#kat i love you so much................ this girl can fit so much trauma inside her!!

[occkalt]

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 ?

ruined by fury

you are angry. you are angry and everyone knows it. the fire within you will not die, cannot die. for if it dies, you wont have a reason to burn. your rage simmers close to your chest, it boils near something you wont touch. you are angry because it is easier than anything else. you are angry because you choose it over pain. you are ruined because you cannot feel anything but your own ire.

tagged: stolen.

tagging: i'm not sure who's already done this at this point, so. anyone who wants in! c:

#ooc #( memes. ) #OKAY BUT this result slaps!!!!! #kat i love you so much................ this girl can fit so much trauma inside her!! #working on replies soon but i couldn't help but do a meme for her too haha

[the-quiet-winds]

Cathedrals in My Heart (part 2)

old foes have new faces. @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts and i worked hard. 

like, reblog, y’all know what’s up.

[part one]

[Part 2: The Bullets Catch in her Teeth]

they all make their way downstairs, where jane is staring forlornly at the front door which katherine just slammed. 

"jane," parr says quietly, bringing her out of her reverie, "we have something to discuss with you." 

jane looks at them, the four of them, all gravely serious. she brushes the invisible dust off her pants and shakes her head lightly, clearing her mind. "what can I do for you ladies?"

“I'm sure you’ve noticed that there’s been some... disturbances lately,” parr says, voice as calm and soft as she could make it. “with people’s property being damaged, and well...” she glances sideways at boleyn, who pulls out her phone.

“you should watch this,” she says, uncharacteristically serious. the video is loaded on the screen as jane takes it, and she frowns, pressing play.

the video was clipped from its original state. the nearly hour long video was chopped to thirty seconds, the thirty seconds of katherine opening the door and tearing the bible to shreds. "this was from last night, when I went to sermon," says aragon. "we don't know why she's doing this," says parr once the video concludes. she can't bring herself to meet jane's teary eyes. "but it's all her."

jane doesn’t do anything for a few seconds, just stares down at the phone with tears in her eyes. “I don’t-“ she begins, before choking on her words and stopping. she looks up at the others, absolute devastation in her features. “that’s not- she doesn’t-“ she falls silent again and grips the phone tightly. “what did I do wrong?” she finally asks.

parr puts both hands on her shoulders. "you've done nothing wrong, jane," she says firmly. "katherine just...doesn't always know how to deal with her feelings," parr chooses her words carefully. 

“that's why we showed you," cleves pipes in. "if anyone can get to the bottom of this, it's you seymour." 

jane rakes her nails down her cheek and her hand rests on the side of her neck. "you heard her when she left," she says very quietly, "she doesn't want me"

“no, of course she does!” boleyn bursts in, then continues slightly quieter when she realises how loud she was. “she loves you, jane. she’s just, like... lashing out for some reason.”

jane doesn’t look convinced and she looks back over at the door hopelessly.

"it's up to you, seymour," cleves says without malice or jest or anything resembling her typical voice. 

"she'll talk to you, you know she will." boleyn looks down to the floor. "especially when she gets back and realizes there was no dance class at all."

“wait...” jane says slowly. “that was you?” boleyn nods slowly and jane sighs. “oh, she’s not going to be happy when she gets home.” she puts her face in her hands and closes her eyes for a moment. “i’ll talk to her, or i’ll try at least. she’s angry with me right now, and I don’t know why, but I can’t...” her voice breaks slightly. “I can’t lose her.”

"you won't lose her, jane," aragon says fiercely. "we'll barricade all the doors so she has no way out if we have to." 

boleyn smirks and chuckles under her breath. "never stopped her before." she looks at jane's shocked and pale face. "not the time?"

“really not the time, boleyn,” cleves says, patting her on the back. boleyn shrugged apologetically.

“what we mean,” parr says, shooting boleyn a Look, “is that we’ll do everything we can to help.”

jane gives them a weak smile. “thank you, girls.”

it isn't all that much later when the car appears back in the driveway and katherine enters the house, raving and ranting about how she was "scammed" and how "they thought I was crazy". but no one is listening, because everyone is gone. the kitchen and living room are all completely empty. a voice, a very quiet voice, speaks up from behind her. "hello, kat."

she freezes for a moment, then turns around slowly. “I guess you’ll wanna gloat about being right,” she huffs, throwing her bag down onto the floor.

katherine looks in her in the eye with a steely gaze. jane looks timid and afraid. “well? is there something you wanted to say jane?” she pointedly and purposefully uses the woman’s first name.

jane looks like she’s going to speak for a second, then stops. katherine holds her gaze for another few moments before breaking it. “whatever,” she says dismissively, turning away.

she’s taken one step away when jane’s voice, heartbroken and trembling, asks “why are you doing this, kat?”

katherine freezes. she's conflicted. part of her wants to crumble to the floor and cry about jealousy and trauma and let jane pull her into those reassuring arms and tell her that she will chase all the demons away...but she doesn't. some other part of her, a darker, crueler part, cultivated from years of betrayal and abuse, wins out today. she straightens her spine and turns back towards jane, holding a cold and unwavering gaze. "doing what, exactly?"

jane sighs, trying her best not to give into her tears. “I know what you’ve been doing. to everyone’s things, I mean. the others showed me proof. and now, with the shouting, and the arguing, it’s all-“ she stops herself. “it’s not you, kat.”

katherine folds her arms. “well, maybe you don’t know me as well as you thought.”

something inside of katherine's mind is screaming at her to let loose and just talk to jane, but her mouth won't cooperate. seeing jane like this, so upset and confused, it's like a tiny victory to her. ‘revenge is best served in turn,’ a tiny voice whispers in her head. "maybe you don't know me as well as you thought. maybe you saw some broken little girl who needed a parental figure and you thought that was you. well guess what jane, I don't. I don't need you." somehow, her voice doesn't waver or crack or shake at all. she pretends not to notice the painful clench in her throat or the angry tears threatening to well behind her eyes.

jane manages a single “kat-“ before the tears and the sobs make it too hard to speak. it’s a double edged sword to katherine: the part of her that just wants to sob with her and cling to her like a lost child is heartbroken, but the angry vengeful part of her is pleased that someone finally gets to share her pain. she doesn’t know what she was planning to say next, but she doesn’t get a chance to say it anyway. parr bursts into the room and katherine rolls her eyes. of course the others were listening in, because they were always sticking their noses where they didn’t belong. parr goes straight to jane and sees just how distraught she is, before turning her head to look at katherine and for a moment katherine is taken aback. parr looks furious. the angriest she’s ever seen her, and it makes her take a small step back.

“go to your room,” she hisses. katherine opens her mouth but parr doesn’t give her the chance to speak. “or the park, or anywhere, I don’t care. just stay away from her. you’ve done enough.”

katherine wants to scream. she wants to yell and cry and just let every strange and unfamiliar emotion in her body burst out but she can't. she squares her shoulders and clenches the keys in her fists. "fine." she makes for the door and opens it, before turning around one final time and glaring into parr and jane's backs. "it seems that no one wants me here anyway." with that, she closes the door behind her and pulls the car away from the house.

jane tries to pull away, to run after her, but parr holds her firm. “she’s not being rational, jane,” she says gently. “there was no way she was going to listen to you in that state. all she was going to do was hurt you more.”

“but-“ jane started. “-but where’s she going? I need to get her, I can’t let my girl be all alone like that!”

“she’ll be back,” parr says firmly, hoping with all her might that she herself was right. “she just needs time to cool off.”

the other three hovered uncertainly in the doorway. they’d clearly heard what had happened, and if the look on aragon’s face was anything to go by, they could tell it was serious.

“that little brat,” aragon hisses, gripping the doorway hard. “she needs someone to knock some sense into her.” boleyn, however, was looking at jane.

“is she gonna be okay?” she asks parr. parr closes her eyes briefly.

“I don’t know,” she mouths behind jane’s back. “I hope so.”

katherine is angry as she drives. even as aragon's (and jane's) voice echoes in her head about never driving mad, she can't help it. she doesn't know where she's going or what she's doing until she pulls over and parks the car in a random lot. she sits behind the wheel for a long time. her phone is buzzing incessantly, messages from cleves and boleyn and aragon patching through with angry words (though boleyn's seem slightly softer, more telling her about jane's condition) and it pulls at her heart. she's royally screwed up and she knows it. she slams her fists against the wheel before getting out of the car.

she starts walking. she doesn’t really care where she’s going, she just needs to be moving. it’s a particularly chilly afternoon and she shivers. she didn’t bother to grab a coat before she left, and she shoves her hands into her jeans pockets as best she can, but for some reason whoever designed them decided that tiny pockets were in style, and it’s a tight enough fit to get her phone in there. she wants more than ever to run home to jane but she knows that it’s too soon, that she’ll just make things worse by going back now. tonight, maybe, but not now. all her mind can think of is the horrible things she said to jane, not just then, but the night before, when she got the phone call in the first place, and the morning before she left. god, she really messed up.

she keeps walking until she hits lake. it's glassy and cold and very, very still. katherine sits by the water and stares at her reflection. her hair is messy and her face is red, but it's nothing compared to the turmoil inside of her head. she wants to throw something, anything. she can't find a rock or stick and before she can think it through fully, she chucks her cellphone as hard as she can and watches it fall into the lake with a soft plop. then she curls her knees into her chest and sobs her eyes out, sitting alone by the lakeside.

the self-conscious part of her knows she must look pathetic right now but she’s too emotionally exhausted to care. she thought it would feel good to finally give everyone a taste of her pain, and it had for a few moments, but then it made everything so much worse. she doesn’t care if anyone can see her, doesn’t care about anything except how she treated jane. jane, who cared for her, and katherine just threw it back in her face.

"hey, are you alright?" a voice calls from behind her. she turns and sees a man, tall and thin with neatly trimmed brown hair. he held a fishing rod and wore faded jeans and flannel. "I saw you from down the lake." he extended a hand to help her up. "my name is thomas. what's yours?"

she looks up, attempting to wipe the tears away with the back of her hand. she sees the hand he offered her and doesn’t take it. “i- I don’t think I should tell you my name. you’re a stranger, after all.” katherine gets to her feet herself, immediately on edge. she can’t help herself; she knows he probably doesn’t mean any harm, but men named thomas aren’t at the top of her list for people to befriend. she glances about quickly. there’s nobody else around, which worries her even more.

thomas casts the fishing rod aside, holding his hands out. "are you alright, lady?" he takes off his gloves and throws them on the ground. he takes a cautious step forward. "you can trust me."

katherine steps back immediately without even thinking. “please-“ she starts. “just- just don’t come any closer, please.” her blood pounds in her head and her breathing quickens, as she internally curses herself for throwing away her phone, how could she be so stupid?

thomas is still confused and holds his hands up in a surrender position. "do you live around here?" he asked well-meaningly. "do you want me to call someone for you?"

katherine can barely hear him, breathing so fast she’s almost hyperventilating. “leave me alone!” she chokes out. she tries to back away from him, tripping over in her haste and falling backwards.

“miss-“ thomas says, concerned, and reaches out towards her, but katherine sobs and scrambles back. her nails are digging into the dirt and her clothes are filthy but she doesn’t care about that, doesn’t care about anything except getting away. thomas isn’t just thomas right now, he’s both henrys and francis and another thomas, all looming in front of her, reaching out to her.

thomas is fed up with how this woman is reacting to his obvious attempts to help. he knows that he should back off and let her be, but some self-righteous part of him won't let him do that. he reaches down and hauls her back to her feet, keeping his hands on her shoulders to steady her. "lady, do I need to call someone?"

“get away from me!” katherine sobs, and with the full strength of her slim frame she shoves him hard. he stumbles slightly but recovers quickly enough to look at her incredulously.

“what is your problem?! I'm trying to help you!” thomas grabs her shoulders again and katherine struggles, trying to get away.

thomas holds her shoulders tightly, trying to get her to stop moving. she hopelessly and pitifully whacks at his chest, doing whatever she can to get him to let go of her. “lady, you’re obviously crazy and need help. just tell me who you are!” he says the last sentence slowly yet forcefully, sharply enunciating each word in hopes that they get through to the sobbing and thrashing woman

“what’s going on?” a voice cuts through, a female voice, and thomas turns to look. katherine stills her struggling and turns to see a concerned looking woman with her young child on her hip. thomas lets out a sigh of relief. “i’ve been trying to help this girl and she just keeps freaking out on me! she won’t tell me anything.”

the woman looks at thomas, gripping katherine’s shoulders, then to katherine herself, sobbing and covered in mud. she steps closer. “son,” she says slowly, “i’d recommend you take your hands off the girl this second or I will rip off your arm and beat you with it.” thomas roughly lets go, gathers his stuff, and moves on. katherine, meanwhile, dissolves into fresh sobs because she can remember jane saying that exact thing once before.

the woman approaches her slowly, eyes soft. “did he hurt you, sweetheart?” she says gently. katherine shakes her head once, tears still streaming down her face. the woman nods. “that’s good, sweetheart. thank you for telling me. now, do you want me to call someone for you to come and get you? any friends or family? you can talk to them yourself on my phone, is that okay?”

in a tiny voice that feels like it belongs to someone else, what’s ripped from katherine’s throat is a small whimper of “I want my mum”

the woman smiles softly and sets the child down as she reaches for her pocket. "let's call her, yeah? she can come get you." katherine shakes her head profusely. "I have our car," she mumbles out. the woman carefully puts a hand on the younger girl's back. "lets call her anyway. what's her number?" katherine lists it off automatically, and the woman starts the call. "hello? is this miss jane seymour?"

jane had exhausted herself crying over the past hour, and would have fallen asleep if it weren’t for the worry that katherine wasn’t home yet. the other queens had retreated to another room and were no doubt talking about what happened.

jane’s phone rings and she glances hopefully at the number. when it says an unknown number she sighs in disappointment, but she answers it anyway. when she hears her own name she frowns slightly. “yes, I'm jane. who’s calling?”

the woman sighs in relief at hearing a kind and concerned voice pick up the line. "my name is mary, and I am here with your daughter," she realizes she doesn't even know the girl's name. "katherine. I am here with katherine. we are at the lake."

“katherine?” jane asks, immediately rising from her chair although she’s not entirely sure why. “is she okay?”

“she’s... shaken up,” mary says, glancing at katherine. “she’s not hurt, but she’s rather upset.” she lowers her voice and turns away from katherine slightly. “there was a man holding her when I found her. he hadn’t done anything as far as I could tell, but he’s given her a scare for sure.”

jane's heart stops, only for a second, before she's able to speak again. "can...can I speak to her?" there's some shuffling on the other side of the line and suddenly she hears it. her girl's voice, barely above a whisper "mum."

katherine’s voice is wobbly and unsteady. “mum...can I come home? do...” she remembered that mary was there and amended what she wanted to say. “does everyone else still want me gone?”

“oh, sweetheart,” jane says, voice trembling. “of course you can come home. nobody wants you gone, I promise you.”

“but parr-“ katherine starts, but jane interrupts gently.

“-was worried about me. she doesn’t want you gone either. we’ve all been worried sick about you, sweetheart.”

katherine stifles her sobs as best as possible. “i’ll be home soon. I have to go.” the call ends and katherine folds back into herself to cry

mary looks at her kindly. “do you need any help getting home? I could drive you if you wanted me to.”

“I can do it,” katherine sniffles, “I just... need a moment.”

“then i’ll stay with you until you’re ready to go,” mary says firmly, and katherine again is reminded of jane in the way she speaks

katherine never though she would miss jane as much as she did in that exact moment. she wanted absolutely nothing more than to be in her warm and comforting embrace as she held her and told her everything would be alright. all she had to do was get home and that would be waiting for her. six miles away. only six miles between her and the thing she wants most. with that thought in mind, she puts her emotions aside and stands on shaky legs. “thank you, but I need to go home now.”

Mary doesn’t stop her, but she looks concerned. “are you sure you’re okay to go now? you still seem in shock.”

“i’ll be okay,” katherine insists. “I- thank you.” all she wants is to stumble back to the car and finally get back to her mum, to feel safe and warm in her arms again.

#six the musical #six musical #jane seymour #katherine howard #anne boleyn #catherine parr #anne of cleves #catherine of aragon #julie and jess write #cathedrals in my heart

[tenpin-boleyn]

I procrastinated and this mess happened

It’s horrificly bad but it’s inspired by this doodle I did when I was, you guessed it, procrastinating :))

So enjoy this pile of Millie’s cat sick :)

“I’m glad I found Chocolate Milk now because if I found it before I wouldn’t be able to drink it.” Anne stated, her face the perfect picture of nonchalance. “Why? Are you lactose intolerant?” You replied back, blissfully unaware of the past Anne hid. “I was beheaded? Duh” she laughed.

You had known Anne for over a year now, but not once has she mentioned being beheaded in a past life. You had seen Anne in Six obviously but you’d just assumed that was a character she had taken on. Like that time you played the Virgin Mary at age 4, probably not the best decision eh Mrs Keeping but there we go.

Anne suddenly looked as white as a ghost. She had forgotten that you didn’t know. For what it was worth Anne was a great actor. Onstage she was competition to a gremlin, but to a select few she was Anne. Just Anne. Anne with no tragic backstory. Just a girl who liked milkshakes. “I’m so sorry Anne. I didn’t know” you said lovingly, placing a hand onto Anne’s. It was a small gesture but it made you feel better that you could bring a bit of colour back to her rosy cheeks again. “Shall we go to yours? I want to show you something that will open your eyes forever.” Anne nodded to this, happy that you hadn’t dragged out the topic anymore.

You had hoped Anne wouldn’t already know what you were about to show her. It might be common knowledge to most but she had a tickling feeling that Anne wasn’t part of that percentage. You took her hand and ran down the street, passing the Queens house, which made Anne raise an eyebrow. Jane liked everyone home by 9, and it was already half 7, so she couldn’t go on a wild adventure to oxford on a random bus. “Look Y/N-“

“Tah dah.” You stopped and raised your hands at the sign above you.

“Tesco? You brought me to Tesco?”

You smiled at the green minx, “ah my child this isn’t any normal trip to Tesco. This is a life changing trip”

You managed to pry Anne away from the chocolate bars- you had a feeling that the sugar from the milkshakes was already getting to her head- and led her down the dairy isle. While Anne was distracted with a carton of purple milk you grabbed the carton you were searching for. “What do you think goes into purple milk? Cow blood mixed with a taste of WKD? ANNE MILLICENT BOLEYN DONT YOU DARE THINK ABOUT TOUCHING MY ALCOHOL CABINET. Well now I don’t have to” She laughed.

“Anne what I have in my hands will change your entire life.”

You presented her with a carton of chocolate milk and you smiled to yourself as you watched her eyes widen and start to twinkle.

“You. Can. Buy. Chocolate. Milk?”

When you finally went back to the Queens place, you couldn’t help but worry. You had literally bought Tesco out of Chocolate milk. You knew Jane was a strict mum so perhaps introducing Anne, loud, insane Anne, to a new sugary invention wasn’t the best idea. Especially when you are carrying 27 cartons. 26, Anne just drank one. “Shall we take these up to my room?” Anne was obviously thinking about not having to share, rather than what Jane would think. “You do realise you need to keep milk in the fridge right?”

“But I thought- cause its chocolate-“

She looked downtrodden. “Do you want to sleep round? It’s getting late anyway and I just changed my sheets after months so it’s not a biohazard anymore!” You giggled to yourself, Anne truly was special. “I’d love to. Will the others mind?”

“No they love you!” And with that Anne unlocked the door.

“I’m telling you they’re dating!”

“No, id have read about it by now.”

“Huh?”

“Am I the only one who reads her dia- hello. Welcome to the very normal and casual conversation we are definitely having.” Cleves exclaimed from where she was sat, having realised that both girls were standing in the hallway.

“I’ve missed you guys! How have you been?”

“Great, I’ve finished my book on why men are absolutely pointless and serve no use on this planet!”

“And I made cookies for the first time! Who would have known that chocolate cookies aren’t just overcooked cookies?”

Anna noticed the bags we were carrying. “Do you two care to explain why we now own a farms worth of chocolate milk?”

“To cure my lacking toes intolerance”

“To help feed children in Africa!”

You both panicked. Anne, because she didn’t want to share, and you, because you didn’t want to get Anne into trouble for spending an absurd amount on flavoured milk. “Put them Into the garage fridge before Jane sees them! Lord knows what she’ll do with 40 cartons of confiscated milk.”

You glanced at Anne and giggled, you had noticed that her eyes were just a bit more bluer today, a trait you learnt meant that she was happy, and a darker blue meant she was going through a rough patch. “Before Jane sees what?” A blonde figure asked.

Before either of you could panic out another excuse, Cleves piped up again. “ I was just asking the girls to take my deliveries upstairs into my fridge” Anne winked at you both “because my back hurts awfully”

Jane smiled sympathetically at Cleves, unaware of the truth she was hiding. “Alright hurry up you two, and it’s lovely to see you Y/N!”

“You too Mrs Seymour!”

“Call me Jane.” You smiled. Although you called her Jane to Anne, it was only because that’s what Anne used, Jane had never formally told you to call her Jane, so you didn’t think it was proper. It felt nice to know that someone liked you, even a tiny bit.

“I’m telling you it’s not going to fit.” You declared as Anne tried to stuff 25 cartons of milk into the tiny mini fridge Anna had in her room. Yes Anne had drank another carton and was nearly bouncing off the walls. To your surprise 23 of the cartons fit inside of the fridge. “Looks like we’ll have to drink these then” Anne smiled mischievously.

The pair of you had been sat in Anne’s bed for about half an hour, just enjoying each other’s company whilst sipping the chocolate milk when you couldn’t stop yourself. “Why didn’t you tell me you got beheaded?” You had to admit, Anne’s slip up earlier stung. Didn’t she trust you with that information? But she trusted a room full of strangers?

Anne couldn’t look you in the eye, she was quite engaged by the edible glitter she had poured into her milk. You didn’t think she heard you so you started to ask her again.

“Why didn-“

“I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry. It’s just, I’m so happy when I’m around you, and I don’t want to waste a second of it talking about my last life- it was hell, yes, but I’m over it. I’d rather talk about scrunchies than kerplunkies” and with that she motioned a quick beheading with her fingers and tongue.

To be fair, you hadn’t expected that reply. You hadn’t expected a decent reply end of. You’d put it down to the fact that Anne was coming down from a 22 hour long sugar rush and was too tired to think about what she was saying. “I- I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m sorry that you feel that you need to keep things from me just to have a good time. I mean we could do 95% fun and 5% family trauma because god knows I’ve got tons. But I like hanging out with you to Boleyn.”

Neither of you knew what to say next. Not much had been said but it was enough to build a bridge that wasn’t previously there. Out of nowhere Anne gets a text from Kitty. It contained an emoji and a word. Typical kitty. “💋 her”

Anne was shocked, 1. Where was Katherine and how did she spot the silence and sexual tension, and 2. How the fuck did she know that she was gay. Sure the queens were open and accepting of being gay, but it wasn’t something that Anne spoke about. But despite all of the racing questions, Anne plucked up the balls she stole from Henry and leant in and cupped Y/N’s face. You were shocked at this movement. How did a discussion about beheadings lead to this? But you weren’t complaining. You had realised you loved Anne the day she fell off of her bike. She had never rode a bike before so you had been teaching her, at first she seemed promising, but she fell over and scraped her knee, causing a war amount of blood to pour. To your amazement, she started crying and asking for Millie. You panicked, who was Millie?? You thought it could be a pet name for one of the queens but you couldn’t be sure which. So you ran inside to fetch Kitty. “Who’s Millie??”

Without even speaking Kat ran upstairs and returned holding a ragged old dog teddy. Just the thought of Anne being so vulnerable, clutching the years old toy made your heart wrench- more than when your favourite TV show got cancelled and definitely more than when Ben and Jerry’s decided to stop selling Cookie Dough at the cinema.

You leant in to annes hands, and placed your lips upon hers in a frenzy of sparks and fireworks. You had dreamt of this moment, but you could never have imagined it would come true. Just the thought made you smile, making Anne laugh whilst kissing you. You suddenly pull away, realising that you hadn’t been honestly with Anne either. “ I was murdered. By my father.”

“Where the actual fuck did that come from”

From outside the door the pair heard giggles and a muffled shout of “language Anne!”

Of course the other queens would be spying on the pair of you. You weren’t blind,or deaf. You’d heard the comments kitty and Cleves make when they think you can’t hear, and you’ve seen the silent arguments between kitty and Jane.

It did feel nice to have people who cared. Even if they were looking out for Anne. They felt like family. It felt like home.

“ANNE MILLICENT BOLEYN I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU TOUCH MY BIBLE EVER AGAIN-“ Catherine of Aragon burst into the room, past the other queens listening intently outside the door and you suddenly realised that you were still locked in an embrace with Anne. You quickly pulled away before whispering

“That impression was spot on.”

#anne boleyn #six the musical #i wrote this on little to no sleep #i am the worst writer ever but theres a lack of anne boleyn fics do #im tired still nlg #ngl #millie o'connell

[amandaoftherosemire]

Sing For Me - Epilogue

Fandom: Marvel Avengers AU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X OFC (Sasha)

Characters: Bucky Barnes, OFC Sasha

Author: @amandaoftherosemire​

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2,694

Format: Series (Complete)

Warning: Language, angst, fluff.

Summary: The sisters go back to Washington one last time.

A/N: I’m not going to say this is the last thing I’ll ever write for Bucky and Sasha. I don’t know what the lunatic inside my head is going to start yelling about next, so I can’t make that assertion with any confidence. But this is the last bit for now, so I hope it satisfies.

Banner by @hellzzzbelle​

Sing For Me Masterlist

Chapter Thirty-nine here

Epilogue

Though the group that piled out of the quinjet had been laughing and talking on the trip, now that they had disembarked, silence had overtaken them. Picking among the rubble and ashes of the compound in the forests of Washington State, many of them envisioned it as they had last seen it, engulfed in flames. There was little left; most of the debris had been cleared away in the year and a half since Sasha had created so very much of it.

One feature remained, though it was much cleaner than the last time anyone here had seen it. Tony had sent orders that the crater not be filled in, simply cleaned of any rubble from the building that had once stood there. Though the grass had already started to grow in some places around the ruin, here in the crater where the fire had burned the hottest the ground remained bare.

Sasha stood at the edge, uncharacteristically quiet. On the ride here she'd been laughing and talking, bickering with Caleb, catching up with Maddie and Kat, but she now stood by herself, looking out over all that remained of her torture chamber. She could map out the underground tunnels in her mind based on the hole in the ground where she'd been dragged up now absent circular metal stairs for the day's horrors.

The wind ruffled her hair and she breathed in a scent as familiar to her as her own face, rain and pine, as she searched her own emotions now that she was faced with the wound in the earth that mirrored the wound left in her. She didn't know it, but her breath was hitching and shaking in and out of her and her crossed arms were tightening with every second. In a moment her teeth would be chattering.

Behind her, Zoe caught Bucky's eye and lifted a brow, the expression a mirror of Sasha’s most imperious look. He didn’t need the impetus, the fear and sadness building in her with every tight breath was pulling him toward her.

When the arm came around her waist, she shuddered away for the first time in months. The arm didn't hesitate; they'd long ago learned to talk about how they needed the other to react to their scars. She'd made it clear that the shudder was reaction and not something she wanted either of them to give in to. Instead, his arm tightened gently, and she battled back the guilt at the involuntary movement. He had made it clear he did not want her guilt, but he never shamed her for it, knowing she couldn't help it any more than he could help the guilt when he screamed both of them awake. They understood one another.

Instead, she loosened her arms with an effort and turned into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. "Can you tell me how I feel? I can't seem to figure it out."

Bucky rested his cheek against her hair, his heart heavy. He wished she hadn't insisted on doing this, but how could he stop her when she needed to do it? "Sad," he murmured in her ear, his arms tight around her, his vibranium hand on the necklace wrapped around her throat. "Angry, afraid. You know, the Trauma Trifecta."

Sasha laughed a little, but Bucky could hear the tears in it. She'd made him laugh when she came up with that one night while sitting twined together in the middle of their bed after he'd woken them both from a nightmare. That night they'd discovered that his emotions when reliving being locked into the chair HYDRA had used to wipe his memories was very near to Sasha's when reliving being locked into her own chair of nightmares. Near enough to trigger a nightmare of her own when his feelings came through their connection.

He'd impossibly fallen even further in love with her as the breath of a laugh escaped him, and yet somehow he loved her more today than he had that night months before. He wondered how much he'd love her in another five years, or ten. He could hardly wait to promise to find out.

Her breath sighed out as her body started to relax. Bucky had become adept at sending his own calm into her and he used everything he had learned in the previous year to help her finish this today. He knew how important it was to her. She could feel his understanding under the flood of reassurance, and it soothed her more than anything else could.

Caleb stepped up behind Sasha from where he'd picked his way across the crater, admiring what his friend had done. Frankly, Caleb was impressed, and yet almost unsurprised; he'd always known Sasha had a temper and a flair for the dramatic. As the other man opened his mouth, Bucky's expression shifted to hold a warning. Caleb could be unruly.

Caleb frowned. He understood why Bucky coddled Sasha, but he didn't consider that his job. He'd never been gentle with her, to start now would only make her feel more broken. "You still wanna do this? Or are you guys gonna start the honeymoon early? Here's a weird spot, and I don't know why you need an audience, but--"

"Shut the fuck up!" There was already a laugh in her voice when Sasha let go of Bucky to spin around and confront the man who was her brother in everything but blood. When she saw the cheeky grin on his face, she couldn't stop the laugh from bursting out. Stepping forward, she pushed Caleb playfully as she answered. "Yeah, I still wanna do this. I didn't get dressed up for nothing."

Sasha's hands went to the belt of the long coat she wore. She'd come here for a purpose, and she had every intention of completing that purpose. She tossed the coat at Caleb and stood there in her apple green dress and heels, feet braced shoulder width apart and looking for all the world like she was about to start a brawl.

"Well, what do you think?" Sasha had had the dress taken out of storage and altered to fit her again as her body had changed since she’d worn it last, at nineteen for competition. The dress was tight across the torso, with one long and one missing sleeve. One the side without the sleeve, Sasha wore a matching glove. Across the front was an explosion of rhinestones in a floral pattern tapering down to an abbreviated hemline. The skirt hit her mid-thigh and flared into wild ruffles, leaving most of the legs Bucky adored bare.

"Beautiful," he breathed, his eyes on those legs and his heated appreciation was crystal clear in the sound. Sasha's eyelids lowered in what he thought of as her siren look and her lips curved in sultry invitation.

"How much did you have to let that out?" Caleb replied, his voice both dry and amused.

Sasha's look soured instantly. "Bucky!" She shouted it, her voice taunting and singsong, though Bucky was already scowling at the other man. "Caleb’s being mean to me."

Caleb moved his hand to push at her face, but mindful of the hour and a half it had taken her to do the elaborate makeup she wore, she ducked out of the way. "God," he cried, laughingly exasperated, "you're in your thirties! How are you still such a tattletale!?"

"Caleb." Bucky's voice was dry and decidedly unamused. He mostly stayed out of their bickering as it was abundantly clear that this was simply their relationship. It was oddly adversarial, but deeply loving, so he let them be. Today, however, he was feeling protective. "I could literally kill you with my pinky finger. Stop antagonizing my girl."

Caleb narrowed his eyes as he glanced at Sasha's smugly grinning face before focusing on Bucky. "I'm pretty sure Sasha wouldn't let you kill me."

Sasha smile went razor thin. "You wanna bet?"

Caleb pursed his lips, considering her a moment, before he turned and walked away, still holding the coat, towards where Zoe stood with Natasha. Sasha grinned at his back, delighted with him. He'd always had an eye for the ideal time for a strategic retreat. A gentle hand at the small of her back had her turning to Bucky.

His bright blue eyes might have been the softest she'd ever seen them. He lifted his flesh hand to brush his thumb across her cheekbone as he asked, "You ready?"

Sasha turned her face into his hand to press her cheek, then her lips to his palm. "As I'll ever be. I want it done. I want to shake this dust off my shoes before tomorrow." Her smile sparkled as she spoke the last word. Bucky couldn't resist snatching a quick kiss.

"And tomorrow?" he asked with a slow, warm smile. "How's the feet?"

Sasha laughed, her heart lightening at the thought. "Are you kidding? Tony's gonna have to hold me back from sprinting down the aisle. We have a confirmed toasty status on the feet. How about you?" She held back a smirk. Like she couldn't feel it.

"Never been warmer." Bucky bent his head to kiss her again, this time deeply and with all the love that welled up for only her. He was still constantly amazed at how he always found more inside himself for her. Once so used to the cold he barely felt anything, to now live in the warmth and vibrancy of her was his miracle. "Go ahead and sprint, Shurochka. I'll catch you."

Sasha took his pretty face in her hands and gave him a smacking kiss. He was as much her miracle as she was his. To find someone who not only accepted her as she was, but positively reveled in it was heaven for an empath who'd spent much of her life lonely. She smiled happily in excitement for the following day. "Save a dance for me?"

Bucky grinned; she had to know she could ask anything of him, at least until he had her safely wed. "All you want."

She was still grinning at him when Caleb's shout of impatience rang out. "Hey! While we're young, woman!"

"Really," Tony concurred, "like this isn't self-indulgent enough. We doing this or not, Crazy Girl?"

"We're doing this." She murmured it for Bucky's ears alone, her smile soft and intimate before turning away to give Caleb the finger and Tony a narrow stare as she walked toward them. Before Tony started the music, Sasha and Caleb circled each other a moment before appearing to square off in the center of the crater.

The rest of the group that had made the trek to Washington stood at odd intervals in something of a circle around the two. Only those who were needed had come, the rest left at home to see to the wedding preparations. Kat stood, exulting at the destruction Sasha had caused and reminding herself that she had seen Valentin die here, no matter what he told her in nightmares. Maddie had her arm around Kat's waist, holding her up whether she needed it or not.

“Why are we doing this again?” Maddie murmured to Kat softly, worried by the trembling that worked through her girlfriend.

Kat’s voice was dry, and the reminder of Sasha’s answer in response to Kat’s exact question had her smiling slightly. “Because sometimes a ‘fuck you’ deserves a little extra effort.”

Zoe had her hand in Natasha's. The two were debating the dangers of seeking vengeance and the fine line between righteous anger and enjoying violence. Nat was warning her protegee that reveling in retributive violence only leads to seeking out offense so as to have an excuse for retribution.

Yeah, but Val had it coming. He was a real dick.

Natasha couldn't help the twitch at the corner of her mouth. She absolutely adored this child. Okay, Mini-Sasha. Granted. But if we kill everyone who's a dick, we'd never do anything else.

Tony had come to stand next to Bucky. They didn't speak, merely nodded to each other in acknowledgement. The two men would never be friends; it simply wasn't possible considering their history. However, two of the most important people in the world to Bucky were also vitally important to Tony. They could not be enemies, either. Between Sasha and Steve, it simply wasn't possible.

All of a sudden, and incomprehensibly to everyone but the two in the center of the group that had made the trek to Washington, Sasha shouted, "Free jazz!" At the sound, she and Caleb burst into motion, dancing quickly, but in a way that seemed to make no sense, none of the steps matching the others. On the other hand, they moved seamlessly together; it apparently made sense to them. At some private signal, they stopped and took their stance.

As the music started, as the rhythm caught her, Sasha felt her heart lighten and lift. She had been right to do this, even if she'd waited until the night before her and Bucky's wedding. She wanted to take back everything she'd left here before she took vows to Bucky. She needed to close this chapter before she could start the next.

Besides, she couldn't make more promises if she couldn't keep those already made. Though she'd been speaking to Morozov, when she'd sworn to dance the mambo on the ashes of all he'd built, she'd been making the promise to the sisters who even now looked on.

Rather than the threat, the dance-on-your-grave taunt she had originally intended, the sheer joy she felt transformed the act into one of celebration. As the drums beat, with sparkling eyes and swiveling hips, she exulted. Not only had they all escaped, they thrived.

Her little sister, once the most vulnerable, was growing stronger and more sure of herself with every passing day. Between the confidence that a stable and happy home gave her and the lessons from Nat that engendered the kind of courage that comes from skill, she was easily becoming a force to be reckoned with. As she careened into her teenage years, it took an entire team of superheroes to keep up with her.

Her other sister, once only able of her own free will to hide and lie, had become honest to the point of bluntness. Fortunately, the three people whose opinions she valued understood her need to speak her mind without filters. Maddie knew her wounded love needed to be herself without restrictions. Zoe had a telepath's impatience with lies and liked hearing thoughts reflected in words. Sasha, who had a perverse sense of humor, found Kat's dry, almost rude literalism hilarious.

Tomorrow, Sasha would take vows with the man who complimented her in ways she hadn’t known to hope for. Even if she had wanted to hold on to that sense of petty vengeance, she couldn’t have done it, too easily lost in the sheer fun of the dance. As it was, she discovered she was able to let it all go without a fight. She'd thought she'd come here to take something back. She hadn't known she'd end up leaving a lot she didn't need behind.

As he watched Sasha dance to the cheerful beat pounding from the quinjet, tendrils of hair falling around her face, her bright blue-green eyes snapping with fun and challenge, Bucky found himself once again falling even more in love with her. He chuckled, remembering a time he’d avoided her gaze, convinced that should he let down his guard for a moment, he’d drown in those eyes. If this was drowning, he’d happily go under.

Why he’d feared the pretty and warm, so far from all he’d once known and hated, was no mystery. He had feared the rejection when she inevitably found the ugly and cold in him. Instead, she’d held him close and shown him the ugly and cold in herself. He’d learned how to forgive himself by watching her do the same.

Though she danced for herself, for her sisters, she sang for him.

Taglist:

@marvel-lucy @cheekygeek05 @lbouvet @lovely-geek @wantingtobekorra @diinofayce @ashesandfire @suz-123 @livibrooke @ddysis @caplansteverogers @getbuckylucky @california-grown @rnr1274 @capandbuck @buckybarnesappreciationsociety @magellan-88 @mizzzpink @curiositywillbethedeathofmee @colie87 @bibliophile1773 @henrietteoaks @hellzzzbelle @same--old-shit @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @rishlo @eyesfixedonthesun22 @ingenue-q

#Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes x OFC #Bucky x OFC #Bucky Barnes fanfiction #MCU fanfiction #pantswrites #sing for me #series

[bloodinhershoesrpg]

WHEN THE CURTAIN DROPS...

Kindness, the term you’re most frequently associated with. The definition of the girl next door, every teenage boy with a fable for cheesy romance’s wet dream to the extent even your nickname fulfils the criteria. Little Barbie has been attached to your heel ever since your brain could fathom the concept of memory, bubbly little Barbie, an angel in pastel tulle, embodiment of untainted purity and infantile naivety. Illusions that happen to be a newer addition to your reputation, illusions that have you toss your head back amidst laughter in the safety of your own company as you recall the faux sadness displayed in their eyes right before they lean in to purr tales of the cold harsh truth — as they call it — to one another, well out of earshot, about how a girl as fragile as you will never last. Oh, how wondrous they find it to be that you have come this far without caving in; oh, how they long to discover your secret for this ostensibly undeserved success. At long last, they’re all the same, the ones you call friends seamlessly fitting in with the ones you’ve remained wary of: narrow-minded, short-sighted, heart-renderingly superficial. What they can’t see doesn’t exist, a logic so simple it sickens you in secrecy. You’re too soft, they whisper, you’ll never be able to stomach the struggles of a real ballerina long enough for your name to gain immortality and you wouldn’t dare to correct them.

...YOU SHOW YOUR TRUE COLOURS

For what they neglect are layers, depth, more than meets the eye. A devoted believer in the theory of everything having a reason, your kindness does not come devoid of one, naivety and greenness the furthest from fitting descriptive terms for a girl of your calibre. Confidently, you would proclaim you’ve seen it all, felt it all, slight exaggeration being part of the calculation but the essence of your statement indisputably truthful. From the punching bag to the one dishing out punishments to the reformed sinner — your journey has been rocky at best, your willingness to fight for your values and desires the sole reason you have pulled through and now find yourself seated on marble steps between rehearsals, invitingly patting the free seat beside you, your encouraging smile always reaching scintillating eyes. A certain comfort you have found in peace, all disturbances of it striking you like a dagger to the chest, the frequency increasing drastically the further your career progresses. If there was a choice to make between tranquillity and triumph, they might picture you overtaken by weakness but you alone know that you would not need to ponder. Even your duties as voluntary advocate for tolerance and collaboration has its limits and, alas, when push comes to shove, aren’t we all, even the most fragile of us, fighting our own battles?

VICTIM OR CULPRIT?

Of the twenty years you have thus far lived, seventeen have been filled with ruthless training, your successes not in the least as uncalled for as some might wish for them to be. The name Barbara Donne, often synonymous with Barbie, has been on the tip of every ballet aficionado’s tongue, including those possessing enough power to secure your reign, your new role as The Lilac Fairy inevitably bound to garner the most attention you, the glowing spitting image of Skyler Samuels Kat McNamara, have ever received. 

IN RELATION TO

ADELINE MOREAU: A girl of your upbringing is hardly used to compliments on her accomplishments, let alone heartfelt praise. Adeline has given you all that and more, her words laced with a form of encouragement you had yet to experience. Prior to her employment you had inarguably exhibited talent but your technique was lacking, never quite graceful enough for perfection; with her by your side, however, your shine is undimmished, your way to the top paved with tiles of pure gold. There is no way to thank her enough, albeit her help is much subtler than its effect, but you attempt to with sweetness and understanding, conviced that the time will come when the woman might hope to find an open ear and a friend in you. LINDSEY DAVIES: The hatred of envious commoners has hit her with unfazed force even succeeding the one you have fallen victim to before, your sympathy for her sparked at first sight. No nasty rumour could lead you astray, draw you away from pursuing a friendship with the girl whose stardom, soon to come, everyone finds even more unearned, even more suspicious. A part of you pities her for the spiteful glares so often directed at the back of her head, if not thrown straight at her, eye to cold eye, whereas another silently rejoices over her taking your place as the one everyone loves to pester. With a temper like hers and the right arguments, she might just teach those snobs a lesson on your behalf.

WHAT YOU SHOULD KNOW

Chances of Survival: Slim Applicant must be open to portraying childhood trauma (form UTP) Faceclaim is negotiable

Starring: Becky as Barbara Donne

BARBARA. Hailing from the Greek word barbaros, meaning foreign or strange - she’s always figured that she had been named aptly. Always an outsider, always a stranger, even in her own skin, she takes comfort in Saint Barbara, in her strength. She knows how the story goes: every wound inflicted upon her healed, every fire brought near her skin extinguished. But she knows how the story ends and sometimes, in the dead of night, Barbie wonders if she’ll end up like her: end up the martyr, end up the sacrifice, with the insides of her veins painting the ground. ANAIS. French for grace, her middle name always seemed like a taunt to her – in her former years, she had always been lacking grace, been too much raw power and not enough silk covered elegance. But in recent years, she has lived up to it, coating her movements with an old world finesse like a second skin, moving through the ranks without a ripple, leaving onlookers always confused as to where she came from and how she ascended. (Surely, she cannot deserve it.) DONNE. Rooted in Irish mythology as Donn, the god of the dead – her last name always felt like a little bit of a promise, and a little bit of a curse.

PERSONALITY. Who were you before the world told you who you had to be? Barbie thinks she remembers being soft, being kind in the beginning – and part of it stems from her looks. She was born with delicate features, handpainted on a canvas of porcelain, doe eyes that changed with the context of her background (green in the woods, golden on cloudless mornings, honeyed hazel in the pale afternoon light), and hair so bright it was only rivaled by her smile. When people saw her, small and lithe and fragile, flighty in essence, a little dove that alighted in the palm of their hand, it was hard not to trust her, an impossibility to expect cruelty from her. And because the world craves sweet things, beautiful little souls, because it aches in constant hunger for a minute kindness, it swallowed her up, turned her softness into a warzone and layered her edges into knives.

So she remembers her obsidian mouth, flinty and stone cold but still beautiful – tongue cutting through skin so thinly, down at a molecular level, that most of the time, people didn’t even notice blood being drawn until they left, drained and cold. But she believes that everything has a purpose, and this portion of her life is no different. She remembers that it feels just as empty, just as painful, to be throwing words like punches as it does to receive them, and how truly heavy lies the head that bears the crown. She dissembles her weaponized empathy, sheds her cloak of cruelty – it never suited her well anyway.

So here she stands, bearing kindness around her neck like a cross on a chain, letting it glint and dangle in front of everyone, takes the shattered glass hate and grinds it to dust beneath the molars of her smile. She tastes war, heavy on the back of her tongue, and everyone knows the innocents are the first to go. But here’s the beauty of being delicate: when she shatters, all her broken little pieces will cut them right back. And everyone leaves none the wiser; everyone thinks that it’s their fault for breaking it in the first place. Everything has a purpose, everything is by design.

BACKSTORY.

i. dig up the bones

Her father likes to talk about the day she was born – about how when her mother finally had her after an exhausting eight hour labor, she had said, half delirious, “She will have a hard time of it.” He likes to talk about how her mother had cried and held her close after that, rocking her gently as tears dropped from the tops of her cheeks onto Barbara’s forehead. “She is so beautiful, and the world will not stand for it. Don’t argue with me. Just answer me this, my love: why do flowers wilt? Why do they wilt, when they should bloom forever?”

He has no answer for that question, and Barbara learns early on not to ask it.

But her mother is right, in the end. She spent her childhood tucked away and loved, hiding like a little mouse from the rest of the world, spoiled sweet to the core. But the world finds you eventually, and everything will come all at once.

It starts because her hair gleams like a halo of fire around her porcelain skin, and the kids at school tug at it and make fun of her for the translucence of her cheeks when blood rushes to the surfaces and matches her hair. They call her carrot-top and throw the baby carrots from their neatly packed lunches at her, and she finds out everything can hurt her, no matter what it is.

She goes home and cries in her room, cursing her hair and her fair skin and her thin frame. She wishes she were big and burly and tall, so no one would dare hurt her. She begs her father to let her take self-defense over dance, but can’t find her tongue when he asks why. So she channels her hurt and her anger into ballet – it makes her feel beautiful and strong, this tulle-layered corner of hers, far away from playground wounds. (All this hurt and loneliness and spite bites her in the ass one day, when they say her dancing is too much the raw provocateur and too little of the soft princess they’re looking for.)

Either way, her wishes aren’t heard, and this is how she learns the casual cruelty of children.

It changes in high school – while she’s not big and burly and tall, no one dares pick on her because her beauty becomes her sword and her armor. Boys who used to pull her pigtails find themselves wanting to tug her hair for different reasons, those who laughed at the easy blush of her cheeks covet how naturally color comes to her, and with time, they want to press bruises into her skin with their lips and not the packaged contents of their lunches.

She is a stroke of lightning upon her childhood tormentors, just how a vengeful god smote St. Barbara’s killer where he stood after her death. She hides wolf grins behind demure hands, sharp teeth snapping, blood-hungry. Is she not made from the gilded dust of monarchs of ages past, sitting pretty with a crown tipped on a bed of curls?

Payback feels like freedom until you stop and realise you’re still just as pissed as before.

ii. but leave the soul alone.

In the end, it’s love that unclasps the years of trauma she wore swathed around her delicate shoulders, that pulls her down from where she played judge, jury, and executioner in her academy. They find her in an empty training room, lights dimmed and pushed up against the mirror, only it’s not any of the boys they find her wound around, and the lipstick prints on her neck attest to that fact.

Barbie is all little red riding hood to Isa’s big bad wolf, and she’s homesick for a sixty second love, hungry for the sink of her canines.

She is quickly and swiftly ousted from the uppermost echelons of academy hierarchy, but she can’t bring herself to mind. (What she does mind are the slurs pressed in whispers behind her back, dyke dyke dyke.) So she goes back to drinking venom insults and letting it drip off her lips like honey instead, lets herself be repainted kind-bubbly-weak-Barbie, kind smiles reaching welcoming eyes, the Sistine Chapel amongst a sea of sinners, a safe harbor in a storm. She pats the seat next to her and her quick taps sound like welcome home, stay for a while.

#literate rp #skeleton rp #lsrpg #murder rp #barbaradonne #taken. #female. #alive. #takenf.

[derekswhore]

RUSSIAN ROULETTE CHAPTER FOUR

chapters zero, one, two, three

2x06. the boogeyman.

    Kitanna Egorova was nothing more than a weapon. Or, that's how she felt, anyway. And due to never sharing her problems with anyone, no one knew how she felt. Not even her brother, who has mostly the same problems as her.

   Kit's phone rang and she sighed. "Hello?" She asked.

   "Привет Китти," a male voice on the other end answered. ( Hello, Kitty. )

   Kit stopped and glanced around. "Лорен, сейчас не время говорить," she replied. ( Loren, now isn't the time to talk. )

   She heard Loren sigh on the other end. "Китанна, скажи мне это. Вы тоже получили фотографии?" He asked. ( Kitanna, tell me. Did you also get photos? )

   "У тебя есть фотографии?" Kit asked, panicked. ( You got photos? )

   "Я так понимаю, у тебя есть фотографии," Loren said. ( I take it you got photos. )

   "Да. Запомни мой номер, потому что я знаю, что ты разговариваешь по телефону. Поговорим позже," Kit said, hanging up. ( Yes, I did. Remember my number, because I know you're on a burner phone. We'll talk later. )

   Kit walked up to the front door of Hotch's house and sighed. She knocked quickly and Haley opened the door almost immediately. "Hi," Kit said, smiling.

   Haley smiled brightly. "Hi! Jack's missed you a ton," she said, letting Kit into the house, "he's starting to think of you as his big sister."

   That warmed Kit's heart a bit. "Really?" She asked.

   "Oh, yeah," Haley nodded, "he absolutely loves you."

   "I'm so sorry I missed his birthday, by the way," Kit said, "Aleksander and his boyfriend, Noah, were going out all day for Noah's birthday and dragged me along."

   "It's no problem, don't worry about it," Haley said. Kit heard Jack's footsteps and smiled once he ran into the room. He ran over to Kit and she picked him up. "Kit?" Hotch asked as he followed Jack into the room.

   Kit smiled. "It's almost Halloween, I thought I'd see Jack before we're bombarded with cases," she said.

   Hotch nodded, giving her a small smile. "Well, after you're done, I'll give you a ride," he said. Kit nodded.

   "Thanks," she said.

   "Nicholas Faye of Ozona, Texas, was beaten to death roughly thirteen hours ago. Blunt force trauma to the head. He's the second young boy in Ozona to die the same death in the last two months," JJ said, "local hunter found his body in the woods. First victim's name, Robbie Davis."

   "Are these boys connected somehow?" Derek asked.

   "Ozona's population is roughly 2,500," JJ said, "everyone has some kind of connection."

   "Well, shit," Kit said softly.

   "Well, if they weren't linked before, they most certainly are now," Derek said.

   "Both murdered by the same offender," Spencer said.

   "Who's hunting children," Jason said.

plato wrote, " we can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark. the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light. "

   "You guys hear Elle was cleared?" Spencer asked as he sat down.

   "Self-defense," Kit and Derek said. Derek noticed her fiddling with the thin chain of her necklace.

   "So, it was a good shoot," Spencer said.

   "She hit what she was aimin' for," JJ said. Kit snorted and looked down, biting her lip.

   "That's not what I meant," Spencer said.

   "I know," JJ said.

   "If they cleared her, how come she's not here with us?" Derek asked, "or Hotch?"

   "Who knows," Kit said, looking up.

   "Focus on the case," Jason said.

   JJ looked at them and sighed. "Ozona police and autopsy report for Nicholas Faye and Robbie Davis," she said, handing it to Jason.

   "Well, the bludgeoning could suggest frustration or rage," Derek said.

   "With no apparent sexual motivation. That's rare when the victims are this young," Spencer said.

   "My maternal instinct is telling me to slap flex tape over Spencer's mouth the next time he mentions that," Kit said.

   "Maternal instinct?" JJ questioned.

   "Flex tape?!" Spencer asked loudly, alarmed.

   "You heard her, Pretty Boy, time to stop with your rambling," Derek smirked.

   "This unsub seems to be taking pleasure from the kill itself," Jason said.

   "So if it's not sexual, what's the significance of targeting young males?" Cora asked.

   "Most serial killers prey upon specific types to carry out their fantasies of revenge," Aleksander said.

   "You've been hanging out with one of the doctors too much, my money's on Spencer," Kit said. Spencer continued to talk ad JJ's phone rang.

   "Bundy killed that looked like an ex-girlfriend who jilted him. Dahmer claimed that schoolyard harassment fed into his fury," Spencer said.

   "So maybe these little boys represent someone who victimized the offender," Kit said.

   "Like a young male from his past," Spencer said, "maybe a bully, an older brother, someone who abused him."

   "No, that's unlikely," JJ said as she got off the phone, "they just found another body. 11-year-old girl."

   Kit sighed and bit the inside of her cheek. Derek grabbed her hand gently. "Why would the victimology change like that?" Cora asked.

   "Maybe the girl wasn't the target. Maybe she just got in the way," Derek said.

   "Or the sex of his victim isn't significant. The pace he's killing certainly indicates a velocity of change," Jason said.

   "We can't surveil every kid in Ozona. How are we supposed to keep them all safe?" JJ asked.

   "Enforce a curfew?" Spencer asked.

   Kit and Derek both shook their heads slightly. "Children shouldn't have to worry about something like that," Derek said.

   "Tell me about it," JJ muttered, "the woods were the only thing I was afraid of when I was a kid."

   "Seriously?" Derek asked, "thought you grew up in a small town."

   "Yeah, surrounded by woods," JJ said.

   "Bummer for you," Derek said.

   "Yeah," JJ sighed.

   "Only thing I was afraid of was the dark," Derek said.

   "Some of us still are," Spencer said.

   "You're afraid of the dark?" Kit asked, "that's okay, I'm afraid of medical masks."

   "When we land, Morgan and Kit go to the new crime scene. The little girl," Jason said, "I'll look at the scene where Nicholas Faye was found."

   Derek sighed and looked at Kit as she spoke with the ME. The deputy ( or, that's what Kit guessed he was ) had told them the little girl was bludgeoned to death the same way the boys had been. "Not entirely true. I found some markings on her scalp that indicated that this psycho beat her post-mortem," the ME said.

   "The unsub's getting more brazen," Kit said.

   "He's getting brazen, all right," the ME said, "I've bagged three children in the last month."

   "Now he's spending more time with the victims even after death," Derek said, "he had to know he wasn't gonna be interrupted, but how? Hoe could he be so sure?"

   "The forest goes for miles and miles, but nobody goes walkin' in it unless they're lookin' to kill," the ME said.

   Kit and Derek looked at the sign. "Or hunt," Kit said.

   "In which case, he'd know every inch of these woods, right, every trail?" Derek asked, "Kit Kat, whoever killed these children is very familiar with this area. In my opinion, he probably lived on Ozona his whole life."

   "It's something we call the buddy system. That means you always go everywhere with a friend," JJ said.

   "That's right, because bad men and women are more likely to talk to us only when we're by ourselves," Derek said.

   "We don't know what these guys look like yet. It could be somebody you know," Kit said.

   A little girl raised her hand. "Yes, sweetheart, you got a question?" Derek asked.

   "There was this little girl once on the news, who just got grabbed right in front of her house. Could that happen to us?" The girl asked.

   Derek glanced at Kit and JJ, Kit simply shrugging, as if to say, 'you're in your own with this one.' He gave her a dirty look.

   "Nothing's gonna happen to any of you, as long as you remember this buddy system, okay?" Derek asked.

   "Can I have your attention, please?" Jason asked, "good afternoon. We want to make something clear. Due to the velocity of change, we predict this offender could try and strike again anytime. His confidence builds with every attack."

   "Look for someone physically fit, shy, kind disposition, someone you may trust with your own child. Because the killer targets kids, he may be small himself," Derek said.

   "And though we keep referring to this unsub as "he," do not rule out a woman," Kit said.

   "Excuse me," a woman said.

   "Chief," deputy said, "you're gonna want to hear this."

   "My son Matthew never same home today," the woman said.

   "Here we go," Aleksander mumbled.

   "When was he last seen?" Jason asked.

   "His teacher saw him in the parking lot after school," the woman said.

   "Search team."

   "Yes, sir."

   "Okay, Reid, Cora, the school is on Willow Road," Derek said.

   "If the boy was abducted, then this area would be the most secluded nearby," Cora said.

   "So Jones can put his guys at the gas station..."

   The story about Finnegan gave Kit chills. An old man who watchers children and hunts them. Skins them. Eats them. Possibly the worst story Kit had heard.

   "Folks have been tellin' that story since I was a kid," the counselor said.

   "Why haven't we heard about this?" Kit asked.

   "Fables are often sparked by an ounce of truth. We should exhaust every possibility," Derek said.

   "Sure looks like a haunted house," Spencer said as everyone got out of the SUV.

   "Morgan, you, Kit, and Jones take the front. Reid, Cora, and I will cover the outbuildings," Jason said.

   Kit, Derek, and Jones ran up to the front quickly. The door was already open, and creaked as it opened slowly. "Mr. Finnegan!" Jones yelled.

   "God, if this isn't horror movie material I don't know what is," Kit mumbled to Derek, who smiled a bit.

   "Always know how to brighten the mood, huh, babe?" He asked as the three ran into the house.

   "Of course," Kit smirked.

   "Upstairs is clear," Jones said, "Finnegan's not here."

   "Yeah, and neither is the missing boy," Kit said.

   "Electricity's out," Jones pointed out. Kit rolled her eyes.

   "Thank you, Captain Obvious," she scoffed.

   "I know," Derek said.

   "Maybe he's been away," Jones said.

   "No. This paper was delivered today," Derek said.

   "So Finnegan was here earlier," Jones said.

   "Yeah, but where is he now?" Kit asked.

   Kit was watching the entire time Spencer was on the phone with Garcia. Spencer had gotten up and bumped into Derek and almost screamed, stumbling slightly. This caused Kit to almost collapse laughing.

   "You really are afraid of the dark," Derek said with a smile.

   "I'm workin' on that," Spencer replied as he walked away.

   "You should work a little harder," Kit teased.

   "My deputy got the boy home safe," the sheriff ( ? ) said as he entered the home.

   "Turns out the poor kid was scared by a tree branch," Cora said.

   "This whole town's on edge," Derek said, sighing.

   "Maybe that's why Finnegan's in the wind," Kit said.

   Kit and Derek walked over into a separate room and sighed. "Hey, that's interesting," Derek said.

   "The unsub didn't use a gun," Spencer said.

   "Bet he knows every trail in Ozona," Jason said, "Finnegan's an avid hunter. Why didn't he use a..." He picked up a lunch box under the table, "Robbie Davis."

   "First victim," the sheriff said.

   Jason picked up another lunch box. "Sarah P. Sarah Peterson, right?" He asked.

   "I guess Finnegan brought the kids back here first before baitin' 'em into the woods," Derek said, "but why wouldn't he get rid of the evidence?"

   "He considers them trophies," Spencer and Cora said.

   "When this is all said and done, I'd like to hang his head on my wall," Derek said.

   "You're lucky I live with three children, Derek," Kit replied blankly. The two walked away quickly.

   Finnegan had died. They guessed natural causes, Spencer had even pointed out that his heart had probably gave out setting a trap.

   "Those Coyotes were gnawing on him for a week," the ME said.

   "Before the second and third murders happened," Kit sighed.

   "The area's off the traveled path. It's a wonder anyone discovered him at all," Spencer said.

   "Is it?" The ME asked, "those leaves didn't cover him up by themselves."

   "He's right. The deputy may have not been the first to find him," Derek said.

   "And our only suspects been cleared," Cora scoffed.

   Kit and Derek looked at Jason. "Square one?" Derek asked.

   "No," Jason said, "if Finnegan's been dead all this time, who's livin' in his house?" He began to walk away. "Let's go."

   "Here's a question— if a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound if there's nobody there to hear it?" Spencer asked

   "What the hell are you reading?" Kit asked.

   "I was just thinking," Spencer said.

   "The unsub found Finnegan's corpse in a lightly traveled part of the woods, and no one else knew," Derek said, "so he was able to use this house, and no one was the wiser."

   "Actually, I was referring to Finnegan's wife," Spencer said. Kit laughed and looked down.

   "What are you talking about?" Derek asked.

   "She was rumored missing, perhaps killed, almost 50 years ago, when, in actuality, she left Finnegan for another man. Hr writes about it in hid journals, how he would look out the window on a daily basis to see if she would come home. She never did. He never recovered. He ended up turning into a recluse that people in town misunderstood," Spencer said.

   "Found somethin'," Jason said as he walked into the room, "come here." He walked away.

   "Provisions, delivered by the church to every elder's doorstep, each one dated after Finnegan died," Jason said.

   "So the unsub ate everything," Derek said.

   "Almost everything," Jason said, "unopened bowls of creamed spinach thrown into the trash, each other wrapped with ductape."

   "One with each tray," Spencer said.

   "So were looking for a guy who really, really hates spinach?" Kit asked, turning to Derek and holding her hands out, "might as well arrest me." Derek shook his head and shoved her shoulder gently.

   "I bet you'd like getting cuffed," Derek scoffed.

   "Only if it's you cuffing me," Kit smirked.

   "Who doesn't hate spinach?" Cora asked.

   "Me," Aleksander piped up as he walked up to him.

   "Ritualized, meticulous, organized," Jason said.

   "He would eat with the same particulars," Spencer said.

   "Pull prints," Jason said. His phone started to ring, "have Garcia run 'em for a match."

   "It's about Elle, isn't it?" Spencer asked, directing his question more towards Kit.

   "Hotch tells me a lot, but he doesn't tell me everything," Kit said softly.

   "Okay, Miss Future Unit Chief," Aleksander scoffed.

   "I don't know," Derek said to Spencer.

   "You know, I talked to her in Ohio."

   "Reid, we all talked to her."

   "No, I—I—I talked to her before. I went to her room one night, and she was drinking," Spencer said.

   "She almost died. I'd be drinkin', too," Derek said.

   Kit sat on the floor by Derek's legs, picking at her nail as Aleksander braided her hair. "Why the woods, JJ?" Derek asked. Aleksander sighed in annoyance when Kit looked at him, aggressively jerking her head so she groaned.

   "Ow!"

   "Hm?" JJ asked Derek.

   "Your fear. You said it was of the woods," Derek said.

   "Um, I used to be a camp counselor when I was a teenager in the woods up in Vermont. I had the night shift— tuck the girls in, turn off the lights, you know, the typical drill. Everything seemed fine, all the kids were asleep. You know, nothing seemed out of the ordinary… until I noticed that there was some blood on the hallway floor. So I followed the blood trail out to the camp directors cabin, walked up to his bed, and he was just laying there underneath his covers… dead. Someone stabbed him." Kit's eyes widened as Aleksander finished the braid. "I ran out if there so fast. Out the door, down the hall. I just remember it being really dark. Once I got to the door, there was another counselor there. I guess she heard me scream. They caught the caretaker on his way into town. I guess he still had the knife on him. Anyway, I guess that's probably when I decided I didn't like the woods."

   Kit and Derek glanced at each other. "You're serious?" Derek asked.

   JJ took a sip of her coffee, giving Derek a dead serious look before making a face. "No," she said. Kit rolled her eyes, as JJ laughed, "no, I… you fell for that?"

   Derek chuckled and leaned back into the couch. "Come on, I don't know why I'm afraid of the woods. I just… I am." JJ pointed to Spencer, still looking at Derek. "Why is he still afraid of the dark?" She then pointed to Kit. "And why is she afraid of medical masks?"

   Derek disregarded the question about Kit's fear, knowing it was a bad thing to look back on for her. "Yeah, Reid, why are you still afraid of the dark?"

   "Because of the inherent absence of light!" Spencer answered.

   "Oh," JJ said, Kit hearing an ounce of sarcasm in her voice.

   "JJ, that was pretty good," Derek said as his phone rang.

   "Ha! That's what she said!" Kit exclaimed.

   Derek gave her a look. "Just know that paybacks are a bitch," he said. Kit and Aleksander looked at each other with small smirks.

   "I'm shakin'," JJ joked.

   Derek answered his phone. "Yeah." He got off with the phone with Garcia after mentioning the guidence counselor. "Call Gideon. We just found our unsub."

   Derek walked into the cell with Kit and closed the door. He then walked over to Charles and placed the file down. "Here's the deal. I could stand here and tell you what I think you were doin' in Finnegan's house for the last two weeks, or you could do us all a favor. Sign a confession, maybe get a little something taken off your time. What do you say?" Derek asked.

   "I never stepped inside Finnegan's house," Charles said. Derek dropped the pen.

   "That isn't the answer we were looking for, sweetheart," Kit mocked. Earlier, Charles had called her sweetheart, so it was coming back to bite him in the ass.

   "See, fact is, we got your fingerprints inside the house all over the trays of food," Derek said.

   "Of course you did. I delivered 'em every week," Charles said.

   Derek grabbed the red hat. "What are you doin' with Nicholas Faye's hat? Hmm?" Derek asked.

   "Maybe he was trying to dispose of it. Or maybe he was so proud of his keepsake, he wanted a safe place to hide it," Kit said.

   "How these last six months been for you, James?" Derek asked, "not too good, huh? Oh, no, your whole life is fallin' apart, isn't it? Oh, yeah, you gotta be feelin' a loss of control."

   "Sense of abandonment," Kit continued.

   "And we would guess, uh… little impotent maybe," Derek said, "come on, man, give me somethin'."

   Kit smirked. "Why did your wife leave you, hmm?" She asked with a mock pout.

   "What happened, James? She get bored? I mean, you don't seem all that exciting to me," Derek said, "she start feeling a little uninspired? Hey, you're not a Minuteman, are you?" Charles stayed silent.

   "Oh, so that's what it is," Kit said snarkily, smiling as she walked over, "you're done before she even gets started, huh? She left you for another man who has—" James got up, pushing everything off the table and hitting Kit in the process, "okay then!"

   "James, that was exciting!" Derek yelled, "did she hit a nerve?"

   "I want to go home," Charles said.

   "Oh, you want to go home?" Kit asked.

   "Well, we're sorry. That ain't about to happen, so why don't you come over here and sit your ass down?" Derek asked. Charles didn't move, "I said sit down!"

   "I'm done talkin' to you," Charles said.

   Derek looked at Kit and she sighed. "I will tell you what you're done doing, understood?" She asked, "James, we can't help you if you don't start talking."

   "Somethin'!" Derek yelled. Derek got off the phone and Kit gave him a curious look. "What were you doin'? Workin' your way up to the victim you wanted to kill most? Your son?"

   Kit's eyes widened, before finally starting go catch onto what Derek was saying. "What'd you do with him, James?" Kit asked. James shook his head, sparking a new kind of rage in Kit. "Are you really so fucking weak you have to blame your own child for your failed marriage?!"

   "Shut up!" Charles yelled.

   "No! Start talking! Because we need to understand this!" Kit screamed, almost at the top of her lungs, "you beat those children who trusted you! Why?! So you could regain your power?!"

   Derek looked at her before looking back at Charles. "We got a news flash for you. You never had any to begin with," he said.

   "That's right. Keep it comin', keep it comin'," Charles said.

   "We are so far from finished with you, you son of a bitch," Derek said.

   "I could do this all day if I really wanted to," Kit said, "it's only a matter of time before I snap and you're on the floor, knocked out cold. You make me sick!"

   "You know what happens to guys who mess with kids on the inside?" Derek asked, "do you?"

   "Can I have a word with him?" Jason asked as he entered the room. Kit took a deep breath.

   "Yeah," Derek said, grabbing Kit's wrist gently and walking out. Kit leaned against the wall, rubbing her throat gently.

   "Screaming really took a toll on my vocal cords," she chuckled. Derek gave her the slightest smile, looking down at her wrist. He noticed the sever circular scars around her wrists.

   "What's that about?" He asked, nodding to the scars.

   "The US really needs to get better handcuffs," Kit smiled.

   "Ah," Derek nodded.

   "I also handcuff my wrist to the bed at night," Kit said softly, "PTSD has made me anxious. That I might get up and hurt someone without realizing it. Safety precautions, you know?"

   "Kit Kat," Derek sighed, "if you need help, talk to someone. Cora, Reid, Hotch Gideon, your brother, me."

   "None of you are professionals other than Cora, who despises me," Kit said.

   Derek nodded. "I get your point, but still..."

   "I'll keep it in mind," Kit smiled, starting to walk again.

   Derek smiled as well. "Yeah, you better."

   Kit, Derek, Jones, and Jason got out of the car quickly to meet JJ, Cora, and Spencer. "You know, after this mom left, Jeffery probably resented the fact that his dad spends more time at work with other kids than with his own," Derek said.

   "And took that rage out on any kid he viewed as having anything he didn't," Jason said.

   "So Tracy's mom said the bus would have dropped her off here after school," JJ said, "she was supposed to walk home with a neighbor."

   "That's most likely when Jeffery approached, but where would he have taken her?" Spencer asked.

   "There's such heavy patrolling in this town," JJ said, "how do you manage to take a little girl without being seen?"

   "Because we taught him," Kit realized, "nobody will think anything of two kids walking together—"

   "Buddy system, remember?" Aleksander asked.

   "In the process of educating the public, we educated a killer," Kit said.

   "When it's off season baseball, where would a 12-year-old kid hang out?" JJ asked.

   "The park," Jason said.

   "Surrounded by woods," Cora said.

   "Let's go."

   Kit and Jason had found Tracy and Jeffery at almost the exact same time. Jason had grabbed Jeffery while Tracy clung to Kit, Kit holding the young blonde tightly.

   "Are you okay?" Kit asked Tracy softly, stroking her hair a bit. Tracy nodded. "Good. Good. Okay."

   Kit sighed and looked at Charles, feeling slightly guilty. "I'm not gonna apologize, but if you want or need to, Kit Kat, go ahead," Derek said to her. Kit hesitated before nodding and walking over to Charles.

   "Mr. Charles," Kit said, "I think an apology is in order. Had I put it together before hand, I wouldn't have treated you the way I did."

   "You were doing your job, Agent Egorova," Charles replied. Kit smiled sadly.

   "I still shouldn't have said those things." She put her hand out and Charles shook it quickly, "have a nice day."

   Charles nodded. "You too." Kit walked away and over to Derek quickly.

   "You tell him everything you needed to?" Derek asked. Kit nodded and sighed, giving Derek a small smile.

   "Yeah. I did."

DAI SPEAKS howdy hoe

#criminal minds #spencer reid #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #david rossi #jennifer jareau #emily prentss #jason gideon

[bihsconstruction]

WHEN THE CURTAIN DROPS...

Kindness, the term you’re most frequently associated with. The definition of the girl next door, every teenage boy with a fable for cheesy romance’s wet dream to the extent even your nickname fulfils the criteria. Little Barbie has been attached to your heel ever since your brain could fathom the concept of memory, bubbly little Barbie, an angel in pastel tulle, embodiment of untainted purity and infantile naivety. Illusions that happen to be a newer addition to your reputation, illusions that have you toss your head back amidst laughter in the safety of your own company as you recall the faux sadness displayed in their eyes right before they lean in to purr tales of the cold harsh truth — as they call it — to one another, well out of earshot, about how a girl as fragile as you will never last. Oh, how wondrous they find it to be that you have come this far without caving in; oh, how they long to discover your secret for this ostensibly undeserved success. At long last, they’re all the same, the ones you call friends seamlessly fitting in with the ones you’ve remained wary of: narrow-minded, short-sighted, heart-renderingly superficial. What they can’t see doesn’t exist, a logic so simple it sickens you in secrecy. You’re too soft, they whisper, you’ll never be able to stomach the struggles of a real ballerina long enough for your name to gain immortality and you wouldn’t dare to correct them.

...YOU SHOW YOUR TRUE COLOURS

For what they neglect are layers, depth, more than meets the eye. A devoted believer in the theory of everything having a reason, your kindness does not come devoid of one, naivety and greenness the furthest from fitting descriptive terms for a girl of your calibre. Confidently, you would proclaim you’ve seen it all, felt it all, slight exaggeration being part of the calculation but the essence of your statement indisputably truthful. From the punching bag to the one dishing out punishments to the reformed sinner — your journey has been rocky at best, your willingness to fight for your values and desires the sole reason you have pulled through and now find yourself seated on marble steps between rehearsals, invitingly patting the free seat beside you, your encouraging smile always reaching scintillating eyes. A certain comfort you have found in peace, all disturbances of it striking you like a dagger to the chest, the frequency increasing drastically the further your career progresses. If there was a choice to make between tranquillity and triumph, they might picture you overtaken by weakness but you alone know that you would not need to ponder. Even your duties as voluntary advocate for tolerance and collaboration has its limits and, alas, when push comes to shove, aren’t we all, even the most fragile of us, fighting our own battles?

VICTIM OR CULPRIT?

Of the twenty years you have thus far lived, seventeen have been filled with ruthless training, your successes not in the least as uncalled for as some might wish for them to be. The name Barbara Donne, often synonymous with Barbie, has been on the tip of every ballet aficionado’s tongue, including those possessing enough power to secure your reign, your new role as The Lilac Fairy inevitably bound to garner the most attention you, the glowing spitting image of Skyler Samuels Kat McNamara, have ever received. 

IN RELATION TO

ADELINE MOREAU: A girl of your upbringing is hardly used to compliments on her accomplishments, let alone heartfelt praise. Adeline has given you all that and more, her words laced with a form of encouragement you had yet to experience. Prior to her employment you had inarguably exhibited talent but your technique was lacking, never quite graceful enough for perfection; with her by your side, however, your shine is undimmished, your way to the top paved with tiles of pure gold. There is no way to thank her enough, albeit her help is much subtler than its effect, but you attempt to with sweetness and understanding, conviced that the time will come when the woman might hope to find an open ear and a friend in you. LINDSEY DAVIES: The hatred of envious commoners has hit her with unfazed force even succeeding the one you have fallen victim to before, your sympathy for her sparked at first sight. No nasty rumour could lead you astray, draw you away from pursuing a friendship with the girl whose stardom, soon to come, everyone finds even more unearned, even more suspicious. A part of you pities her for the spiteful glares so often directed at the back of her head, if not thrown straight at her, eye to cold eye, whereas another silently rejoices over her taking your place as the one everyone loves to pester. With a temper like hers and the right arguments, she might just teach those snobs a lesson on your behalf.

WHAT YOU SHOULD KNOW

Chances of Survival: Slim Applicant must be open to portraying childhood trauma (form UTP) Faceclaim is negotiable

Starring: Becky as Barbara Donne

BARBARA. Hailing from the Greek word barbaros, meaning foreign or strange - she’s always figured that she had been named aptly. Always an outsider, always a stranger, even in her own skin, she takes comfort in Saint Barbara, in her strength. She knows how the story goes: every wound inflicted upon her healed, every fire brought near her skin extinguished. But she knows how the story ends and sometimes, in the dead of night, Barbie wonders if she’ll end up like her: end up the martyr, end up the sacrifice, with the insides of her veins painting the ground. ANAIS. French for grace, her middle name always seemed like a taunt to her – in her former years, she had always been lacking grace, been too much raw power and not enough silk covered elegance. But in recent years, she has lived up to it, coating her movements with an old world finesse like a second skin, moving through the ranks without a ripple, leaving onlookers always confused as to where she came from and how she ascended. (Surely, she cannot deserve it.) DONNE. Rooted in Irish mythology as Donn, the god of the dead – her last name always felt like a little bit of a promise, and a little bit of a curse.

PERSONALITY. Who were you before the world told you who you had to be? Barbie thinks she remembers being soft, being kind in the beginning – and part of it stems from her looks. She was born with delicate features, handpainted on a canvas of porcelain, doe eyes that changed with the context of her background (green in the woods, golden on cloudless mornings, honeyed hazel in the pale afternoon light), and hair so bright it was only rivaled by her smile. When people saw her, small and lithe and fragile, flighty in essence, a little dove that alighted in the palm of their hand, it was hard not to trust her, an impossibility to expect cruelty from her. And because the world craves sweet things, beautiful little souls, because it aches in constant hunger for a minute kindness, it swallowed her up, turned her softness into a warzone and layered her edges into knives.

So she remembers her obsidian mouth, flinty and stone cold but still beautiful – tongue cutting through skin so thinly, down at a molecular level, that most of the time, people didn’t even notice blood being drawn until they left, drained and cold. But she believes that everything has a purpose, and this portion of her life is no different. She remembers that it feels just as empty, just as painful, to be throwing words like punches as it does to receive them, and how truly heavy lies the head that bears the crown. She dissembles her weaponized empathy, sheds her cloak of cruelty – it never suited her well anyway.

So here she stands, bearing kindness around her neck like a cross on a chain, letting it glint and dangle in front of everyone, takes the shattered glass hate and grinds it to dust beneath the molars of her smile. She tastes war, heavy on the back of her tongue, and everyone knows the innocents are the first to go. But here’s the beauty of being delicate: when she shatters, all her broken little pieces will cut them right back. And everyone leaves none the wiser; everyone thinks that it’s their fault for breaking it in the first place. Everything has a purpose, everything is by design.

BACKSTORY.

i. dig up the bones

Her father likes to talk about the day she was born – about how when her mother finally had her after an exhausting eight hour labor, she had said, half delirious, “She will have a hard time of it.” He likes to talk about how her mother had cried and held her close after that, rocking her gently as tears dropped from the tops of her cheeks onto Barbara’s forehead. “She is so beautiful, and the world will not stand for it. Don’t argue with me. Just answer me this, my love: why do flowers wilt? Why do they wilt, when they should bloom forever?”

He has no answer for that question, and Barbara learns early on not to ask it.

But her mother is right, in the end. She spent her childhood tucked away and loved, hiding like a little mouse from the rest of the world, spoiled sweet to the core. But the world finds you eventually, and everything will come all at once.

It starts because her hair gleams like a halo of fire around her porcelain skin, and the kids at school tug at it and make fun of her for the translucence of her cheeks when blood rushes to the surfaces and matches her hair. They call her carrot-top and throw the baby carrots from their neatly packed lunches at her, and she finds out everything can hurt her, no matter what it is.

She goes home and cries in her room, cursing her hair and her fair skin and her thin frame. She wishes she were big and burly and tall, so no one would dare hurt her. She begs her father to let her take self-defense over dance, but can’t find her tongue when he asks why. So she channels her hurt and her anger into ballet – it makes her feel beautiful and strong, this tulle-layered corner of hers, far away from playground wounds. (All this hurt and loneliness and spite bites her in the ass one day, when they say her dancing is too much the raw provocateur and too little of the soft princess they’re looking for.)

Either way, her wishes aren’t heard, and this is how she learns the casual cruelty of children.

It changes in high school – while she’s not big and burly and tall, no one dares pick on her because her beauty becomes her sword and her armor. Boys who used to pull her pigtails find themselves wanting to tug her hair for different reasons, those who laughed at the easy blush of her cheeks covet how naturally color comes to her, and with time, they want to press bruises into her skin with their lips and not the packaged contents of their lunches.

She is a stroke of lightning upon her childhood tormentors, just how a vengeful god smote St. Barbara’s killer where he stood after her death. She hides wolf grins behind demure hands, sharp teeth snapping, blood-hungry. Is she not made from the gilded dust of monarchs of ages past, sitting pretty with a crown tipped on a bed of curls?

Payback feels like freedom until you stop and realise you’re still just as pissed as before.

ii. but leave the soul alone.

In the end, it’s love that unclasps the years of trauma she wore swathed around her delicate shoulders, that pulls her down from where she played judge, jury, and executioner in her academy. They find her in an empty training room, lights dimmed and pushed up against the mirror, only it’s not any of the boys they find her wound around, and the lipstick prints on her neck attest to that fact.

Barbie is all little red riding hood to Isa’s big bad wolf, and she’s homesick for a sixty second love, hungry for the sink of her canines.

She is quickly and swiftly ousted from the uppermost echelons of academy hierarchy, but she can’t bring herself to mind. (What she does mind are the slurs pressed in whispers behind her back, dyke dyke dyke.) So she goes back to drinking venom insults and letting it drip off her lips like honey instead, lets herself be repainted kind-bubbly-weak-Barbie, kind smiles reaching welcoming eyes, the Sistine Chapel amongst a sea of sinners, a safe harbor in a storm. She pats the seat next to her and her quick taps sound like welcome home, stay for a while.

[nitacus]

1. Your First OC ever? Oh gosh, I'm fairly sure it was a robot/cyborg girl (I think because I really liked the Androids from Dragonball Z) I annot remember her name I do remember, she had some love interest who was blond, and didn't discover what she really was for a while. Her maker was evil, I think I wrote it when I was like 8-ish ugh how embarrassing.         2. Do you have a personal favourite among your OC's? Oh gee probably Riea just because she is the oldest long term one who I've written for, and recreated and built upon many times, but it's hard to pick favourites out of them all. 3. Have you ever adopted a character or gotten a character from somebody? I genuinely don't remember ever taking on another persons character, I have made suggestions on how a person could characterise their OC better so I used the, temporarily to demonstrate but never took one on long term to keep. I would though if I thought they were salvageable, or if I felt they possessed a story inside of them waiting to be told. 4. A character you rarely talk about? Does Cyborg girl count ^^' if not, I don't really discuss the Knight Commander with people, even though he's an antagonist. Other than him, there is a blonde female who my succubus character (also female) seduced who I haven't discuss much, mainly because I haven't determined how she's going to be reintroduced yet. I might make her a witch and thus aware of her soul having been stolen. 5. If you could only make only one of your OC's popular/known, who would it be? Viseran ( my deaf/mute character) a scouting party member, from a post apocalyptic future story. 6. Two OC's of yours that look alike despite not being related? That I made similar intentionally? Or I only realised were similar later on? None spring to mind who weren't related. 7. Are your OC's part of any story, or stories? Yes, that's what my entire list of OC's consist of. 8. Do you RP as any of your OC's? No I have never RP'd before. I sort of just work through everything in my head. 9.  Would you ever be willing to give any of your OC's to someone else? I have no idea, perhaps some old, or abandoned ones. It feels weird saying I'd give one to someone else though. 10. Introduce an OC with a complicated design? Complicated how? Like their character and personality, their story and purpose, or their actual design and appearance? A) Little Empress, B) Riea, C) God knows but probably Aymia Crewe. Little empress is a succubus, on the side of evil, she is a literal empress despite others having turned it into a sort of pet name, much to her distaste, and the story follows her and she sort of ends up working for the other side. 11. Is there any OC of yours you could describe as a 'sunshine'? Zeriste/Rabbit is the only one who springs immediately to mind. 12. Name an OC who isn't yours but you like a lot? Some of the Dragon Age OC's that people have made are super interesting. I saw a thunder god one on deviant art that was pretty cool too. 13. Do you have any troublemaker OC's? Oh yeah I've created a few. Else witch, Blade, Peydion, immediately come to mind 14. Introduce an OC with a tragic background? Aymia Crewe applies due to having become permanently stuck in a child's body of ten, even though she is like nineteen years old. A number of her childhood years were spent as a child soldier, of which she was only one, another character of mine is also a child of warfare, however refocusing on Aymia due to her being highly skilled, and being one of the longest surviving children, as well as children being more compatible than adults, with the experiments to enhance soldiers on the battlefield. Due to being one of the subjects experimented on, a side effect of that was her body ceasing to age, she also has successfully enhanced battle skills, but she kind of feels trapped in a never ending nightmare. 15. Do you like to talk about your OC's with others? I rarely talk about my writing projects unless they are finished and I am content to discuss them. 16. Which one of your OC's would be the best at Biology (school subject)? Uissade, he is driven to seek achievement and learning above all else.  17. Any OC OTP's? Of my own characters - Riea and Blade though they probably will not end up together given the significant trauma in her past, Novice Witch and the Main Character, Aleksis and Vio, Riel and Lief though sometimes it changes, in other words I have several 18. Any OC crackships? Mine or from other media because I have a lot that belong to others. Sometimes I enjoy one-shots of various interactions between my characters, even cross overs from different stories 19. Introduce an OC that means a lot to you (and explain why) - Riea purely because she was my first OC that I designed as an adult, with a complete story and background and she has morphed and gone through many changes over the time since I created her, so I feel that I know her best and where she is coming from during the story. 20. Do any of your OC's sing? None actually, I have yet to make a musical OC. 21. Your most artistic OC? Out the ones I've created thus far Acera fits this best of all, she's artistic, creative, addicted to bright colours, popular, and collects shiny knick-knacks. 22. Is there any OC of yours who people tend to mischaracterise? No, I don't really mind how people view or characterise my OC’s, as the only one who knows what I had in mind when I created them is myself. I am always intrigued to see how another person might view different characters.  23. Introduce OC who has changed from your first idea concerning what the character would be like? Riea, she's changed several times as mentioned above. 24. If you could meet one OC of yours, who would it be, and why? My former slave turned free traveller and fighter for justice, he's kind, sees the best in people and has never become bitter or angry over the hand life dealt him, I admire that. 25. The OC who resembles you the most? Auli, she has some differences from me namely her ethnicity, but she has dark hair and eyes like me, is kind but passionate and fiery whenever defending those she cares about. Also loves her family, culture, good food, and isn't afraid of expressing herself.  Therefore yeah definitely Auli. 26. Have you ever had to change your OC's design, or something else about them against your will? No, I am stubborn when it comes to who I perceive a character to be, or how they firm as a complete person in my head. I take constructive criticism, and allow others to suggest things whether a flaw or a positive trait, but I know who they are overall, and I know the story they are telling, so if they need to be rebuilt, I sift through trying to identify what I need to change for it to feel right. 27. Any OCs that were inspired by a certain song? None that I remember ever creating. 28. Your most dangerous OC? Gees, many are quite dangerous in truth, however the most dangerous character I have who isn't a straight up villain/antagonist is probably Aymia, she looks like a small child physically, but is an experienced, capable, killer, seeking a cure to her current condition, or punish those responsible, so definitely Aymia. 29. Which of your OCs would go investigate an abandoned house at night without telling anyone they're going? Serafien out of sheer stubbornness, Aymia, possibly Riea too seeing she can be very impulsive and isn't used to involving others in her plans or business. 30. Which of your OC's would most likely have a secret stuffed animal collection? Sayah because she's always acting tougher and more aloof than she really is. Possibly also Jarei. 31. Pick one OC of yours and explain what their Tumblr blog would be like? Peydion would reblog the latest fashion trends, she would always be posting hair and makeup tips for others as naturally she has immaculate taste. She would post skincare products, the only other types of things she would reblog would be fundraisers, and anything for a good cause as Peydion despite being vain will always champion the causes of the underdog, she will defend the picked on, indifferent to status. Acera's Tumblr would be a crafty, artsy collage of style and colour, I feel like she would make her own fashion accessories, upload her paintings and drawings, and make eclectic music playlists and suggestions for people, I also feel like she would have sections of her page dedicated to black and white photographs to break up all of the colour every now and then, I feel she would be a sweets and caffine addict to. 32. Which of your OC's would be the most suitable horror game protagonist and why?  I feel like Jarei, would be a matter of fact and rational protagonist, however she might be far too sensible to end up there in the first place. Therefore...I'm going to say, Iris would be unique in that type of situation. She's extremely different, spends the majority of her time amongst nature, and her powers as an empath would make the entire journey extremely interesting. 33. Your shyest OC? I can't really think of a shy character that I've written, I have expressed pain and distant characters, cautious and uncertain, bold and fiery, I've written introverts and extroverts, good and bad, jealous and vindictive, cruel even but I haven't written shy oddly. I will make that my next OC goal. Out of my characters who exist right now, I guess I would have to pick Iris or Briayla, because they are more introverted, Riea is also. 34. Do you have any twin characters? Yes three sets. Paige and Kat, another set of girl twins who are thus far unnamed still, and then there's Alex and Cole 35. Do yo have any sibling characters? Apart from the sets of twins ^^, not that I can recall. 36. Do you have OC pairs where the other part belongs to someone else (siblings, lovers, friends, etc)? Belongs to someone else? Like another writer with their OC? Or who the character belongs to in the story? I wouldn't say any characters belong to, or with anyone in any of my stories, they are each, their own person. But if you mean as in another writer's OC, no. 37. Introduce an OC who is not quite human? Riel and Lief both count in this case, essentially both are members of a group of beings who possess roles and responsibilities on the earth, they manage a particular job in everyday like that makes society function. A civil war breaks out, Riel is attacked and almost killed, she manages to escape, but at the same time falls into the mortal realm with a tear in her spiritual essence. Each being has an emergency, corporeal body which they inhabit within the human realm, Riel ends up being trapped within hers, and they are only supposed to be used minutely therefore the reliance upon it weakens her, so she's stuck, and during the initial aftermath she doesn't remember until Lief shows up and restores her memories of this, as they were sealed along with her powers within her. They are a part of her spiritual essence, it's intended to both protect the mortal realm as well as ensure mortals never discover their existence. Other stuff happens, war is being waged by both sides, that's all I'll say. 38. Which of your OC's would be the best dancer? Serafien, Else Witch I assume given the time period both women are from. 39. Introduce any character you want. Nine has white-blonde hair in a styled ponytail, with a messy braid running through it, and red eyes due to being albino. She is scrawny, and badly scarred along her right side and hip. Nine has the ability to kill, but she needs to picture how your organs work, in order to cause your lungs to seize up, she has to know how the respiratory system works, and picture it's inner workings in her mind, only then can she disrupt or shit down how it functions. She also has the ability to increase or decrease the potency of medicinal plants, herbs poisons, and all alchemical draughts she makes, making her both a brilliant healer, or killer depending on the necessity. 40. Any fond memories linked to your characters? Other than writing for them, being complimented on one or two. One time I made my sisters laugh with one of my OC's. A ghost and secretary working for a organisation of guardians, and although she is incredibly good at her job, she's of course incorporeal. Which means she cannot answer the phone, get the door, sign for packages that sort of thing, so at times she gets frustrated over it and her ghostly abilities act up, so office supplies randomly end up scattered about the lobby and that sort of thing. Also her partner as a receptionist who does answer the phones etc is a male mummy, who roller blades to work because he really enjoys human inventions, of course concerns that he might unravel means that he often puts tape on his bandages to keep them together. That sort of thing tends to make people laugh. 41. Has anyone drawn fan art of your OC's? No. 42. Which one of your OC's would be the most interested in the Greek Gods? Gaia considering her name comes directly from them, I also think she would be interested in her namesake and others among them. 43. Do you have any certain type when you create OC's? Do you tend to favour some certain traits or looks? It's time to confess. I lean mostly toward fantasy settings, I confess to liking troubled OC's, and the only physical features that I can say I lean towards is dark hair colours and bronze or tan skin colours. I try to represent as many ethnicities in my writing as possible, therefore I've made, French, English, Greek and Italian, Middle eastern mixed, Asian mixed OC's, a Hawaiian and Samoan OC, Native American, African American, Jamaican, as many as I can because I think everybody deserves representation, in stories and adventures, so it really depends on the setting I'm building, if it's a future society then I use our world ethnicities and say countries and nations have mixed and shifted etc, if it's a fantasy setting then I create and build my OC's and their ethnicities or cultures from scratch, likewise if I make a sci fi story which deals with alien races. 44. Something you like about your OC's in general? I like that they are all uniquely different, I try to explore new personalities and mindsets. 45. A character you no longer use? Well I haven't thought about cyborg girl in well over a decade but I might recreate and build her anew in a future story because I'm feeling some real nostalgia right now. 46. Has anybody ever told you that you treat your OC's badly? I would readily confess to doing so, you have to push characters to their limits, to determine what they are made of, that's how you work out who they are deep down. So yes I do think I act quite sadistically, and I'll kick them when they are down at times. 47. Has anybody ever (friendly) claimed any of your OC's as their child? No, no one has. 48. OC who is a perfect cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure. Mayyyybe Zeriste, she's the only character I can think of who falls into the sees the best in everybody, innocent type. Every other character I've made, ever, has been more complicated and more flawed than that. Zeriste isn't an old creation though she's a relatively new OC. 49. Which one of your OC's would most likely enjoy memes? I feel like roller blading mummy would be down ^^ he likes human creations. 50. Give me the good ol' OC talk here, talk about anything you want. If you want tag your answers as #yetanotherOCmeme so I can check them out too. I don't really know what OC talk is being referred to here. All I shall say is make them as varied, flawed, and three dimensional as possible. Be brave when challenging them with a difficult situation, and never hand OC's an easy way out. They can only build character in the face of adversity.

#yetanotherocmeme #my ocs