weemsfreak

[weemsfreak]

no one knows how much pain it took to become this calm

[weemsfreak]

That anne lister quote when she couldnt sleep because the lesbian pills kicked in

[weemsfreak]

𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Zombie Apocalypse AU w/ Gwendoline Christie characters; (~9.2K words)

(Featuring: Larissa Weems, Brienne of Tarth, Jane Murdstone, Anna from WTM, Lucifer Morningstar, Miranda Hilmarson, Captain Phasma, and Jan Stevens) x Reader

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

It started about two months ago. Russia went down first, then Mongolia. China. India. And in the midst, Finland, Sweden, Norway, the United Kingdom, down to the very southern tip of Africa. The Ocean is no killer of disease, frozen or not, and encouraged it to ravage South and North America, then Canada and Greenland. Until every place was overrun by dead freaks. Stinking corpses and moving gore. 

They traveled in herds, packs, whatever it was that people wanted to call them—murders, perhaps—and shuffled aimlessly across any land they could find. Eager for food, for sustenance, to fill the empty bellies that would never be full. Gorging themselves on creatures like you. 

Officially ‘the other’. Officially ‘the enemy’. The sole survivor of a good group that was attacked some days ago because an idiot forgot to shoot one of the creatures in the head. And by sunrise, it was over. Screams echoed into the silence and you soon found yourself alone… running for your life with a duffle bag over your shoulder (slowing you down) and a gun in your hand (low on ammo). Trekking through thick woods in a heavily-infested Vermont town was not a good idea, but you had no choice. The house you were camping in was left behind, ravaged by bullets that you put into your friend’s heads, and every other spot nearby had been looted. You couldn’t move all of those bodies yourself. You couldn’t do much yourself. There was no army background attached to your name, no conspiracy theorist survival-obsessed gene in your body, and not much training in fighting either. All you could do was run. Run and run and run until you were miles away and your lungs started to burn. Not the most useful skill considering most people could run, but if you were quick enough to speed past the shuffling bastards, you were quick enough to make it to safety. 

—

Safety…what a joke. A shit joke. A joke that was, quite honestly, the worst joke to ever exist. There was no safety. No place, nowhere. You’d been walking for a few hours, hearing nothing but the forest’s silence, and stumbling over leaves and branches. They ravaged the animals, took them into their mouths like they were people, and ate until there was nothing left. Not even a squirrel, or a fox, and the birds had grown weary of the vast number of hunters (both dead and undead) that found themselves in the woods looking for food. So no birds either. And no houses. And you were pretty sure, as you paused to catch your breath, that you were doomed. 

Only a few bullets left and your aim was never perfect. One knife tucked into your waistband but it was getting uncomfortable, digging into your skin, and caked in blood. Creature blood. Everything smelled horrible. Like burning flesh or dirty meat, raw and soiled. You probably didn’t smell too good either. It wasn’t like the world still worked without the people; only a few places had running water and you couldn’t trust the creeks and rivers. The undead enjoyed walking through shallow water, knowing somehow that there’d probably be prey nearby. 

But you hadn’t seen anything in a while. A long while. A suspiciously long while... 

Everything was green and brown around you, whisked by wind and soil, and you stood out like blood against snow. The last thing you saw was yesterday. Ever since? Not a single flash of undead flesh. 

You swallowed, throat embarrassingly dry, and tapped your fingers against your thigh. 

It wasn’t good when everything was still. You were vulnerable, out in the open, and without a good few rounds of bullets to spare. Every muscle and organ in your body screamed for mercy, crying with the effort it took to keep surviving even when you didn’t want to. 

You thought about it a few times; gave the gun in your hand a long look on several occasions, but ultimately decided that ‘opting out’ was only a last resort. Somehow, even amidst the chaos and hatred and swill of humanity’s nature, you managed to hold hope. And often wondered where it would get you. How it would get you. While you were sleeping? While you were already wounded? Fighting off the hands of a loved one? The twist of hope’s rope… would you feel it closing in around your neck? A literal metaphor for the eventual death you’d experience? 

Thinking about it gave you a headache. 

For where was the point in wondering? 

You had no one else. Whatever form of death awaited, it would end up being your fault. Probably because you couldn’t run fast enough. Probably because- 

Because-

Wait. 

Somewhere behind you, on the right, was a low sound. A hum. The smooth whoosh of something quick. The parting of wind… the low growl of… 

“Fuck.” 

You shot off in that direction, bag smacking against your shoulder blades, and instantly felt the exhaustion pull at your body again. It lingered like a plague, like the undead disease, and you yearned to fall to your knees - to give in - but it wasn’t the time for that. You had to at least try. You had to at least make it over the hill. Right over the hill. So close but so far. You leaned forward, threw yourself at the ground, and grasped onto gnarled tree roots. The Earth smelled wet with decay, sweet with promise - you huffed against dry leaves. They crunched and scratched at your fingers, eventually crinkling into nothing when your arms worked to drag you up. You probably looked a little mad, scrambling up a steep hill to reach something that probably won’t save you, but there was no other option. The hum grew louder, the quiet was broken, and you only had a few moments to get this right. 

“Help!” Your lungs caved around your scream, but the forest swallowed it instantly. Greedy trees with their greedy barks, wanting to keep you hidden from salvation. The hum grew louder. Your fingers grew clammy, sweating and slipping against rough wood. 

You’d be bruised to high heaven later, and probably exhausted, but the hum and the growl of an engine meant a road and a road meant civilization and goddammit you just needed to get over the stupid fucking hill. 

There was a loud ringing in your ears, nearly deafening, and making your voice sound fuzzy. 

“Help! Help!”

Was that you? Were you the one screaming like that? Why couldn’t you be quiet? Those things could have been lurking… wandering nearby… coming up behind you, eager to grasp at your ankles and drag you back down to Hell. 

A glance back over your shoulder, aching from the duffle bag, found nothing but blurred terrain and darkened leaves–a symptom of the setting sun. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. If the light went out, you’d be screwed. You couldn’t use the last of your matches and the world went black when evening struck. So there really was no choice. As the growl turned into a roar… there was no choice. Just a little higher- a little more. Your arms pushed, biceps straining against the cotton of your shirt, and your pants threatened to get caught on wayward sticks and tear into rags. The boots on your feet pressed hard against loose rocks, kicking them out of place, and gained just enough ground to push you up - over the ridge. The final stretch. Your chest pushed to the hard dirt and forced a grunt of effort from your tired body; the sound echoed through the woods, through the ground, and through the air that sat above the concrete road in front of you. Hard and vast, grey and long… you looked at it as though it were the holiest of grails, lying just beside it with your arms outstretched, your fingers still pulling at dirtied grass. Soil covered your skin, masked your features, caked beneath your fingernails, and when the roar of the speeding vehicle grew so close you had to close your eyes and wince, you knew raising a hand for help would not be enough. In the shade of the forest’s edge, half draped over the peak of the hill, you were inhuman to other survivors. Your dry mouth opened, your throat croaked, and your legs moved to push you up–closer–just short of the wind that caressed your hair when the car, the truck, ran past you with no second glance. You looked after it, watched it pass, and felt the burn in your heart grow into its own inferno. It licked at your insides, at your desperation, and had you hauling the duffle bag off of your shoulder and out onto the road. It rolled, a shuffling sound, and you followed after it with deep growls of effort and dwindling strength. 

“Please,” you wheezed, panting for breath as soon as you staggered up to your feet. 

In the distance, the car turned into a disappearing black spec. It drove and drove, out of sight, and you stood there, putting your arms in the air to wave it down and bring it back. To beckon it back. To beg and plead.

“Please please no-,” your voice was soft, weakened by days of rugged survival, “no…” rough and lost to the wind, it dissipated into nothing and you were forced to swallow again.  

The thick smell of car exhaust settled against the steaming road. You watched the horizon, tracking the space in the atmosphere where the gold traced into a deep blue, and felt your bones quake beneath your skin. Their final cry. The last hurrah as you watched your future, the tatters of it, drive away from you. 

Too late. 

You were too late. 

And you’d die there, on that road, and they may never come back and find you again in the morning. And your corpse would be chewed upon by undead bastards who would never give you a proper burial. And you’d be just another stupid human that found themselves trampled beneath the stinking feet of the walking dead. 

Tears teased your eyes, burning the dry lands of your irises, and you felt the heart in your chest lurch against its cage. 

 Too late. 

You were too late. 

You had a duffle bag, a handgun somewhere off to the side, and the clothing on your back. One lasting water bottle, the knife you felt poking your side, and small bags of food that wouldn’t last you long at all. The tent, too, was destroyed by animals the night before. The most you could go was perhaps one more day, but your feet were aching so terribly that each step was a journey within itself. And you couldn’t push yourself to go further. There was no further. There was nothing in the woods and there was nothing beyond the road and you were running on fumes that no longer existed. 

But you couldn’t just lie there and take it. You were about to reach over, bending at the waist, to grab your bag. To pull it up over your shoulder and trek on, even though it was pointless. But something stopped you. 

Something–a sound–made you freeze. 

It was faint. It didn’t sound like the undead, with their discordant groans and disgusting squelches, no… it was far. Getting closer. Closer. The hum and the growl. The purr of a motor. The hiss of pavement. 

Your head snapped up, eyes bulging wide as you looked over the horizon to see…. Yes. Yes! Yes, it’s them! The car! A grin pulled at your lips. Halle-fucking-lujah! You felt the anxiety ebb, slowly falling away from your body, as they got closer. The black spec turned into a black blob, then a figure that took shape, and finally you could make out a Vermont license plate and the dirt that stuck to big wheels. Up close, it was a sleek thing, tall and well-built. Midnight black and aside from the splatter on the rubbered wheels, it was polished and clean. The dark paint reflected the bright world around you, turning it into weird warped versions of a faux-paradise. You swallowed at the feel of warmth against your legs, the exhaust from the truck flooding over the smallest sliver of skin around your ankles. Suddenly fearing a changed mind and bad intentions, you stumbled back until your heels pushed against your bag. 

Tinted windows stared down at you, menacing and opaque. Not a thing to see behind them, even if you squinted. Nothing moved, nothing jumped, and you watched with bated breath for a window to roll down - until finally, it did. 

The driver’s side. It went whirr-ing down, sliding for the shortest period of time in the world until only a shadow met you - and then a flicker of movement. And then- 

“Oh my god! Jesus! Okay okay!” You flinched, not even hesitating to raise your hands above your head. You spread your fingers out, desperate to prove your innocence to the stranger in the car. And the gun they were holding, pointing at you, through the gap. 

“Were you bit?” A rough voice, muted and deep, broke the atmosphere. 

You shook your head.

“Words. Use them.” 

“No,” you licked your lips, instantly deciding to turn around in a slow circle. “Not bitten. Not scratched.” You tried to ignore the way your hands shook, even as you shifted all the way back to face the gun’s muzzle. 

“Ask where…” a voice, soft and feminine, came from somewhere beyond the driver’s seat. It was saying something, telling something, but faded into a whisper so quiet you couldn’t hear a thing. Your eyes shifted to the dark backseat windows, trying to see something- anything- and found no surprise in the lack of life. 

“Any weapons?” The driver seemed to ignore the other person, and instead held the gun steady. You watched it with weary eyes.

“Yes.” And before they could ask, you tugged the knife out of your belt and the gun out of your pants pocket. They were held up in the air, another white flag, and you twitched the hand that held the firearm. “At least three bullets left, but that’s it.” 

“And the others?” 

You blinked. “Others? What oth-”

“Where is the rest of your ammunition? In the skull of a human or scum?” The stranger spat, and you detected the hints of an accent. 

Scum… you’d never heard them referred to as that before. Your last group called them walkers, and some others claimed flesh-eaters. You were tempted to use ‘zombies’, but it felt rather silly. The world took that term too lightly, and the undead were nothing if not a very serious problem. But scum? Like they were beneath humanity and not its current destroyer? You’d ask about it later, you decided, if they deemed you well enough to take in. 

“Both,” you breathed honestly, dropping your weapons to your sides with a heavy sigh. “They um- weren’t quite there yet. Got ambushed overnight.” 

The gun still didn’t move. 

“They don’t ambush. What really happened?” 

Hm. They weren’t wrong. Animated corpses didn’t ‘ambush’, but when a herd of them went lurking about, it certainly felt that way. You didn’t think logistics were entirely necessary, but you understood the need for specifics. Trust among men was eviscerated in the face of danger, especially against those once living. You’d seen paranoia before, in others. Humans simply didn’t take each other in anymore… not without some level of severe mistrust. The second thought after seeing the truck drive off was that you probably wouldn’t be accepted anyway - you’d killed without technical reason. Could have just left. Run away. 

But you didn’t. 

You didn’t want to see them turn into those… creatures. 

So what else was there to say? You stared at the gun, willing a click and the shot of a bullet, as you opened your mouth. 

“A herd. A lot of them. Just… descended upon the place. Someone might’ve been walking around in the woods or something, and there was just not enough protection,” you paused, licking your lips, “...I was the last one alive. Had to shoot them and go.” 

“How long since?” 

“Few days, give or take,” you shrugged. The exhaustion only built as you stood there, trying not to sway and collapse in your spot. The truck was still running, hissing hot exhaust; it was the first genuinely warm thing you’d felt in so many days that you wanted to crawl underneath and take a nap. The world, turning to autumn, was growing chilly. There was no chance you could survive winter on your own. 

“...Give or take,” you heard the driver scoff and laugh, bitter and mean. You frowned. 

Then the window started going up, and you couldn’t help yourself. With a hard thunk, you pushed your shoulder hard against the car, and knocked on the thick glass with the butt of the knife. A look of utter desperation crossed your features, heavy and thick. Urgency, anxiety, fear forced any sense from your mind. There was no chance. There was no survival at all.

“No please- please I can’t be out here alone please- I’m smart and- and I can run fast and be an asset. Please,” you shook your head, searching with worried eyes, “please, please you can’t do this to me-” 

Something dark spliced through the corner of your vision, dragging a shadow with it, and you just barely dodged the sudden swing of the truck’s backseat door. It bounced with force and you glanced back at the driver’s window once before stepping back and hastily swinging your bag over your shoulder. The knife and gun were slipped back into your clothing, concealed, and you held yourself strong as the black leathered interior bore itself to the world. 

“-we can’t just leave them-” 

“-on’t be stupid. They could be a liability-”

“-not stupid. We need more people-” 

Voices, at least two, were rushed and tangled in an argument. You didn’t pay much attention to what you could hear, though the growing irritation was hard to ignore. It would be a hassle to be accepted, you knew, but you’d deal. There was no choice. The backseat door was open and there was a figure hustled back against the other window. 

“The offer won’t last,” the stranger murmured, somehow louder than the two people in the front seats, and you decided not to take any chances in the world alone. 

With a grunt, a push, and a final slam of the door, you found yourself in the truck. Your bag was pushed down by your feet, you tugged your knife out to rest it on your thigh, and you turned to say thank you- but was cut off by a cold blade at your throat. It grazed the soft dirty skin, less than a centimeter away from pushing, and you felt saliva pool in the back of your throat. Swallowing would have pressed you closer, so you fought the urge and only stared.

“Woah-” 

“Try anything and you die. I don’t want a peep, not a shuffle. Do I make myself clear?” 

The driver’s voice, clearer in such close quarters, was deep and mean. Accent, as you had clocked, from somewhere in the United Kingdom. It held a natural growl, a gruffness from years of smoking, perhaps, and you couldn’t help but sense the intimidation. It wasn’t fake confidence, you noticed, as you looked up and met the cool sharp grey gaze of a woman. Her hair, a deep blonde, was slicked back and short, ruffled slightly by the nape of her neck. A long neck… that led to strong looking shoulders. They were half covered by a jacket, but you could see the strength in the chords of her muscle. A force to be reckoned with. A leader, perhaps. She was pale, with a defined nose and lips twisted into a permanent sneer, and you probably would have thought she had some potential for post-apocalyptic modeling, if it weren’t for the scar that covered one half of her face. Slashed across the left eye, the wound was jagged and rough - it dragged from a point close to the exact middle of her forehead, right to the corner of her jaw. Thicker at parts and thinner at others, it split through a pale eyebrow and seemed to have permanently rendered her blind. The lid didn’t even move when one stormy eye shifted, and you suddenly felt extremely creeped out. Something about her was undeniably cold. Almost reckless, but her hand was so steady with control you knew not to make a move. She’d probably kill without hesitation, dump you back into the road, and drive off with the duffel. There was no choice but to answer, answer quickly, and do as told. 

“Yes, clear.” Your head shifted half an inch up and half an inch down, still cautious of the blade. 

But she didn’t move. 

It was a battle of wills for just a moment, with your hands in your lap, empty and docile. You weren’t looking for a fight, or a staring contest, but the stranger didn’t let up until the figure to your right decided to sit up and speak. 

“Ah they do not seem so bad. Look at them. Tired and scared, like sad city mouse,” another woman, one with a Russian accent and a voice a hint too loud, cooed. 

Silence followed, persisted, for only a minute- and then the blade was tugged back so quickly you swear it nearly cut the air in two. The driver tsked as she twisted herself around, murmuring as she went. 

“More like a rat.” 

And then you were thrown to the side with a heavy wheeze as the truck lurched and began moving, working into a turn so you could go back the way they’d come.

You glared at the back of the headrest, not feeling above a little bit of irritation for some poor handling, but eventually grew bored. With some apprehension, your eyes flicked over to the person in the passenger seat. Their profile was strong, feminine, and you noted the unbelievably well-kept head of snowy hair. She looked clean, just like the driver, and a spark of hope welled up in your tired heart. Running water and food existed where they came from, wherever they were camped out, and if you played your cards right, you could finally indulge in some good hygiene. Unless the woman in the passenger seat was stingy with her water… god her skin was so clear, and she seemed to be wearing makeup. No one wore makeup anymore. Not the people in your old group and not the few stragglers you’d stumbled across. It simply wasn’t a necessary luxury anymore, but the woman sitting across from you, back straight and hands in her lap, seemed to think it was of the utmost importance. You wanted to speak, wanted to ask her name, but found yourself turning to your right - and catching the gaze of the person that opened the door for you. 

“Anna,” your savior spoke, tilting her head to the left and regarding you with curious eyes. A pale hand, big and long-fingered, shot out and hovered above your lap. You glanced down at it, at the clean skin and the perfect fingernails, and knew that you hit the survivalist jackpot. 

With a nod and a quick clasp of her hand, you whispered your name in reply. She nodded before leaning back against the door and crossing her arms; she seemed quite comfortable there, with a rather large gun resting across her lap. Her hair, blonde as well, fell in gentle waves to her shoulders. She saw with deep blue eyes - a contrast to the cold steel of the driver - and didn’t hesitate to flick them over your body in some sort of analytical search. Weapons, you figured, is what she was looking for. And the knife in your lap, which she eyed with some interest. 

You wanted to say something, wanted to thank them, but it didn’t feel like enough. Nothing felt like enough those days. Asking something of someone was a risk every single time. And you’d asked—begged—them to take you in. You needed to pull your weight, no questions asked. 

“Um- thank you for-”

“Shoot them.” 

“What?!” You straightened up, eyes going wide as, in your peripherals, you saw Anna’s hand inch toward her gun. Through the rear-view mirror, you caught the way the driver’s brow twitched. 

“You heard me. Shoot them.” 

“Pha-”

“I said no talking,” the stranger growled, not even bothering to address the woman in the passenger seat. The white-haired woman looked frustrated, her red lips tugging into a frown, as she watched the driver double down on her focus. “Didn’t I say that?” 

“But I-,” you wanted to plead your case, wanted to defend yourself, but were cut off. 

“I am not going to shoot,” Anna said before you could speak. “Why do you expect her to be quiet hah, Phasma? We just saved her жопa. No need for fighting.”

You glanced at her, picking up on the Native tongue. Fresh off the boat, or perhaps visiting, with the way she said it so easily. Zhopa? Given the context, it wasn’t hard to tell what she meant. Yes, they had just saved your ass. And yes, you wanted to say thank you. Even if that Phasma person wasn’t too keen on a bit of gratitude. 

“I hardly think thanking us for a kind deed is worthy of execution, no matter how much silence you require,” the fair-haired woman across from you said smoothly, throwing a slight glare to the woman on her right. And finally, she took that moment to turn around in the seat and make eye contact. 

Something that proved to be far more difficult than you thought it would. Good lord, she was gorgeous. Pale skin, deep admiral blue eyes, and lips redder than blood. Not even a scratch on her face, not even a single spec of dirt - as if the apocalypse never happened and there weren’t dead people roaming every street in the world. In fact, she didn’t seem incredibly worried about the predicament the human species found itself in, and was looking at you with kind eyes, a furrowed brow, and a smile that she hoped was welcoming. 

“My name is Larissa,” her hand, gloved in white fabric as soft as silk, reached out as an olive branch. You wanted to take it, wanted to feel something so lovely for the first time in a long time and create some sort of bond, but your hands were very dirty. A part of you guessed that Larissa hadn’t put them on earlier that day with the hope to return to camp holding soft fabric smudged with dirt and dried blood, so you only looked down at your palm and then back at hers. 

“Oh uh- I don’t wanna get your gloves dirty-” 

“Oh,” she glanced down, realizing that she was, in fact, wearing hand-coverings. “Later, then,” a warm smile shone back at you - and you were helpless, instantly offering her a nod in return. 

“Finished?” The driver piped up, eyes cold as she stared at you in the rear-view. 

As if on cue, Larissa turned back around in her seat, rolling her eyes as she went, and you could only fall quiet. Introductions were over, you were warming up to the easy heat in the car, and Phasma–if you dared address her by name in your head–had a good handle of the wheel. You were safe. For now. And with one last suspended look at the gun on Anna’s lap, you reached over for the seatbelt, tucked yourself in with a click, and leaned back in the seat. It was so suddenly comfortable, such a huge contrast to the shit you’d dealt with recently, that you couldn’t help but close your eyes and revel. Even for a moment. Even for a second.

—

“Get up,” a mean grunt, paired with a quick rush of piercingly cold air, tugged you from the depths of sleep. 

Before you could even open your eyes properly, a shiver set itself into your bones. Eager to escape it, and the confines of the car, you jolted and scrambled for your seatbelt. Leaning against the open door, watching you grab your things, was the driver. Phasma? Weird name, but there was no time to dwell - especially not when she was looking at you like that. Eyes sharper than the knife on your lap, holding a polished chrome pistol in one hand, and waiting with some tension for you to hurry up. The duffel was pulled up onto your shoulder, the knife was tucked into your belt, and your hands scratched at the leather as you looked around wildly for your gun. 

“We took it. You’ll get it back when you prove you’re not a complete imbecile,” she spat, peering down her nose at you. Disgust danced in her expression, sparking flames of unwanted insecurity, and you felt compelled to look away. Her nostrils were flared, her pink lips curled into something disdainful and mean, and you couldn’t help but watch the way her jaw shifted as she tensed, watching you watch her. The hatred seemed a bit out of place, too strong for normal trust issues, and you briefly wondered if perhaps she’d always been that way - even before the end of civilization. She was clearly a bitch, and not interested in showing you kindness any time soon, so you decided to forgo a response, ignored her glaring, and slipped out of the car without a word. 

Before your feet were completely on the ground, and your bag was out of the way, the door slammed closed behind you, quick and sharp. The speed of it nearly clipped your shirt, and you whirled around to face the stranger’s irritation. She seemed to have lost interest in you and side-stepped your figure without another glance. One finger on the trigger, a shit-ton of audacity-filled swagger in her walk, and a back broad and strong. She looked like an outlaw, tall, mean, wearing grey with a belt around her strong hips and a leather jacket over her shoulders. You wanted to throw your gun at her and watch it hit the back of her head, but there was no way in Hell you’d be able to run away faster than she could catch you. 

“Come,” you heard Anna speak, interrupting your train of thought as she trudged up to your left. You turned, seeing the way she cocked her head. “I’ll introduce you.” The gun swayed in her grasp as she turned, making little shuffling sounds in the grass. 

The grass. 

You went to go forward, but stopped. The grass. It was… terribly neat. Very well maintained. Not like apocalypse grass, which was flat and bloodied and mudded and dusted, but like rich person grass. Striking green grass, healthy, it bounced back behind you when you stepped on it. And the air… you took a deep breath and closed your eyes. It was fresh. Pure. Free of the smell of death and free of gunpowder and spraying blood. Just where on Earth were y-

oh.

Oh. 

You looked up, finally, and found yourself in a courtyard. On all sides was a wall, sections of it made of brick, others of stone, and the rest of wrought iron fence, bolted hard into the ground; and across the way, piercing the sky, was a manor. Or what looked like a manor. No - what was definitely a manor. Dark, illuminated slightly by the deep blue of the atmosphere and the torches that littered the ground in neat paths, splitting off into cobblestone sections. You swallowed. It was gorgeous. Untouched. A world that seemed to run on and on while the rest of the globe went to shit. 

How fucking lucky were you? 

“Come! I must say twice?!” Anna called, giving you an exasperated beckon as she started disappearing behind the dark stone brick of the main entrance. 

Sparing a quick glance behind you, you found a fortified gate and short stone walls - reinforced and built upon with barbed wire, wood, and sheets of metal. It must have opened up for the truck when you were still asleep, but was very much firmly shut and impenetrable once closed. You wanted to explore it more, wanted to study the mechanism and the layout and come to understand just how they managed to get the place so protected, but you didn’t want to leave Anna waiting. And a low rumble of thunder, far but rolling quick, told you that rain was eager to make her appearance - and you did not want to get caught in that. 

After adjusting your bag and patting the knife in your belt for reassurance, you set off after the Russian stranger. 

—

“So I am Anna, this you know already,” she pointed to herself, tapped her chest twice, then rolled her hand over to gesture to the clearing ahead. 

It was beautiful, outlined against a dark wood. Rocky paths led to a big circle in the middle, and the ruins of stone benches and statues littered the camp. You could definitely see what it used to be - a beautiful place for the elite to sit, to bask, to enjoy the nice air and the wind. But the end of the world had gotten to it, not with the bearings of total destruction, but with the promise of change. A big spruce shelter had been built to the far left, reinforced with four beams and no walls - clearly just meant to keep the rain at bay while they worked outside. Beneath it, there were wooden benches and designated spots for farming equipment, guns, and even a water purifying system from the looks of it. If you assumed that sleeping quarters and showers existed in the castle, then they seemed to be in the best shape anyone could be in.

Even the people, who were busy going about their evening and tending to their duties, while you watched by Anna’s side and felt your excitement grow.

“Phasma was woman driving. Not so kind,” she tsked, giving you a knowing look, and you found yourself unable to ask about the strange name. You figured she wouldn’t have known the answer anyway. Then her hand moved, stealing your attention. “That is Jane,” she pointed to a pale woman sitting on one of the large stone benches. 

Her back was turned, but you could see the severity of her expression in the reflection of a hand mirror. She was handsome, free of makeup, with jet-black hair. The strands fell from between her fingertips, spilling like water, as she threaded them into a braid around her head. Her movements were slow, methodic, and you watched, sort of hypnotized, as the long sleeves of her hooded dress stretched across her slim back. Tight along her arms and resting over the black pants covering her thighs, leading down to knee-high leather boots. Fit for an apocalypse, but somehow still chic. You watched her hands for a moment more, and turned slightly to her right when Anna gestured to the woman beside her. 

“Miranda. Good girl, but way too skinskie,” she nodded to herself while crossing her arms. 

The stranger in question–Miranda–was holding up an antique hand mirror for Jane to look into while doing her hair. They seemed to be the same height, though Miranda’s build was lankier and toned. The sleeves of her white top had to have been torn off, leaving freckled shoulders free to the air, and around one wrist was a black watch. It nearly matched the same leather as her belt, which held an attached holster and a sleeve for a walkie-talkie. Its antenna stood out against the baby blue of her uniform pants; tight by the hips but baggier toward the ankles, tucked into dark laced boots. Her hair was styled into a fair blonde bob, probably recently cut by the sight of such clean edges. It looked unbearably soft kissing the back of her neck.

“She was policewoman. Strong.” Anna commented, gazing at her from your spot by the castle wall. 

You nodded absentmindedly, looking over the two strangers and the chess board that sat between them on the bench. Jane had black and Miranda white. The latter seemed to be focusing quite hard on the game, holding a pawn loosely in one hand, as the dark-haired beauty tsked and adjusted the hand mirror that slowly slipped to the side. You watched Miranda jump and offer what you assumed was a sheepish apology, as she tried to multitask. Her small smile was pink and soft, warm and welcoming. A friend, perhaps. 

“Very…domestic,” came your soft murmur, sparked by the surprise of such a peaceful camp. In the past group, everyone was too busy trying to sleep, find food, or talk themselves through panic attacks. Maintaining sanity with comfort was not a priority. 

“Da. Comfortable,” your companion nodded. “Jan is there, washing.” And you turned, yet again, to find a figure standing in front of a clothesline. 

The combat boots made her seem tall, though they were a bit out of place—not really matching the long white sleeved shirt and full red skirt combo. Immaculate and clean, you noticed, though that was to be expected from a woman trying her hardest to get blood out of a white blouse. Her hands were covered by blue rubber gloves, with one clutched around a sponge and the other around the neck of a bottle of white wine vinegar. On the ground by her feet was a large pale jug of hydrogen peroxide and a bucket of what you assumed was water. And the blouse in front of her, held up by wooden clothespins, rippled from the breeze. It seemed to get colder and windier the longer the night went on, probably bringing the rain with it at some point. With any luck, it would clear up the light splotches of pink that covered most of the shirt’s chest up to the collar, but ‘Jan’ didn’t seem too patient and satisfied with that. She got back to her scrubbing a moment later, the strict waves of her blonde hair bumping gently against her neck. 

“Jan is very chic. You go to her for fashion advice, no?” Anna tilted her head at you, dragging dark blue eyes over your face. The lawn lamps stabbed into the grass lit everything up with a sweet warm glow, bringing out the flames in her expression as she peered at you curiously. Very handsome, in her own sharp-featured sort of way. You couldn’t help the snort that bubbled up. 

“Respectfully, I think fashion is the least of my concerns right now, Anna.” 

“Hm. Maybe,” she hummed, shrugged, and gave you a once-over that set your heart racing before turning her attention back to the group. 

“Brienne!” You jumped, flinching away as Anna’s loud voice carried into your ear. In the distance, a hulking figure shifted and unfolded, moving to look up at the call. They were sitting on a big pile of cut logs, holding a stone cylindrical sharpener in one hand and a… sword… in the other. Anna waved, talking to you gently as you both watched the figure’s expression change into one of suspicion. She was handsome. Pale, with the lightest blonde lashes and brows, and eyes that sparkled even from that distance. They squinted, drawing frown lines across her face, as she straightened up in her spot. You tried desperately not to stare at her figure, but it was impossible. The deep blue ribbed shirt clung to her torso like a second skin, wrapping tightly around strong biceps and broad shoulders. It was tucked into muddy green cargo pants, offsetting the brightness of the steel that covered the toes of her dark boots. You tilted your head and watched as she glanced between you and Anna before she finally decided to shoot the woman a firm nod. Anna’s lips quirked up into a smile. “She was once soldier. Good woman - she will protect you if you’re in trouble. Saved me many many times.” Her blonde curls swished as she nodded to herself. 

That was good to know, you reasoned. Everyone seemed quite strong. Tall, too. And pale. The camp was gorgeous, the people seemed mundane enough, and the company was… well. Your eyes drifted over to Anna’s side profile, a silhouette of soft dips and curves, and you couldn’t hide the attraction you felt even if you tried.

“Larissa, you know too. She is leader, xорошо?” You didn’t really know what ‘harasho’ meant, but the light intonation of her voice had you saying ‘Yeah’ anyway. 

Then an arm was winding itself around yours, jostling the bag on your shoulder and the gun slung around Anna’s body. It rested against her back, hitting her thighs, and you were suddenly powerless to the way she steered you further down the gravel path. Toward the right, there was a makeshift driveway; a patch of land ripped up from the grass and replaced with gravel, soil, and rocks. The black truck made an appearance again, probably having been driven up from around the back, and you watched with curious eyes as Phasma busied herself with a few bags and boxes from the trunk. Jesus, she was fit… tall and lethal. A small grunt left her lips when she hauled two boxes up into her arms, never faltering or pausing. Damn. You found yourself getting lost in the sight of her legs in those cargo pants, filling them out, until Anna clicked her tongue. 

“Lucifer is strange, but ultimately harmless. Do not worry, they are not naked under the robe.” 

Lucifer? Naked under the what? 

You were going to take a quick glance around, to find whatever the hell Anna was talking about, but there was no need. Some feet in front of you, lounging on a red and gold velvet chase, was a lithe figure. They were almost glowing in the reflection of the walkway lamps, with the deep crimson of a flowing silk robe offsetting the smooth pale planes of soft skin. One elbow was propped up on the arm of the chair, and you traced the folds of flowing sleeves up to a slim forearm, wrist, and a delicate hand. Slender fingers were curled under the curve of a pale cheek, and you felt your heartbeat speed up at the sight of soft features and  crystal eyes. And their hair, curled so perfectly into handsome shining ringlets of spun golden-web… goodness, they were… 

“Luxurious,” you murmured, tilting your head as you watched the stranger chat with Larissa. She was standing over them, in front of the chase, and even at that height, you had a feeling that the one laying down was somehow a little bit taller. “Is Lucifer their real name?” 

“Da,” Anna nodded, “little strange, no?” 

“Yeah,” you gave her an odd look. “Strange as fuck.” 

“Don’t get comfortable,” a voice growled from behind you, making you slip away from Anna’s hold and turn around. Phasma was walking past, holding a big bag under each arm. Her muscle was impressive, but dear god she was an asshole. You had to sort out that situation as quick as possible.

“Hey what’s your problem, man?” You spread your hands out at your sides before letting them slap against your thighs. “You picked me up, and while I’m grateful for that, I am, you didn’t have to-”

“Exactly,” she bit out as she whirled around and marched right back to you. Her breath was cool, washing lightly over your face, and she stood so close that your foreheads nearly touched. From that angle, looking up, you could reach out and trace the jagged line of her scar. It was quite attractive actually, even if her eyes narrowed as she watched you look at her. They were cold. Not an ounce of care.

“Don’t. Get. Comfortable.” Her lips twitched, carrying a silent threat.

“Okay,” Larissa’s voice, sing-songy and weary, cut into the conversation. “Why don’t we all take a moment to calm down, hm?” Her smile was blinding as she turned to you. One gloved hand hovered above Phasma’s right shoulder, but was instantly shrugged off the second it made contact. Her sneer didn’t fade even when she stepped back, eyes still flaming with anger. Larissa cleared her throat. “Y/n, you’re new here. Why don’t you and I have a little chat?” 

Her expression, although kind, hid a sharpness that you didn’t think was wise to fuck around with. If Larissa was the leader, according to Anna, then it was her you had to charm. You didn’t really know why she was the top dog, especially because some of the other group members seemed more… abrasive… but clearly something about her was good enough to be the one in charge. And pissing her off, messing around with her people, was a one-way ticket to possibly turning into those fuckers lurking in the woods. So you didn’t really have a choice - and you didn’t really want one. No matter what, you’d stay. You’d be of some help. You’d stay on the soft grass, smelling the clean air. You’d become best friends with Larissa, the group would learn to like you, and you’d try not to combust when any of them looked your way.

Easier said than done though, of course. Especially when Larissa’s smile knocked down all of your reservations at once, in one big swing, and coaxed an obedient nod from your body. 

“Okay. Yes. Sure.” 

“Perfect,” Larissa’s grin, somehow, grew even wider. 

“It’s getting late,” were Phasma’s parting words before she turned away and headed off toward two big wooden double doors. 

You watched her strut without much thought, and found yourself on the other end of a staring Larissa. Her eyes were utterly striking in the evening light, and the outline of her face… a sight to be seen for a person as weary as you. 

“So… is your group considered women only?” You murmured, peering up at her through your eyelashes. 

Red lips twitched. 

“Not intentionally. Though we have had the discussion before,” she contemplated her next words carefully, looking all over your face before resuming, “and we think it’s best if it’s just women. And Lucifer.” 

“And Lucifer?” You still can’t get over that being their real name. Probably just picked out in a moment of edginess when they were a teen. Lucifer did sound cool, sort of bully-worthy. Like they were emo kid once upon a time.

“Lucifer is what many would refer to as non-binary. Not a man and not a woman. I hope that won’t be a problem?” Something flashed behind her eyes. Not a threat, but a warning. You couldn’t help but smile.

“Not at all. They and I are… one and the same,” you shrugged and adjusted the bag on your shoulder. 

“How lucky I must be…,” someone purred from over your shoulder.

You tensed up, surprised by the closeness, and felt yourself grow a little weak at the tone. Like spiced honey, their voice was intense and smooth. You wanted to lap it up. 

“Ah right on time for a proper introduction,” Larissa, ever the most efficient woman from what you could tell so far, found herself a golden opportunity. One hand shot out and gestured over to you, then to the person slinking around to your right. “Y/n this is Lucifer, one of the strongest members of our group. Lucifer and I make most of the big decisions, with the necessary input from everyone else. And Lucifer,” Larissa’s grin relaxed into a smile, “this is Y/n. Depending on our discussion of the rules, they may become a familiar face, so I suggest you play nice.” 

You found that you couldn’t look to the side without short-circuiting. There was something.. something… about their aura that had you wanting to shy away and cower. It wasn’t the explosive intensity of Phasma or the consuming strangeness of Anna, or even the gentle but strong hand of Larissa… but instead a subtle sort of consumption. Utterly intriguing and fascinating - like they were put on the Earth to confuse humans. You didn’t even look at them and you could feel that. Didn’t even know them and you could feel that. Standing so close. So much body heat. 

“It’s a pleasure,” they murmured, turning to you fully. 

You swallowed, braced yourself, and looked up to your right. 

Sweet holy Jesus. They were even more handsome up close. Just absolutely soft and glorious. And carrying the faint scent of… firewood? You cleared your throat. 

“Um yeah- likewise. Hi.” 

A flash of black, followed by measured footsteps in the grass, had all three of you shifting to see Jane walking past. Miranda was not too far behind, taking her time to cross the yard. 

“Dinner is being prepared. Show face in the next 20 minutes or go to bed hungry.” Jane didn’t even spare you a glance before she disappeared behind the same doors Phasma had gone through. 

“Thank you, Jane,” Larissa managed to call just before they closed behind her with a dull bang. 

“Three moves…,” Miranda was muttering, holding the box for the chess set in one hand. “She beat me in three moves.” 

“Oh it’s not hard. I would’ve beaten you in two,” another voice entered the fray, polite but amused. Jan, you recognized, as she sidled up between you and Larissa with a small smile on her deep red lips. 

Miranda scoffed and turned to look at Anna, only to find that she was gone. One glance behind you revealed that she’d wandered over to Brienne, probably prompting her to go inside for dinner. You hummed, hiding the amusement of friendly banter. It had been so long since you felt even the smallest sense of normalcy. If they were so comfortable with each other, then it must have been a bit since they were all alone out in the world. You’d probably ask Larissa about that later - once everything was said and done. 

“I would’ve beaten you in one,” Lucifer smirked as they pulled away and went walking inside. Had they been barefoot the entire time? 

“That’s not even possible!” Miranda yelled, but the door was already shut. “...Is it?” She turned to Larissa, then to you, then back to Larissa. 

“I don’t think so, Miranda,” Larissa smiled before looking at you. “Any chance you’re good at chess?” 

Dear lord, having two sets of beautiful blue eyes on you was nerve-wracking, but you ignored the flush building up on your cheeks and nodded. 

“Um yeah- it’s possible to beat someone in two moves. But it’s only black, I think.” You gave Miranda an apologetic smile and a shrug as she pouted. 

“You will beat her next time Miranda,” Anna returned with Brienne in her wake. The sword she was sharpening earlier was still in her hands. “She cannot win forever.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Brienne cut in, her voice strong and deep. Her mouth was pulled into a light frown, and you noticed the scar that cut through the upper lip on the right. From the time before, you suspected. Otherwise she’d be turned. “She beat me and Phasma one after the other.” 

Miranda sighed, tsking beneath her breath. 

“Then there’s no hope…” Goodness, she looked like a sad puppy.

“Why not?” It slipped out of your mouth before you could grab it. 

And of course, all of the attention then dragged itself over to you. Five sets of sea-blue eyes, all gorgeous in the glow of the evening lamps, traced lines over your tired body. In comparison to them, you looked a sight. Obviously having been picked up from the side of the road, unclean and awkward, somewhat detached from society. In your bag? Not enough clothing and not enough supplies. In your belt, peeking out from beneath your shirt? A knife, dirty and growing dull. And in your eyes? Lurking sadness and horror - the same which probably lived in the women that were observing you. 

Larissa, thank goodness, finally broke the lull of silence. 

“Brienne and Phasma were in the military,” she said gently.

“Oh. That makes sense.” And it did - Jane must have been an intellectual force if she beat people that used to be in the military before the world ended. Though that made you wonder… “What branch?” You turned to Brienne, not really surprised that you had to look up to meet her eyes. It seemed you’d been adopted into a camp of skyscrapers. Though the sharpness of her eyes had you swallowing. “I mean- if you don’t mind me asking.” 

She seemed to consider it, sizing you up, before saying, rather shortly, “SAS. Then Delta Force.” 

You couldn’t hide the way your eyes widened. 

“Oh.” 

“Oh, indeed,” Larissa hummed. “But I think now would be a good time to head in, wouldn’t you say?” She spared her smile for everyone, meeting the gaze of each woman, before finally looking at you and raising her eyebrow. 

It wasn’t really up to you, so you just shrugged and waited for Anna to say ‘Da, da, xорошо’ before heading in. Brienne followed after her, then Miranda, who was studying the back of the chess box, and Larissa, who started taking off her gloves. Jan, meanwhile, stayed where she was and kept her eyes on you. They were curious and deep, never-ending, and lined with mascara and eyeliner. Mascara and eyeliner that… well it suited her, but goodness it was certainly intense. Dark and shadowed, but beautiful nevertheless. You couldn’t look away. 

“Jan Stevens,” she breathed and gave you her hand, elegant and admittedly quite charming. Her nails were painted a deep cherry red. Utterly flawless.

At the sight of it, you weren’t entirely sure what to do. Your palms were still dirty, and sort of calloused, and you didn’t want to… ruin her. So you hesitated, stared at it, looked back up at her, and found her kind smile to be unwavering. 

“Go on,” Jan finally whispered, giving her hand a pointed look, and you fell prey in an instant. 

Quickly, you shot out to gently cup her hand into your own, and gave it a gentle shake. You felt strangely compelled to bring it up to your lips, but you weren’t sure that meeting a stranger in an apocalypse really called for such formalities. Even though you yearned to feel her skin beneath your mouth. It wasn’t proper; though you did think that Jan’s expression fell just a little bit. Like she was excited. Like she wanted you to kiss her hand. 

“Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Likewise,” she purred, looking you up and down, before turning toward the door. “Come quickly now. If we’re late, Jane will send us off to bed without dinner. And we wouldn’t want that.” 

It probably would have been wise to consider and contemplate the fact that you were in a stranger’s camp, with a stranger’s group… but the saucy little wink that Jan threw over her shoulder sent a deep blush crawling up your cheeks. And just like that, without fail, you were one of the flesh-eaters… caught in the pretty paws of eight different beasts. 

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Please let me know if my characterization is okay and if you'd like to see more. Be safe, darlings. - Rip x

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Far too many names to tag. Find it as you come.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

[weemsfreak]

Don’t disappear forever 🥲 I love love you and Jane Murdstone, you walking red flag❤️

bye i’m gonna disappear forever🤗🫡

[weemsfreak]

Yess I also read ‘Warmth of your Doorway’ again the other day! I would love new chapters if you both feel motivated. I ❤️ how Jane is portrayed in this story

hi sorry i just finished reading all the chapters of your fic ‘warmth of your doorways’ and it’s really beautiful and amazing, i loved that you included the secret language of flowers, to me it’s something super sapphic 😭 i loved so much all the love and angst and how you portrayed those emotions!

this may sound stupid to you but does the story end with chapter 9? or there will be more?

i hope you have a good day :) (apologies if there are any mistakes!)

Hi! Don't apologize, I love talking about my works!!

The language of the flowers was all @daydream-cement she went HARD on the research and it came out so beautifully!!

Unfortunately (or I guess fortunately) Chapter 9 is NOT the final one, I do believe we had one, maybe two more planned, but life has gotten in the way and for now it's on bit of a hold (though there has been some renewed buzz surrounding it so I think we may be getting motivated again LOL)

Thank you so much for your kind words, and we're so glad you liked it!! 🩷🩷

[weemsfreak]

Gwendoline Christie for Vogue Magazine

https://www.vogue.com/article/john-galliano-maison-margiela-couture-hamish-bowles

[weemsfreak]

「 Mean」

I like this, but I also don't. I really wanted to write something to go with the song 'I Don't Smoke', however, I don't have the will to make it better, so enjoy! Larissa Weems x Reader ~2.2k words

→ Song: I Don't Smoke - Mitski

Warnings: angst (but okay ending), mention of self harm, inadvertent injury, depressed Larissa

You had never before seen her so…well, you didn't have the vocabulary to describe it.

Or perhaps you just couldn't place exactly how she was feeling.

Angry. Mad. Exhausted. Scared. Confused.

You knew her well, you thought, due to consoling her and offering advice many times after recent trying events.

You had sat by her and learned the way that the crease between her eyebrows deepened as she thought, the way her upper lip twitched when she was angry, trying her absolute hardest not to spew her words like a volcano; the way her eyes widened as her brain registered shock, then narrowed as the cogs turned in her head.

You have been there for her willingly, gladly, happily. Happy to help, happy to make her feel at least a bit better about Nevermore, about herself.

And tonight was no different, except for one thing.

You were nervous.

You had never been nervous before.

But before, you knew what she was feeling through her telltale signs.

This was not like before; for her lip didn’t twitch, her eyes didn't widen, the crease between her eyebrows didn't deepen, she didn't holler.

In an unfamiliar way, she looked furious, enraged, but she was quiet.

She was quiet.

You stood outside of Nevermore's main doors lighting a smoke. You hoped it would calm your nerves before you made your way to find her, unsure of how you would, or wouldn't, be greeted.

'I don't smoke, except for when I'm missing you.'

You supposed it reminded you of her.

With a shaky hand you knocked lightly on her office doors, eyes darting around the hallway.

It was eerily silent.

You knocked again, perhaps you had been too quiet.

You knew she was in her office, everyone did. It was all that you noticed, when she had left without a word, heels loud against the cold floor and arms stiff by her sides, chin tucked instead of held high, lacking the usual sway of her hips.

You knocked for a third time, and of course, the door was locked. 

Rolling your eyes at her silence, you ventured outside and climbed up the side of the building. Pressing your forehead against the glass doors, you peered around, and found nothing. Confused and distraught, you tried the handle and it opened. You entered her office.

Standing with a hand on her hip, she stared at the doors on which you had just knocked. She was still, so she must have stopped pacing.

"Larissa."

She stiffened at your flat tone, hands falling into fists at her side.

"Leave."

It was a demand, but it entirely lacked her usual demanding tone.

Your eyes widened as you peered around the office nervously, in contemplation, finding a pack of cigarettes scattered on her desk and shattered glass on the floor.

You bit at your bottom lip, feeling an unsettling tension build in your chest.

You would not leave, you never had before, you had never stayed away, and you had never been sent away.

"No."

You slowly moved toward her, eyes grazing over her backside and up to her intricate hair.

The words came out of your mouth barely above a whisper.

"You're scaring me. You're being too quiet."

She didn't respond, she didn't move, she was waiting for you to give up, she was waiting for you to leave.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath, and opened them standing in front of her.

She was usually amused with your antics, you had surprised, and scared her multiple times with your teleportation; but not tonight.

She burnt a hole through your chest, staring blankly in place.

You looked over her face, unblinking, eyes red and mascara stained.

You looked over her body, stiff yet exhausted, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows and arms red.

Arms very red, almost as red as her nails; her nails were the reason for her red scratched up arms.

Your jaw dropped in terror; a moment, two, she turned and walked to the couch in front of the fireplace, light stockings meeting the shattered glass on the floor.

She sat and stared into the fireplace, which held no warmth, no fire; and so you lit one.

Carefully, nervously, you threw wood into the fireplace and lit a match.

You stood and backed away. The seat beside her looked so daunting, so unwelcoming, so unfamiliar.

Blue eyes were no longer blue, pale skin was no longer pale, and you were no longer you.

You didn't know what had happened to you, but you fell for her like…rope, shovel, hole.

Six feet under you were, grasping at roots and screaming in silence.

You knew what had happened to her, though. You knew her sadness, madness, joy and happiness. You knew her past, her present, who had betrayed her and why she ended up where she was.

Physically, and emotionally.

You knew her, but you didn't know how she felt. About Nevermore, about Vermont, about herself, about you.

You had told her to leave one night, after a very raw conversation on this very couch.

You had told her to go home to England, to meet new people, to just get the hell away from Nevermore while she still could.

You had told her your stories, your passions, your feelings, your dreams; but you had never told her the one thing that broke your heart the most.

"You should leave."

She took in a shallow breath, "You should leave."

Scrunching your brows, you shook your head. "No, I mean you should leave Vermont. Leave your stress, leave your burdens, leave your past, find a future, Larissa."

She blinked, "I told you, I can't."

She growled at you, it made you less nervous.

"Please Larissa, I can't stand to see you so…"

Dark eyes peered down, a form taller than ever before loomed over you, making you loose your breath. The fire behind her lit the room in a red glow, but all you saw was darkness.

"Get out."

You shook your head, your words abandoning you.

You choked, "I-"

"I, am tired of everyone's shit. I am tired of trying, I am tired of caring, I am tired of failing, and I, am tired, of you."

You swallowed, she was talking to you as she would a dumb and reckless student, but her words didn't match her tone.

It was breathy, lacking emotion.

You had never done a thing to the woman, other than be her friend and offer support; but you supposed when one was this tired, their words eluded them.

"Larissa, you're being-"

Her red arms flew into the air before landing on her hips.

"What?! What am I being? Hm? Demanding? Annoying? Docile? Disappointing?"

You blinked rapidly, unbelieving.

"Mean."

She didn't flinch, she didn't blink, she didn't narrow her eyes, she just stared you down. She has most likely, at one point, been called everything under the sun; but it didn't mean that she was any of those things.

With a swift turn of her head, her body followed, quickly reaching the door to her chambers on your left.

If she wanted to be alone, you'd understand. But, she was not being level headed, she was not being herself. The lack of emotion scared you, the glass scared you, her arms scared you, the absent fire scared you.

So you reached out at the last second, before she slammed the door on you, and grabbed her wrist.

"Where are you-"

"Get off of me!"

She growled, her anger was shown, it was thrown at you, and you were thrown with it.

The hand that you were grasping for dear life tore free from your grip, reached out, and made contact with your chest, throwing you onto the floor with a gasp.

You groaned, feeling a pain in your ass and back as you opened your eyes to see yourself on the floor.

The woman's eyes widened in horror, she hadn't meant to push you onto the floor, just away from her. It seemed she didn't know her own strength.

But you did, oh, did you ever.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you took an unsteady breath, so lost in your own head that you forgot about her.

You slowly lifted your gaze to the ceiling, finding the image of you on the floor in tears.

You both had looked into those mirrors many times, as a joke about your height difference, to take dorky photos; you had even imagined laying on the couch, looking up as she kissed you in those mirrors.

But, the reality was, you were on your ass, on the floor, your own sadness staring back at you with a vengeance; because she had put you there.

With wobbly legs you stood, brushing yourself off and fighting back tears as anger bubbled inside of you.

"You know what, Larissa. If you want to push everyone away, literally, then so fucking be it, but I hope you know that I…"

You looked to the door, she was no longer there.

Sobbing was heard from your right, you turned your head startled.

You were ready to tell her where to shove it, you were ready to tell her that you were stronger than she thought you were, you were ready to tell her the truth in hopes that it would hurt; but all anger left your body when you saw her.

You would've missed her, curled up on the couch with her head in her hands, looking so vulnerable, so small compared to her earlier looming form, if it wasn't for her crying.

You had half a mind to leave her there, but you were scared to leave her alone.

You had never left her before, but she had never pushed you before, either. She had never said that she was tired of you before, she had never before been mean.

But Larissa, she was never mean. Larissa was not a mean person.

Sauntering over to her, you slowly sat by her feet.

She could push you down as much as she wished, but you'd always get back up. You'd always get back up for her.

Her hands, her head, her whole body shook as she cried. Your hands shook too as you reached one out and placed it gently on her shoulder. She flinched, expecting you to come back with equal assault, after all, she deserved it.

When she didn't pull away from your touch, nor shove you away again, you leaned closer and pulled her to sit, forcing her hands away from her face.

Blue eyes were no longer blue, pale skin was no longer pale, and you were no longer you.

When you said nothing, she took to rubbing her arms, soothingly, you assumed. You sat in silence as you recalled a past conversation, one which she had poured her heart to you, and you to her.

Well, mostly.

'I just want someone, I want someone to love me. I'm tired of being alone, of being lonely. It's exhausting, being stuck in the past, in a place that gave me nothing but stress and grief my whole life.'

She had looked at you like she was expecting something, so you gave her advice, advice which she rejected. She should not stay in the past in lieu of having a future, you told her, as you hadn't the guts to tell her the truth, for you figured she'd reject that, too.

'Nobody has ever loved me.'

Nails against skin took you back to the present as you watched her darken her arms. Without thinking, you ripped her arm away and placed yours onto her lap.

She looked at you startled, wide eyes bloodshot, lips trembling with emotion.

You placed a cold palm onto her cheek, soothing her hot skin as you felt tears roll down your face.

"If you need to be mean, be mean to me. I can take it and put it inside of me. If your hands need to break more than trinkets in your room, you can lean on my arm as you break my heart."

Tears fell as she attempted to understand your words. Her gaze averted to your arm, which replaced hers; she ran light fingernails over your skin, the feeling brought you peace.

You closed your eyes as you waited for pain, but it never came.

Instead, she grabbed your hand and placed your arm around her neck, pressing you closer to herself and resting her forehead against yours.

Your eyes opened nervously, surprised to be met with blue ones. You traced your thumb over her cheek and whispered.

"Just don't leave me alone wondering where you are. I am stronger than you give me credit for. If your hands need to break more than trinkets in your room, you can lean on my arm as you break my heart."

Larissa let out a heart wrenching sob as you embraced her, pulling her to you and holding her, as if you'd lose her, as if you’d lost her.

But you hadn't, not yet, and after all of this, this pain that she had suffered, you figured there was nothing that could make it worse, only better.

So, you held her as she cried, you held her in hopes that she would hurt you instead of herself, you held her in hopes that you would not lose her so soon, like you had lost yourself and her, herself.

You held her and pressed your lips to her hair, whispering what you both needed to hear.

'Nobody has ever loved me.'

"I love you, I love you, I love you."

#larissa weems #hurt larissa and reader #gwendoline christie #principal larissa weems #gwendolineuniverse #wednesday netflix #principal weems #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems fanfic #i dont smoke mitski #wlw

[weemsfreak]

“God dammit, why are you so hot?!” I breathe

Am I talking about a) Larissa Weems

or b) the tea that just scalded my fucking tongue

#larissa weems #gwendoline christie #principal larissa weems #gwendolineuniverse #wednesday netflix #principal weems #wlw

[weemsfreak]

🟢 You are still a writer even when you haven't written in a while.

🟢 You are still a writer even when you feel like you aren't writing enough.

🟢 You are still a writer when you feel like your work isn't good.

🟢 You are still a writer when other people don't like your work.

🟢 You are still a writer when you aren't published.

🟢 You are still a writer when you only have works in progress.

🟢 You are still a writer if all you write is fanfiction.

[weemsfreak]

[weemsfreak]

Okay but be soo for real. The novel Carmilla by Joseph Sheridan LeFanu as a movie, Gwendoline as Carmilla. Absolutely extraordinary.

#gwendoline christie #gwendoline christie as a vampire??? #its giving Jane Murdstone vibes #carmilla #joseph sheridan le fanu #victorian vampire

[weemsfreak]

Restless

Jane Murdstone x of age fem!reader

Not sure what this is, just one of my Jane Murdstone daydreams, I suppose. ~1.5k words.

Warnings: mention of sexual harassment, self pleasure, finger sucking, talk of wlw being unaccepted.

.·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·.

The night lingered on, the darkness overtaking your thoughts and the outside world as you stared up at the ceiling. Though it was late, how late you couldn’t be sure, you found your hands between your legs as you attempted to relieve the ache that you held.

Jane was awake, to her dismay, unable to succumb to sleep. This was not unusual for her, but it annoyed her nonetheless. She stood from her bed and walked around her chambers, searching for something to occupy her restless mind.

As she did, she heard very faint noises coming from...somewhere. She assumed others would be asleep at this hour, but as she pressed her body against the cold wall, she heard whimpers.

You breathed deeply, trying your best to be quiet, as the adults of the house were not so far away. Your thoughts had their way of getting the best of you, even though you have been told that they were not natural.

As you slid your fingers over your sensitive mound with pressure, you let out a small moan. Eyes widening, you paused, hoping that nobody heard.

Just then, a nearby door shut.

You sat up quickly and pulled your hand from your bloomers, covering yourself with the blankets.

Footsteps in the corridor got closer, and you trembled at the thought of who it could be.

Mr. Murdstone.

You bit your lip, fighting back tears as the footsteps grew louder. You wished that someone would save you from him, you wished that somebody knew.

The door to your chambers opened forcefully, frightened, you turned your gaze to the intruding figure beside your bed.

Your heartbeat settled, then increased for a different reason when you saw not Mr. Murdstone, but Miss Murdstone at your bedside.

"Miss Murdstone" you breathed, relieved.

She looked down at you coldly, a candle in her hand.

"You look frightened, girl."

You felt your hands cease their tremble as you peered up at her dark figure. "I thought that you were Mr-, um," you looked to your bed, contemplating. "You startled me."

"What are you doing up at this hour?"

You pulled the blankets up to cover more of you. "I couldn’t sleep."

Miss Murdstone placed the candle onto the table beside your bed, "Neither could I."

You watched, confused, as she closed the door and moved to your bed, sitting next to your feet.

Your eyes travelled to where her form, covered in a black nightgown, met your bedsheets.

"My brother," eyes flit to hers. "He acts inappropriately towards you" she stated as a matter of fact.

You furrowed your eyebrows, shaking your head. "Oh, uh, no, he-"

"It wasn’t a question. I'm telling you that he does."

You let your features contort to that of surprise. You had started to think that you were being overdramatic, but she noticed.

"Oh, okay."

A pause. She looked away, then back at you.

"I've gathered that you are not a lover of men."

You grasped at your bedsheets, needing to ground yourself in someway.

"What? No, no I…"

"Don't be silly, girl. I see your drawings."

Your gaze averted to your art on the other side of your bed; you should have hid those.

You swallowed, "I've no idea what you mean."

Miss Murdstone stood, rounding your bed to fetch a drawing off of your floor. To your chagrin, you were not very good at being discreet.

She held the drawing between her delicate fingers, admiring it.

"Very well done. I'm impressed."

You smiled, embarrassed but pleased to have impressed the woman. She moved to sit on your bed again, turning the picture toward you.

"This is of me."

Your mouth opened, unsure if you should tell the truth.

"It wasn’t a question" she stated.

You nodded. "Yes."

She turned the picture toward herself, running her eyes over the graphite and charcoal. "May I keep it?"

You felt a little lighter, smirking. "Of course."

Miss Murdstone nodded, placing the drawing onto your bed.

You held your breath as she stared into your soul, you felt as if you knew what was coming. You dreaded most things that came out of the woman's mouth.

"I can hear you playing with yourself. I know that you're not thinking of my brother, nor any other man."

She never failed to make one doubt themselves, to make one want to spill tears in frustration. 

You shook your head hastily, "No, I, I wouldn’t.."

"My chamber is adjacent to yours" she interrupted.

Suddenly, she reached out and took your hand in hers, bringing your fingers up to her nose. Wide eyed and panicked, you retracted your hand from her grip.

She narrowed her eyes at you as you pulled away. "Don’t think that you're sneaky, drawing women for all to see, dreaming about them in your chambers at night, touching yourself to the thought of them."

Shame washed over you as tears built in your eyes.

It was true, you were very, very attracted to women. You couldn't stop thinking about them, you had never thought about a man in the same way; you never had the urge to turn men into art.

Miss Murdstone revelled in your distress, it gave her conformation that she was correct in her assumptions.

She smirked, "We are alike, my girl."

Your eyebrows furrowed, attempting to cover your shame with confusion.

What? No. You couldn’t have anything in common with Jane Murdstone; impossible.

"How so?" you squeaked.

The woman averted her gaze to the bed, speaking low. "I have…never felt attraction towards men."

Your mouth opened before you closed it, feeling that you'd offend her with your surprise. "Truly?"

She nodded, then placed the drawing of her in front of you.

Your gaze met hers, it was softer now. "I take it that you like older women?"

Hands began to tremble once more as you both watched a tear drop onto your bed sheets.

You were young, but old enough to be married off soon. The thought frightened you, for you had no wish to become a wife or bear children.

You felt embarrassed and hopeless, ashamed and despondent at the thought that you were to be wed to a man, or sure to be alone forever. You didn't know which was worse.

You whispered, "I'm sorry."

Miss Murdstone shook her head, "Don’t be silly. You're not hopeless, my girl."

"Thank you, Miss Murdstone" you rasped.

Miss Murdstone looked you up and down, eyeing your thighs under the blankets, which were pressed together.

"I would like to teach you how to please a woman."

Your eyes lit up at her words, unbelieving that there was someone like you, especially someone who could possibly feel the same way about you.

"You would?"

She smirked once more and nodded. "Lay back, and insert two fingers into yourself."

You hesitated before slowly leaning back, giving into her demand and covering yourself with the blanket as you brought a hand to your center.

As your fingers moved closer to your wetness, a pale hand reached toward the blanket and ripped it away from you.

"Let me see you" Miss Murdstone breathed.

Well, if you were going to do this, you may as well do it right.

You shifted to your knees, spreading your thighs before bringing your hand back to your wetness. You groaned at the pleasure and the thrill of her eyes on you.

Getting a bit carried away, you inserted your fingers into yourself and pumped a few times, moaning lightly as your hips bucked into the feeling. Miss Murdstone stopped you as she reached out and grasped your wrist, pulling your hand from within you and inserting your wet fingers into her mouth.

You leaned forward as she pulled, holding yourself up with your other hand and watching as she wrapped her lips around your fingers, eyes shut.

You gasped at the feeling of her warm lips, becoming more wet at the sight of her sucking your juices off of your skin.

Your breathing became heavier, you shuddered as she licked, eyes on her face as you took her in. She looked beautiful and soft under the orange light of the candle. For once she looked pleased, and you were delighted to be the one to please her.

She opened her eyes and her gaze met yours, you whimpered at the lust you found.

Groaning, she released your fingers with a pop.

She kissed the back of your hand before letting it go, your mouth agape as you stared at her in awe.

A blush overtook your cheeks as you looked to your wet fingers, hovering over the bedsheets.

The woman held her head high, "My brother will not bother you again, rest assured, I will make sure of it."

You sat back, never looking away from her deep blues of truth and sincerity.

Your breath heavy, you felt relieved, but also excited.

"Thank you, Miss Murdstone."

She waved a hand in dismissal as she lowered her voice. "Call me Jane, when we're alone."

You nodded with an appreciative smile.

Jane stood tall, smoothing out her nightdress and making her way to retrieve the candle.

Her eyes bore down into your own.

"We will start tomorrow night. Get some rest." It was an order.

Candle in one hand and drawing in the other, Jane exited your room and closed the door, leaving you with the darkness and your own thoughts once again.

You were restless.

.·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·.

#gwendolineuniverse #jane murdstone #jane murdstone x reader #the personal history of david copperfield #light smut #caring yet dominant jane #wlw #sapphic #wlw longing #victorian lesbians #edward murdstone

[weemsfreak]

A snippet that describes how I have been feeling perfectly, from a wip with our favourite headmistress

In the quiet corridors of countless inquiries, "What is your dream?" echoed through the years.

You knew the implication was conventional; a career, a goal, a lifestyle, an ambition.

However, your dream had been presented to you on a silver platter, and shoved down your throat piping hot. You had no doubt, had no reverie, had no choice. You knew what you dreamed of - her.

'When life's inquisition delves into your heart's core, words falter in the face of what you truly adore.

Not 'a husband, kids, and a pointless career', but a silhouette named 'her,' etched crystal clear.'

Validation sought its place since you were young.

Every action, every word seemed misguided, leaving you insignificant and overlooked.

Adults made you feel unintelligent and small, every accomplishment, a whisper in the wind.

Work was exhausting, waking up was dreadful, thinking was painful; yet praying for her was effortless.

Wanting her was so undeniably easy - so fucking easy.

A person who saw your beauty, someone who genuinely cared.

'A vision unfurls, a shared aesthetic domain, a kiss, happiness, peace, in sunlight and moon's reign.'

#larissa weems #gwendoline christie #principal larissa weems #gwendolineuniverse #wednesday netflix #principal weems #larissa weems fanfic #wlw #wlw longing #poems #poetry

[weemsfreak]

Hello! I was wondering if you would write for Gwen (in fabric). There are not many stories about her and I neeedd her. Anything you'd like, please!

The Big Bang

Hello! I would love to! Recently I have been on a Miranda/Jane Murdstone/Gwen spree (Larissa is still the loml) butt I did have a smut idea for Gwen from In Fabric, because well, it's Gwen.

Enjoy!!

Summary: Gwen In Fabric x Reader. Smut with plot. You and Gwen share an art studio and find yourselves working late at night.

→ Warnings: smoking, alcohol, fingering, cunnilingus, grinding, smut, etc.

*☆…*☆…*☆…

You held your key up to the door, attempting to unlock it despite the fact that you couldn't see. It beeped, and you entered the large room, not bothering to flick on any lights until you got to your art space and turned on your lamp.

Scanning your eyes over your current work, you shook your head over every little detail.

This was going to be a long night.

Stopping in the small break room, you leaned against the counter as your coffee reheated.

You loved working at night, blessed to have the opportunity to rent out a space that you had access to always.

You were more productive at night, your creativity flowing more easily.

Making your way back to your space and placing your coffee down, you looked around.

Usually it was dark, as you were alone, but tonight it seemed rather bright.

You peaked around your easel and paintings, finding Gwen's space lit up, to your delight.

Excitedly you walked over, but her space was empty. You shrugged and admired her recent works; as expected, they were dark and rather…attention grabbing.

*☆…

At least 20 minutes had passed as you made minor adjustments to your realism painting.

You were deep in thought as you bent down to pick your brushes up off of the floor, standing and suddenly feeling claustrophobic in your space. It felt as if you had become confined, like something or someone was right beside you.

You whipped your head around to find Gwen, maybe a foot away, smiling down at you with intent.

You screamed, heart stopping, causing you to drop all of your brushes.

"Gwen, what the fuck?!" you said in a panic.

She snickered and averted her gaze to your art, "I can't believe you didn't notice me here, doll."

You tried to catch your breath as you checked your pulse. "I saw your lamp on, but I figured you had been here earlier."

She looked to you with a smirk before picking up your brushes and handing them to you.

"What are you doing here this late? I don't usually see you."

She shrugged, "Art is my night activity now, I teach French lessons during the day." 

You nodded, wanting to ask what her previous night activity was, but you were sure you already knew the answer.

"This is coming together nicely, I really like what you did here."

You looked closer at what she was pointing to, ah, the spot that you were stuck on; you thought it looked like garbage.

Gwen liked it, which was a relief. Though, she painted abstract, and Gwen was grounds for all things out of the ordinary.

"Come see what I've got on the go" she grinned, grabbing your hand and leading you to her work space.

She sat on her stool and watched as your eyes raked over her painting.

It was definitely abstract, but not very colorful. Different shades of black and red, it looked like…two girls? In a weird position?

They were in space, you guessed, with some glowing balls of hot gas floating around.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you tilted your head, "I like the black and white with the pop of red. It's …extremely creative."

Gwen looked up at you and wiggled her eyebrows, "I call it 'The Big Bang'."

Yep, yea, it was two girls banging.

You were honestly amused.

*☆…

A couple hours went by as you hummed to music and perfected your painting.

You then stopped for a snack break and figured you'd offer something to Gwen.

Walking over to her space, you found her boots thrown to the side, her bare feet covered in paint.

"Umm, what is going on?"

She stepped carefully onto a blank canvas, making neat footprints on the white background.

"I'm going to sell this to a guy from Wyoming."

She looked to you in total seriousness, "He likes art, and my feet. Probably because I'm tall."

You watched with your mouth agape as she dipped her foot into more paint and stepped onto the canvas with care.

She shrugged, "It's almost as good as feet pics."

It was too damn late for this, this was some unhinged shit; but hey, at least the woman knew how to make money.

"I uh- I was going to ask if you wanted a snack?"

Gwen looked at you, "What have you got?"

"A protein bar"

You held it out to her and she took it.

*☆…

You had made progress, almost finished (you hoped) of your painting.

Washing out your brushes and tidying your area, you decided to go for a walk.

It may have been like 2am, but you loved a late night walk.

You shut off your lamp and left your bag on the table, planning on coming back. But as you walked to the door, Gwen screamed your name.

"God, I'm not deaf" you said, turning around to face her.

You watched her stride up to you, wearing her platform boots again, thank fuck.

She tilted her head and winked, placing a hand on your shoulder.

"Honey, I'm not god, but I can make you believe that I am."

Your jaw dropped as you shook your head, a dark blush colouring your face.

You knew Gwen was lustful and outgoing, but lately she has been (very obviously) hitting on you.

"Where are you going?"

You looked to the door and then back at her, "For a walk."

She turned and went to her spot, pulling her bag onto her shoulder. "Not without me."

You then watched her stomp past you and out the door with a sway to her hips.

*☆…

Walking around the block in the warm night, Gwen pulled out a cigarette, offering you one.

"So, do you only do realism?"

"90% of the time, yeah."

You looked to her as she stuck the cigarette between her lips and attempted to adjust her bra strap underneath her layers.

"What else do you do?"

"I used to do abstract."

Gwen's gaze met yours as she chuckled, "I used to do realism."

*☆…

"Do you believe in fate?"

You looked over at Gwen questioningly, her head resting against the back of the bench as her blues scanned the stars.

You did the same.

"Um, well, I believe that our choices shape our reality, and maybe there are alternate universes in which we are vastly different."

You could feel her staring, so you paused, turning your head to meet her gaze.

"But, I also believe that we're only destined to do the things that we'd do anyway."

Gwen sat up, dusting off her skirt and ripped tights.

"Would you do me?"

You looked up at her as your eyebrows furrowed in question, snickering, "What?"

She looked away with a grin on her face, "You would" she murmured.

*☆…

Making your way back to the studio, Gwen drug you to her space once again.

You sat on a stool next to her and watched as she added to 'The Big Bang'.

"So, I was thinking for my next project, maybe something to do with dinosaurs?"

You nodded, lost in space as you stared at the way her long fingers flexed with the movement of the paint brush.

Gwen knew that you were watching her, stealing glances at you out of the corner of her eye. It thrilled and motivated her.

"Did I tell you about my ex? Oh, it's an insaneeee story."

As Gwen talked, you half paid attention and half let your eyes roam over her figure, from her face to her breasts, to her dark outfit and long legs.

Honestly, you were too tired to really listen to her story. All you knew was, she was beautiful, and interesting.

She was passionate and seductive, with an insatiable appetite; she was stunning.

When she was finished painting, she stood to throw her brushes into the water; leaning over you, her breasts in your face as she did. You leaned back with wide eyes.

"Let's go see how your painting is going" she cooed.

*☆…

You made another cup of coffee and emerged from the break room to find Gwen staring at your painting, nose almost touching it as she took in the detail.

"Do you ever paint people?"

You sat on your stool and looked up at her, "I have, but I'm not very good at it, so I don't."

She looked down with a blank expression before frantically eyeing your space. For what? You didn’t know.

"Will you paint me?"

You tilted your head in confusion as her hopeful blue eyes stared down at you. "I'm not the best at painting people" you repeated.

Gwen waved her hand in dismissal, "Nonsense, I want you to paint me."

She moved closer and bent down to your level, placing a hand onto your thigh.

"I want whatever you'll give me. And I'll pay."

You considered it for a moment, eyeing her up and down.

Feeling bold, you brought your face closer to hers and bit at your bottom lip, gazing between her eyes and lips.

"Alright."

*☆…

Friday night you set up a blank canvas and paints as you waited for Gwen to arrive.

You had told her to wear whatever she wanted, as long as she brought you some rum.

She entered, passing you a bottle, "Hi dollface."

"Hello honey" you smiled, taking a swig.

You got out your brushes and planned your piece while she undressed at her space.

Rounding the corner she stood in front of you, eagerly biting at her nails as she placed a hand on her hip, grinning mischievously down at you.

You were relieved that she choose to wear a black lingerie set, definitely not as bad as it could've been, considering it was Gwen.

You had moved a couch closer to your space, you gestured to it.

"Get into the position you want, I'll be right back."

Quickly you went to the break room, grabbing a couple of waters.

You returned and got out your pencil, peering around your canvas. Your jaw dropped instantly, heart skipping a beat as if you had been frightened, again.

Setting your wide eyes back on the canvas, you cleared your throat.

"Gwen, why are you naked?"

Gwen laughed as she fiddled with the obsidian around her neck.

"I want you to draw me like one of your French girls" she purred.

You sighed, picking up the rum and taking a big gulp.

"Were not on the fucking Titanic."

You'd admit that her voice made you feel something, the image of her on the couch naked with an arm over her head made your stomach turn pleasantly. Good god, this woman.

Gwen let out a soft hum that sounded more like a moan, "But we could pretend we are."

You rolled your eyes, "What if someone comes in?"

Gwen scoffed, "Nobody comes here this late, except for us. And if they do, they'll get a treat."

You pursed your lips in attempt to conceal your smirk, and peered around the canvas once more. "There you are" she cooed.

*☆…

You sketched and painted Gwen, admitting to yourself that it was going rather well.

Long legs, the pose showing off all that she wished to offer, and her pretty face, it was a masterpiece.

You hoped to capture her enigmatic essence at least to some degree, but your work was far from finished.

Gwen was really beautiful, truly, but it wasn't until you finished the main part of the painting that you realized how hot you were, your cheeks a deep red and your hands shaky.

"Okay, done."

You heard nothing for a moment as you fixed up some details, then, her heeled steps shuffled closer as she came into your view. Your gaze shot up to her face as she looked over your work.

"It's beautiful, dear."

Her fingers hovered over the painting as she admired it.

"I know it will be a masterpiece when it's done."

Smiling, you surprisingly agreed.

Gwen placed a hand on your shoulder and took a step closer to you.

She was tall, making you feel awkward at this height, sitting on the stool; and so you stood.

Gwen looked you over as you stood, a smirk pulling at her lips.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?"

You were sure it was a sarcastic question, or degrading.

Your heartbeat quickened as you shook your head, "No, nope, I'm good."

She turned to face you, your height difference making it challenging not to look at her breasts.

Still, you craned your neck to keep your eyes on her face.

"It seems that you won't look anywhere below my face, is that true?" she questioned, tilting her head in faux sorrow.

You blinked and shook your head in disagreement.

She smirked, narrowing her eyes at you.

"You just painted me naked, took in all my curves and..details, and now you can't look at me?"

Your eyes widened as you swallowed, "You're just, uh- so close now."

Gwen reached out and took your hand in hers, dropping her voice an octave.

"Are you scared that if you look you'll want to touch?"

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart now pounding. You swallowed thickly, then nodded.

She guided your hand to her waist, the urge to rake your eyes over her soft skin overwhelming you.

Taking your other hand in hers, she pressed herself against you, shocking you with her action.

"You can touch, honey" she whispered, slowly bringing your hand to her breast.

You gasped and breathed out into her shoulder as you felt her flesh against your hand.

The feel of her bare chest against yours made you want to rip off your shirt just to feel her. To really feel her.

"Gwen I-" She brought her finger to your lips and forced it lightly into your mouth, her skin sweet yet salty.

"Shh love, no questions or concerns, not now."

She removed her finger and pulled you tighter against her, whispering in your ear. "Do you want this? Do you want me?"

You held in a whimper, squeezing her breast lightly, "I do."

Gwen took in a breath as she pulled away, bringing her lips to your neck.

You moved both hands to her breasts, squeezing as you closed your eyes and focused on her touch.

She swiped her tongue up the expanse of your neck, and you couldn't help but squeeze your legs together and plead, "Please, Gwen."

Gwen chuckled, tickling your skin as she brought her hands to the hem of your shirt and pulled it off.

She cupped your face in her hands and pulled you closer, "Beautiful doll. Let loose for me."

You smiled sheepishly and nodded, "Okay Gwen."

Suddenly, she pressed her lips to yours, sticking her tongue into your mouth almost instantly.

You got lost in the way she forcefully yet gently let her lips slide against yours, whimpering into her mouth.

She pulled away for a moment, quickly undoing your bra and throwing it to the floor.

She pulled you back to her and pressed her breasts against yours, you tried to stifle a moan.

Gwen then brought her hands to your pants and undid them, sliding them down your legs, catching you off guard.

You let out a small gasp as you leaned on her for support and kicked them off.

She chuckled, "I felt weird being the only one naked."

You rolled your eyes and spoke sarcastically, "I'm sure you did."

She grasped your thighs unexpectedly and lifted you up to straddle her waist.

She met your lips as she walked to the couch and sat you on her lap.

You wrapped your hands around her neck, pulling her closer and sucking her bottom lip between your teeth as she pulled your hips into her own. You let her hands guide your hips against hers as you kissed down to her collarbones, then her chest, and lower.

You sucked on her full breasts, humming as you left red marks on the pale flesh and moved to her nipples.

You circled them gently as your head spun with desire, surprised when Gwen sneakily brought a hand to your heat and swiped a finger through your folds.

As you gasped in shock and pleasure, you slightly bit down on her nipple, making her jolt.

"Oh sweetie, do you need me?" she breathed.

You sat tall and smashed your lips to hers, hoping to muffle your moans as if you knew what was coming.

Gwen wanted a response, but she figured that this was enough, for it turned her on immensely.

She carefully yet quickly inserted a finger into you, setting a steady pace.

You licked into her mouth hoping to stifle your mewls, but she dominated you as she forced her tongue into yours.

Moaning against her lips, you felt her insert another finger and curl them up into you.

As you relished in the feeling of her filling you up, you realized how long her fingers were, and you revelled in a  desperate feeling that you had never felt before.

You gasped for air as she picked up her pace, shoving your face into her neck and whimpering against her skin.

"Shit Gwen, please, please" you pleaded as you ground down onto her fingers.

Gwen smirked as she added another, watching as you writhed on top of her. You moved your grip from her shoulders to her head, weaving your fingers through her hair.

She breathed into your neck, "You feel amazing, come for me doll."

You couldn't hold out any longer, coming with a loud groan of her name as you felt her fingers continue their assault. She eventually slowed and you clutched her body to yours, not wanting her to pull away.

When you recovered, you responded by licking down her breasts and stomach, stepping off of the couch as you got to your knees. Placing your hands on her waist, you began to kiss her lower legs and work your way up to her hips. Gwen parted her legs in anticipation as you continued to lick and nip at her pale thighs.

As you reached her dark centre, you could see the shine of her arousal, and you breathed deeply in anticipation.

You watched as she brought a hand to her breast, her other to your head as she pushed you closer to her with force. She then ran her fingers through your hair, waiting for you to make your move.

You chuckled giddily and wrapped your hands under her thighs, pulling her toward you, opening her legs wider as you did so. With need you moved closer, trailing your tongue up her folds softly. You slowly flicked your tongue over her clit and down to her entrance, digging your fingers into her the flesh of her thighs.

You pushed your tongue into her as she squirmed, then flattened your tongue as she began to grind against it. Her fingers wound your hair tight as she let out whimpers and deep moans. Groaning into her flesh, your legs spread involuntarily at her sweet sounds.

"Oh honey, please, faster" Gwen begged. Her moans were turning you on immensely, you went faster, getting caught up in the sound of her raspy voice. You couldn't help but moan against her at the pain of her heel digging into your back, your thighs becoming drenched.

Suddenly, Gwen leaned forward and pulled you up by your hair, turning you around and pushing you back onto the couch. You grunted as you fell, looking up at her wide eyed and even more turned on.

"Spread your legs" she demanded. You did as told, watching impatiently as she settled on top of you, one leg under yours and the other over, lining up your core with hers.

She bent down and slipped her tongue into your mouth, moaning as she felt the wetness between your legs.

"You're drenched baby" she purred, placing a hand on your ass to gain more friction. You moaned rather loudly as she rubbed against you, grabbing her hips and squeezing.

"Shit, Gwen!" you breathed, closing your eyes in bliss as she pressed you down into the couch.

She grinded against you frantically, your release fast approaching as she whimpered against you, sinking her teeth into your shoulder. You gasped into her hair, breath shallow and eyes threatening to close as Gwen pressed her forehead against yours, her mouth open in pleasure.

You came right there and then when you saw the need in her eyes, the pleasure written on her face. You threw your head back in bliss as she did the same, moaning your name as she let you down from your release.

You were both sweaty as she leaned forward and kissed your chest, your breaths evening out.

Gwen kissed you on the forehead and ran her fingers through your hair, hugging you to bring you comfort.

She chuckled against you and closed her eyes happily, "This is what 'the big bang' is all about."

You couldn't get enough of Gwen, laughing at the thought of being in space; you wished that you were.

You kissed her on the cheek as she sat up slightly and she looked down at you, "I'd love to paint you next time" she purred with a wink.

#gwendoline christie #gwendolineuniverse #lesbian #gwen in fabric #gwen in fabric x reader #in fabric #smut #wlw

[weemsfreak]

[weemsfreak]

Yes mother, whatever you say 🧎‍♀️

Larissa won the vote yet again, I’m not surprised at all honestly she’s my favorite ❤️ enjoy the new wallpapers yall 🥰🥰

[weemsfreak]

Miranda Hilmarson x NamedfReader

Presenting my first ever piece for Miranda Hilmarson!

Follows Top of the Lake China Girl, Miranda survives. ~3.8k words

➤ Inspiration for this story No Children - The Mountain Goats

Part 1 of 2

Warnings: cigarettes, alcohol, a few Top of the Lake spoliers, men slander, bullying

◇◆◇◆◇◆

Hateful.

That's what you were.

That's who you were.

But you hadn't always been like this.

At one point, you had awoken from slumber and greeted each day as if you could make the world yours.

At one point, you believed that there was some good, and that maybe you could help to make the good prevail.

But, that was a long time ago. And since then the world has thrown absolute shit at you time and time again.

You started to believe that even the good was not good,

and you eventually became bitter at the world.

You became hateful.

◇◆◇◆◇◆

Adrian left. Coward. You knew the man was weak. His office, now yours, hadn't a trace of him left, you made sure of it.

You had only spoke with him at occasional meetings back when you worked in Germany.

He seemed competent, but not very smart. You didn't know him all too well, but, he was a man.

And when this man left willingly, you moved to Sydney and took his job.

When he left, he left a woman, and a baby, you were told.

He packed up his family and left, you weren't sure why.

Everything you had heard about him and this woman sounded like a clusterfuck, honestly.

The woman was a constable who worked for you, now. But, you didn't know her yet, as Adrian had given her six months paid leave to look after her baby and recover.

Apparently she had gotten shot and almost died.

Under the guidance of Adrian.

Apparently she had a surrogate that ran, so Griffin found her baby and brought her home while the woman was in the hospital recovering.

Who did nothing to help? Adrian.

Apparently Adrian made sure that the baby would be looked after by the help of others.

He had a big heart, was a big softie, looked like one anyway; but you begged to differ.

Careless Adrian.

And then he left.

You hadn't met this woman yet, Constable Hilmarson, her name was, but you were sure when you did, she would be a mess.

◇◆◇◆◇◆

A tall woman in uniform entered your office and offered a hand for you to shake. You instantly knew who it was.

"Constable Hilmarson. A pleasure to meet you Detective Sergeant Schulze."

Your gaze directed to her slim hand before it moved up, and up, to her face. She was pale, blonde, void of makeup, and plain.

She was not what you had expected, yet exactly what you would expect at the same time.

She was boring and mundane, yet there was something about her that made her shine.

You understood why Adrian would, well whatever happened between him and this woman, but she was, at the same time, just so plain.

You assumed she would be a mess, you assumed she would be heartbroken, dragging her ass around in self pity.

But here she was, first day back at work, smiling wide down at you.

You had half a mind to ignore her gesture and tell her to sit, to wipe the smile off her face; alas, you had to be professional.

So you stood, noticing that you were rather short next to her, and took her hand in yours.

"Likewise."

◇◆◇◆◇◆

The months went by, as they do, and everything seemed to be going rather well. Griffin and Hilmarson worked on small cases, nothing too crazy had happened. The men were working well with each other, though they could be doing more. They always could be.

The only thing that you were having a hard time with was some paperwork that Adrian left for you.

This man was fucking disorganized, which made sense, considering how many other things he was obviously preoccupied with.

Maybe someone would know what he wrote here? What the hell was that supposed to say?

Shit.

You made your way out into the office, asking the men if they could read it. Of course they all attempted, until they quit.

"Griffin, can you make out Butler's writing?"

She took the paper from you and stared at it for a moment, "No, sorry." She paused, "Maybe Hilmarson can."

Your eyes flit to her empty desk, "Where is she?"

"Smoke break" Griffin replied.

 Rolling you reyes with a groan, you made your way outside.

"Hilmarson!"

When she heard her name and caught you moving fast towards her, her eyes widened and she threw her cigarette behind her.

"Sorry Sarg, I'll get back" she said, turning to walk past you hastily.

"No."

She stopped and stared down at you, her eyebrows furrowing.

You grumbled, "I don't care if you smoke, I need help with something."

She slowly moved closer to you and pulled out another smoke.

Hilmarson one hundred percent believed that you were annoyed with her, that was until she offered you a cigarette and you took it.

"Adrian's writing is messy as fuck." You pulled out the paper and passed it to her.

"What does this say?"

She scanned his writing, hate filling her heart at the thought of him.

"It says 'Stally and Carson reported to Bondi beach'."

You took the paper from her, squinting your eyes at the names. You never would've guessed that said 'Bondi'.

You gazed up at Hilmarson as she looked to her feet, seemingly lost in her own head.

Her cigarette burned itself out between her fingers, eyes failing to blink.

You hadn't failed to notice the amount of comments and 'jokes,' as the men called them, that were thrown her way. You were aware of the banter and harmless fun between coworkers, especially police, but you had heard a few things that were not within the confines of your definition of harmless jokes.

Miranda hated hearing of that beach, Bondi beach. She hadn't been to a beach in so long. So, so long.

She also hated hearing of Adrian. She hadn't seen him in so long.

Good.

She watched as you took a drag and squinted down at the paper in your hand.

She heard what they called you; a bitch, bitter, boring, hateful.

And although you were grumpy, grumbly, not very personal, didn't say thank you, and never smiled a real smile, she liked you.

Your emotion and intentions were usually direct, you didn't beat around the bush.

And for that reason she thought that maybe you liked her too.

You accomplished things, you didn't care what people thought of you.

You weren't scared to talk back, you weren't scared to stand up for what was right.

Actually, you didn't seem scared at all, of anything.

She wished she could be as careless as you, she wished she could stand up for herself.

Sometimes, she even wished she could be hateful.

◇◆◇◆◇◆

A call came in, letting you know that a suspicious box had been found at Bondi beach.

Interesting, you had just learned what that place was the other day.

Your eyes traveled to the window of your office, expecting to catch Griffin at her desk, before you remembered she was off today.

"Shit" you groaned.

Grabbing your things, you exited your office, deciding you would go yourself. If this turned into a case, you'd rather give it to her over the men.

"Hilmarson, you're coming with me to investigate."

She was up from her desk in a flash, grabbing her hat and following you to the door.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Bondi beach" you answered, reaching for the door.

She stopped dead in her tracks as a small gasp escaped her lips.

"I-um, I actually just remembered that I have to do something important this afternoon, I-I forgot."

You turned to find her staring down at her hands, fidgiting with long fingers.

"It can wait" you demanded.

"N-no it's really important, I'm sorry" she murmured.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked her up and down, you watched as she bit her lip, nervously standing her ground.

"Are you really disobeying my order constable?"

At this, her wide eyes met yours, but you could see something unusual in them.

Fear.

Some of the men were listening, letting out "ouuuu Hilmarson" when she refused your order.

"Quiet!" you barked.

Was she really refusing? Was she really going to make you take a man?

Fine.

You pointed to constable Brown, "You, you're with me."

◇◆◇◆◇◆

Looking out over the ocean and popping the top off of a beer bottle, you watched from a cliff as the night turned darker, the waves beginning to crash a bit harder.

As the night turned darker, it seemed, you also began to crash harder.

Today you read her file.

You read her file and then decided to drink away your sorrows.

You understood now why she wouldn't go to Bondi beach.

You understood now why you saw fear in her eyes.

See, there wasn't much that scared you anymore, but, there was one thing.

You were forever guilty, forever wounded, forever hateful for what had happened to her, your love.

It was a simple mistake, really, but it cost you your happiness, and her, her life.

She was tall and slim and strong.

She had the widest smile, one that made her cheeks puff out, adorable.

And she was brave.

It's almost like you could picture her, standing down there on the boardwalk, looking out over the never-ending expanse if water; just like you.

Together again, one last time.

Hell.

Hilmarson?

You blinked, placing your beer onto the rock and scooting closer to the edge.

If your brain wasn't playing tricks on you, which it very well could've been, she was stood on the walkway, hands tucked in her pockets, eyes squinting as she looked out over the water.

But it couldn't be her, it wouldn't be. She was too fearful.

You stood and sat further away, hoping she couldn't see you from her spot.

She did.

As you were admiring staring at her questioningly, she happened to look your way. A small smile lit up her face, then she turned and started running.

You watched as she ran down the walkway and up the path to the cliff.

You couldn't help but let smirk lightly at her clumsiness, why was she running?

"Hi" she murmured, climbing the rock to sit beside you.

You turned your gaze to the water and sipped your drink, "I thought you were avoiding the beach."

Hilmarson faced you and tilted her head in question, "Why would you think that?"

Placing your beer bottle into your bag, your eyes never left the ocean.

"I know why you refused my order."

You heard her take a deep breath in and exhale.

"Okay, please don't be pissed at me. I'm sorry about that. I can't- I can't go onto the beach, it makes me, um, nervous. I can look at it though, from far away."

You turned to her with a look that said 'seriously?'

She pouted, "It's different."

"I suppose" you deadpanned.

She looked to the ocean in contemplation as your gaze stayed focused on her.

She had soft alabaster skin, way softer than yours could ever be.

She had eyes that sparkled like the snow on the most blue winter day.

They showed fear, fear and sadness and betrayal.

And, she had your heart, the ability to melt it like fire.

The ability to dig herself into your flesh and pull out your insides, until you didn't know who you were any longer.

Until you were a shell of a person.

Until you were hateful.

She had the ability to do all of this, when she died.

You reached into your bag and pulled out two bottles of beer, passing one to her.

◇◆◇◆◇◆

Walking past the desks, you did a double take when you got to your office door.

Hilmarsons desk was an abomination, papers and random things scattered everywhere. You scoffed when you noticed multiple coffee mugs and spoons littering her desk, and you wondered if her home was the same.

Was that a carton of milk?

"Hilmarson, clean this shit up" you demanded, walking to her and scanning your eyes over the paperwork.

She looked up at you in surprise, then nodded her head in shame before stacking the papers sloppily into a pile, "Sorry sarg." You turned and headed back to your office, closing the door in attempt to get some work done.

However, after five minutes, you couldn't help but peer out your office window to find Hilmarson dropping the stack of papers onto the floor, scattering everywhere. You watched as she crouched down, picked them up, and attempted to stand, hitting her head on the underside of her desk.

You shook your head, standing and opening your office door. "Hilmarson, see me in my office."

She sheepishly entered, closing the door behind her.

"You are extremely careless and clumsy" you stated.

She smirked slightly before it disappeared.

"Is this one of those 'clean your shit up or I'll fire you' talks?"

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, what was she talking about?

"Have you had one of those talks before?"

She looked to the floor and nodded.

You sighed, "Well then why haven’t you cleaned your shit up yet?"

Her gaze travelled back to you with a proud expression, gesturing wildly with her hands.

"I'm doing better. I'm not as messy as I have been, and I haven't broken anything lately."

Just as she said this, she swung her arm dramatically over a shelf, knocking a small vase onto the floor.

You sighed and placed your head in your hand. "Hilmarson, just go."

She winced as a frown overtook her face, then she turned quickly, leaving pieces of vase on the floor.

You sat at your desk and asked yourself what Adrian saw in this woman. Were you missing something here? Did she posses something in which you had to learn to appreciate? Did he see it? Did he know how?

◇◆◇◆◇◆

Hilmarson was sat on Griffins desk, her phone in Griffins face as she smiled, eyes watery.

When Griffin saw you enter, she almost pushed Hilmarson off of the desk, telling her to get back to work.

You walked up to them as Hilmarson sat and plunked her phone onto her desk with a frown.

You raised a brow at her, "What's so amusing, Hilmarson?"

She looked up at you as her mouth opened in confusion, her brain running a mile a minute trying to differentiate sarcasm from serious.

A smile lit up her face again.

You watched Griffin shake her head out of the corner of your eye, and then a phone was in your face.

A picture of a baby dressed in pink. The baby, hair so light you questioned it had any, was crawling on the floor playing with an empty beer bottle.

You were no mother, but that probably wasn't safe.

She then swiped to the next photo and you found Hilmarsons signature smile staring back at you.

Your eyes flit between the photo and her, she smiled wide up at you with a glimmer in her ocean eyes.

You sighed, knowing that you usually wouldn't give a shit about a child, especially some baby photos.

The fact was, Hilmarson was slacking off, and you wanted to be a bitch about it.

You wanted to tell her to get back to work, you wanted to say 'get over it, it's just a child'; but for some reason you couldn't.

So you nodded, "She's definitely yours, Hilmarson."

Locking yourself in your office, you sat with your head in your hands. You didn't understand why she was so happy all the damn time.

A shitty job, a shitty town. Adrian had left her, after all.

But the more you thought, the more you realized that she must be grateful.

For she had her baby and she was alive. She was alive.

◇◆◇◆◇◆

You finally packed up your mornings work and headed to the break room, eager to eat your sandwich.

Nobody said a word as the men finished up their work and headed out for lunch, you were used to it.

Eagerly you reached the break room to find Hilmarson leaving with a bowl of cereal, letting the door close with a thud.

She nodded at you with a small grin.

As soon as the door to the room shut, you opened it.

Stally laughed, "Hilmarson as a mother!? What a joke."

"Yea, her and her one good egg" Carson replied.

Your eyes widened as you froze, hand gripping the door knob with fury.

You turned quickly, watching as Hilmarsons gaze spun your way, a frown instantly overtaking her face.

Her bright eyes became dull as the lines between her eyebrows and around her lips deepened.

It was saddest, most pathetic you had ever seen her.

"Stally, Carson, are you seriously insulting a fellow officer?"

The men turned to you, startled by your sudden presence.

"Schulze, it was- we were just joking" Carson stuttered.

You stared at them with the heat of a thousand suns.

"It's not a joke unless it's fucking funny" you seethed.

The men looked at each other, then back at you, they were screwed.

As soon as Stally opened his mouth to say something, you stopped him.

"My office, NOW!" you hollered, swinging the door open for them to exit.

As you followed the men to your office you kept your gaze to the floor.

You slammed your door shut and demanded they sit.

"If you think for a second I will tolerate slander, insults, shitty fucking jokes, or bullying of another officer…" you pointed to your door.

"Walk out that door now and never, ever, show your good for nothing faces here again."

You crossed your arms, standing your ground as you stared them down, their eyes on the floor in silence.

Stepping closer, you leaned down, your lips just above their ears.

"I don't know your stories, but I do know that if you had went through half of what Hilmarson has, you wouldn't be here right now. Would you?"

If they were going to act like children, you'd treat them as such.

"No Sargant" Stally mumbled.

You stood and backed away. "Are we clear?" you asked in a sickly sweet tone.

"Yes"

"Good. Open the door" you demanded.

Miranda couldn't help it, she was used to being made fun of, but her heart fell when you opened the breakroom door. When she watched you basically push the men into your office and slam the door shut, confusion washed over her.

So she sat at her desk, which wasn't far from your office, and listened.

She was thankful that most of her colleagues were gone to lunch, so they didn't have to see, or hear, any of what had happened. Or, what was happening.

She could hear you through the door, through the walls, your voice reverberated off of her skin, and at the same time seeped into her cells and spread throughout her body.

Tears formed in her eyes as warmth spread with it, and she realized what you were doing.

You were standing up for her.

"Hilmarson!"

She stood instantly and appeared at your door in three strides.

"Sargent" she nodded.

"Come in, close the door."

You paused, looking between the men and Hilmarson. She looked at you, they looked at the floor.

"This is absolutely ridiculous" you mumbled. "Stally, Carson, stand."

They stood.

"Turn to Hilmarson"

They turned.

"Apologise to her for acting like privileged twelve year old's, for god knows how long."

They did.

"Now get the hell out of my office" you spat.

You sat and stared at the wood of your desk, sighing before looking back up.

Hilmarson was still there, watching you with a toothy grin and watery eyes.

You knew what they called you, a bitch, bitter, boring, hateful.

But, none of it mattered. None of it mattered because it was you, and because it was true.

Hilmarson, on the other hand, had most likely been bullied for years.

The tall one, the woman, the odd one out, the leftover.

Adrian had to have noticed, he must have known. He was the only one who could've put an end to it, the only one with real authority.

Yet, he didn't.

And so, Hilmarson smiled down at you with thanks in her bright eyes, and you felt your heart…do something.

Her smile almost made all the bullshit you went through worth it.

"Thank you."

You averted your gaze back to the desk as you nodded.

"Do me a favour?"

Hilmarson stepped closer to you, "Of course."

You sighed and ran your hand through your hair.

"It seems when I leave my office I walk into a playground run by men. I never liked playgrounds, or men."

Hilmarson chuckled, you almost did too.

"Get me my sandwich from the fridge? I haven't eaten all day."

You didn't know their stories, true. You didn't know what any of your colleagues had really been through, just as they knew nothing of you.

But as their boss, you had their files, and that was enough to have leverage.

It was enough to understand.

When lunch was over, you stepped out of your office and demanded everyone's attention.

"I don't know what kind of place some of you think this is, but it's NOT fucking junior high. I don't know what Adrian let some of you get away with, but I will have no bullying, no misogyny, no sexism, and no bullshit in this office. I hear and see EVERYTHING, and if you decide to test that theory, you'll soon find out."

You looked around the room, finding everyone's attention turned to you, annoyed.

Except for Hilmarson, who smiled.

"Get back to work"

◇◆◇◆◇◆

She was near, you could feel her presence.

You hadn't felt it in so long.

Like the warmth of the sun, the smell of the rain, the sound of waves crashing against the shore.

She was there.

And oh how warm, how beautiful she was.

You had forgotten.

Her, in all her glory.

You, in all your misery.

Your soul combined with hers, one goes nowhere without the other.

But that was wishful thinking. Wishful dreaming, perhaps.

Because that wasn't the case. No, not at all.

The case was that she was frowning, extremely unlike her, unfamiliar to you.

You could only remember her smile.

The case was that you had fucked up, a mistake, really.

The case was that she was dead. A bullet.

And suddenly, you remembered what you had said to her that day.

It was your fault, it was all your fault.

…And I hope the rising black smoke carries me far away

And I never come back to this town again

In my life

I hope I lie

And tell everyone you were a good wife

And I hope you die

I hope we both die

The words spill like venom, involuntarily. You slap your hand over your mouth, but it's no use.

You watch with bated breath as your wife starts to spill tears like a waterfall, and turns to scratching at her own flesh, blood and tissue dropping onto the floor,

until…

Miranda.

Your heart fell as Miranda stared back at you.

She was frowning, extremely unlike her, unfamiliar to you.

You could only remember her smile.

You could only remember her happy.

God, you just wanted her to be happy.