantly flaunted by her parents to ambassadors and courtiers who dote on her; the king names her his pearl of the world, and brags she never cries. The royals are informed of attacks on foreigners in London, but caught up in their happiness, they brush off the news.

The three queens meet at Margaret’s London townhouse, with their children, Princess Mary, Margaret Douglas and Henry Brandon. Mary is pregnant again, while Margaret is eager to return to Scotland as the people around her household are becoming increasingly hostile towards her.

On May Day there are large scale riots in the city, and royal officers including Charles Brandon are sent to suppress them. Three hundred rebels are rounded up and sent to the king and queen. An emotional Catherine, Margaret and Mary beg for Henry to have mercy on them for the sakes of their wives and children, which is given.

Margaret leaves with her daughter to reunite with her husband in Scotland. Mary and an increasingly devout Catherine accompany her northwards while on pilgrimage to visit the Our Lady shrine at Walsingham, the same place her husband visited in thanks after she gave birth to their short lived son. Catherine suspects she is pregnant again.

While his wife is away, Henry entertains his daughter, and writes a Defence of the Seven Sacraments with Thomas More. Increasingly bored as the months pass, he begins an affair with one of Catherine’s ladies, Bessie Blount.

On her return to court, Catherine tells Henry his sister has given birth to a healthy girl named Frances in honour of the French king, and surprises Henry with her own big belly, obviously with child. He orders Te Deum to be sung in the churches in celebration. 

In her absence, Henry has grown a beard as part of a peace pact with Francis, but Catherine dislikes it and asks him to shave. He agrees happily after her surprise.

Unfortunately, their joy is as short lived as their child; Catherine soon gives birth to a daughter who dies not long after.

EPISODE 6 - CLOTH OF GOLD (1519 - 1520)

Catherine and Henry take comfort in Mary and the new title, “Defender of the Faith”, that Henry has been given by the Pope. Catherine is teaching her daughter Latin, and all is well until it is discovered that Bessie Blount is pregnant. She is sent away from court to a nearby priory to avoid the scandal being discovered.

Back in Scotland, Margaret discovers her husband Archibald has been living openly in her house with a mistress.

Cardinal Wolsey devises a royal summit with the French king, the Field of the Cloth of Gold, to cement their peace treaty. Henry is eager to see his rival, King Francis, in the flesh.

Bessie has given birth to a bastard son, Henry, who Henry immediately recognises as his own and gives the surname Fitzroy. He makes Wolsey his son’s godfather, and sends him to a secret christening. Henry promises Catherine Fitzroy will be kept away from court, but he will do his fatherly duty. He sends some of Princess Mary’s ladies to care for him.

Margaret writes to her brother she wants a divorce. Catherine sympathises with her sister as she is in a similar position, but urges Margaret to commit more fully to her husband, as she is. Henry and Catherine are determined to put the Fitzroy argument behind them and spend time with Princess Mary as a loving royal family.

Margaret discovers the Duke of Albany has been invited to the Field of the Cloth of Gold, and urges him to convince her brother to help her.

Henry, Catherine, Henry’s sister Mary and Charles Brandon attend the Field of the Cloth of Gold in France. In their absence, England is ruled by Princess Mary, Margaret Pole and the Privy Council.

At the Field of the Cloth of Gold, the Duke of Albany talks to Henry; again Henry and Catherine refuse to support his sister in a divorce. Margaret needs to work out her differences with her husband, for the sake of their daughter.

Catherine and Queen Claude of France become friends, bonding over their husband’s rivalry and their ladies in waiting becoming mistresses. Catherine is grateful Henry is discreet with his lovers, unlike Francis with Francoise de Foix, and that in England there is no official recognised royal mistress position.

King Francis proposes a match between his son and Princess Mary; Henry agrees to allow some French ambassadors to visit England.

In England, the French ambassadors meet with Mary. Mary, watched over by Margaret Pole, entertains them by playing the virginals and offering them strawberries, her favourite.

In France, the kings hear the ambassadors are enchanted with the princess. Catherine is secretly displeased, as she favours her nephew, the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, as Mary’s future husband. She says her daughter is far too young to marry, and the four royals agree they will wait until Mary is older for the pair to wed. 

At the festivities, Catherine’s lady Mary Boleyn reunites with her sister Anne, who returns with them back to England as one of Catherine’s ladies.

EPISODE 7 - THE KING’S PEARL (1522 - 1523)

Catherine concentrates more on her daughter’s future. Hearing of his talents, she meets the great scholar Juan Luis Vives and commissions him to write a book on female education for Princess Mary.

A desperate Margaret writes that her marriage to Archibald is invalid as James IV is still alive. Catherine is incredulous; she had seen the Scottish king’s dead body herself. Catherine and Henry again refuse to support her.

After an annoyed Henry tells Edward Stafford off for failing to keep the Welsh in line, Catherine persuades Henry that an Imperial marriage would be better for England and their daughter. 

Charles V visits England, where a grand pageant is performed in his honour. Henry’s sister Mary plays Beauty, while Mary Boleyn is Kindness and Anne Boleyn Perseverance. Afterwards, Anne flirts with a courtier, Henry Percy; she says she likes his beard.

In the midst of the festivities Edward Stafford, still annoyed over being rebuked by the king, makes a snide remark overheard by Wolsey.     

Princess Mary, wearing a Valentines brooch for her cousin, meets Charles V. Catherine says he cannot leave without seeing Mary dance. Mary does not need to be asked twice; Catherine watches her daughter proudly as she impresses the emperor. 

In Scotland, Margaret commands Albany to appeal directly to the Pope for a divorce, as Archibald has turned her mad. He agrees to help her. Margaret and Albany finally come to an agreement over the regency of James, which is confirmed by the Scottish parliament. Margaret is not regent, but is able to help her son govern. 

Princess Mary is formally betrothed to Charles V, but after he leaves England Charles breaks the treaty and marries Isabella of Portugal. This infuriates Henry, who takes his anger out on Catherine. They have a blazing argument, where he blames her not only for her nephew jilting their daughter, but for not bearing a male heir. Edward Stafford has been listening to prophecies that predict his death and intends to kill him himself after their argument; England is not safe if he were to die without a successor. Catherine argues they have an heir; her mother ruled as a queen in her own right, and she herself ruled the country for him when he was in France.

Juan Luis Vives presents his finished book to Catherine. She tells him “If I had to choose between extreme sorrow and extreme well-being, I think I would prefer the former to the latter, for people in disgrace need only some consolation, while those who are too successful frequently lose their minds.”

She is comforted by Vives’ assurance that she is a good queen and mother, and a model for all woman. Henry meanwhile, is comforted by Mary Boleyn while Edward Stafford is executed for treason.

EPISODE 8 - DECLARE, I DARE NOT (1525 - 1527)

Archibald approaches the Scottish parliament heavily armed, but Margaret orders cannons to be fired at him. Henry Stewart, the master of artillery, is eager to obey, but the English ambassadors are appalled at their actions. They tell her not to attack her husband, but Margaret replies they should “go home and not meddle in Scottish matters”.

In a ceremony, Catherine watches on as her husband announces Princess Mary will go to the Welsh Marches with Margaret Pole and her own council to learn how to govern. It appears Henry has changed his mind and is prepared to accept his daughter as the first ruling queen of England; Catherine is delighted, especially when Mary is given the executed Stafford’s lands and the lordships of Bromfield, Chirkland and Yale to support her new role.

In the same ceremony, a proud Mary and Charles Brandon look on with their daughter Frances as their son Henry is made earl of Lincoln. Shortly after Henry Fitzroy is made Duke of Richmond and Somerset. Catherine is furious, especially when Henry declares his bastard and household will go to the northern borders to defend England against the Scots. 

Mary Boleyn gives birth to a girl, Catherine Carey, named in honour of the queen. Catherine says the child looks just like her father. 

Henry and Wolsey press ahead with arranging a marriage treaty with France as discussed at the Field of the Cloth of Gold; Catherine, desperately wanting to make amends with her husband, reluctantly agrees.

Wolsey tells Henry Percy and Anne Boleyn off for getting betrothed without approval from the king. She is only a knight’s daughter, and beneath Percy’s rank; he is sent from court to marry Mary Talbot.

An ambassador for the French marriage, Bishop Tarbes, arrives to see Princess Mary. Tarbes questions Henry and Catherine about their daughters legitimacy. Catherine brushes off Tarbes’ concerns, as the Pope had given her and Henry a dispensation to marry even if her marriage to Arthur had been consummated.

Henry visits Mary Boleyn and congratulates her, wondering if her daughter is his. While looking after her sister, Anne talks with Henry; sparks fly.

Margaret is relieved to hear the Pope has finally sanctioned a divorce from Archibald. Though she acknowledges she will have to let Archibald attend Parliament, she is free to marry again should she choose. She drinks to her success with Henry Stewart, acknowledging he is quite handsome…

Henry has grown his beard out again, but this time refuses to shave when Catherine reminds him she hates beards. He insinuates to Anne Boleyn she could be his mistress, but she refuses after seeing how he’s treated her sister.

Princess Mary is formally betrothed to the French king’s son and there is a joust to celebrate. Henry competes with the motto “Declare, I Dare Not”, in stark contrast to Sir Loyal Heart in episode 1, and Catherine is confused.

With the celebrations over, an emotional Henry and Catherine must say goodbye to their daughter. Together they watch on as Mary, helped by Margaret Pole, prepares to leave court for her own estates in the Welsh Marches. As he holds his wife, Henry’s gaze cannot help but drift to a smiling Anne Boleyn nearby…

Embracing her daughter, Catherine gives Vives’ book to Mary as a farewell present. She promises her she will one day be queen of France - and England.

In a flash forward years later, Henry and Catherine’s daughter Mary is crowned the first queen regnant of England, to great rejoicing.

The last episode basically comes full circle to the first, with several parallels:

France are enemies/friends

Henry jousts for Catherine/Anne

Catherine loses Prince Hal/Princess Mary

Henry and Catherine are crowned/Mary is crowned

and we all know how the future will be, with a queen replaced because she can’t produce a male heir…

#let me know what you think! #the spanish princess #i know i focused more on the tudor's and not lina/oviedo #but just imagine them living their best life watching all the craziness unfold #i was going to have her be the lady henry dismisses in anger after catherine hating fitzroy becoming a duke but thought that was too mean! #they deserve their happy ending and catherine deserves a friend :)

[concentrateandpush]

Broken down, Broken waters.

I have never been good with birthdays, adding pregnancy brain to it just left me hopeless. It wasn't until this morning when I woke up and saw people posting 'Happy birthday' on my husbands Facebook that I realised, shit, it's his birthday. I have nothing, no card, no presents, nothing. I get up half asleep, rubbing my round spherical belly "okay, alright baby" I whisper as I throw some clothes on as Joe sleeps in. I throw on a black tight dress, a denim jacket and some red chucks.

Finding my keys was a challenge at the best of times, so when I find them straight away I'm a little shocked. I haven’t driven for most of this pregnancy, at this point the seat is set for Joe's size, so I pull the seat back and sit down, letting my head fall back as I rub my 39 week baby bump.

Then my car cuts out. Fuck. I'm at the side of a motorway, my car will not start up, no matter how many times I try. I pick up my phone from my pocket and groan "fucks sake Lena" I whisper to myself as I realise I left it behind.

"Okay, oh god" I groan and rub my belly "were only about 20 minutes from home baby" I whisper and get out of the car, as I put my feet on the floor, I feel this movement in my stomach, I movement that makes me feel sick. My hand goes to my underbelly and I bite my lip, taking a deep breath before starting to walk. My legs part naturally as I feel the baby’s head starting to come down. Not now

It's a busy road and if I crossed it, I wouldn't need to walk as far, but I can't, I'm fully aware that I'm unable to run and the cars are going to fast.

I feel the sweat start to gather on my forehead as I take deep breaths "shit, oh god, not now baby" I groan as I stop and lean the railings, feeling my body cramp up, my lower abdomen and right around to my back, my belly tightens and I start to tear up, realising this is it, this is labor. I breathe through the contraction, letting out low moans mixed in with cries until the contraction is over.

I continue the walk, waddling, my legs still slightly parted and my belly hanging so low. I cant give birth here on the road side, but I don't know if I can hold the baby in. I place my hand between my legs, feeling how sore I am as I walk as fast as I can before feeling the next contraction radiating through my back. It's all in my back. I stop and squat down, holding onto the fence, crying to myself, taking deep breaths and moaning it out, nobody can hear me, so why does it matter.

There's still about 15 minutes to walk and I don't know if I can do it. I have no concept of time, all I know is that this baby wants to come out, there's so much pressure.

I carry on walking a little more, holding my underbelly and my back, panting. At this point the pain is barely stopping. I feel another shift in my body and gasp. "Oh no, no" I moan as I feel a gush of fluid between my legs, running down into my converse. I just break down at this point, squatting, my tight dress stretching to accommodate my spread legs. "Owwww" I cry out "ugh please!" I shout. I don't know why I'm saying please, or what for, but it just came out.

I take my jacket off and set it down on the grass, sitting on it and spreading my legs, reaching a finger down and pushing it inside as far as I can go. "Okay, oh.. okay" I whisper "there’s still time" I not. If I was to guess, I'm measuring about a 5, but that doesn’t change how much my body is telling me to push.

I walk a little further, starting to reach my neighbourhood before seeing a neighbour and waving frantically, holding between my legs, at this point, my dress is more like a top it's ridden up so much, my belly is tightening like crazy, I'm soaked from my waters, I'm red, hot and sweaty. "Anne, please, can you take me home?" I pant as she pulls over. She comes around and helps me into the car, setting the chair back so I can lay down.

Once she pulls up at home, I see Joe looking like he's about to puke "where the fuck did you go!?" He shouts angrily before hugging me tight. "Please, gentle, I'm in labor" I pant and he picks me up and carry's me to the house. "I went to get you a birthday present.. I forgot and.. happy birthday" I sigh. He laughs and kisses my head "I thought you were dead you nutter, I don’t care, looks like someone's stealing my birthday though" he smiles.

Luckily, my midwife lives 3 houses away, so once she knows what's happening, she's here in seconds. She walks in to find me on the carpet of the lounge floor, panting and squeezing Joe's hand. "Alright, okay sweetheart, let's get her comfortable Dad" she says to Joe and he grabs some pillows propping me up. "I wanted to give birth in hospital" I groan as she measures my dilation. "There's no time for that Lena, this baby is fully dilated" she smiles.

I shake my head "they can't be, I just measured-" I explain and she cuts me off "you can't really get a good measurement of your own dilation love". I nod and look to Joe in fear. "You've got this babe" he whispers.

"Okay, right, Momma, this baby is coming and fast, so let's work with it yeah?" She smiles and I nod, panting and crunching my face up. "I need a good hard push Lena, right here" she says as she lays her finger inside me. I hold my legs back and push silently for as long as I can before letting out a deep roar in relief that it's over. "Good job, I need that again Lena" she encourages me.

I pull my legs again and push, hard for as long as I can "ggaaahhhh" I cry out, feeling the baby start to open me up. I feel that the contraction is still there so I push again "mmmmmffff" I groan and I see Carol smiling "you're rocking it, baby’s head is just here, you're doing so well". I look to Joe as I try to breathe for a moment and see how hard he's crying "you're so beautiful" he smiles.

I laugh a little and shake my head before really bearing down and screaming out loud "mmmaahhhhhh!" I cry. "I wanna move, please, I want to be on my hands and knees" I whisper, through the panting and with in seconds they turn me over with out me having to do anything. "Let's get a towel under her yeah?" Carol says softly and Joe runs to get towels.

"He's going to be an amazing dad Lena" Carol smiles. I nod "I know he is, he's going to be perfect" I smile before pushing the hardest push so far. "Okay! Keep that coming, the head is just- you're crowning! Baby's head is crowning!" She says excitedly "pant it out, no pushing, let yourself stretch". "I can't I need to push" I groan and she shakes her head "hee hee hoo hoo" she mimics and I copy, moaning as I breathe like she said.

Joe runs back and puts the towels underneath me "oh Lena, Lena they have your color hair" he cries and I smile to myself. "Okay, you're good, let's get this baby out" Carol nods and I push, hard, I just want them here now. I feel a pop and a gush of fluids "oh my.." I reach down and feel the head. "Hello, hi little baby" I smile and rub gently before pushing again, holding the head steady as I gradually lean back.

I feel the shoulders unlodge and groan one last time before supporting baby up and on to my chest, trying to catch my breath as I rub its back. "It's a little girl" Carol smiles and I just cry "she's so beautiful" I cry. I notice Joe in the corner of my eyes just watching in awe. "How about Joanne babe?" I smile at him and he nods "yeah, yeah, hello baby, hi little Joanne" he smiles.

@hear-her-pushing - Thank you for the prompt! I hope you enjoy reading this! 

#childbirtherotica #childbirth #giving birth #birth #birtherotica #birthstory #labor #laborstory #pregnancy #fpreg #mommalife #birthing #crowning #pushing

[kiarcheo]

A Whole New World    2/10

Jane and Kat find out there is more to each other…and to the new world they have found themselves in.

Read on Ao3 too

AN: I have seen Anne’s date of birth ranging from 1501 to 1507, and Jane’s between 1504 and 1509. For the sake of this story I consider Anne born in 1501 and consequently dying at 35, and Jane being born in 1508 and dying at 28.

Kat came back at 18 and Jane at 22, Anna, Cathy and Anne in their late twenties, and Catalina in her early thirties.

                               ——————————————–

It becomes a regular thing. Sometimes it’s a museum Kat has already visited, sometimes a new one on the list she keeps of places she wants to see. They often make a day of it, treating themselves to lunch (usually at Jane’s initiative, since Kat tends to forego eating in favour of whatever has caught her interest), exploring parts of the city unknown to them.

One evening, close to dusk, they are walking through an empty park when Kat stops. ‘Have you ever wanted to try them out?’

‘Try what?’ Jane follows the direction of Kat’s gaze. ‘That?’

‘They look like fun.’

‘They are for children.’

‘Who said that? Besides, there are no children around...’  Kat trails off, eyebrow raised waiting for a response.

‘You know what? Why not?’

Kat lets out a small squeal before grabbing Jane’s hand and dragging her towards the playground.

‘Remember when you said “who said that they are just for children”?’ Jane asks as they are sitting on the platform, feet dangling down, recovering their breath and cooling down.

‘You mean, like, half an hour ago?’

‘Smartass.’ Jane gives her a look, before pointing to a sign. ‘Children’s Play Area. Only children under the age of 12 may use this play area.’

‘Well, technically we haven’t been back for that long?’

Jane shakes her head amused. Kat is so cheeky and she would have never guessed before spending so much time with her.

‘So what was your favourite part?’ she asks after a bout of silence. That is another thing that changed. Before, silent moments were much more common and awkward, now their quiet spells are rarer and yet infinitely more comfortable.

‘You falling off those.’ Kat motions with her head towards the monkey bars, getting a glare in response. ‘What about yours?’

‘The slides, I’d say.’

‘Yeah, they are nice. But too short, don’t you think?’

‘I know, right? By the time you pick up speed, you’re already at the end,’ Jane agrees. ‘They should make them longer. Adult-sized.’

‘Wait!’ Kat whips out her phone. ‘Let me...’

And Jane lets her. She has learnt that Kat's curiosity is insatiable. If she stumbles upon something she doesn’t know or doesn’t understand…she has to look it up. So many times, when their fellow queens mention (usually complain, actually) that Kat is always glued to her phone, Jane has been tempted to tell them that most of the time she is learning something new...but if Kat had not told them – not even if she would probably spare herself their scolding – then it’s not her place to tell them.

‘They exist!’ Kat exclaims angling the screen towards Jane. ‘Look! They even have playgrounds for adults!’

They look together at the photos for a while before Kat taps on a Wikipedia link, her first port of call every time. ‘Amusement parks,’ she starts to read the entry aloud before being interrupted by a text notification popping up on the screen.

Kat groans as she reads it.

‘What?’

‘Curfew,’ Kat sighs. ‘Apparently it’s late and they are wondering why I’m not home yet.’ She knows it’s because they care but... ‘Did you get one too?’

Jane checks her phone. ‘No.’

Kat sighs again. ‘One dies young once and she is forever treated like a baby.’ She notices the look Jane is sending her. ‘Please don’t start.’

‘I didn’t say anything.’

‘I can't make a joke that everyone freaks out thinking I’m depressed or having a breakdown or a flashback or something.’

Jane remembers clearly one of those occasions. They had been discussing nightmares and how everyone seemed to have them except Kat, who had commented that perhaps losing her head had meant losing everything that had been inside that too. She also remembers very clearly thinking that the reactions had been a bit disproportionate compared to Kat’s offhand tone and casual demeanour.

‘Sometimes a girl just wants to be self-deprecating. Or joke about her own death without being psychoanalysed and having people wanting to talk about your trauma.’

‘I get it. I said once that I had no time with Edward. I was just...stating a fact. I was not looking for pity or anything. But they tripped over themselves to reassure me that I was still his mother – which of course! – and that I’m still a mother now. And honestly. One has a child once and she is forever just a mother in everyone’s eyes. Don’t get me wrong. I wish I could have seen Edward grow up. Wish I could have been his mother. Properly. But I wasn’t. And out of all of us, I’m the one who had less time with children. Besides you, I was the youngest one to die. So I have no idea why everyone thinks of me as this motherly figure?’

Aware that she has been ranting, Jane chances a look at Kat, who has a peculiar expression on her face.

‘What?’ she asks, feeling self-conscious.

‘I’m just thinking how happy I am that you joined me that day at the museum.’

That had been the true start of their relationship, despite having lived together for many months prior to that.

‘You mean you're happy I caught you sneaking out?’

Jane knows what she means, though. They would have never thought, and even less found, they had so many things in common. Or that they could get along so well and have so much fun together.

‘I was not sneaking out.’

Jane merely looks at her.

‘I thought nobody was home. It was just out of habit.’

‘So all the other times you sneaked out.’

Kat doesn’t reply, knowing Jane is doing it just to annoy her. They had a similar talk the second time they went to a museum together, Jane asking why they were sort of hiding their trip. It was not that Kat thought they would stop her if they knew she was going out. But she just didn’t want to deal with their questions. About where she was going, why, why she was going alone, when she was coming back...Just easier to leave without them knowing and then simply tell them she had been out if they asked having noticed she had not been home. In their defence, they knew better than to pry and as long as she was home safely, they would let it go despite being curious.

/

‘I know you’re the one in charge of our museum days,’ Jane starts, ‘but I wanted to run an idea by you.’

‘Of course we can go to a museum of your choice. You don’t need to ask permission or whatever.’

‘Wait before agreeing.’

‘Is it the Tower?’ Kat winces with a grimace, trying to think of places still standing that Jane might be wary of asking her to visit.

Jane stops rummaging in her bag, her head shooting up. ‘What the fuck, Katherine??’

The younger girl is so lost in unpleasant memories that she doesn't even react to Jane’s swearing nor her full naming her. ‘Hampton Court?’

‘Why would I ever do something like that?’ Jane recoils. ‘God, no! The Clink.’

‘As-’

‘The prison! Not the-’

‘Brothels?’ Kat completes, eyebrow raised in amusement. Then she nods, almost to herself. The area had been known for two main things…the prison and for allowing usually forbidden activities.

‘Yes. I mean, they made a prison museum. You know I like true crime and–’

Yes. That had been a surprise. When Kat had asked if there was something she particularly enjoyed reading and learning about, like she loved history, that had definitely not been the answer she had expected. Jane must have known that, considering how much she hummed and hawed before caving after Kat had called bullshit – literally – on her non-committal answer.

‘–I think I’d like to– but I don’t want to, like, trigger you?’

‘What’s inside, exactly?’

Jane finally finds what she has been looking for in her bag and hands her a leaflet.

‘You know what?’ Kat takes a look at it. ‘We can go and you can...scout it out?’ She doesn’t see anything upsetting in the pictures, but there will be so much more in the museum that they can show in a single leaflet. ‘You can take a look before me and if you think there is something that might…disturb me, you tell me and I’ll skip that room?’

‘Really?’

‘I mean, you know I'm not too fussed about death and stuff like that as long as it’s not too bloody. Or neck-related.’

She is not too keen on watching documentaries with Jane, but she doesn’t mind listening to her talking about them. Or about whatever serial killer or unsolved crime she is currently reading about.

‘Thank you.’ Jane squeezes her arm, hoping Kat knows it’s not about agreeing to her request, but for her trust. ‘On an unrelated note...food?’

Jane’s constant preoccupation with food is another thing put down to her supposedly maternal instinct, a desire to make sure everyone is well-fed. The truth is…Jane loves eating. Being able to enjoy doing so without the ever-present worry of looking unladylike. Discovering new foods. She doesn’t eat a lot, but she needs to eat often, or she becomes…hangry, it’s what Kat called it. And it is only polite to ask if the others are feeling peckish too and want to join her. Moreover, she knows it’s one thing she can’t rely on Kat for, seeing as she is prone to skip meals if there is anything else she deems more important or interesting.  

‘Do you think Catalina would consider this as traditional local food or...?’ Jane wonders aloud as she dips the churro in the plastic pot holding the chocolate sauce.

‘Possibly? Even if they were not invented by Spanish shepherds but brought by the Portuguese from China like some say, I think everyone agrees that by the 16th century they existed in Spain. And look, Romans had fried pastry, so, if not exactly that, something similar. And naturally cacao came to Europe after the Spanish invaded the Americas, so it arrived in Spain first, although if it was just after Cortés, Catalina would have been already in England…so she might have never tried churros with chocolate? Not sure when they started to combine the two, to be honest…’ Kat trails off. ‘What?’

‘Next person who says you’re stupid, I’ll deck them.’

Kat chuckles, bumping her hip into hers. ‘I appreciate the offer.’

‘It’s not an offer, it’s a promise.’

.

‘Ever thought about getting a car?’ Jane asks after they have been walking for a while.

‘Why? Tired? But not really. Honestly just the idea of getting into one and driving it myself is kind of terrifying.’

Jane nods. It sounds a bit like airplanes for her. It still boggles her mind that humans can fly. And she knows they are mostly safe and all, but it doesn’t mean she is keen on trying them out for herself.

‘I thought about getting a bicycle and learning how to ride,’ Kat continues.

‘Why don’t you?’

‘Yeah, and where would I hide it?’

‘Why would you need to hide it?’ Jane is puzzled enough to ignore Kat’s tone verging on the sarcastic rhetorical question inflection that usually implies someone had just asked a very stupid question.

‘With the potential of me getting hurt? Straying away, getting lost, or whatever? I don’t know if you have noticed, but the others tend to be a bit overprotective.’

And a bit is a euphemism. Don’t get her wrong. It is nice to have people caring and worrying about her. But she spent a lifetime fending for herself. And yes, she had her struggles, and the end might have been inglorious, but Anne wound up the same way and yet nobody questions her…or her capabilities. And okay, that might have something to do with age, but nobody cared about that before, and she had been a bloody queen (and quite a successful one, if she says so herself, at least before her past caught up with her)! Still, she doesn’t want to think how worse it would be if she had come back younger than she had been at the time of her death like the others did.

‘What are you thinking about?’ Jane asks, realising she is miles away, lost in thoughts.

‘How weird it would be if we had come back the same age we died. Well, besides me, obviously.’ She hopes she’ll be there to see it in person, but she can’t really think about Catalina as a 50-years-old woman or Anna in her forties. ‘And about how there is a fine line between heart-warming care and overbearing concern.’

Because, back to the point, she might have been more or less successful, but she is used to rely just on herself and getting by, not to have four other women, Jane to a lesser extent, being overly concerned about her. For certain matters, at least. Because for other things they seem perfectly happy to…perhaps not ignore her, but surely leave her to her own devices, without trying to get her involved. And she is often more than content with it, she will admit that…except that often it also leads to remarks about how she spends all her time at home, always in front a screen, and perhaps she should go out more? And then instead of standing up all night on her phone, she would tire herself out and sleep?

‘So you don’t want to check this out?’

Kat had not even realised they were walking past a sporting goods store.

‘Look! You could easily hide that.’ Jane points out to a small, colourful, tricycle, clearly meant for children.

‘Ah ah. Very funny.’ Sarcasm is heavy in Kat’s voice, but she follows her in.

‘What about this?’

‘A unicycle? Really? Have you ever seen one of those around, in public?’

Jane takes a moment to think about it. ‘Don’t think so.’

‘Exactly. Because they belong in the circus.’

‘One might say our house is a circus.’ They certainly have some chaotic days.

‘And you a clown.’

Jane gasps in mock offence. ‘I miss the days when you were afraid of me.’

‘I was never afraid of you. I was indifferent. And thought you were a stuck-up bore. Also, I know you don’t miss it.’

‘True,’ Jane admits easily. ‘Joking aside. We could put them in the shed?’

She had said once that she didn’t mind taking care of the garden and suddenly she had been left in charge of it, gardening apparently a passion of hers she didn’t even know she had. She supposes that it was deemed an appropriate hobby for boring old plain Jane (and yes, the fact that it is her actual name and not just a phrase in her case does not escape her), just like embroidery. She enjoys both of them, sure, but she is fairly confident the others think that’s all she does, no other interests – oh wait, there is cooking, or at least making sure that everyone is eating too! – which is something she tries not to dwell on too much because that’s frankly a bit (or a lot, depending on how she feels on the day) insulting.

‘We? Them?’ Kat raises an eyebrow. ‘But yes, we could store them there, but not really hide them if anyone happens to look inside. And certainly not two of them.’

Still, they continue to peruse the store.

‘What about these?’ Jane calls Kat’s attention, holding a pair of rollerblades up. ‘I’ve seen kids with them, can’t be that hard, can it?’ she continues once the girl comes over, looking interested.

‘Shoes on wheels? We’re so gonna die.’

Jane starts to put them back, slightly dejected, but Kat snatches them up. ‘Let’s do this.’

‘Yeah?’ She looks at her, tentative grin on her face.

Kat nods with gleeful smile. ‘Absolutely.’

#six the musical fanfiction #six the musical #jane and kat #six fanfiction #fic: a whole new world #six fanfic #six the musical fanfic #mywork #six jane seymour #six katherine howard #six fic #six the musical fic #my ideas #six writing #my six posts #sixfic #my posts

[theydontknowaboutusimagines]

This Christmas - A Harry Styles Christmas Series (Part 9)

Two life long friends. Secretly in love. Home for the holidays. Will they risk everything by telling the other how they feel? Or will they spend another year loving from afar? 

Read these first    Prologue   Part 1    Part 2   Part 3    Part 4   Part 5  Part 6  Part 7   Part 8 

**

Harry was fast asleep later the next morning, when someone came bursting through his bedroom door.

“Oi, wake up,” Gemma said, hitting her baby brother over the head with a pillow.

“The fuck?” He groaned, sitting up. “What are you doing here?”

“Gee, I was hoping for a warmer welcome than that,” she scoffed.

“Maybe there would have been if you didn’t just wack me over the head,” he said, throwing a pillow at her.

Gemma smirked, ducking out of the way and jumping onto the bed, “So, Mum told me you and Y/N have been getting pretty cozy these last few days.”

“I’m sure she has,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, the problem is you haven’t!” She scolded. “Here I am giving you advice to go shoot your shot and I’m the last to know it even worked.”

Harry looked up from his pillow at his sister, “Please. Never. Say that again.”

“I’m just using what all the cool kids are using these days,” she smirked.

“You’re not a cool kid, Gem. You never were,” he smirked.

“Fuck you,” she said, taking another pillow to his face.

“For fuck’s sake, will you stop,” he groaned, taking a pillow to her face.

“Remind me why I like having you two home again?” Anne smirked from the doorway.

“Because you love us,” Harry said.

“Only because I have to,” she said. “Anyway, Gem brought breakfast, it’s on the table.”

“Yeah, I figured it would be nice for Mum not to have to cook in her newly cleaned kitchen,” she said getting off the bed and following Anne down to the kitchen.  

Harry groaned getting out of bed and heading into the bathroom. He washed his face and brushed his teeth before going down to the kitchen, where his Mum and sister were already having their breakfast.

“Where’s Y/N?” Harry asked, looking out towards the backyard.

“Oh, she’s working on her book,” Gemma said. “I told her, you’d bring her some breakfast out.”

“Did you now?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I would have done it, but I figured you’d whine about no getting to see your girlfriend,” she joked.

“We’re not… she’s not my girlfriend… technically,” Harry sighed.

“Sooo, then what are you?” Gemma asked.

“They’re taking it slow, Gem. We don’t have to know every detail of their relationship,” Anne said, sipping on her tea.

Harry raised his eyebrow looking at his mother, “Excuse me? Pot meet kettle.”

“Oh hush!” She pointed at him. “I’m your mother, I have the right to ask questions.”

“And I’m his sister!” Gemma said.

“How about you’ll both find out when I find out,” he said grabbing two plates of food, “Gem it’s wonderful to see you, but I’m taking my breakfast with someone who doesn’t throw pillows at my head.”

“Again you deserved it,” she called out after him.

**

You were hard at work finishing yet another chapter in the last few hours. Your forehead wrinkled and your shoulders were on fire from your bad posture as you typed on your computer.

He caressed her face gazing into her eyes as if she was the only one in the room. A strand of her black hair had fallen into her face and he quickly pushed it out of the way.

“It appears we’re standing under the mistletoe,” he smirked.

“Well, then it’s only fair we keep up with tradition, right?” she smiled, closing the distance between them as she planted her lips against his.

He tasted of chocolate and peppermint, remnants of their shared hot chocolate only moments ago. Her hands found their way around his waist while his hands remained on the side of her chilled face.

“Want to head back to my place?” He whispered against her lips.

“Oooh,” Harry smirked over your shoulder causing you to jump up with a screech.

“What are you doing here?” You groaned, holding your chest. “And why are you reading over my shoulder.”

“Hey, I knocked on the door and said your name,” he defended. “You were completely zoned the fuck out, so I thought I’d see what had you so entranced.”

You rolled your eyes shutting your laptop and turning to face him, “Oooh is that breakfast sandwiches?”

“Yep. Gem brought them,” he said.

You quickly grabbed the bag of food and took out yours, shoving the bag back into his hands.

He laughed, “Why do I feel jealous over a breakfast sandwich right now?”

“Because you're needy,” you said with a mouthful.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he laughed. “But anyway… so I have a very serious question for you.”

“Oh god, what now?” You laughed.

“Soooo…. The story,” he said, looking over to your laptop. “You’re about to write a sex scene aren’t you.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you joked.

“Yeah. That’s why I asked,” he laughed, taking a bite of his own sandwich.

“Yes,” you rolled your eyes. “They’re about to go to his place and have mind blowing, Happy Christmas, I love you sex.”

“Well, I’m thoroughly intrigued, now,” he wiggled his eyebrows.

“You would be,” you said. “And no before you ask, you can’t read it. You weren’t even supposed to read what you just did!”

“Aw, come on, Y/N!” He groaned. “It’s so good!”

“You’ll read it when it’s ready,” you said. “And it won’t be ready if you keep distracting me.”

“Well excuse the shit out of me,” he said. “Next time you can get your own breakfast sandwich.”

“Awe,” you giggled, wrapping your arms around his shoulder. “You’re a good distraction though.”

“Let’s be honest, you’re only saying that because you want me to bring you breakfast sandwiches,” he said.

“Weelll, you’re not wrong,” you smirked.

**

Harry was in his room, messing around on his guitar, with an opened page in his journal. It had been a while since he had felt the urge to write a song, but since being with you, he’s found himself reaching for his journal to write. He was writing down a few lyrics when he felt someone standing in the doorway.

“Care to have a bit of a chat?” Gemma asked.

“Depends,” he said, putting his guitar down. “Are there going to be pillows involved?”

“Depends on if you’re being an ass,” she smirked.

Rolling his eyes he gestured for her to come in, “So, what shall we chat about?” He mocked.

“You and Y/N,” she said, bumping her shoulder into his.

“If you’re here for more details, I’m not going to tell you,” he said. “But I do have something to talk with you about.”

“Okay,” she said, turning to face him.

“Why didn’t you tell me Y/N came to one of my shows?” He sighed.

“Oh, she told you about that,” she winced.

“Yeah, she did,” he said. “I found that out the same night I found out she dated Graham.”

“Oh, you found out about that, too,” she sighed.

“You knew about that?” He asked.

“Y/N and I are friends, too,” she said.

“Is that why you lied to me?” He asked.

“I didn’t lie to you,” she said. “You didn’t know she was there.”

“Exactly!” He said. “And you knew I was with… why did you let her think…”

“Because I didn’t know your relationship was that serious,” she said. “The last I saw and heard from you was that you two were dating. That’s it. And I didn’t know Y/N was there for anything other than to reconcile with you. It was only after I saw the look on her face at seeing you that I realized everything.”

“Yet you didn’t feel the need to tell me?” He asked.

“What good would it have done? Would things have happened differently? Maybe. Would you have broken off your relationship? Like I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but honestly, Harry. What would you have done had I told you after the fact?” She asked.

“I don’t know,” he sighed.

“Exactly,” she said. “So, why even worry about something that you don’t even know what you would have done. The fact of the matter is, you and Y/N are figuring shit out now.”

He sighed, nodding running his hands through his hair.

“And I don’t know if she told you this, but the whole reason she was with Graham is because she ran into him a few days after your show,” she said. “He was there, he was comfortable, and she was trying to move on from you, but it obviously didn’t work because you’re it for her and she’s it for you.”

**

“Hold up, where are you going?” Harry asked, when you walked into the kitchen with your coat on.

“Oh, Gem didn’t tell you?” You asked. “Your Mum, Gem, and I are heading over to my Mum’s for a girl’s night.”

Harry scoffed, “And I’m just here to fend for myself.”

“You’re a grown man,” Gemma said, walking in on the conversation.

“A needy, grown man,” you clarified.

“Again you say it like it's a bad thing,” he said.

“Anyway, look on the bright side, you have the house to yourself for a few hours,” you smirked.

“This is very true, so when are you leaving exactly?” He asked.

“Now,” you said. “I’ll stop in to say goodnight when we get back, unless you’re snoring.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that because I don’t snore,” he said.

“Yeah, you do,” you nodded.

“Anyway, sorry to break up this whole love fest thing, but Mum’s in the car already,” Gemma said.

“Okay,” you said. “I'll be there in a minute.”

Harry wrapped his arms around you, giving you a quick peck on the lips before saying goodbye. Once he made sure you were gone, he made his way out to the writing hut. He knew he shouldn’t be doing what he was about to do, but he had an idea that he needed help with.

The door was unlocked, so he opened it and went inside. Your laptop was still on the desk and he opened it up. Luckily, you left the last document opened and he scrolled up to exactly where he needed to be. He skimmed through what you had been working on that day, paying attention to details and making mental notes.

Now, it was time to start putting his plan into action.

**

What do you think Harry has up his sleeve? 

Let me know your thoughts! 

#Harry Styles Imagines #Harry styles Fanfictions #Harry styles Fan fics #Harry Styles Fanfics #Harry Styles Christmas Series #Harry Styles Fanfiction

[scullydubois]

Only the Light Ch. 14

14/? | AU where Melissa moves in with Scully after Scully’s abduction | angst, msr slow-burn, occasional fluff | currently: early 1995 (Humbug adjacent) | T | 5k | previous chapters | read on ao3 | tagging: @today-in-fic <3

As the new year beckons Scully to put her life back together, she and Mulder share a Valentine's 'anti-date' on the Hoover Building rooftop.

TW for brief discussion of disordered eating.

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

The new year struck Scully with a particular melancholy. 1994 was, to put it plainly, one of the worst--if not the worst--year of her life. Even without her disappearance, it would earn that title. Her father’s untimely passing and the brief but brutal closure of the X-Files wrenched the few good things left from her fingers. Factor in the four weeks in late summer that she has no memory nor knowledge of, and you’ll understand why Scully has taken to calling it her year on the dark side of the moon.

Of course, the aftershocks of her abduction are still felt every day. Flipping the calendar does nothing to remedy that. At her last appointment, Dr. Zapolsky noticed that Scully’s weight had decreased rather sharply from previous visits and made the point that “rapid weight loss can stop ovulation,” which Scully interpreted as kicking her while she was down. That’s not exactly fair, after all. Technically, her period stopped well before she decided to restrict herself. 

It’s odd how it happened. Her weight was fine before her abduction; slender but within the healthy range for her height. Even when she was returned, it had only dropped a couple pounds, as if they fed her...as if they cared. She found that hard to believe. In the months afterward, she sought a physical representation of her mental anguish, and since she and food were never on the best terms to begin with, the choice was simple.

The other day, she had to punch an extra hole in all her belts to hold them steady on her hips. She knows the consequences of this; she’ll live them and accept it. 

There has been some beneficial progress. Dr. Zapolsky started Scully on low-dose birth control around Thanksgiving, hoping that it would balance her hormones and regulate her periods. It has, in fact, brought back her cycle, something that Scully did not expect. She gave Melissa her leftover tampons in October. Now Melissa buys enough for the two of them and insists that Scully doesn’t owe her a dime. Scully is too grateful for this to speak about it.

Her downward spiral reached a snag when she realized that smoking would make her birth control ineffective, shortly after her and Mulder’s Christmas Eve smoke break. She ditched the cigarettes, mad at herself for taking a month to read the disclaimer (she’s a doctor for god’s sake, she should know better!), yet glad to have an out. Smoking was a habit she exercised because she could. It won’t hurt her anytime soon, and millions of others do it, so where’s the harm? That was her thinking. As soon as she had a reason to stop, she did, and it felt a bit like jumping from a runaway train just before it skids off the tracks. 

So she is better, and she is worse. Which really means she is the same as she was. That is the conclusion she carries into 1995’s frosts and thaws. 

There is one thing she is certain of, something that she hadn’t given much thought to until the one year anniversary of her father’s death. She needs her faith back. She’s always practiced in a cyclical pattern, her devoutness orbiting in and out like the moon around the Earth. Sometimes closer and brighter, sometimes farther away, sometimes nowhere to be found.

She has to believe it will come back; it always does. She was made in God’s image, and her father’s. This is both a blessing and a curse.

But no one can be God, and she can’t be her father either. His faith never wavered. If hers was the moon--fickle and subject to doubt--his was the sun, steady and warming everything around it. This was a quality she was envious of, and then guilty in her blasphemy. She has never managed to feel completely content inside the bounds of piety like he could. She’s constantly shaking the devil off her back, then repenting for it, then wondering if it were all worth it. What if...what if...what if...she isn’t fully persuaded in her beliefs, and she knows that this is the worst sin of all. Like Mulder though, she wants to believe, and shouldn’t that count for something?

Imperfection is allowed. Understood, even. Doubt is not as permissible. “He who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind,” the Bible says. Sometimes Scully takes that to mean she should walk into the ocean. Then she realizes that would be blasphemous too. 

Some people believe without trying. Her father was one of those. Mulder too, in a different way. She used to think that she was too. Now she’s not so sure. “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” How many times has she read that line? Has she ever lived up to it? She’s seen and still not believed. Certainly that means she’s going to Hell.

Or is she already there?...She wonders that sometimes. Maybe she didn’t make it back from the other side. Maybe the devil just wanted her to believe that she had, and so he’d constructed some kind of diorama of Scully’s life that would go wrong bit by bit, boiling her like a gradually heated bathtub. No resting in peace for the unbeliever.

She can’t imagine a worse punishment than all the potentially good things in her life getting dismantled beyond her control. She’d rather never experience them at all than know their joy then watch them fall apart. Missy would kill her if she heard this, but you can’t please everybody.

It is at this point that Scully embarks on her chosen method of religious self-flagellation: going through the Ten Commandments and determining whether she’s violated them. Count up your sins and God won’t have to; practically the tagline of the Catholic faith.

She thinks she does okay with the first few. She has no idols, she honors her mother and father, and Mulder knows not to call her on Sunday mornings. Of course, the part about not taking the Lord’s name in vain can be tricky, but she’s working on it. 

Number five is where it gets dicey. Thou shalt not kill. She imagines that she wouldn’t, not on purpose, but the circumstances of her job worry her. God makes no exceptions for self-defense. And what if she were ever to be a true doctor? If she couldn’t save a patient, does that mean she killed them? 

Her father was in the Navy. He never killed anyone.

Number six...well, she doesn’t mention that often. Few people know about Daniel. Missy is one. Scully harbors a genuine shame regarding that time in her life, not so much because of Daniel, but because she was complicit in hurting his wife and daughter. It was a young, foolish mistake that she never wants to make again. 

She feels pretty good about number seven. The only thing she has ever stolen is one of Charlie’s matchbox cars when they were kids. She was uninterested in Missy’s hand-me-down Barbies and Raggedy Ann dolls. The boys’ toys were much cooler. She trusted the Lord enough to know that He wouldn’t hold something she did when she was seven against her. Besides, she gave it back when Charlie figured out it was missing. She just wishes he had let her play with him after that.

Number eight: thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor. She considers honesty one of her best qualities. She sure hopes God does too. She’s not the most open person, but that’s different from lying…

Nine is a lost cause, considering six had been broken. This was her least favorite part of her family’s religion: the power it had to cause her shame about her own body, her own desires. She had her first crisis of faith over this at age 14. Missy comforted her with something she has never forgotten: “The original sin was the serpent’s deception, not Eve’s desire. Even God pins it on the woman.” She knew her sister could only say that because she didn’t truly believe and wasn’t trying to, but it had stuck with Scully through many moments when she needed it. 

And finally, thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s goods. She supposes she did this with the matchbox cars when she was seven, but in literal terms that’s about it. Metaphorically, she does this all the time and struggles with why she feels so inadequate. Her sister’s confidence, Mulder’s tenacity, her father’s faith...The ideal Dana Scully would have all of these. The real one is a work in progress.

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

So it goes that she finds herself prepping a case in the office on Valentine’s Day. Mulder’s scheduled to fly to Florida the next morning to investigate attacks in a community of circus performers. He’s convinced it’s the Fiji Mermaid, she’s convinced he needs to get his head checked; the usual. This is one comfort Scully can always rely on. No matter how utterly twisted her life gets, she will always think Mulder is crazy, and he will always go along with it. 

The occasion of the day goes unmentioned until what Mulder lovingly refers to as “closing time,” which is not a specific time but rather the point that he finally gives up for the day, usually hastened by his partner’s prodding. Scully has learned the signs of his dwindling tenacity by now. She glances at the clock as he pulls his glasses off his head and tosses a sunflower seed in the wastebasket, pleasantly surprised that it reads only 5:15. He catches her checking, his eyes--amber today--meeting hers.

His lips curl in amusement. “You got a date or something?” 

“No,” she blinks, feeling like a child caught taking a cookie from the jar. Her cheeks grow hot, threatening to make a scene. “I figured you did, since you’re finishing up so early.”

Mulder straightens his stack of papers, clinking them against the desk obnoxiously. “Think again, buckaroo.”

He’s taken to calling her that lately. Neither one of them is sure why, it just popped into his mind one day and stuck. It makes her feel like a heroine in some 70s Western shoot-out flick who wrangles all the bad guys and locks’em in the county jail. She’s thankful that someone can see her for what she could be rather than what she is. It helps her see that too. 

He stuffs his papers in a manila folder, then rises from behind the desk and stoops toward the backpack he prefers to a briefcase. (She called him a kindergartener once because of it and he remarked that he’d ‘rather be a kindergartener than an adult.’ She couldn’t argue with that.) “Valentine’s Day isn’t really observed under the Fox Mulder calendar,” he says, unzipping the bag and putting the folder in. “Halloween and Thanksgiving, those are my holy days.” 

“You worship at the shrine of the food pyramid,” Scully smirks. 

“Yes indeed. Wait--” Scully’s gaze flicks to him, genuinely concerned. He dissolves her uncertainty with a boyish grin. “--does the food pyramid include candy?”

She rolls her eyes, but it’s not deeply felt. She misses these flat-lining comedic routines of his, usually at their best when they’re putzing through some tumble-weed town where the bathroom stalls at the gas station don’t lock. He loves being the funniest person in a ten-mile radius, and that’s not a satisfaction he can have in DC. She wonders if he tells these lame jokes to strangers now, or if they were just for her. 

“Speaking of food,” he says, brushing a hand through his hair, “you wanna grab dinner?”

Scully’s forehead creases. “Like, in a restaurant?”

“I mean, I wasn’t gonna be that forward, but I guess we could take it to yours or mine...”

Scully laughs lightly, wrapping her arms around herself, fingers caressing her bony elbows. “We’ve already covered what day it is,” she demures. “Everyone having dinner is going to be on a date.”

“You’re right...the restaurant probably won’t let us in unless we make out in front of the hostess,” he deadpans. 

“Not to mention that we don’t have any reservations…”

“Well, making out might remedy that, depending on the hostess.”

She gives him her ‘last straw’ look--crossed arms, arched eyebrow, stinging glare--and he raises his hands in surrender. “I’ll stick to slipping a twenty, then.”

Scully uncrosses her arms and slinks toward her purse rather languishly. “No restaurants, Mulder. It’s too much trouble on a holiday.”

“I sure hope you didn’t mistake my suggestion as an invitation to Mulder’s Downhome Country Kitchen, cause that place is not Michelin star rated.”

“I’m well aware. I’ve seen the menu.”

“Is Chateau de Scully open tonight?” he asks with an eyebrow raise that his partner couldn’t have missed if she tried--and she did. 

“Well, the chef is celebrating Valentine’s Day with her girlfriend in Oregon, so you’d be waiting awhile for your meal.”

“There’s no back-up chef? I don’t know, someone who may need to feed herself while the chef is away?”

“Yes, but she doesn’t serve the public.”

“Ouch.”

He plucks their respective coats off the rack, folding his own over his arm and throwing his partner’s over her shoulders. She jumps just the tiniest bit--she probably thinks he didn’t notice, so he’ll pretend he didn’t--then slips her arms in the sleeves and pulls it on properly.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, avoiding eye contact.

After he’s put his own jacket on, he hoists up his backpack, fielding off his partner’s near swerve into laughter. She’s barely maintaining a straight face, and even if it’s at his expense, he loves it because unadulterated joy is something she deserves so much. 

“You know what, I’ve got just the solution,” he says as he strolls out the doorway, flipping the light switch as he goes, leaving Scully scrambling in the dark. 

“Hey!” 

He hears her petulant voice, followed quickly by the laugh he was looking for. When she turns to him after locking the office door, her eyes are still shining from the momentary euphoria. He is so happy to know her.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this place is the Smithsonian of vending machines.”

“Mm-hm.”

“And I know a door to the rooftop that never gets locked.” He flashes her a sly look, his intentions pure despite himself. 

“It’s 40 degrees outside,” she counters before he can even voice his proposal.

“Sure, but we can make some fresh coffee, and there’s gotta be blankets in that storage closet of ours.” Ours. Very few things are theirs. She wishes he would say it again.

As much as her instinct is to protest, she can’t quite muster the resolve to. I mean, it checks all the boxes. It’s not a restaurant, she’d only have to eat a snack from the vending machine, and she wouldn’t have to spend Valentine’s night alone, which is a sneaky sadness that had been pressing at the back of her mind.

“Fine,” she bluffs, as if it were a great inconvenience to her. She enjoys the cat-and-mouse game, what can she say? “You find the blankets, I’ll get the coffee.”

Mulder smiles, his lips edging over his teeth in an aesthetically pleasing way that makes Scully feel like he missed his calling as a male model. Of course, this smile isn’t posed. The constant in his life is his partner’s unpredictability. Everyone thinks she’s a stone-cold skeptic, but he knows she’s an uncertain believer, and there’s no one harder to pin down than that. Her yes to his Valentine plans may as well be an admission that Bigfoot exists. 

“Let’s meet by the sixth floor stairwell, okay?” he prompts, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

Flashes of Christmas Eve sabotage her thoughts--her mother’s kitchen, her untidy tipsiness, Mulder just trying to iron things out. He’d touched her, and she’d lashed out at him. Reaction formation, that was the term for the defense mechanism she’d used. He knew it, probably studied it extensively. Concealing an impulse by acting out its opposite.

Instead of mentioning this, she looks him in the eyes and says, “Okay, I’ll use the coffee machine on the sixth floor then,” as if his touch hadn’t brought forth both memory and desire. 

“Great. See you there.” He pulls finger guns, and she thinks that maybe this is already her best Valentine’s Day yet.

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

Five stories of stairs is a long way to go with two hot mugs of coffee. Scully had hoped there would be some styrofoam cups--something she could put a lid on--but the Bureau is stingy, so she had to go all the way back to the basement, grab their coffee mugs, take the elevator back to the sixth floor, brew some dark roast (to Mulder’s probable discontent), then hope that by some miracle, they could make it to the roof. 

Ever the idealist, Mulder takes the challenge in stride. Though his arms are already bundled with some comforters he found tucked away in storage (he shudders to think how old they must be), he takes the handle of his mug, squeezing the blankets snug against his chest. 

“Are you sure about this?” his partner asks with her usual uneven tone. “What if we get all the way up there and the door is locked?”

“We knock and get the snipers to open the door for us,” he answers matter-of-factly.

Scully’s eyebrows shoot up. “Snipers?”

“Oh yeah, did I forget to mention? There’s a longstanding rumor about snipers on the roof that I’d like to get to the bottom of.”

His demeanor is just loose enough to make Scully question whether he is in fact kidding. A conversational casualness permeates all of his sensational soliloquies because to him, the phenomena he’s discussing should be regarded as a fact of the world. If he ever launched into an indifferent lecture on the subject, she’d know he was bluffing.

Having never heard the rumor herself, she decides this is simply a figment of his overactive imagination. She’ll play along. “Well, if it’s anything like the talk of you being spooky, then it doesn’t look good for us…” she teases, her own smirk eliciting an identical one from her partner. 

Masking his impatience by embodying the role of the gentleman, Mulder uses his free hand to prop open the stairwell door, ushering his partner through. The landing of each story has one stray light bulb, there for show more than anything. Most of them are either flickering or burned out, the agents discover as they inch their way up, one slowly taken step at a time. Step, pause for the coffee to settle, hope it doesn’t breach its container, step: that’s the process they adopt for approximately 100 steps in the cold Hoover stairwell. There are many ways to show love; Mulder bets that you wouldn’t find this in any lame self-help book. 

“Do you think Romeo would have done this for Juliet?” he muses.

“Depends on what he was expecting once they made it to the top,” Scully quips, the edges of her lips turning up slightly.

Mulder nods, perpetually amused by her (too) infrequent jaunts into suggestive territory. “My man really got ahead of himself with the whole ‘dying for her’ schtick.” 

“You’re one to talk.” 

Mulder eyes her. “Actually, I think it was you who was going to die for me.”

“Not for you, because of you.” Her statement is neither packed with malice nor free of blame. “There’s a difference.”

She may as well have shot him at point blank range; then at least she could see the bleeding. She didn’t mean to be so blunt, but he gave her the perfect setup. Mulder cauterizes his own wound, disguising his pain as a joke. “Damn, I was finally moving past that!”

“At least one of us was,” she says, her voice fluttering, and he knows she’s just teasing, but god, what if she’s cauterizing her own hidden wounds?

They reach the door labelled ‘roof,’ and Mulder can’t decipher what happens first, him putting his hand on the door handle or her placing a chilly hand on his cheek. Playing it back in his head later on he won’t even be able to figure it out-- it cut time loose from its axes in such a way. 

“Are you okay, Scully?” He’s not sure why this is the first question out of his mouth, but it is.

“I need a hand warmer,” she murmurs. “The coffee’s already cooling off.”

All the while, Mulder is acutely aware that her hand’s still on his cheek and she’s got him propped against the door, and what does she want him to do with that information?

Her thumb grazes his mole, and it becomes clear to him that there are two ways this scenario could go, and if she doesn’t want the second one it’s imperative that she stop rubbing rhythmic circles into his skin.

He clears his throat. “Do you want to...do you want me to check for snipers?” Her touch continues, uninterrupted. 

“Is the door unlocked?” Her voice sounds airy and far away. She probably didn’t even hear his question. 

He pushes on the handle, confirming their freedom. “Yes ma’am,” he answers, fear of a sort edging him into total politeness. He is twelve tiptoeing through the too empty halls of his house, again.

“Let’s have a picnic,” she says, still light and airy, as if that weren’t the plan the entire time. Then, she breaks into sudden laughter, pulling her hand away from Mulder’s cheek in her fit. “We forgot the food!” 

She is back to normal now, his steadfast Scully with a side of joy. 

Half of him mourning for the otherworldly Scully and the moment that could have been, he laughs too. “There may have been some lapses in planning.”

“We can make do, can’t we?” There’s a glimmer in her eyes that suggests the moment is not as far gone as he believed.

“Cold coffee sounds like an enduring Valentine’s tradition,” he affirms.

They choose not to dwell on words like “enduring” and “tradition,” entering the chill of the Hoover Building rooftop on Valentine’s night. 

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

They’re not that far above the city really--the Hoover’s no NYC skyscraper--but their heads are in the clouds, that’s for sure. It’s not the typical dinner date complete with melted candles and overpriced dessert and overly attentive waiters, but as it turns out, they would both hate that. After all, this is not a date, it’s a casual hangout between two coworkers who don’t have dates on Valentine’s Day. If anything, it’s an anti-date. That’s what they tell themselves.

February’s unrelenting chill swirls around them, catching Scully’s hair in playful tantrums and turning the two of them into life-size paperweights atop the blankets. More sensible people may call the night a bust, but not the Prince of Halloweentown and his esteemed guest. This unconventional adventure is exactly what they bargained for.

Scully looks to Mulder, who’s holding his coffee like it’s a beer. She smiles. That is so him.

She exhales, and her breath spells itself out on the air. She tilts her face to the sky, as if the sun might suddenly rise and bask her in its heat. Mulder notices and fixes his attention there too, happy to have an excuse to look skyward. It’s his outlet, like hers is the sea her father dedicated his life to. His preferred escape method is to fly away; hers is to drift off.

He forces himself back into the moment, here, with her, and the expanse of the sky. “I once spent fifty bucks on one of those ‘name a star’ certificates, and I can’t even see it because of the goddamn light pollution.”

“I think that’s really more about the gesture than anything else,” Scully replies, trying to soothe him as if this were actually a pressing problem. “Unless you bought it for yourself...?”

Mulder chuckles. “No, no. It was for an old girlfriend.”

Scully raises her eyebrows in amusement. “Did you name it after her?”

“No, we named it the Rhine star.”

A puzzled look passes between them. It gives him a twinge of joy that his partner is not the encyclopedia she seems to be. 

“After Joseph Banks Rhine, the founder of parapsychology,” he clarifies. “We were both fascinated by the field.”

“Oh.” She turns her face back toward the sky with the feeling of a kid who missed the winning word of the spelling bee. There are times when she is grateful she does not know everything, and times when she is not. Somehow, this is both. 

“I’ve thought about buying another one and naming it after Samantha,” Mulder continues, “but it feels too much like a grave marker.”

“I’d consider it a lovely tribute,” Scully counters, used to doing so. “But I’m thirty and I own my own gravestone, so take that with a grain of salt.”

It’s true--once Dana was returned, her mother couldn’t bear to look at the gravestone she’d had engraved in memory of her missing daughter, so she gave it to Mulder, who saw no logical place for it to go except the woman whose name it bore. Margaret hadn’t wanted her to know that it existed, that they’d gotten so far as considering her gone. While it brought Mulder no joy to present it to his partner, it served as a reminder of the miracle her survival was, and in such bleak times, they had both needed that. 

“It doesn’t scare me--the thought of dying,” Scully says to the stars. Mulder wonders if she meant for him to hear it. He wishes he hadn’t, but he’s met with the realization that she is trying to start a conversation when her eyes look into his.

He doesn’t know where to go with this, so he toes the line between deep and sarcastic. “I thought Catholics were all about that heaven and hell stuff.”

“Yes, but…” where is the line between truth and blasphemy, she wonders? Settling herself, she starts over. “I’ve lived both on Earth, so what have I got to fear?” She turns her glance to the blanket, as if shrinking out of the Lord’s sight. “Besides, sometimes I think I’m already there.” 

“Heaven?”

“No, Hell.”

He should have known. He grips the edge of his blanket, wondering why his parents had prioritized the sex talk but never explained what to do in a situation like this. He has a psychology degree, sure, but he’s as much a psychologist as she’s a physicist. 

“There are periods of life, I think, where everyone feels like that,” he says in the most earnest voice he can conjure. “It’s just that nobody ever talks about it.”

“Did you feel like that with Samantha?” 

Leave it to Scully to turn a personal conversation back on him.

He bites his lip. “Yeah, yeah, I did. Still do, if I think about it too long.”

“How did you...move past it?” The lights of nearby buildings reflect off her blue eyes, galaxies to his black holes. He’d give anything to sluice the pain right from her heart. 

He’ll rely on his words instead, despite knowing there are depths they cannot touch. “I, uh, I didn’t really move past it, I just moved. Kept moving, I guess. I found a place where I could make progress out of my pain. Here--the X-Files.”

Scully swallows hard, knocking back tears. "That’s the issue. I feel stuck. Just completely unable to go forward. There’s a current in my brain that keeps pushing me backward.”

Mulder lets out a deep breath, trying to take both their pain with it. “Have you considered seeing a therapist?” he asks delicately. “It sounds like you may have PTSD.”

“Over what?” she practically snaps. “I don’t remember a thing.”

“That doesn’t mean you have no memories. Regression hypnosis could help recover repressed or unconscious memories, so you could understand exactly what’s bothering you.”

“You think I haven’t heard this spiel from Melissa?”

“I bet Melissa doesn’t have first-hand experience with it.”

“No, she doesn’t,” she murmurs in the tone of an apology. She knew that he had it, she had listened to the tapes. How could she let it slip her mind? It is uncouth of her to look down on his chosen method of healing.

Mulder isn’t bothered. He continues, “It helped me. Both in recalling the details of the experience, and in having a recorded recollection of it. It helped me feel less...insane.”

“Mmm.” If he were just a bit closer, she’d reach out and touch his hand.

“If anything, I wish I did it earlier.”

Scully’s understanding of him sharpens, like an ophthalmologist flipping the lens, making her vision clearer. Her gaze probes him, mutual souls recognizing mutual pain. 

“Hey.” He uses his extended wingspan to touch her shoulder with the care an older sibling would show holding their baby brother for the first time. She turns her head, their faces mere inches away from each other. His eyes are a dopey brown, his breath scented with coffee.

“Yes?” she says with a coquettish flitting of her eyelashes. 

“You should come back out on the road. I could use someone to shoot down all my wild whims.”

She can’t help but smile, though she keeps her mouth closed. “Tired of telling jokes to strangers who don’t laugh, are you?”

He smirks. “Well, yeah, that too.” He leans back a bit, putting enough distance between them to keep the sparks in check. “Of course, if you’re not ready, there’s no pressure. I just think you could use the change of scenery and--you know--companionship.”

She nods, looks out into the night. He’s got the pulse of her problems and the salve that could soothe them. “You’re right.” How often does he get to hear those beautiful words come out of her mouth? “I need to get out of my cocoon, and I think I’m okay enough to do that now.”

“Yeah?” There’s a twinkle in his eyes, something like hope.

She laughs--catharsis manifest--and it’s like a sheen of light coming through a crack in her jagged surface. “Yeah, Mulder. I’ll make the arrangements with Skinner.”

He pumps his fists in the air. “Hallelujah!” 

She hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her. Any stray thoughts she had of him being lonely she chalked up to her own delusions. 

“Florida is probably a lost cause,” she notes, “but after that…”

He nods, pats her shoulder. “After that.”

To have her back meant something like freedom. The X-Files had never been anything without her. He had never been anything without her. 

#oh to share a morbid conversation with your partner on a rooftop on valentines day #i struggled with this part but im quite happy with how it came out <3 #only the light fic #missy and scully fic #the x-files #txf #txf fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully #mine #thank you as always for reading and supporting

[mothicalspoken]

Sasha and Anne obviously have some serious issues to work out. But their relationship is so intriguing. long rant under the cut!

At first, Sasha and Anne are a clear-cut case of bully and pushover. Sasha is toxic, and manipulative, and controlling, and pressures Anne into doing things she doesn’t want to do, and gets the entire group into trouble with her dangerous schenanigans, which Anne takes the blame for, as referenced in “The Dinner.” She forces Anne to shoplift her own birthday present for god’s sake. Sasha is horrible. No doubt about it.

And Anne copies her behavior itnitally with Sprig. Her “friendship” with Sasha has warped her view of a heathy friendship so badly that she thinks giving your friend whatever they want and/or roping them into dangerous situations against their will is the norm. But Sprig and the Plantars show Anne that it’s not always like that, and some friendships are mutually beneficial and based on solid, action-based love and support. All that good stuff.

Then Reunion rolls around, and Anne hasn’t seen Sasha in months. So of course she’s happy to see her, she’s been her friend for years! But Anne has changed and Sasha hasn’t. Sasha is still controlling and horrible, and pushes Anne around, even to the point of making her drop her sword when trying to defend her family and friends against a hostile takeover and/or death. But then Sprig stands up for Anne, and then that gives Anne the courage to stand up for herself against Sasha as well, and when all the tension culminates into a full-on sword fight, Anne wins. Sasha doesn’t have control of her anymore, and oh shit Toad Tower is crumbling, and the ground falls out from under Sasha, and even though Sasha has been nothing but a terrible friend to Anne, Anne still instantly goes and grabs her hand, saving her from certain death.

And the part about this that really gets me is that Anne knows that Sasha’s scared. She’s trying to comfort her. She’s holding onto her, and saying she’s going to be okay, while the both of them slip further down and the Plantars are struggling to keep Anne from falling. They’re literally thirty seconds from

falling to their death, and Anne is still trying to a good friend, even after the damage Sasha has done to her.

And while seeing the Plantars loyalty to Anne, and also how it’s possible that they won’t make it out of here alive and how this is her fault, Sasha has a realization. And she decides to sacrifice herself for Anne. She lets go, fully aware that she’s falling to her death. (Note that this is a literal 13-year old. A child. Like holy shit.) Of course, Grime saves her, and maybe my ramble here isn’t finished, but it’s long enough. Underneath the horrible actions, there’s still genuine care for eachother. No matter what happens, in the end, these two are always going to try to save each other, whether from natural causes or from themselves.

In True Colors, Anne denounces her and Sasha’s friendship due to Sasha’s betrayal, and then later during their swordfight, swings wildly and goes for her vitals, as confirmed by a storyboarder. Sasha refuses to hurt Anne physically though during the entire fight.

And then, Anne calls on Sasha to fight by her side against King Andrias and they fight back-to-back, working in sync almost effortlessly, with nothing but a nod.

Maybe there‘s a still a chance for them to work well together off the battlefield, but they need to work on themselves first. In the meantime, it’s fun analyzing the complexity of their friendship.

#Amphibia #Sasha Waybright #Anne boonchuy #Amphibia spoilers #true colors spoilers #Why am I like this

[amjustagirl]

Hii nikki jie!!!! Idk if you've had time to read the tags on the reblogs of a sea of flowers in bloom but in case you havent i just wanted to drop in and tell you that i love every single chapter sobsob. Pls i didnt even know there was a tag limit until i reached it when i was rambling after one of the chapters. This fic has officially gotten me through my first 2 weeks of uni and life will not be same without more kita for me to look forward to every tuesday as my sch week starts and every friday as my sch week ends lsjkdfh HAHA

anyways i absolutely loved how you handled kita's insecurities and reader's character growth was absolutely incredible. Her learning how to grab happiness with her own two hands and that leading her to give kita a chance after he apologised was soso beautiful to me 😭 like idk i feel like usually when a character has that kind of growth it ends up with them not having a man which is a great learning lesson on how you dont need other people to be happy BUT this time reader also knows how so very kind kita is and gave him a chance and STILL had her happiness and i think that's why the line "You’d already learnt to grasp happiness for yourself, but with his companionship, his friendship, his love (and gods, his kisses are to die for), the sprout of happiness you’ve cultivated multiplies into a whole sea of flowers in bloom" resonated with me so much i full on sobbed when i read this askjfksd

I loved all the pictures you painted throughout this whole fic; the ocean, drowning, life rafts, jumping off a cliff, all eventually leading back to 'a sea of flowers in bloom' it was absolutely amazing. I loved kaiyo and tsumu's banter and reader's friendship with kaiyo (and reader making friends with the msby boys had me crying too🥺).

As for outtakes, if i may offer asami and shoma? Maybe one of their playdates or even when asami introduced shoma to her parents as her boyfriend HAHA but if youre not comfortable or inspired to write that no worries :> is it too shameless to say i would just take whatever crumbs you give us HAHAH

Help not me spending like 20min to write this out instead of doing my tutorials asdfkjs sorry for the long message i just felt the need to make my love for a sea of flowers in bloom known HAHAHA hope you have a great day and a good weekend :) (Ive only sent you an ask on anon like once without signing off cuz i was too shy but i think ill start signing off cuz i would probably want to drop in more often 😆) ~ann :> (if thats not taken?)

ann <3

dw bb i've been reading and rejoicing over ALL your tags - the number of times ive gotten weird stares cos i giggled on the mrt is....more than my fingers HAHAHA. ahh i'm glad i made such a difference to the start of your uni sem! if you ever wanna rant about uni or life my inbox is always open, yeah!!

and adff,sgjkldfj;dsfdskj maybe it was me wanting to be greedy and give reader-chan the best of both worlds - growing into her strength while leaving space for love. she definitely doesn't need kita to be happy, but i recognised that he has the potential of making her happier - so that's what i was rly going for in this story. and that line you quoted (pls don't sob bb *wipes your tears away gently*) really encapsulates her growth and destination at the end of the fic. and it also signifies both of them coming together by marrying the imageries they're associated with, the sea imagery with the flower imagery and yeah :3

omg ty for appreciating the imagery!!! sometimes i wonder if im going overboard with it, whether im being poetic for the sake of being poetic but like...idk they kinda speak to me and i do try to be intentional with their placement. i'd say (as mentioned above) that there are two main imageries - sea (i.e. lift raft, ocean, drowning), and flowers (the river of flowers, sprout of happiness etc) that each character is associated with, and then married together as their paths converge and perhaps a dash of imagery for fun (and to tie it back into the storm chaser universe where taking a chance was likened to jumping off a cliff ><)

oh i am definitely gonna write the asami / shoma outtake sometime soon HAHA. let's torture kita and make him sweat a bit. and pls don't be shy about sending asks or even slipping into my dms! i love to chat, and i 100% am happy to talk abt anything under the sun HAHAHAHAHAH. i hope you have a lovely weekend, darling <3

#Nikki chats! #Ann<3 #a sea of flowers in bloom

[cynicalrainbows]

Hey! I’ve got a fix request if that’s ok! After a long day at the theatre everyone’s tired but during the megasix Anne goes into sensory overload?

So I should preface this with the fact that I don’t actually know what a sensory overload feels like. So it’s more ‘Anne gets overwhelmed with all the noise etc’ which is something I can write about.

Anyway, enjoy!

**

It’s been a long week, one of those weeks where everything seems determined to go wrong in as many ways as possible, often at the most inopportune moments.

Because of this, everyone is more on edge than usual, everyone is irritable: Catalina snaps and Kitty sulks. Jane puts things down with more force than is strictly necessary and Cathy holds her book up in front of her eyes to discourage attempts at communication and flicks pages obnoxiously loudly.

 Even Anna, far and away the calmest and least rufflable of them all, has started to feel the strain and by Thursday is far gone enough that she actually snaps at Kitty for taking her clothes without asking and then at Jane for taking Kitty’s side. The difference of course is that Anna at least has an excuse because that same evening, she comes down with what is officially called A Cold but that feels (she assures Anne) rather an awful lot like the pneumonic Plague.

 Anne is glad for Anna’s sake when she finally agrees to take a couple of days off to recover properly but she also can't help but feel a bit abandoned too. The dressing room isn’t the same without Anna to diffuse the tension and while she normally enjoys Catalina’s company, it scarcely counts as company when all the two do is snap at one another. Anna is like a balm- she smooths out rough edges, she can diffuse almost anything with a joke or a comment. Without her, everything feels ever so slightly off balance.

 As bad as the snapping is though, the silence in the dressing room once Anna finally gives in and goes home to bed is worse. Anne knows Catalina isn’t angry with her specifically, that the woman is just not really in the mood to talk and is staying quiet to avoid starting off yet another disagreement, but it still makes things uncomfortably tense.

 Even when Saturday rolls around, it isn’t much comfort to think about the fact that Sunday is just around the corner because Saturday is always the hardest day of the week- the biggest workload, just when everyone is least prepared for it, the rowdiest audiences just when everyone is at their lowest ebb, the most hours spent waiting around at the theatre when really all anyone wants is to go home and take a nap.

 Sometimes the exhaustion works in their favour, on the days that the tiredness makes everything somehow seem that bit funnier. Tired-drunk, Cathay calls it, when one or other of the queens finds themselves giggling half hysterically over something that in the cold light of a Monday morning would really seem not that amusing at all. At least they get some good social media videos out of it.

 Mostly though, being tired just makes everyone shorter and snappier and more prone to storming out of the dressing room to sulk- or cry or walk around angrily slamming doors or lurk in corridors muttering darkly about how much better things will be when they got their book deal and cam write full time.

 Nobody is sleeping well, nobody can be bothered to eat proper meals, let alone actually cook them, and they all feel like they haven’t seen the sun in months.

  In short, they are in dire need of a day off.

 By Saturday’s second show, Anne is almost counting the seconds til she can go home.

She feels like her shoes are made of lead, her head is pounding, her costume is sticking to her uncomfortably and she is bitterly regretting the energy drink she’d downed in lieu of lunch on Cathy's perhaps slightly misguided advice. Not that she can blame Cathy- it’s her own fault for taking advice from a woman who not only occasionally substitutes coffee for milk on her cereal but actually professes to prefer it.

 The discomfort distracts her and makes her come rather too close- unpleasantly close, dangerously close- to missing a couple of cues during Ex Wives. It’s nothing the audience will have noticed, even if they have seen the show before, and perhaps even the other queens won't pick up on it, but she knows and the thought gives her a horrible flustered feeling, like she’s falling behind and needs to catch up to something.

 Except there is no chance to catch up. Sometimes the lack of interval doesn’t bother her at all-  they’re all rather glad of it at times because it does away with having to worry about recapturing the audience's attention and goodwill after twenty minutes of all 200 of them getting irritated over overpriced wine and tiny-tubbed ice cream- but now she would kill for five minutes to sit down for a moment and collect herself.

 Even the show gets harder as it continues- she's unsettled by having someone who isn't Anna in Anna's place, the songs get longer, the dialogues get more heated and shouty, and Haus of Holbein...well, Haus of Holbein just exists.

She has never been less prepared for the flashing lights and pounding bass, and even when it’s over, she can feel the tension building up inside herself, the feeling of her last threads of control beginning to dry out, stretch thin and snap.

 Finally, finally, they strike their ending poses, fists thrust in the air. Anne can feel her arm trembling slightly and hopes that no one else will notice. She doesn’t feel like fielding questions off stage.

 Although she’s been hoping for a moment to collect herself, the split second of reprieve granted before the music starts again and the Megasix begins, if anything, make her feel more overwhelmed rather than less, as if her body, having tasted peace and quiet for a moment, is protesting bitterly by making everything that much louder.

 The dancing- not even really being able to rely on muscle memory because it’s apparently important that they keep an informality to the Megasix that can only be achieved by insisting that everybody dance freestyle- begins to feel like a rather unusual and exquisite form of torture.

 And then the confetti starts and it’s in her face and under her feet and god someone's going to break their neck one of these days and the front row fans are screaming particularly loudly- not just screaming but screaming words too, and as much as she knows they are most likely positive things, the words are lapping over one another like waves coming too quickly on the beach, sucking away her control, and the effort of keeping a smile on her face as she tries to focus on different parts of the audience so that everyone, even those people in further back seats feel included, are making her face hurt and her costume is prickling with sweat and god she just wants to rip it off and someone must have decided now was a good time to give themselves a quick douse of perfume in the front few rows because now it’s tickling her nose, it’s far too strong, and it’s all too loud, too bright, too much, too much for her to deal with all in one go, and in the midst of it all, she feels herself left as small and pink and vulnerable as an oyster, pried open and squirted with lemon juice, cringing in the remains of its broken shell.

 When the last note sounds and the stage goes mercifully dark and the curtain comes down, she can't move from her final pose. At last, at last, at last she can breathe for a second- but Kitty is already pulling on her arm and telling her to hurry up, come on, get changed so we can get to the pub- and maybe it’s Kitty shrieking in her ear, and maybe it’s the very sensation of being pulled and maybe it’s the thought of having to endure yet another noisy, bright, crowded space after everything, but to her mild surprise, Anne finds that rather than just pushing Kitty away like she would have had no problem doing normally, she’s wrenching herself away with such force that Kitty lets out a squeak of surprise and then she’s curling up right there on the confetti-strewn stage with her hands clasped so tightly over her ears it hurts and her eyes screwed shut so that she can almost see stars, folded up tightly to protect the very very tiny fragile hold on reality that she still has left.

 ‘Anne?’

 ‘Anne are you alright?’

 The others crowd round her immediately. 

 ‘What’s the matter, are you hurt?’

 She can't find the words to ask them to be quiet- but when Cathy’s concerned hand presses the scratchy material of her costume harder against her shoulder, she squirms and whines unhappily, cringing away. She’d be embarrassed, she thinks distantly, if she had any space in her head for anything other than panic.

 ‘…..can’t stay here.’

 ‘You can’t be thinking of moving her.’

 ‘It’s horrible to move her if she doesn't want to-’

 ‘Look she won’t want to stay here either, she’ll calm down quicker if she’s somewhere quiet-’

 After a minute or two of bickering, Catalina effectively ends the argument by scooping Anne into her arms and bearing her off to the dressing room.

 The added contact, the spikiness of Catalina’s costume, the noise the other queens are making makes her wriggle unhappily in Catalina’s arms but she doesn’t fight too hard, not really.

 She isn’t sure what she’d do if Catalina DID put her down. Curl back up into a ball until things got quieter, probably.

 In the dressing room, Catalina sets her gently on the carpet- or starts too. When Anne cringes away at the scratchy nylon, Jane spreads Kitty’s hoody and her own coat on the floor.

 ‘There, that’s better-’

 ‘What should we do…?’

 ‘I don't think we should all stay-’

 ‘Should we leave her alone?’

 Their voices are piling up again and it hurts, they hurt, muddling her already overburdened mind, and she’s just beginning to feel a scream tickling the back of her throat when Catalina holds up a hand.

 ‘Can't we have this conversation in the corridor?’

 Cathy nods; Kitty opens the door, casting worried looks back at Anne even as Jane tugs her outside.

 And then they are all out into the corridor. 

 Cathy makes a brief return to flick off the lights….and then she too withdraws, and Anne is left in peace.

 She curls up on her side in the welcome darkness. Her hands are still over her ears but slightly less tightly now. 

 Breath. Breathe. Breathe.

 She's still shaking, shaking even harder than before. Her teeth are chattering.

 Sweat dries on her skin.

 The tremors make her arms and legs ache but the pain is almost soothing- something else to focus on, at least.

 Slowly, slowly, she begins to relax her tensed-tight muscles, one by one.

 At least now it’s quiet.

 *

 They leave her alone for as long as they can- although really she can’t say how much time has passed- and then the door opens. Light spills in from the corridor.

 ‘Anne?’

 It’s Catalina.

 ‘Mija, it’s time to go home.’

 She curls up tighter and Catalina comes properly into the room, holding the door open with her foot.

 ‘Anne, it’s getting late. You’ll be more comfortable at home where you can rest.’

 She’s afraid that if she moves, all the light and noise of the theatre will engulf her again, flood her and suck her down; she’s feeling better now, she doesn't want to take the risk of moving.

 But Catalina doesn’t move. Her face is anguished- she looks pained, unhappy. She doesn't want to be the one having to make Anne move, and it gives her no pleasure when Anne eventually gets shakily to her feet.

 On the way to the car, she keeps her distance, gives her breathing room. She asks quietly if Anne would like help when she stumbles and when she shakes her head, she can see how that bothers Catalina too.

She’s not used to not being able to give comfort, she’s used to having to almost peel Cathy off, she’s used to Jane trailing around after her like a shadow. She’s used to being able to help.

 But she doesn’t press it and Anne is grateful.

 *

 When they get home, the others are awake and clustered in the living room but the hum of conversation falls silent when the front door opens and closes.

 Jane pops into the hall to say that she's welcome to join them if she’d like but that they completely understand if Anne would rather have some time on her own.

 She nods but when she goes upstairs it's not her own door she stops at but Anna's.

 She knocks, quietly, in case Anna is asleep- and then very gently nudges open the door. She's still shaking slightly.

 Anna’s room is half lit from the open laptop on the floor by the bed. The laptop is silent, the darkness is soft and welcoming. All is quiet and calm. She takes her first proper breath in what feels like hours.

  Anna herself is dozing- but opens her eyes just as Anne is making up her mind to resigning herself to going back to her own room.

 ‘Anne?’

 She gives a shaky half smile.

 ‘What time is it?’

 She nudges Anna's digital clock to face her: the lighted dial shows nearly 11pm.

  She isn’t sure if the others have filled Anna in, if she knows anything at all. (She decides not to ask, she’d rather not know.)

 ‘Oh’. Anna rolls onto her back and takes some tissues to blow her nose. ‘Are you ok?’

 She hesitates, trying to strip away the layers of meaning- she isn't sure whether to say yes or no, so after a minute she just shrugs.

 Anna sits up a bit and pats the bed next to her, flipping back the duvet.

 ‘Want to come keep me company in my bed of sickness?’

 She can't be sure but she feels like Anna is deliberately talking more softly than usual.

 Suddenly she wants nothing more than to take refuge here, in the peaceful semi darkness, where she has Anna next to her to do her talking for her until she feels up to talking for herself.

 She nods.

 ‘Come on then.’

  She crosses the room and gets under the covers in the sweats and tshirt Catalina helped her change into before going to the car. 

 Under the duvet, she burrows into Anna's side: it's warm and dark, it feels like a good place to recover.

 Anna lies down next to her, fitting her body around Anne's and wrapping an arm around her.

  It feels heavy, in the best way. Grounding.

 There's no way she’ll be able to float off into her own head with Anna here.

 ‘I missed you.’

 It’s quieter than a whisper, almost a breath, but Anna hears because she always does.

 ‘Missed you too, babes.’

  Anna’s arm tightens around her; her breath tickles Anne’s neck but it doesn’t bother her as much as it would have done an hour or two earlier. It’s a nice reminder that she isn’t alone.

 She closes her eyes, counts her breaths- in and out, like she’s learned to do at times like this- and waits to readjust to the world outside.

#six #six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six fanfiction

[scapegrace74-blog]

Saorsa, Chapter 11

A/N  Well, Jamie and Claire in the same scene was a big hit.   Who could have predicted that?!   Since I know when I’m on to a good thing, they’re together in this chapter too, but Jamie’s not very happy about it.   I love to torment that guy.  It’s an issue.  I’m working on it.

Rather than link to all previously posted chapters, I’ll just direct those of you wanting to catch up on your Saorsa-reading to my AO3 page, where the fic is posted in its entirety.

Thanks to @gotham-ruaidh for being my fanfic pimp, er, publicist.  And to all of you liking and reblogging my story.  It’s tremendously appreciated!

There was a sensation of floating, and then tremendous pain.  From behind his eyelids, he saw the flickering of flame.   Hell, then.  Maybe God really was an Englishman, because by Scottish standards he was fairly pious.  With that thought, he sank back into oblivion.

*

There was murmuring nearby, and a blessedly cool sensation against his back.  One of the voices was English and the other Scottish, and he distinctly heard “dinna think Captain Randall would approve”.  At the mention of that name, his breath seized and he tried to flee, but his limbs would not co-operate.  The second voice, a woman, soothed him. “Hush.  Do not be afraid.  You are safe here.”  Despite the fact this voice was clearly English, he believed her.

*

When he opened his eyes at last, he was in the laird’s bedchamber at Lallybroch.  He lay on his left side between bed linens so fine they felt like thistle down.  A candle burned near its base on the night table and its soft glow lit the face of a woman, seated in an unfamiliar chair next to the bed.  Her eyes were closed, but he sensed she wasn’t sleeping.  Her skin glowed like pearls in the candlelight and her dark hair framed her delicate features with billows of bonnie curls.  As he was trying to puzzle out where he knew her from, her eyelids lifted, and he found himself staring into the amber eyes of some woodland creature.  She did not speak and seemed equally startled to find him there, looking back at her.  After a minute or two of silent communion, his lashes drooped, and he fell back to sleep.

*

His back was on fire, and flames licked up his spine towards his crown.  He tried to thrash, but his limbs were bound, and every movement was torture.  He cried out, senseless and afraid.  Tears leaked from his eyes and met the rivulets of sweat that poured from his brow.

“It’s alright.  Try not to struggle, as it’s opening your wounds.  Please, you need to be still.”  The voice came from the void, and he tried to heed it, but the fever burned his nerves and wiped his mind blank as a slate.

“Murtagh!” he heard the voice yell, and then urgent whispering.  A pair of strong hands grabbed him by the thighs and a blade of visceral fear ran through him.

“Chan urrainn dhut a bhith agam!” he roared in terror.

“Hush lad.  Let the Sassenach tend to ye.”

“Feumaidh tu mo mharbhadh.  Cha tionndaidh mi a-null thugaibh a-chaoidh.  Bu luaithe a gheibh mi bàs!”

“No-one will be dying today, son.  Gabh air do shocair,” the male voice insisted.

“Innis don Chaiptean Randall gum faic mi e ann an ifrinn!”

“What is he saying?” the female voice asked, as cool material wiped his fevered face, bringing a morsel of relief.

“I dinna ken, really.  Some gibberish about nae telling anyone, an’ goin’ tae ‘ell, if ye’ll pardon my language, milady.”

“I distinctly heard him say Captain Randall.  Do you think he knows my husband?”

“Aye, it appears ‘e does.”

There was a sensation of cooler air reaching his bare arse, and then a sharp sting like a bee, before the linens covered him again.

“His wounds are infected, and no wonder, considering the state he came to us in.  That shot of penicillin should help.”

Minutes passed without further torment, and his rabbiting heart gradually slowed.   The fire blistering his back cooled, and he began to shiver in reaction.   The weight of a thin blanket spread over him.  He calmed.

“Do ye need me tae stay wi’ ye, milady?”

“No, Murtagh.  The worst has passed.   Get some rest.   And thank you.  Truly.”

There was the noise of retreating footsteps, and then silence.  He lay still, trying to make sense of his surroundings from within this newfound island of peace.   The cool sensation was on his face again, releasing rivulets of respite along his jaw and into his hair.  Despite his confusion, he knew the hand that bathed him meant him no harm, and he turned blindly towards it for comfort, like a flower turns to the sun.

***

Chan urrainn dhut a bhith agam! - You can't have me!

Feumaidh tu mo mharbhadh.  Cha tionndaidh mi a-null thugaibh a-chaoidh.  Bu luaithe a gheibh mi bàs! - Kill me if you must. I will never give in to you. I would sooner die!

Gabh air do shocair - take it easy

Innis don Chaiptean Randall gum faic mi e ann an ifrinn! - Tell Captain Randall I'll see him in Hell!

Historical note:  penicillin was discovered in 1928 and began to be used in medical treatments in 1942 (around the time of my story), but it wasn’t mass-produced until after World War 2.  For the sake of my story, suspend disbelief and assume that because it was discovered by a Scot (Alexander Fleming), Claire was able to gain access to it early.   More about him later in the story.

#outlander #my writing

[imaginarydaydreams]

even the strong need a lifeline sometimes

Fandom: Persona 5 Royal Concept: Akira needs a hug for his troubles. [Side A: Bad End] Date Written: 5/5/20 Thoughts: I have feelings. They are not good feelings. Takuto Maruki makes me depressed. Spoilers for 1/9, or the first bad end of Third Semester.

“So will you deny this happiness? Or will you accept this reality as the true reality? I need your answer.” Takuto looked down at both Akira and Akechi from his place on the stage, grinning with hands spread about him as he asked for their final answer. Next to him, Kasumi—no, Sumire slept upon a gilded throne of pure white, just like the rest of the clean, unnaturally sterile auditorium.  There was that smile again. The gentle smile that encouraged him to let his guard down; that gleamed at Akira’s quick-witted responses; that joked with him as their glasses fogged over during their last lunch together… The smile that now asked him to reject reality for a falsified belief, a cruel yet beautiful lie to live in. Akira thought back to his friends yet again. Their faces flashed before his mind’s eye, one by one, and his mask of confidence and calm that he wore as Joker nearly broke.  If he rejected Takuto’s deal, he would be condemning his friends back to a world where their struggles followed them like the shadows they fought. Yet, if he accepted, then what would happen then? Would the world just live in blissful yet stagnated ignorance? His gaze turned towards Akechi, who merely looked at Takuto with that hateful glint in his eyes. And what of Akechi once this false world disappeared? He still refused to answer how he survived. What would happen to him then?  Break his friends’ hearts or break the chains of uniformity? It was a harder choice than when Yaldabaoth had asked, but… “I…accept.”  His words came out as a shaky whisper, carrying the broken shards of his heart along the wind. Next to him, he could already hear the disbelief in Akechi’s voice as he begged him to reconsider, but Akira’s mind was already made up.  He just couldn’t break his precious teammates, his friends’ hearts like that. Not even for what was right.  “Really?” Takuto sounded genuinely surprised at Akira’s choice, and honestly, who could blame him? It was wrong but was it really? “You’ll truly accept this world?”  “Yes. I…will.” 

                                                    ~*****~

Everything felt like a dream. As the group stood outside of Shujin to celebrate Makoto’s and Haru’s graduation, Akira stared at his friends, taking in each of their smiles while they chatted about their future plans. Futaba would be attending Shujin as a first year come next semester, perhaps even accompanied by Morgana; Yusuke was pondering over whether to transfer from Kosei; and Ann, Makoto, and Haru were laughing at Ryuji’s enthusiasm for the two upperclassmen to “graduate” properly by popping the lid off their diplomas. Even Akechi had been excited about his future plans to become a freelance detective, finally taking the break he deserved.  Kasumi soon ran up to them, hair tied up in her signature ponytail, as she said her congrats to the pair through huffs of breath, asking for a picture of everyone to remember this moment. She passed Akechi her phone as everyone got into position, filing together in a group. Akechi readied the phone, giving a signal as he aligned the camera just right— “Do you need someone else to take the picture?” Just as he was about to snap a commemorative picture of the group in front of Shujin for one final time, a voice resounded through the silence. Akira and the others looked over to see a man approaching them, a hat pulled down to cover his eyes.  “You guys are friends, right? So it’s only right for you all to be in the picture.”  The group looked at one another, a silence agreement between them, before Akechi handed the strange man the phone and took his place next to Akira.  “Okay, on three! One, two, three!” The sound of a camera snap and the joyful moment was captured, the man handing them back the phone just before Futaba grabbed onto it to take a look at how the picture came out. The others gathered around, smiling at their happy expressions.  No one even noticed the man walking away, until Kasumi turned and shouted after him. “Thank you, sir!” She called out, resulting in a chorus of thank yous to follow after. But while his friends were still celebrating, Akira’s focus remained on the man, who had only sent a wave back to them over his shoulder. He waved a hand back before slowly dropping it as a realization hit him.  Could it have been...? “Senpai? Is something the matter?”  His attention was soon brought back to his friends, all looking at him with slightly worried expressions. Akira only showed them his signature smile, tucking his hand back into his pocket. “Yeah, I’m fine. You guys go ahead, I’ll meet with you soon.” Waving a hand to his friends as they turned to leave towards Leblanc to celebrate, Akira turned heel and immediately began to run towards the mysterious man in the hat that had taken their picture.  It can’t be. There was no way, was it? “Dr. Maruki!” The man stopped mid-stride, glancing back at Akira in surprise, but even with his hat pulled down over his face, Akira could still make out glasses glinting under the bright sun.  “Akira? What are you doing?” A tilt of the hat’s brim revealed dark, messy hair and those kind yet melancholic eyes he was so well-acquainted with. “You should be with your friends; how do you even remember—” “Of course I remember. How could I forget?”  After all, the choice still echoed in the recesses of his mind, keeping him awake at night as he struggled to cope with the guilt of denying the truth. How he had to convince himself since that day that what he was doing was right for everyone, that he wasn’t being selfish. Through that single choice, Akira had given up his position as the messiah of the world, Satanael by his side, instead turning his back on the truth. Now…now he was a pariah in a world that was so familiar yet so eerily wrong and he didn’t know what to do, what to even think— Akira didn’t even notice the slight tremble of his hands, now curled into tight fists, or the way his vision blurred at the corners with the beginnings of unshed tears.  He couldn’t cry, he refused to cry; he had to be strong for everyone, he had to— “Akira, you’re shaking.”  Takuto looked at him with a mix of pity and concern, watching the way he tried to reequip that mask of calm indifference, failing each time. “Do you regret the choice you made? To remain in this world?”  Akira said nothing; he only continued to glare at the man before him. The only other person who knew the truth of everything. The one who had disappeared so suddenly from their lives as if he hadn’t existed, leaving Akira to cope on his own.  Takuto only sighed, removing his hat to run a hand through messy locks. He stared at the ground, brows knitted together and a conflicted expression on his tired features.  “You know, you’re allowed to take off your mask, Akira.” Takuto said gently, finally looking back at the teen. “You don’t have to suffer anymore. Sadly, I can’t give up on this reality for the sake of one person, so this is all I can offer.” He closed the distance between them and slowly wrapped his arms around Akira, tight enough to provide a sense of warmth but loose enough that he could be pushed away if needed. Takuto half-expected Akira to quickly move away, perhaps even deck him in the face for his insolence—he braced himself a little in case—but Akira didn’t make any movements. He just stood there, hands still clenched and eyes downcast as Takuto gently hugged him.  Just as Takuto was about to pull away and apologize, he felt arms wrap around him tightly, pulling him closer as Akira buried his head against his shoulder, the abrupt force of his hug nearly knocking the wind out of Takuto. He refused to look up, only clinging tightly to the counselor as he remained silent. But even Takuto could see the way his shoulders shook slightly with his quiet sobs, the cold tears seeping through his button-up. ‘How long had he been bottling this up?’ Takuto wondered as he stared at the mess of black hair nestled into his shoulder. He didn’t want anyone to suffer in this new world, much less the person who had helped him make this world a reality through his research.  But how was he supposed to make Akira happy now if this false reality was the very source of his despair?  Takuto could only hope that this hug, this small token of comfort, would help Akira’s heart settle into finally accepting this reality. But in the back of his mind, he knew—not even this could soothe the guilt nor the loneliness of both parties.  So as the echoes of empty happiness resounded around them, the broken pariah and lonely false god stood together, trapped in their sorrows derived from their own desires to make others happy. All for the joy of the world. 

#persona 5 #persona 5 royal #p5 #p5r #persona 5 spoilers #persona 5 royal spoilers #p5 spoilers #p5r spoilers #persona 5 fanfiction #persona 5 royal fanfiction #p5 fanfic #p5r fanfic #akira kurusu #ren amamiya #p5 protagonist #takuto maruki #stories weaved from the stars

[paodequeijofeliz-blog]

I would do it all again

Ride or Die Fanfiction (characters and main story belongs to Pixelberry Studios).

Pairing: Mona and MC (Annie)

Information: this takes place after the first book.

Summary: After what happened at the parking lot, each member of the crew tries to build a new life, following the “every man for himself” motto. But Annie doesn’t agree with that and tries to pull them back together, especially Mona, who she has been waiting for too many years. 

Warnings: none. For now. 

Part 2

I would do it all again - Part 1

         Six years. It had been six years.

         Don’t call me. Don’t write me. Don’t wait for me.

         Mona’s voice was still very much alive in Annie’s head, even though she hadn’t listened to it in six fucking years.

         Not for lack of trying, of course. She was too damn stubborn to follow Mona’s orders, no matter how hard the convict tried to force her into it. During the trial, Annie would always sit as close as possible, whispering comforting things such as “I’m with you”, “I’m still here, you know” or “Damn you’re lookin’ hot today”. The last one caught a smile from Mona, but the woman was still not answering or even glancing at her… Girlfriend? Annie didn’t know if they got to be that. It didn’t matter, though. It looked like the Lebanese was sticking to her ground. The last thing she said to Annie, after the sentence was decided, was “now you have to forget me”.

         Of course, that wasn’t going to happen.

         It took a while, but Annie finally found out where they moved Mona to. Muncy – she sighed, hands on the wheel for that very long drive. – Philly, really? Could it be any further?

         That was the decision that altered her entire life. She was a smart girl, so smart, in fact, that managed to get into three different universities. Luckily, the University of Pennsylvania was one of them, so moving to Philadelphia wasn’t such a crazy plan anyway.  Annie had to figure some things out: where to stay, where to work, how to do things… Eventually, it all settled and there she was, living on campus with four crazy roommates and a pretty good job tutoring high school kids.

         Ever since day one, the girl tried really hard to break Mona’s resistance. She visited, called, wrote, sent gifts… But no answer came back. Every time Annie would go on visitation’s day, she had to sit and wait for nothing. Mona never came through the door. Never picked up the phone either, no matter how insistent her trying was. People there soon got familiar with Annie’s face, the naïve young woman the new inmate was ignoring. Guards didn’t like her, but she got to be friends with someone else from the inside: Dominick Ferreira, an Argentine art teacher who had a small project teaching painting and sculping to the inmates. Guards didn’t like him either. They soon became friends, talking about TV Shows while Annie waited for long hours in the empty room.

         Six years. Mona never gave up on her attitude.

But the girl knew, nonetheless, that the feeling was still there. She knew the letters were being read, at least. The first four years flew by, and Annie graduated in History and started to work as a teacher at a school nearby the campus.  

         Until she received terrible news.

         “I’m really sorry, Ann…” Dominick put a hand on her shoulder, both alone in the prison’s waiting room. After four years confiding on each other, she felt comfortable enough to hug and sob on his arms. He was around the same age of her father. Well… past father. “Is there anything I can do to help? Do you want me to arrange things for the funeral?”

         “No, I need to do that on my own. Thanks. I just…” - she sniffed, cleaning her face for the tenth time that day. – “I just… God, she’s so stubborn! Toby accepts my calls, Ximena writes me every month, but Mona… I just really wanted to talk to her. Once.”

         “I can try asking one of the guards to help with that.”

         “No, no. She would hate me then. I can’t force it.” – another sniff. – “Did she receive the magazine? And the letter?”

         “Yeah, I made sure of it. Like always.” – Dom pinched Annie’s nose. She reminded his niece so much. “And I definitely saw her reading them.”

         That’s the system Annie found. If Mona wasn’t going to see or talk to her, then she needed another entrance. Every week, the girl would bring a new edition of Motor Trend magazine and a letter for Dom to deliver, then patiently waited outside, hoping this time Mona would finally accept the visitation. The second part never happened, but the first one seemed to be working. After losing her father, she got even closer to the art teacher. He was the only one nice around there.

         “I’ve got good news.” Dominick whispered one day, waiting for the other two officers to leave for coffee before saying anything else. “The FBI stepped in. Apparently, the material you guys gave them helped to bring down another big fish. Jason had a partner in NYPD doing the same thing. So, they had a hearing today and reconsidered Mona’s sentence. If she keeps the good behaviour, it’ll be reduced from fifteen to only eight years, which means she can be out on parole soon enough.”

“Tell me how it works.” Annie answered with a seriously committed look.

         That’s how now, after six years apart from each other, she was sitting on the car hood, waiting for them to open the gates. Dominick explained every single rule of parole so many times, Annie probably knew it even better than the parole officer himself. She had a year to prepare things for the release, making sure every single detail was reviewed. But now, looking at that gorgeous tall woman carrying a bag and a scowl on her face, Annie felt like maybe the details wouldn’t matter.

         What if she just doesn’t want anything to do with me?

         There was only one way to find out.

         “Hi, you.”

         “What the hell are you doing here?”

         “Picking you up, duh. You needed a ride.” Annie arched an eyebrow, capturing something in Mona’s face. A shadow of relief? Maybe.

         The convict glanced at the car, a criticizing tone on her voice.

         “What happened to your car? Does that thing even work?”

         “I had to sell it. This one is old, but reliable. And his name’s Harold. Be nice.” She took the bag without waiting for permission, tossing it in the trunk before climbing into the driver’s seat. A grumpy Mona sat beside her, mumbling about how “Harold” was a stupid name for a car.

         “Where are you going? Drop me at the station. It’s good enough.”

         “You can’t leave the state.” She glanced briefly at Mona with the corner of her eyes, hands holding the wheel a little bit stronger.

         Even though Annie was trying to focus on the road, she could feel the woman’s dark eyes studying her intensely. After a couple minutes in silence, the driver risked talking again. “We need to solve some stuff first.”

         Mona didn’t answer. Her face was unreadable while watching Annie pull over in the parking lot of an old dinner in the middle of nowhere. The girl’s hands still holding the wheel so strongly, it seemed she was about to go on a race.

         “Do you still like me?”

         Not a single word. Not even a movement.

         “Well?” Annie finally let her hands slide to her lap, frustrated by the silence. “It’s a yes or no question, Mon. It’s not that hard.”

         “Yes.”

         She searched for more hints on Mona’s face, but that was it. One word. No expression. Nothing else.

         “Ok.” Annie bit her lower lip, insecure. “Ok then.”

         The engine creaked at the turn of the key. The car had barely moved, crossing the road only to park again at an empty and dusty mechanic shop, with no living soul around. “Welcome to your new home, I guess”.

         Mona finally had an expression on her face. A mix of confusion and shock, so startled that she only understood what was going on when saw Annie unlock and pull the gates up with a crowbar picked up from the corner. “Drive in!” she asked, signing to the convict with a shy smile.

         “What the hell did you do…” Mona jumped on the driver’s seat, driving that old stubborn piece of trash into the shop.

         Annie was still trying to lower the gate when heard Mona snap from the car.

         “HAVE YOU LOST YOUR GODDAMN MIND? WHO ARE YOU WORKING FOR?”

         “What?” she jumped again, still not catching the hoop with the crowbar.

         “Oh, for god’s sake, gi’me that.” Mona took the crowbar and pulled the gate down with a single movement. When it hit the floor, both of her hands held Annie against it, one of each sider of the girl. That would’ve turned her on, if it wasn’t for the deadly dangerous look on the convict’s face. “Answers. Now.”

         “I…” she lost track of it, the proximity making the knees tremble a little. “No one… I don’t… It’s not…”.

         “Who’s the boss here?”

         “Me?” Annie shook her head, confuse. “Mon, I don’t work for anyone. I mean, for the principal, maybe? I’m a teacher. You know that. You read my letters.”

         “Who’s auto shop is this, then? Is it Colt’s? Did he drag you into this?”

         The plug finally fell. Suddenly realizing what the snap was about, Annie chuckled. “You idiot, you do care about me, don’t you?”

         That took Mona off guarded, but she didn’t retreat, arms still blocking the girl against the gate.

         “There’s no boss, Mon. And I haven’t seen Colt ever since what happened that night. This is my auto shop. I bought it last year. We’ll… Ours if you decide to get on board.” Annie risked pulling her closer by the waist, so tempted to kiss that angry face. “There’s no danger here, I promise. We’re safe.”

         Oh crap, thought Mona, seconds before throwing the crowbar away so she could dive her hands in Annie’s hair. The kiss that followed was so hungry and careless like it would never stop again. Their hands couldn’t stay still, both eager to remember each other’s curves and sensitive spots. Mona was doing the exact thing she promised herself not to. For six long years, she tried to ignore the visitations, calls, letters, everything that had Annie tagged along. It took all her strength to do it. Eventually, Mona gave in and started to read those damn letters, since it looked like they weren’t gonna stop coming anyway. That made waiting even worse, especially when the convict had decided to leave Annie’s life for good. She was convinced the girl deserved better…

         “Look what you do to me.” Mona growled, holding Annie so close they could barely breath. She couldn’t leave. Now that Ann was finally trapped in her arms, there was no backing down. “I was gonna flee, you know?”

         “Hate to spoil your plans, babe. But there’s an apartment upstairs waiting for you to settle in.”

         Foreheads together, breathing slowly, both started to cool off bit by bit, but Mona’s grip was still tight around the girl’s waist. “I told you to forget me. To live your life. Damn it, Ann. I ignored you for six years, how could you still stick around?”

         “Cause’ you were just being stubborn. I knew you were reading my letters.” Her smile was fragile while she was putting on a fight against tears. “And I did live my life. I graduated. Published my monography. Then finished the master’s degree and published the dissertation too. Got a good job. Made friends. Bought a place to live. I did all of it. Waiting for you didn’t stop me from living.”

         “You wouldn’t be stuck in Philly if it wasn’t for me. Maybe by now you’d be married to a badass Harvard lawyer, living in Boston and adopting a bird.”

         “I’m a cat and dog person.” She twitched her nose, laughing. “I hate lawyers too.”

         Mona roller her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

         Annie got serious suddenly. They needed to talk things through at some point.

         “Okay. Listen. I did some changes in my life, yes. For you. But that was MY choice. So, you don’t get to be mad at me, alright? Or feel guilty. Any of it. And if you prefer to leave…” she hesitated, heart pounding at the idea of losing Mona again. “… you can always leave. I only wish you to stay if that’s what you really wanna do. Don’t fool me. Don’t lie. I deserve the truth, at least. We’re clear?”

         “Yes.” Mona was serious too. There was a big struggle going on inside her, problems and emotions she lived in prison and that Annie wouldn’t understand. Couldn’t. “I won’t fool you. That much I can promise.”

         “Good.” She slid away the embrace, pulling the woman by one of the wrists. “Let me show where you might live if you want to. And then you can decide what to do from here.”

         “We.” Mona tangled their fingers together, a long sigh of relief escaping her lungs. “What we do from here.”

#mona x mc #ride or die #choices: stories you play #choices: ride or die #sorry I'm too soft to write ANGST #but there will be trouble eventually #with Toby and Ximena because they deserve the spotlight