milk-is-stable

[milk-is-stable]

So I posted a snippet of my annabutch fic in a different fandom discord that i'm in for wip wednesday, and my one mutual asked me what it was for, and I told her it was fic for a longform improv play with bank robbing lesbians, which made her go 👀👀👀 so suffice it to say I sent her the link and she will be watching it later, I will report back if I manage to convert her!

[milk-is-stable]

A Beautiful Thing

Summary: Based on this post by @unbelenting; Three times that someone calls Annabelle a beautiful thing.

Word Count: 1,577

Read on AO3: HERE

AN: As soon as I saw those three quotes next to each other, I was possessed by the idea for this story until I managed to excise it from my brain, I hope you all enjoy <3

— — —

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life." 

Annabelle froze, staring down at the man on the floor in disbelief. Usually when she threatened men, they looked at her with fear, or avoided looking at her at all, which suited her just fine. There was something about the rush of holding up an entire room full of people that made her feel invincible, and the way it made men cower away from her was such a refreshing change from the moon-eyed, overly polite treatment she was used to from the boys in town. 

Sweet Miss Annabelle Parker, isn't it such a shame about her mama, but golly if she isn't the prettiest thing you ever saw! 

Annabelle was perfectly happy to leave that behind for a few hours every time she and Butch rode out together. It was the one time that men didn't care that she was small and "delicate," didn't care that she was beautiful, didn't care that she was a She at all. When she wore a mask over her face and held a pistol in her hands, men who looked at her didn't see a woman to fawn over, they saw a nefarious robber to be feared and respected.

But this man, he was different. He saw the mask and saw the gun, and yet he stared at her as though he was dying of thirst and she was an oasis in the desert. Something about his gaze made her skin crawl, and she felt what was surely an irrational urge to shoot him in the face, if it would just stop him looking at her like that. 

"Hey partner, we need to get outta here!" Butch called, her voice shaking Annabelle free from her stupor. 

"You're the girl with the gun," the man on the floor said. 

He shifted, as though to get to his feet, and Annabelle moved on instinct. She sent a kick flying towards him, and he let out a howl of pain as the heel of her boot connected with his groin. She turned and ran, stumbling a bit as somehow the man grabbed hold of her shoe, but she shook it off and kept moving, grabbing Butch's hand as the two of them fled the scene and mounted their horses. 

"What were you doing, flirting with– I mean, talking with the hostages?" Butch asked, and Annabelle shook her head. 

"I don't know! That man, he said he'd seen me before, and called me the girl with the gun."

"There they are! Stop them!" a voice shouted, and Butch dug her spurs into her horse's sides. 

"GO, GO, GO, GO, GO!" she shouted as they took off in a gallop.

"It was so weird, what he was sayin'!" Annabelle called over the wind. "It just made me freeze, alright? I'm sorry!"

"It's fine, that don't matter now!" Butch said. "Just keep goin', and don't slow down for no one!" 

They rode as hard as they could, but when Annabelle glanced behind them she saw a pair of horses off in the distance, slowly gaining on them. 

"Shit, they're still following!" she exclaimed, doing her best to spur her horse forward with only one boot on. "They'll catch us at this rate!" 

"Split up!" Butch suggested. "You head east and take the long road home to your daddy's, I'll keep heading south and try to lose them in the hills!" 

"Alright..." Annabelle agreed. "Butch, I-"

"No time to talk now, GO!" Butch shouted, and Annabelle reluctantly steered her horse away.

As she rode, she tried to focus on the feeling of the wind in her face, the rhythm of her horse's gallop beneath her, the warmth of the late afternoon sun on her neck, anything to forget the look on the man from the bank's face.

It doesn't matter, she told herself. I won't ever go back to that city, and I won't ever see him again. It's fine.

But no matter what she told herself and no matter how fast she rode, the feeling of his gaze clung to her like sweat in the August heat, and she couldn't help but shudder.

— — — 

"You are the most beautiful thing that I've ever seen in this world." 

Annabelle rolled her eyes and looked down, picking at her fingernails. 

"Oh, every daddy has to say that to his daughter, it's like the fucking law or somethin'," she said.

"That may be true," her daddy said, and he reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. "That may be true. But it doesn't mean I don't mean it, sweetheart."

Annabelle looked up to see him smiling at her, his eyes soft and fond. She was struck suddenly with a memory, from nearly ten years ago now. She had tried to play with a group of boys in the schoolyard, but they'd refused to let her join unless she agreed to be a princess in a tower for them to rescue. She'd run home crying, and her daddy had swept her up in his arms and planted a kiss on her forehead, and told her that she could be anything she wanted to be and that any boy who didn't let her wasn't worth the mud on the bottom of her boots. 

Her daddy reached out and cupped her face, pulling her back to the present. 

"If Butch doesn't look at you and see how wonderful you are, if she hears your words and doesn't feel the same way? The rejection is hard...but at the end of the day, that does not have to define you. You are still my daughter, and I will always love you no matter what, but even that doesn't make you who you are. You decide that, always." 

Annabelle swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. 

"But I...I love her so much, Daddy. If she doesn't accept my feelings, then what am I supposed to do?" 

Her daddy sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. 

"I know, sweetheart, I know. When your mother left, I did not take it well at first. But eventually I realized that things change, you know? And change is okay. It's just another opportunity to find out more of who you are. But you'll never know that if you never open up to her." 

"You're right, Daddy," Annabelle said. She took a deep breath, and gave him a shaky smile. "I need to tell Butch how I feel." 

"Yes you do," her daddy said, and he raised an eyebrow. "And then you need to stop robbing banks, young lady!"

"Alright, alright!" Annabelle said, holding up her hands. "I'll go and tell her right now." 

"Good," her daddy said, and he smiled. "And remember, no matter what she says, I'll always be here for you."

"Thanks, Daddy," said Annabelle, and she couldn't help but smile back. 

— — — 

"You are the most beautiful thing in the entire world." 

Annabelle's breath caught in her throat, and a blush rose to her cheeks. 

"Butch, I-"

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to say that," Butch continued, her voice quivering slightly. "I don't know how I kept it inside for so long." 

"Me either," Annabelle whispered. "I tried to tell you how I felt so many times, but every time I just ended up saying let's rob a bank instead." 

Butch laughed, and reached down to tuck a curl behind Annabelle's ear. 

"I mean it, you know," she said, her voice softer. She stared into Annabelle's eyes, something akin to awe on her face. "You're so beautiful."

It was not the first time Annabelle had been told that she was lovely to look at. People had been saying some variation of "you're so pretty!" since she was thirteen years old, and she had learned to accept the words with a demure smile and a nod, carefully sidestepping any and all men who attempted to use the compliments as the start of something more. If she was honest with herself, she'd slowly come to dread any time someone drew attention to her appearance, even before today's horrible encounter with the deputy who'd tried to make her his...prize.  

But hearing those words come out of Butch's mouth was different. For the first time, Annabelle found herself wanting to hear them again. 

"Really?" she asked, smiling coyly. "What's so beautiful about me?"

"Everything," Butch said immediately. "Your eyes are bluer than the sky, your hair looks like it was spun from gold, your voice is like a choir of angels, when you smile it lights up the whole damn world, and every time I look at you I think I must have died and gone to heaven because I can't believe that I'm lucky enough to be alive in a world where I get to look at you whenever I want." 

Annabelle stared at Butch, her mouth open in shock, and Butch smirked at her. 

“Do ya want me to go on, darlin’?” she asked. “Like I said, I’ve wanted to say it for a long time. You are the most beautiful, most perfect woman in the world.” 

“Now hang on, that can’t be true,” Annabelle said, and Butch frowned. 

“Why not?” 

Annabelle smiled, and reached up, fiddling with the tie around Butch’s neck. 

“Because you’re the most perfect woman in the world,” she said. 

Butch’s face went bright red, and Annabelle couldn’t help but pull her down into a long, lingering kiss. 

[milk-is-stable]

Annabelle and Butch almost kissed once.

Really, you could say they almost kissed several times, when one of them let their thoughts drift just a little too far and very nearly went for it. But there was only one that really counted.

It was night. The two sat outside, watching the stars. Butch was talking. Telling a story, maybe. Annabelle was staring at her friend. She was awful handsome, with the way her hair curled over her forehead and the way her hands moved about as she talked, and something about the gleam in her eye is just so enticing, and really it's not Annabelle's fault that she couldn't help but lean in. She just had to capture that spark in Butch's eyes, the one that seemed to appear whenever she saw Annabelle. Butch wasn't talking anymore, she noticed, just staring at Annabelle with a look of surprise and adoration and longing that made Annabelle feel warm and fuzzy all the way down to her toes. They were very close, suddenly. Butch's face was red. Annabelle's heart was thumping out a steady beat saying kiss her, kiss her, kiss her. Butch let out a shakey breath and Annabelle opened her mouth to say something along the lines of I love you. But what came out of her mouth instead was:

"Butch...do you wanna rob a bank?"

And just like that, the moment broke. But neither of them ever forgot that moment, that almost-kiss under the stars.

[milk-is-stable]

A Beautiful Thing

Summary: Based on this post by @unbelenting; Three times that someone calls Annabelle a beautiful thing.

Word Count: 1,577

Read on AO3: HERE

AN: As soon as I saw those three quotes next to each other, I was possessed by the idea for this story until I managed to excise it from my brain, I hope you all enjoy <3

— — —

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life." 

Annabelle froze, staring down at the man on the floor in disbelief. Usually when she threatened men, they looked at her with fear, or avoided looking at her at all, which suited her just fine. There was something about the rush of holding up an entire room full of people that made her feel invincible, and the way it made men cower away from her was such a refreshing change from the moon-eyed, overly polite treatment she was used to from the boys in town. 

Sweet Miss Annabelle Parker, isn't it such a shame about her mama, but golly if she isn't the prettiest thing you ever saw! 

Annabelle was perfectly happy to leave that behind for a few hours every time she and Butch rode out together. It was the one time that men didn't care that she was small and "delicate," didn't care that she was beautiful, didn't care that she was a She at all. When she wore a mask over her face and held a pistol in her hands, men who looked at her didn't see a woman to fawn over, they saw a nefarious robber to be feared and respected.

But this man, he was different. He saw the mask and saw the gun, and yet he stared at her as though he was dying of thirst and she was an oasis in the desert. Something about his gaze made her skin crawl, and she felt what was surely an irrational urge to shoot him in the face, if it would just stop him looking at her like that. 

"Hey partner, we need to get outta here!" Butch called, her voice shaking Annabelle free from her stupor. 

"You're the girl with the gun," the man on the floor said. 

He shifted, as though to get to his feet, and Annabelle moved on instinct. She sent a kick flying towards him, and he let out a howl of pain as the heel of her boot connected with his groin. She turned and ran, stumbling a bit as somehow the man grabbed hold of her shoe, but she shook it off and kept moving, grabbing Butch's hand as the two of them fled the scene and mounted their horses. 

"What were you doing, flirting with– I mean, talking with the hostages?" Butch asked, and Annabelle shook her head. 

"I don't know! That man, he said he'd seen me before, and called me the girl with the gun."

"There they are! Stop them!" a voice shouted, and Butch dug her spurs into her horse's sides. 

"GO, GO, GO, GO, GO!" she shouted as they took off in a gallop.

"It was so weird, what he was sayin'!" Annabelle called over the wind. "It just made me freeze, alright? I'm sorry!"

"It's fine, that don't matter now!" Butch said. "Just keep goin', and don't slow down for no one!" 

They rode as hard as they could, but when Annabelle glanced behind them she saw a pair of horses off in the distance, slowly gaining on them. 

"Shit, they're still following!" she exclaimed, doing her best to spur her horse forward with only one boot on. "They'll catch us at this rate!" 

"Split up!" Butch suggested. "You head east and take the long road home to your daddy's, I'll keep heading south and try to lose them in the hills!" 

"Alright..." Annabelle agreed. "Butch, I-"

"No time to talk now, GO!" Butch shouted, and Annabelle reluctantly steered her horse away.

As she rode, she tried to focus on the feeling of the wind in her face, the rhythm of her horse's gallop beneath her, the warmth of the late afternoon sun on her neck, anything to forget the look on the man from the bank's face.

It doesn't matter, she told herself. I won't ever go back to that city, and I won't ever see him again. It's fine.

But no matter what she told herself and no matter how fast she rode, the feeling of his gaze clung to her like sweat in the August heat, and she couldn't help but shudder.

— — — 

"You are the most beautiful thing that I've ever seen in this world." 

Annabelle rolled her eyes and looked down, picking at her fingernails. 

"Oh, every daddy has to say that to his daughter, it's like the fucking law or somethin'," she said.

"That may be true," her daddy said, and he reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. "That may be true. But it doesn't mean I don't mean it, sweetheart."

Annabelle looked up to see him smiling at her, his eyes soft and fond. She was struck suddenly with a memory, from nearly ten years ago now. She had tried to play with a group of boys in the schoolyard, but they'd refused to let her join unless she agreed to be a princess in a tower for them to rescue. She'd run home crying, and her daddy had swept her up in his arms and planted a kiss on her forehead, and told her that she could be anything she wanted to be and that any boy who didn't let her wasn't worth the mud on the bottom of her boots. 

Her daddy reached out and cupped her face, pulling her back to the present. 

"If Butch doesn't look at you and see how wonderful you are, if she hears your words and doesn't feel the same way? The rejection is hard...but at the end of the day, that does not have to define you. You are still my daughter, and I will always love you no matter what, but even that doesn't make you who you are. You decide that, always." 

Annabelle swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. 

"But I...I love her so much, Daddy. If she doesn't accept my feelings, then what am I supposed to do?" 

Her daddy sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. 

"I know, sweetheart, I know. When your mother left, I did not take it well at first. But eventually I realized that things change, you know? And change is okay. It's just another opportunity to find out more of who you are. But you'll never know that if you never open up to her." 

"You're right, Daddy," Annabelle said. She took a deep breath, and gave him a shaky smile. "I need to tell Butch how I feel." 

"Yes you do," her daddy said, and he raised an eyebrow. "And then you need to stop robbing banks, young lady!"

"Alright, alright!" Annabelle said, holding up her hands. "I'll go and tell her right now." 

"Good," her daddy said, and he smiled. "And remember, no matter what she says, I'll always be here for you."

"Thanks, Daddy," said Annabelle, and she couldn't help but smile back. 

— — — 

"You are the most beautiful thing in the entire world." 

Annabelle's breath caught in her throat, and a blush rose to her cheeks. 

"Butch, I-"

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to say that," Butch continued, her voice quivering slightly. "I don't know how I kept it inside for so long." 

"Me either," Annabelle whispered. "I tried to tell you how I felt so many times, but every time I just ended up saying let's rob a bank instead." 

Butch laughed, and reached down to tuck a curl behind Annabelle's ear. 

"I mean it, you know," she said, her voice softer. She stared into Annabelle's eyes, something akin to awe on her face. "You're so beautiful."

It was not the first time Annabelle had been told that she was lovely to look at. People had been saying some variation of "you're so pretty!" since she was thirteen years old, and she had learned to accept the words with a demure smile and a nod, carefully sidestepping any and all men who attempted to use the compliments as the start of something more. If she was honest with herself, she'd slowly come to dread any time someone drew attention to her appearance, even before today's horrible encounter with the deputy who'd tried to make her his...prize.  

But hearing those words come out of Butch's mouth was different. For the first time, Annabelle found herself wanting to hear them again. 

"Really?" she asked, smiling coyly. "What's so beautiful about me?"

"Everything," Butch said immediately. "Your eyes are bluer than the sky, your hair looks like it was spun from gold, your voice is like a choir of angels, when you smile it lights up the whole damn world, and every time I look at you I think I must have died and gone to heaven because I can't believe that I'm lucky enough to be alive in a world where I get to look at you whenever I want." 

Annabelle stared at Butch, her mouth open in shock, and Butch smirked at her. 

“Do ya want me to go on, darlin’?” she asked. “Like I said, I’ve wanted to say it for a long time. You are the most beautiful, most perfect woman in the world.” 

“Now hang on, that can’t be true,” Annabelle said, and Butch frowned. 

“Why not?” 

Annabelle smiled, and reached up, fiddling with the tie around Butch’s neck. 

“Because you’re the most perfect woman in the world,” she said. 

Butch’s face went bright red, and Annabelle couldn’t help but pull her down into a long, lingering kiss. 

[milk-is-stable]

Gay people can never say “ i love you” normally it is always some shit like “let’s rob a bank”

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a tale of three gifs

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Did I have other stuff I wanted to write today? Yes. Am I writing a scene trio based on this post instead? Also Yes.

wait. wait a minute. Hold on.

I smell something... I smell... yapping potential...........

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i found this photo of the boys and im screaming and crying

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(some) fanart (there’s more it’s just not done yet. i made the mistake of working on 3 things simultaneously)

the accessories they gave each other match the other’s colours :]

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catholic guilt butch vs henry telling them that the lord himself has sent him annabelle

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still busy thinking about butch. i think after a while, a year or so after the two of them skipped town and butch started stealthing as a Super Normal Cis Man in Super Normal Straight Love with his wife, she starts getting gender dysphoric in the other direction. she's never minded wearing men's clothes and she's never minded being mistaken as one, even reveled in it sometimes, but being forced to hide her femininity and the queer nature of her love for so long, it starts to wear on her. and one day maybe they've got a party to attend later that evening, to mingle and socialize and totally not gather intel on how to rob the local bank, and butch dreads going out into public as a man yet again, and she has a minor breakdown. and so after talking it out and getting at the root of her upset, annabelle offers to go as the husband today. she doesn't really get anything out of wearing men's clothes. but seeing butch put on a dress and gloves and her favourite six inch heels and finally smile at herself in the mirror again, is more than worth it

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ig we doin multiple chapters now. this was only supposed to be a oneshot, but this chapter quite literally came to me in a dream. so it exists now

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Alexa and Janusz my babiess <33

Drawing based on the final scene of this fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66108634

[milk-is-stable]

For the Family-Ch.1

Grandmother's Gift

Next Chapter

Summary: Maria Clarissio has a secret: the women in her family have always had a gift, and her grandmother made her promise to use that gift to protect their family, no matter the cost. And the cost is certainly high, as Maria's life is thrown into disarray again and again. Will she have the strength to do what needs to be done to keep her family together?

Word Count: 1,704

Read on AO3: HERE

CW: Minor Character Death

— — —

When Maria Clarissio is ten years old, her grandmother falls ill and summons her to her room. The late afternoon sun pokes through a gap in the curtains, casting a golden beam of light across the room and throwing the old woman's face into shadow as Maria cautiously approaches the bedside. 

"Ahhhh, Maria," she says, her voice raspy and weak from her latest coughing fit. "Come in, come and sit beside me. I have something to discuss with you." 

Maria pulls up a stool next to the bed and her grandmother looks her up and down, a calculating glint in her eye.

"What is it you want to tell me, ava?" Maria asks, and her grandmother takes her hand in hers.

"The women in our family have a gift, mia nipote," she says. "And it is time that I passed the knowledge of this on to you."

"A gift? What kind of gift?" 

Her grandmother reaches up with her other hand and taps Maria on the forehead, right between the eyes.

"The gift of Sight, child. We can see things other humans cannot see. Beyond this simple, material plane lies other realms: the realm of the mind, the realm of the spirit, the realm of the fate...we can see past the mortal veil and harness what lies beyond."

Maria frowns, and her grandmother chuckles. 

"I see in your eyes that you do not believe me. Perhaps you think me a rambling old fool, addled by age or by fever? No, mia nipote. Close your eyes, and I will show you." 

Maria obeys, and as her eyelids flutter shut she feels a warmth spread from their joined hands and through her entire body. Her grandmother does not speak aloud, but somehow Maria still hears her voice in her mind, as though she is speaking directly into her thoughts.

"Look, Maria. Look deep into the void and tell me what you see." 

At first there is nothing but darkness behind her eyes, but as she casts her mind outward, shapes begin to materialize, blurry and indistinct and yet instantly familiar to her. 

"I see...I see Mamma and Papá," Maria says, and she feels a pulse of positive emotion from her grandmother. 

"Good. And where are they? What are they doing?" 

Maria focuses, and the blurry figures become clearer, their forms more precise and their voices audible. 

"Papá is in his workshop," Maria says, tilting her head as she listens. "Mamma has just come in from the vineyard...she is teasing him for spending all his time cooped up inside...Papá is showing her the dolly that he is carving and she is smiling at it and he is smiling at her." 

Maria gasps and her eyes fly open, and her grandmother nods in approval. 

"You see now?" she says. "My mother had the Sight, and her mother before her, and her mother before her."

"And I have it now too?" asks Maria. 

"Sì, mia nipote. You know I have no daughters of my own, only sons. At first I thought that my piece of the power would die with me, but when your mother gave birth to you and my Geppetto placed you in my arms, I could sense that you also had the gift." 

"So it's like magic? What else does it do? Can it–"

"This is serious, Maria Clarissio!" her grandmother snaps, and her grip on Maria's hand turns vice-like as she glares at the girl. "This is not some frivolous thing to be used for cheap tricks or idle fancies. We live in a world full of darkness, and it is our responsibility to use this gift to protect the family from malevolent forces!" 

"Mi dispiace, ava," Maria says, tears welling in her eyes. "Mi dispiace...please let me go, you're hurting me!"

Her grandmother sighs and releases her grip, and Maria pulls her hand away, trembling slightly.

"Listen, Maria," her grandmother says. "Ordinarily, I would not tell you of this now; you are still far too young. I myself did not begin to train until I was sixteen. It takes a strong mind to hone this power and use it wisely. However, my time on this earth is drawing near its end, so the knowledge must be passed on now, before I am gone." 

"What do you mean?" Maria asks, her eyes widening. "Papá says that you will be better soon..."

Her grandmother chuckles, and shakes her head.

"Your papá is a good man, but he is also a fool," she says. "He thinks that by sparing you the truth, he is protecting you from the harshness of this world. But in doing so, he is leaving you unprepared for what is to come. Besides, he cannot see what I can see."

"What...what you can see?" Maria repeats in a shaky voice.

"The Sight comes differently to each of us," her grandmother says. "You can train to see more clearly, the way you can learn to make a better minestra di pane by practicing over and over, but a part of the power will always come naturally to you, the way some are born with a beautiful voice to sing. And the thing that I have always been able to see most clearly is time, Maria. I do not have long left with you, and so you must begin to develop your Sight now. Soon it will be your responsibility to protect the family." 

"Protect it from what, ava?" Maria asks, and her grandmother reaches forward and cups her face. 

Her hands are thin and bony, but there is still strength behind them, despite her age and illness. Maria can feel the years full of labor and hardship the woman has lived in the roughness of her skin as she strokes her cheek.

"From the world, mia nipote. Protect them from the world."

Every day from that moment onward, her grandmother trains her to use her Sight. Maria spends hours sitting beside her and clasping her hand, opening her mind to the power she carries within. She learns to let her awareness of the physical world fall away and to look with her mind's eye at the unseen world beyond the veil. Sometimes her grandmother guides her, but most of the time she acts only as an anchor and leaves Maria to navigate the visions alone. 

"I will not always be here to help you, mia nipote. You must learn to do this on your own, you understand?" 

It is on one of her unguided attempts that Maria first sees her. 

At first she cannot tell that it is a “her” at all, she merely senses a presence that she's never felt before. She focuses on the presence the way her grandmother has taught her, trying to see the shape of it, but the vision does not appear fully formed the way that people in the present or moments from the past do. It is more like the one time her grandmother showed her how to look into the future: vague flashes of sensation and vision all fighting for dominance in her mind's eye.  

The first thing she sees is just color, an impression in her mind of blues and silvers twisting and blending together. Then, out of that swirl of color and light she catches a glimpse of a delicate crown, a curled lock of hair, a gossamer wing like that of a dragonfly. She hears a laugh floating in the air, then feels a cool touch against her cheek. 

"Go back, little one. You are not ready." 

Maria gasps and opens her eyes, dropping her grandmother's hands. 

"Why did you stop?" her grandmother asks sharply.

Maria describes as best she can the unfamiliar presence, and her grandmother leans back against her pillows, stapling her fingers together. 

"Ahhh...you have seen into the realm of the fate. It could be that this is what your Sight is most inclined to show you."

"Why did the voice say I wasn't ready?" Maria asks. 

"The realm of the fate is not like that of the mind or the spirit," her grandmother says. "While most people do not realize it, humanity is still intrinsically tied to those realms. However, the realm of the fate is something else entirely, and what beings you see there have a power far greater than our own. They can be very dangerous, and must be dealt with delicately. You should not attempt to go there again for now."

"But if this is the realm my Sight is trying to show me–" 

"You need more practice, mia nipote. I will hear no more of this. Come now, close your eyes and tell me what your father is doing right now."

Maria sighs but obeys, closing her eyes and clearing her mind. 

"He is with Mamma in the vineyard," she says after a moment. "They are talking about..." she pauses, and feels her grandmother's grip on her hand tighten.

"Go on," the old woman says, and Maria swallows.

"They...they are talking about how I spend so much time here with you these days. Mamma is worried, she says that it is not good for me to be cooped up inside all day without any other children to play with, but Papá says...Papá says that you just want to spend time with me before the end." 

When Maria Clarissio is ten years old, her grandmother dies in the middle of the night and she is the first to know. She bolts awake with a headache so intense that for a moment she cannot even see, and then she feels the absence. A presence that had once been an ever-present cocoon around her is gone, forever out of her reach. She runs to her grandmother’s room, and even though she knows what she will find, her screams still wake the whole house. 

When Maria Clarissio is ten years old, her grandmother is buried under the fig tree at the edge of their vineyard. She clutches her papá's hand and stands at the freshly dug mound of earth, a tear sliding down her cheek as she reads the words on the gravestone. 

A benevolent soul in a malevolent world.

— — —

AN: This started as a concept for something post Grape Depression, but then I got way too into Maria's backstory and character and now it's a full character study of pre, during, AND post Grape Depression, whoops. I promise we'll get to the original point after a few chapters, haha.

Next Chapter

[milk-is-stable]

Hmmmm, the plot thickens! Low key wanted Margery to answer the phone, but since she’s unavailable I went Amanda. I feel like she is normal enough and rational enough to pull it off.

SFTH MURDER MYSTERY - PART 3 [JOHN JACOB POV]

part 2 << part 3 >> part 4 MASTERPOST

*CW for talk of death and child death, and talk of potential vomit

[WAYNE MANOR LOBBY - 17:01]

John Jacob couldn't control his breathing. He had just watched a child die, for fuck’s sake. The death itself was horrific too, John had to shuffle backwards slightly to avoid the wee child's blood from getting on his shoes.

Ethel stepped forward, through the sticky blood, and poked at the boy's face, “wakey wakey! You said you were going to perform for us! Well, come on!” She carried on to prod.

“He's dead, Ethel,” Rumpled informed her.

“Oh, is he? I hadn't realised,” she responded, with no hint of sarcasm, “that doesn't mean he can't perform.” She leaned into his ear, “WAKE UP!”

“I did think she was insane,” Tracy says, “but now I realise she's insane insane, and I've gotta respect it.”

John was too busy trying to not throw up to care for what they were saying. He barely registered being dragged to the next room.

[WAYNE MANOR DRAWING ROOM - 17:03]

He was unceremoniously plonked onto one of the many sofas in the huge room. Derek was placed next to him, also in the exact state as he was; pale and shivering, eyes glossed over.

“The three residents of the manor are dead,” Margaery began, “two died the same day ten days ago, and one just now. The kid didn't even know that the others had died.”

“But how? I mean, Wayne was the kid's adopted father, how did he not notice?” Tarquin questioned.

“He said something about Wayne disappearing often,” Rumpled recalled, “why would he need to do that?”

“Why would Batman feel the need to kill the man who helps the people of Glasgow with his money and power?” Margaery contemplated.

“Unless this ‘Batman’ didn't kill him,” Juliet shrugged, “and it was a setup?”

There were a few hums of contemplation.

Suddenly Esmeralda perked up, “the butler!”

“You think the butler killed Wayne?” Amanda asked, “that's quite.. cliché.”

“No, I don't,” Esmeralda began, “the tea, it was half drunk.”

Tracy perked an eyebrow up, “What's that got to do with anything?”

“He was drinking it, when he died, what if he didn't suffer from a sudden heart attack? What if he was poisoned?”

“Which would mean that he was murdered too,” Rumpled caught on quickly, “two of the three were killed.”

All this talk of murder made John rather queasy, and he had no idea why. He's seen death before, he's caused death before, so why was this different?

“Too much of a coincidence-” Margaery started.

“No such thing!” Ethel interrupted, “coincidences don't exist, it's just a silly word that people came up with to explain things.”

“The boy was murdered too, then,” Margaery gave Ethel a deathly glare, “but.. how? How could somebody have even-”

Brriiingg

The sudden noise made the entire group freeze.

Brriiingg

There was a telephone on a small table in the corner of the room.

Brriiingg

Whoever is ringing may have answers.

Brriiingg

But the question is, who dares answer?

The answer with the most votes will be the one to answer. The answer could have effects on the overall story.

*HINT: the person on the other end of the phone may have important answers - who is the best person to pry those answers out?

[milk-is-stable]

I of course had to immediately give our girls the classic film poster treatment, because they deserve to star in a sweeping musical love story. Big inspiration for this one came from the classic posters for Annie Get Your Gun (1946), though this isn't a direct recreation this time. The inspiration is below the cut as always!

[milk-is-stable]

After the confession and a few happy tears, Annabelle's dad called everyone to dinner. Mr Parker opted for an afternoon nap and the girls went for a walk. The sun was slowly nearing towards the horizon and a breeze was brushing gently through golden grass and Annabelle's hair. They were silent, lacking words to say. Annabelle intertwined her fingers with Butch's and turned towards her. She looked as Butch's dark hair was complimented with golden elegance of the setting sun and her gaze was stuck on Annabelle's face. She stood on her toes and closed the distance between their lips. The eventful day was coming to an end, promising a new beginning tomorrow.