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walkerwords · 4 years

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“By Firelight” Rick Grimes x F!Reader

Word Count: 2143

Summary: After escaping Terminus, you and the other survivors are on the run. You are a bit of a loner, but Rick has had his eye on your for a bit. Though, you’ve been pushing him away because you don’t think you deserve him. One night on watch, you finally take that jump in the light of the fire.

Warning: None

Song I Wrote To: “Murder Song (5,4,3,2,1)” by AURORA

Note: This is just a short thing I wrote. It is loosely based on the Halsey song: I HATE EVERYBODY and includes some of the lyrics. I am currently workin in Bowman’s sister part II so look out for that. Okay, good night. also if there are typos im sorry im like half awake right now.

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The group walked all day.

You kept ahead with Carl, who just walked with you and didn’t try to talk. Being on the run together for as long as you had, you didn’t need to have conversations, it was enough to just walk alongside each other as friends while keeping a look out for any threats.

You kept your weapon ready and whenever you came across the Dead, you would take them out. Abraham and Rosita were at the rear of the group, looking for stragglers that anyone missed and everyone in between was vigilant. It was a functioning system that had worked for the many months that you all had been traveling together.

As day turned to night, You started to head back to the main group. Carl had gone back a few hours before to check on Judith and give Rick a break so you were scouting solo. You retraced your steps and found them easily enough. Approaching Rick, you lowered your weapon.

“There’s an old hunter’s shack just up ahead. Plenty of space for us to set up camp outside and get Judith inside in case she starts crying,” you told him, glancing at the giggling baby that Maggie now held. Rick nodded, looking you over.

“And its (Y/L/N) approved?” he asked with a slick smile on his face. You rolled your eyes.

“Yes, plenty of vantage points and it backs up to a cliff not too far away so I can watch all the directions.”

“You should be watching the inside of your eyelids,” Rick said, giving you a look of concern. “You need sleep, (Y/N).”

“I slept last night,” you reminded him.

“You work too hard,” he said, gesturing to the bloody spear you held that was soaked in Walker blood.

“Yeah, well, someone has to,” you said and turned away to lead the group to the camp for the night.

You kept watch as Carl got Judith settled into the small shack, trying his best to keep her shielded from the elements. Around you, the rest of the group began setting up for the night. You caught Gabriel looking at you, but you ignored him. He knew you didn’t trust him. Hell, nobody really trusted the priest. There was just something about him that just pissed you off.

Daryl handled the firewood as always. He always came trudging back into camp with logs stacked high in his arms. They all had parts to play in their group and while you knew that Daryl was just as skilled in a fight as you were, he had been trying to take care of everyone lately. You figured it was to keep his mind off of Beth.

As the night went on, Tara and Glenn made sure you had something to eat. You ate your portion in silence at the edge of the camp, keeping your ears open for threats in the surrounding trees. There had been a time where you weren’t as sharp and that had led to multiple deaths on your part even before you hooked up with Rick’s group at the prison.

You hadn’t seen the five Walkers and they had killed six of your people, tore them to shreds before your eyes. It had been Rick who had killed the last Walker and tried to convince you it wasn’t your fault, inviting you back to the prison, but you knew the truth: every death was on you.

At least, that’s what it felt like.

You leaned against a nearby tree, your back to the North that had the cliff. Unless the Dead could suddenly fly, nothing would be coming from that direction. Your knives were sheathed to your thighs and your spear lay next to you at the ready. Pulling the tie from your hair, you let your locks loose and scratched at your scalp. You really needed to wash your hair, it was starting to smell worse than the Dead.

Sitting there, your mind started to wander, thinking of a conversation you had had with Noah the other day.

Since the incident with the Governor and then at Terminus, you had started to become more reckless. Noah was concerned about you and what you were doing with your life.

You took on too many Walkers at once, barged into buildings without making noise first, and even threw yourself on top of a Walker to save Maggie who clearly didn’t need the help. Whenever someone tried to talk to you about your actions, you pushed them away. Noah said that it seemed like you hated everybody.

In truth, you hated yourself, not everybody. Because if you truly hated everybody, why did you stay and why were you always looking to make sure you weren’t alone? Why were you always looking for Rick?

Rick had always been there, watching you, making sure you were okay. It was always him. You knew that he looked out for you, but lately the two of you had grown closer. It was obvious to everyone. Michonne has even asked you if the two of you had been together at some point. There was a part of you that wished that was true and based on some of the looks Rick gave you, it seemed he wanted it to.

However, you were worried about becoming distracted, no matter how much you wanted the man. And if your own emotions and self guilt were threatening to overcome you, that wouldn’t help anyone. You had to be strong for your people and breaking down over your own fucked up problems would not help anyone. So you kept your eyes on your people and made sure they were safe.

As the fire slowly died down and people around you were snoring peacefully, you listened to the world around you, reading every sound like a word in a book. Analyzing the sharp sounds of a nearby bird or the way a branch snapped in a quick breeze. You could identify a threat and a harmless natural occurrence faster than anybody else, except maybe Daryl. It was why nobody argued with you when you kept watch.

A sound to your right had your hand sliding to your thigh, but you let it drop when you realized who was approaching. Rick moved through the dark, nearly invisible, but his boots was what gave him away. As well as his smell which was a mixture of dirt, blood, and pine needles. He didn’t say anything as he sat down next to you, keeping his eyes forward. His fingers fiddled with a few pieces of dry grass.

“Judith okay?” You asked quietly in the darkness. Rick turned to look at you as his hands stilled.

“She’s fine,” Rick said. “Carl is with her, Glenn and Maggie too.”

“That’s good,” you said, letting out a breath.

After a few more minutes of silence, Rick slowly moved his hand to where you had a grip on one of your weapons. You hadn’t even realized you had been holding onto it that tight.

Without a word, he gently loosened your fingers around the blade’s handle and let your hand fall to the ground. His hand lay next to yours, not wanting to intrude any further, but you did something that surprised him. You slowly laced your fingers between his, feeling the warmth of his palm in yours.

Rick didn’t move or even question it, he just sat there, breathing in the moment. You sighed, letting your head fall back against the rough bark of the tree. Slowly, your thumb began rubbing small circles on the back of Rick’s hand. You could hear his breathing start to match yours as if you were in tandem. It was peaceful.

“What’s wrong?” he asked after a moment of silence.

“Nothing,” you whispered, keeping you eyes on the dying embers before you.

“You may not think I notice when you’re upset, but I do. I notice a lot more than you think.” Rick shuffled slightly closer, your shoulders now touching and your hand resting on his thigh. The tears came back at his words and he waited for you to speak.

“I’m broken, Rick,” you began. He didn’t correct you or disagree, he just listened while holding your hand. “I’ve been keeping up this facade that I don’t care about anything and that I hate everyone around me, but it’s not me. It’s not true. I just can’t… I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?” he asked gently. You looked at him as the tears flowed down your face.

“Be alone.”

“Who says you have to be?” he asked. “Why do you think that you need to be alone in all of this?”

“It’s easier,” you admitted.

“No, it’s not,” he whispered. “Blocking people out and going off your own is the opposite of easy. We need people, especially now. We need each other, (Y/N), We need you,” he paused and tightened his grip on your hand. “I need you.”

You looked at him through your tears, tilting your head as you always did when you were thinking. “Why?” you whispered. He knew what you were asking without having you explain.

“Because you smell of lavender and you like bad country music and hate when people walk slow,” he said with a small smile. “Because you call me out on my bullshit and you keep us safe. (Y/N), you are not broken, you’re the one thing that is keeping us together, keeping me together. You say you hate everybody, but maybe you don’t. Maybe you just haven’t found the right somebody.” Rick let his words sink in. He watched your face the best he could in the low light of the moon. You were thinking over everything he said and he was glad that you weren’t running.

Then, you took back your hand. Rick sighed, figuring you were going to tell him to stay out of you business and stalk off, but that wasn’t what you did at all.

Taking the hand that was holding his, you moved it to the side of his face. The beard on his chin and cheeks scratched at your palms as you placed your other hand on his other cheek. You searched his blue eyes, looking for anything that resembled a lie, but you couldn’t see one.

“I’m always trying to make a memory out of a feeling,” you whispered.

“What do you feel right now?” he asked, very aware that your faces were moving closer.

“Not alone,” you said after a moment of silence. Rick rested his forehead against yours, feeling your breath against his face.

“Then I hope you remember this,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Rick placed his hands around your waist, pulling you closer and waited for you to push him away. When you didn’t, he nudged your chin up with his own and pressed his nose against yours. You met him the rest of the way and pressed your lips against his.

He kissed you in a slow but firm rhythm. Your hands threaded into his soft hair and his moved to cup the back of your neck and the small of your back to pull you even closer.

You sighed into his mouth and he relished in the feeling when your tongues met and you leaned into him. It wasn’t rushed or heated like the other times you had kissed men in your travels. You didn’t want it to be. You felt every firm touch of his fingers and the softness of his lips as he kissed you tenderly. There was no raging heat between you, just a loving warmth that surrounded you both.

You pulled back to catch your breath, looking at him and he smiled. You matched his expression easily. He whispered something that sounded like your name and you pulled him back to you. Your kisses started to get more languid as you held onto each other. Rick’s hands smoothed down your back and ran along your scalp, creating shudders from you as you held onto him.

Seeing as you were out in the open and on watch, you didn’t take it further as much as you both wanted to. As your fatigue caught up to you, Rick adjusted his position, leaning back against the tree with his gun at the ready and maneuvered you so you lay against his chest. “Sleep, (Y/N),” he said, “I’ll keep watch.”

For the first time in a long time, you nodded and did as he said. You lay your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. You let out a deep breath and as you drifted off to sleep, his words from earlier echoed in her head. You thought you hated everybody, but hell, maybe you didn’t after all.

Note: this is strictly a one-shot. I dont see many rick x read stories and I love rick grimes so fucking much. If you know any good ones, please send them to me. Im desperate.

#the walking dead imagines #the walking dead #the walking dead imagine #rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #reader insert #twd #twd imagines #twd season 5 #fluff #twd imagine

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irishmacguirefucker · 4 years

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Saved

Or alternatively; Javier realizes he really hopes all his friends go to the ranch to be happy while procrastinating his own decision

There were a lot of ways Javier Escuella thought his life would turn out after he fled Mexico.

Having his own third-floor bedroom in a massive, beautiful house and living an almost domestic life around former gang members turned family was not one of them.

He had already considered himself saved. He was starving and without a thing to his name when Dutch took him in. For years having a bedroll, a guitar and a gang to give his loyalty was home enough for him.

So when Dutch announced to them all that they would be giving up the gang life for some ranch all the way back in New Austin... He was conflicted, that's to say the least.

He didn't disagree with the idea per se, it’s just a lot to swallow when you’ve been a revolutionary, a bounty hunter and a gang member. Never a rancher.

But he would follow Dutch. He would always be loyal to Dutch no matter what.

The speech was… odd. Dutch didn’t speak very long. Something nobody was used to. And then Hosea stood to speak to them all, that's something they rarely saw.

Dutch’s speech was impassioned and compelling as they always are but it was still jarring. Dutch Van der Linde, gang leader for life, the man who caught him trying to steal chickens from some other ranch was telling them that they should give up their life of crime and danger to become those ranchers.

He even went as far as to admit that the age of gangs was no more and that if they continued on as they were they would all go down in gunfire.

Javier couldn't help but think that was always the plan.

If the speech had come from anyone else it would have sounded like he was admitting defeat, but Dutch Van der Linde made it sound like an opportunity. A hopeful prospect of good money and comfortable lives.

And then Dutch stepped down and Hosea stepped up.

Hosea's speech was less focused on convincing people through faith and more on telling people what they would get.

He told them just how massive the house was, 11 bedrooms and other rooms that could be converted for their best use. Acres of land to have livestock, run the horses, and just to have as their own. Cabins that they would build after they got there so they wouldn't be cramped. He said it as if they could possibly be cramped in a house bigger than any of their camps.

And in the end, he told them just how he got the property. Javier hadn't known Bessie, she died before Dutch found him. Hosea was still grieving then, Javier could tell even though he barely knew Hosea at the time. He figures he must have missed the drunken year Dutch and Arthur spoke of but not by a lot, maybe 2 or 3 years at most.

Even so Hosea taught Javier English. Just as much as Dutch contributed to that cause, Hosea did too. Sometimes he felt a bit like a project for the two men but Hosea always assured him that it was an honor to have him join their gang and their family, and family help each other out.

Listening to Hosea speak of his late wife's childhood home with such excitement, was a little bewildering to everyone in camp. Hosea always had a sort of melancholy sort of happiness when he spoke of Bessie but this time around he just seemed so excited.

The hope in his eyes turned back the clock. He almost looked younger, standing up in front of everyone and laying out this opportunity for them.

When Javier said he would follow Dutch anywhere... He meant it. He would go with them to this ranch, he would have even if Dutch hardly told them anything. Not that he was naïve, he just had a lot of trust in Dutch’s ideas and they had hardly ever led him astray in the past.

However because he is not naïve he was skeptical. He knows many of the members of this gang were likely feeling the same way; former orphans, rejects, runaways, etc. Many of them had not had the warmth of a real home in a long time, some never had it at all.

But like him: they had faith in Dutch and trust in Hosea. So they would follow. He would follow. To a brand new life.

Javier remained skeptical. The night after the speech held a dangerous tension around camp. Everyone had either gone to their beds or into the forest to think long and hard about this decision, or was sitting around the campfire in dead silence.

Javier was near the campfire. Mostly because that is where his bedroll is but also because he had much to think about and didn’t want to do it alone. Around the campfire sat Arthur, Charles, Lenny, Kieran, Mary-beth and Tilly.

The silence was heavy, each of them in their own heads. Mary-Beth and Tilly were practically on top of each other with the way they sat. Javier supposed they found comfort in each other.

Glancing at the young women, he thought they should go to the Ranch. They're so young and so deserving of a good home. They kept glancing at each other looking rather conflicted. Javier hoped they chose to go.

As he moved down the line of people he passively thought he must be avoiding his own thoughts on the idea by examining his friends around the fire. He couldn’t bring himself to do it just yet.

Next is Kieran. Their newest member. Not that many of them really considered him a member yet. The offer had been extended to him, Javier had watched Arthur place a heavy hand on the smaller man's shoulder and say something too low for Javier to hear. Judging by the rare smile that broke out on Kieran’s face, he would be going with them as well.

Javier did not interact with Kieran much. As he often did with everyone, he watched the man from afar, examined him and made opinions on him that he would mostly keep to himself. He believed that Kieran was mostly telling the truth about the O’Driscoll situation. The boy clearly had no loyalty to the other gang and earlier spoke of Colm O’Driscoll quite venomously to Mary-Beth, Sean and Arthur in the dark of the night.

Javier is an incredibly good judge of character. Spending months being unable to understand the people speaking around you makes you exceptional at reading people through their actions. Kieran is a kind boy, his involvement with the O’Driscolls’ was an unfortunately unavoidable action that had brought him to the Van Der Linde’s.

Javier thought Duffy should go to the ranch. He took incredible care of the horses. Boaz was a rambunctious horse, and Javier had never seen someone outside himself handle her so well. He saved Arthur back in Horseshoe Valley, something a true bastard would have just used as an opportunity to run. And he was humorously lovesick over Mary-Beth, that much was clear to everyone. While Javier was sure that girl could have any man she wanted it looked like she liked him back. He couldn't help but feel happy for the both of them, they would enjoy ranch life and have a safe home for their blossoming romance.

Though Javier could only imagine the lineup of torturers he'd have should he break her heart. Javier would certainly be in that line, somewhere behind Arthur and Susan probably.

The next person here was Lenny. Another young member who had experienced so much pain. Javier had heard the boys backstory. He felt for that 15-year-old boy who watched his father beaten to death, made his first kill and had to leave behind his remaining parents so he wouldn't be hung for his crimes. Javier knew the pain of leaving behind family, he couldn't help but sympathize.

Lenny deserved to live on that ranch. He deserved to have the luxury that was earned by him, and his family through pain and suffering. 19 years old is so young, he had a whole life of comfort ahead of him should he go.

Finally, he observed Charles and Arthur, only to find them looking at him the way he had been looking at the others. Javier knew that on some level that the two men had already known before that night. They would be going, that much was clear. He was happy for them, his friends deserved to settle down and live in comfort.

Lenny’s voice speaking up nearly made him jump. “I think that I’m gonna go. I...I think my Ma and Pa would want me to. And if Hosea and Dutch say it’ll be good...I think it’ll be great.”

Javier smiled. Slowly he watched as Mary Beth and Tilly squeezed their joined hands and agree with the dark-skinned boy. Then Mary-Beth slid a hand to her side and intertwined her fingers with Kierans, just barely in Javier's sight. It pays to be so observant he thinks. Everyone around the fire all spoke up, agreeing and choosing to go and he was happy for them. And then suddenly eyes were on him and he was forced to face his own thoughts.

He could say what immediately comes to mind, he would stay loyal to Dutch. But that wasn’t what they were looking for. He couldn’t help but wonder if it’s what he really deserves. All this time spent thinking about how his friends deserve to go and live happily, but what does he deserve? He who left his family behind, who put them in danger by killing a powerful man over a woman. Did he deserve the same home as them?

His mother is dead, that he knows. He hopes his sister was happy with her husband, in a home with a family. He fought in Mexico for his village to earn what they deserved, that's something he was still proud of. But then he left. What did that make him? A deserter? A coward?

He was pulled out of his self deprecating thoughts when Arthur spoke up. “You should come with us, Javier. An’ not just for Dutch. It… It’s gonna be real nice there, I think you’ll be real happy.”

Then Charles. “I know we haven't known each other for long but after hearing your story, you deserve to come to New Austin, more than some of us. Definitely more than Uncle.”

That pulled a few laughs from the group before he continued. “You owe Dutch your life, but a lot more people owe you theirs.”

The campfire was silent once more but now it was anticipating. Waiting to see what the ex-revolutionary would say.

“I’ll go. I’ll follow Dutch anywhere...this gang is the only family I have left and I won't abandon them like I did my mother and my sister back in Nuevo Paraíso.”

Nobody responded, but they all seemed to be almost buzzing. This new prospect was going to be amazing, and they were all happy to see members of the gang agreeing to join on the adventure.

“Javier...Would you play a song for us? I just can't stand this silence no more.” Tilly said. Everyone seemed to agree, the tension was no more. Now they needed to wind down.

Javier smiled and reached back for his guitar. “Why not Hermana, what can I play for you?”

She seemed to think on it for a minute before leaning in to Mary-Beth’s shoulder. “Could you play one of your songs? One of them soft Spanish ones?”

Mary Beth jumped in. “Oh yes, please? They sound so nice, even if I don't understand a word.”

It was a kind request of them, to sing a song of his former home after a long deliberation over his new one. As he chose the song he would sing, he couldn’t help but feel incredibly happy that he would spend the rest of his days singing for his new family.

Maybe one day he would send a letter to his sister, try and find out how she is doing without him. But for now, he would sit around the fire and he would sing for his closest friends, and dream of their upcoming new life with them in peace.

#Javier Escuella #rdr2 #rdr2 ranch au #ranch au #au #writing #headcanons #my au #requested #mary-beth #tilly jackson #kieran duffy #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #charles smith #arthur morgan #i really hope this is ok #i dont know javier as a character very well

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brooklynislandgirl · 3 years

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@tangleweave {{xx}}

Over the years since the apartment went from a home full of love and joy when Andy’s rescue-wing were stationed here in Brooklyn at Floyd Bennett Field to the expanse of emptiness that Stephen can see it is now; a museum of relics to the life Beth doesn’t live any more, she’s grown into it like a shell. Once through its doors, it is her fairy-tale tower where nothing is supposed to be able to touch her. Where she can lick her proverbial wounds that never seem to close fully on their own. Where she can stay frozen in stasis, wandering around inured to dreams that have all gone dark. And while she was far from where she believed she’d be by now, while she wasn’t even merely content, it was enough. She was doing good works. She was holding to the vow of first doing no harm. An ordinary life with ordinary things in them. Cutting herself off from almost everything she’d lost.

She doesn’t need to look around. She can see the massive loft apartment in her mind’s eye with an intimacy that most people never achieve. She should have taken down the guitars in their acrylic cases. She should have packed up the photographs. The ones showing what had been. None of them having been taken since after the funeral. She should have put her brother’s massive vinyl record collection into crates and from there into storage. They take up more room on the exposed brick than her various plants and surfboards do. Try as much as she might, she just can’t bring herself to do it. It might mean that she was ready to move on, and that is far from the truth. She holds onto things, the fragmented, the broken, the lost. With that same stalwart dedication, she tries to hold onto herself.

Dinner had begun half an hour before, precisely at 7:30 pm, just as it did every Sunday. Two courses down, two more to go. Not a single word had broken the terse silence at the large mahogany table where the Admiral sat at the head in his customary place and she’d been seated three feet away and to his right. She did not cringe a single time as forks and knives moved across porcelain dishes. The muscle in his jaw worked as he chewed and it felt like wordless castigation somehow even if she couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. One hand lay limply in her lap, the other holds her fork poised over a mix of greens, but she has no appetite. All she really wants to do is drain her wine glass, daub at her lips with her linen napkin and beg to be excused. Just as she did every Sunday. And like all the rest of these interminable repasts, she isn’t able to effect her escape. The Admiral sets down his silverware ~actual silver, brought over from County Antrim~ and washes down his salade Niscois with chilled ice water. He reaches up and smooths down his carefully groomed moustache. Then he fixes her with his steely gaze, the same green eyes that her brother had had, the ones that rest in her own face, only his lack even the remotest speck of warmth. “You received your letter for your summer rotation. Were you going to tell me about it, Elizabeth, or was I supposed to find out when the papers reported on it?” Both hands are in her lap now, fingers twisted together, nails biting half-moon shapes into her palms. “No, Sir. I’m sorry, sir.” “I don’t want your apology, I want to know who they paired you with. I put in a word with Nicodemus West, on your behalf. He’s not in our orbit, but he’s patient enough and you’d be lucky to have him.” Her stomach becomes encased with ice. She’s never going to live this down in his eyes. Personal recommendation notwithstanding… “Thank you, sir. I’ve been...I've been assigned to Doctor Strange, actually.”

She might as well have told the Admiral that she’d committed war crimes while setting the American flag on fire. Oh how he’d raged at her. He called the man arrogant, an egotist of the first water, a New Money libertine that would only stain her already precarious reputation. He demanded that she speak to the board president or that he would make the call for her. Beth had then set her napkin aside and asked sincerely and politely if she might powder her nose. The Admiral understood what she meant, but couldn’t help himself with a parting shot saying that her complexion did look mottled. Once the door closed behind her, she immediately sat on the only space available, opened her purse and bypassed her compact completely. Instead, she grabbed her phone and fired off two very discreet emails. One to the rotation administrator accepting her three month work along, and the second to Stephen himself, thanking him for the opportunity, that she looked forward to working under his supervision. That would be the first of many personal emails between them. The first time she’d directly fought for Stephen, or more correctly, the first time she realised it. Beth had always had a competitive streak a mile wide. And with a class size of over six hundred students that year, she might have been one of the youngest students but by no means the only talented one. But the moment she’d stepped into the lecture hall, precisely three minutes and forty two seconds late, illuminated by the bright glow of the smart board because the only place to sit was at the very front row.

His stare could have impaled a rogue comet, and the lines around his mouth felt like chasms ready to swallow her whole. “Miss Riley, how very fortunate we are to be graced with your presence. I’m going to assume for the sake of argument that you felt your coffee order was much more important than this class, because you already know all there is to know about this particular case.”

When the earth was not kind enough to open up beneath her feet and swallow her before she’d had to admit her watch had stopped, she managed to glance at the words on the screen: Partially Thrombosed Giant Posterior Inferior Cerebellar Artery Aneurysm Mimicking A Fourth Ventricular Tumour. She fixed a demure smile to her lips and returned her gaze to meet his unflinchingly. “Depends, Doctor, on what you mean by that exactly. Posterior circulation aneurysms are less common compared to the anterior circulation aneurysm. Dissection distal Posterior Inferior Cerebellar Artery, better known as PICA, aneurysm is almost unheard of. In this case report, the surgeon assigned to this patient manages to diagnose her within six minutes of being presented to him. The woman had been investigated for gastritis, had undergone CT of the chest, abdomen, and pelvis because of reported symptoms and treated with anti-emetics before being discharged. She’d been treated and streeted three times over the course of ten months. Course of treatment prescribed for her by the diagnosing surgeon was for her to undergo endovascular drainage and removal of the Distal PICA aneurysm, and she made full recovery with resolution of symptoms.” The corner of his mouth twitched. Mirrored against her own. Beth happened to know this case specifically as he’d been the diagnosing physician. It had been his first year of residency on staff, and he’d saved a life that even his attendings would have squandered with their myopic views. She never admitted afterwards that he’d terrified her in those first few moments, even that one time they’d ended up doing sake bombs at Kura’s on St Mark’s Place, having successfully sneaked out of what happened to be the most boring retirement dinner the department had ever perpetrated. Nor had she ever forgotten the feel of his arm around her waist or the scent of his pressed silk shirt and the heat radiating off of him when he wrapped her in one side of his coat on the way back to his car because neither one had remembered to bring an umbrella. If she had to choose a moment when the first seed had been planted, when it had taken root and bloomed into the mess that came after, she would have had to say that was it. She would have been hard pressed to say what *it* even was.

Not that it ever mattered, it was all water under a very troubled bridge, and the paths of their destinies had been markedly different. That they entwined now after so long wasn’t something she could overlook but she didn’t want to because then she would then have to step beyond the shelter of ignorance and things would go on change.

Again.

Beth doesn’t hear him move. Everything is too loud. The water in the sink sounds like the rush of Manoa Falls, a place she hasn’t been for almost fifteen years but that she knows like the back of her own hand. The clock ticks with each beat of her heart, the hum of the refrigerator sounds like a roar, the traffic outside, the neighbours two floors down and their television. Her own pulse by itself is enough to deafen her and she can feel it starting to throb behind her eyes. But despite that, she can feel him. Each step, each compact flex of muscle, each breath comes ahead of his proximity and heralds the fact that he comes to a halt behind her and a little to her side. It’s everything she can do to hold back the feelings running amok through her but never once does she even think of flinching, not even when those fingertips graze her skin and it feels like sparks from flint and steel. Something stirs unnoticeably within her and greets the contact with a wave of slow vital energy almost as warm as faint morning sunlight. The same energy that not only sustains her plants but encourages them to thrive and grow. The same energy that often envelopes patients in her care and fosters quicker, greater healing even if she does nothing else but simply sit with them and converse. Beth isn’t even aware of it, it’s simply an act of being.

What she does know, however, is that she’s never really been able to keep even an ounce of what she feels out of her eyes and when he caresses her cheek and tilts her jaw, she has to close them. There’s too much of her there. Raw. Naked in a way that even if she stripped down to her skin she couldn’t be as exposed. And still the idea of shying away from him never occurs to Beth. If anything she has to stop herself from sighing. From turning and pressing all of herself against him, her face would come to the midpoint of his chest, right where his heart ought to be. If she did her hands would follow and bunch in the back of his shirt. Trembling in an embrace like that she would be able to hold onto exactly nothing and he doesn’t need or want those emotions, he’d said so himself in dozens of ways.

Just as skilfully as he wields a scalpel, he cuts through her with a few mumbled words ~Luke, 4: 23~ and her lashes flutter, her mouth starts to move but the words flee in the light of his gaze. Her nostrils flare as she tries to take a breath, as she tries to beat back the fires of miserable embarrassment like a seasoned smoke-jumper that she isn’t. The colour and sudden heat that floods her face is an answer in and of itself, perhaps a less than eloquent tale that demands explanation for which she has very little. But she sees the dawning of that understanding creep over him in shadow. She’s only distantly surprised that it’s taken him this long to put it all together, to examine it critically but with a professional detachment that was the one thing she had never been able to learn from him, try as hard as she might. And maybe it’s a glitch of language that his next words strike as hard as they do deep. That strangles something soft inside her and lets it lie broken between them.

She knows now, for certain, that he thinks her irrevocably damaged.

Five small, gentle fingers come up to his arms and rest lightly against his forearm where most of the damage resides. Beyond nerves and bones nearly ground to powder, beyond poorly sequestered tension running through them both, that touch begs his patience. It is also necessary to find some kind of stability that she doesn’t feel any more. She looks down, looks away.

“F-for what is worth,” she begins.

“Don’t laugh, it was highly traumatising for myself *and* the cat!” She does laugh though and covers her mouth to do so, fingers curling against her lips, little crinkles appearing at the corners of her nose where they meet her eyes. Stephen himself is so animated in the telling of the story that he shimmers in front of her like a heat haze rising up off summer-kissed pavement, and everything around them ~other patrons, the Samoan restaurant that’s closest to home-cooked food as she can find in all of New York, the ridiculously large ‘tiki’ cocktail for two they mistakenly ordered~ blurs out of clarity from her mind’s eye.

“Ho, Doctah, mebbe broke da….” she stops. “I mean to say, maybe we should put the breaks on-” “Why do you do that?” “Sir?” That slips out, unbidden. “When you’re relaxed, you have a distinctive Polynesian accent and then all of a sudden you clam up. You change it. I want to know why.” “It’s...it’s nothing.” She brushes him off and plucks a slice of pineapple from the rim of the fishbowl-sized glass. Reaches across the small space and teases his lips with it. His teeth flash as he snaps at it, gives it a couple chews before shunting it over to the side of his mouth. “You will answer me some day.”

She winks. “If can, can. If no can….HOT WINGS!” The waiter brings their pupu platter at just the right time.~

“It wasn’t..it was never…Other girls…it didn’t matter what you had to say, what you had to teach us. They wanted your body. I...I wanted your respect. I wanted you to see how much I learned from you. How much I admired and maybe even envied your talent. Your skill. Your brilliance. I lived for every moment we shared and with you...this.. This empty place in me didn’t feel so lonely. I never felt like I had to hold myself back, never that I was too weird. I...I thought you just understood because we were so much alike.” There was nothing that salt water couldn’t cure; tears, sweat, ocean tides. And for Beth, standing there so close to him, she can’t help herself and the gathered wet in her eyes start to slide down her face unchecked. “And then… then… when I realised that I’d messed up so hard…”

Beth feels her heart misfire in her chest, the off-beat a painful thing. “All I wanted to do was to protect you. And by leaving they couldn’t accuse you of anything. Even if you had no fault in what amounts to a stupidly impossible fantasy that, at the time, I thought was harmless. Only, it wasn’t. It was...stupid. It was… It was a mistake but one I couldn’t really take back, you know?” She laughs a little even if her face doesn’t hold any levity and the sound is a little too brittle. Despite all of her admittedly ignorant actions, she hadn’t even managed to reach completion. While she could visualise his long, slender fingers and imagine the calloused warmth of them trailing down her skin, the sensations were not the same. Not how she remembered it when he was fixing the gash in her chin and had at one point held her steady with his thumb all but caressing her lower lip. Or when he’d physically take hold of her hands to manoeuvre them in just the right way with tools that demanded unfathomable precision because one day a single atom one way or the other would make the difference between saving a patient or letting them die on the table. She couldn’t reproduce the warmth of his breath in her ear. The lean of his lithe frame bent over hers over a pool table where he taught her that not every game was eight-ball, the curve of his hand making a bridge with his much longer reach. The easy comfort of his arm around her waist and a slow shuffling waltz on a gala dance floor, the whole time listening to his diatribes about West that were so scathing she might have earned second-hand burns from them, and trying not to laugh. Her imaginary Stephen could never live up to the living, breathing man.

She risks looking up at him, afraid to see what might be written on his face.

“But no one can turn back time, an’ certainly not me. And I’m sorry...so sorry...that I left the way I did, with no explanation even if you deserved one. But at the time I couldn’t stand the idea of you ever being disappointed in me. Anyone else, Stephen, but not you. Never you.”

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sulietsexual · 5 years

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So, I finally saw the new Little Women on the weekend, and I have to say, I was ... really underwhelmed, especially given the extreme over-hype which has surrounded this film for months.

Little Women is my favourite novel of all time and, yes, I am an avid fan of the 1994 movie. The book always fills me with warmth and emotion and I love the March girls so much, each of them in their own way. I went into this film with muted expectations, so I wasn’t disappointed per se but it definitely left me wanting more.

Let me start with the positives; the film definitely has a certain charm to it. I appreciated that they tried to include a lot of dialogue from the novel. The cinematography was very pretty in places. And I genuinely loved the actresses who portrayed the March sisters. Saoirse Ronan’s Jo was vivacious and fun and she imbued the character with Jo’s clumsiness, lack of propriety (a little too much sometimes, which I will talk about later) and overall likability. I don’t know why everyone’s complaining about Emma Watson, as I found her Meg to be lovely. I thought she perfectly captured Meg’s softness and her gentle stoicism, although I could have done with a little more fire to her character, people tend to forget that Meg has a bit of a feisty side. Florence Pugh was great as older Amy, and bless her, she tried her hardest as young Amy, but I still maintain that Younger Amy needs to be played by a younger actress, otherwise she comes across as far too bitchy, as opposed to just bratty. Eliza Scanlan was fine as Beth, but I wish they’d given her more to do (more on this later).

As for the rest of the casting ... I was a bit underwhelmed. I was excited for Laura Dern as Marmee, but she disappointed me, which probably has more to do with the writing of the character. She felt far too modern and very under-developed. Timothee Chalamet (sp?) as Laurie was a total miscast, he was far too melancholy and kind of creepy? Laurie is supposed to be a cheeky and vivacious character, with the occasional fits of melancholy, not the other way around. Meryl Streep was wasted as Aunt March, but I knew she would be, given what a minor character Aunt March actually is in the book. None of the other actors made much of an impression on me, tbh.

Unfortunately, for me, the negatives are greater than the positives and one of the biggest complaints I have about this film is that it really seemed to lack soul and heart. Little Women is a novel which makes me cry every time I read it and I didn’t shed a single tear during this film. Scenes which I love from the novel left me cold during the film.

I appreciated that the film tried to include events from the novel which often aren’t portrayed onscreen, such as Meg buying the expensive silk knowing she couldn’t afford it, Beth and Mr Lawrence’s friendship, Amy telling Laurie off for his indolent ways and Marmee’s speech to Jo about how she is angry every day. But a combination of rushed dialogue, the weird back-and-forth jumps between past and present and a script which didn’t slow down to appreciate the emotions of the scenes meant that many of these scenes felt empty, as if everyone was simply going through the motions. The film is accurate to the book and captures many of the events, but it misses so many emotional beats. I want any adaptation of Little Women to fill me with warmth and emotion and this film just ... didn’t. A particularly egregious example is the fact that this movie didn’t film Beth’s death scene, opting instead to have Jo wake up to an empty bed, in a scene which is obviously supposed to mirror the previous scene and drive home how Jo “couldn’t save” Beth this time around, but all it does is undermine the emotion of Beth passing and the grief her family - particularly Jo - feel over watching her pass away.

And while we’re on the subject of Beth, can we talk about what a non-character she was? I know that Beth is the least developed of the sisters in the novel, and as such, adaptations sometimes tend to overlook her, but she was barely a character in this film. Even her illness - arguably the biggest component of her characterisation and arc - was overlooked and under-played. I didn’t feel any fear or trepidation for her when she first fell ill, and her entire sickness was so rushed and downplayed. Eliza Scanlan is an incredibly talented actress (just watch Sharp Objects for proof of this) and yet they gave her so little to do.

Laurie too became almost a non-character, and I feel that this was a result of the constant time jumps. There was no room for him to develop or grow and many of his Big Moments were omitted from the film (such as him sending for Mrs March when Beth is ill, the way he swears to keep their secrets and provides the PO Box for them, going to London to make himself worthy of Amy). Also that disgusting scene from the New Year’s Eve ball when he turns up half-dressed, drunk and with two women hanging off his arms; no where in the novel would Theodore Lawrence ever behave like that, and the fact that this scene was our second introduction to the character soured his entire characterisation. Laurie was such a pale shade of what he is in the novels, and because of this, his relationships with all the sisters is severely undermined and downplayed. You certainly won’t ship Jo/Laurie from this movie, but nor will you feel much semblance of friendship between the two, despite the fact that they’re such kindred spirits in the novel. He shares more scenes with Amy, but they’re devoid of feeling or emotion (and chemistry) and so his eventual marriage to her falls flat.

I think one of the reasons for Laurie’s lack of characterisation is the weird time jumps. I know that a lot of critics are praising this technique, but I hated it. For one, it was often confusing as to whether we were in the past or the present, given how quickly the scenes jumped between the two. Secondly, this style of storytelling severely undermined characterisation and character development, and it juxtaposed scenes in a very weird fashion, negating the original point of the scenes and the lessons the girls were supposed to learn from them. For example, Meg’s misbehaviour at the Moffats being directly juxtaposed with the scene in which she confesses to John that she bought the expensive silk makes Meg look like she hasn’t grown or changed in five years. We missed the beautiful scene where she confesses her “sins” to Marmee and the growth which came from that experience, and instead jumped straight into what looked like an unhappy marriage (and why in god’s name were we introduced to Meg and John’s marriage before they had even spoken to each other in the past? Once again, the development of this relationship was undermined by the fact that we saw their courtship in reverse - we didn’t get the impact of Meg promising to love John despite his poverty only to betray him by buying the expensive silk). And this is just one of many examples of this technique robbing us of the emotion of the scenes.

The film felt so rushed at times and because of this, it has a very modern feel to it which I really didn’t like. If you want to “modernize” the story, fine, but do so by placing it in a modern setting. Having a period setting while using modern dialogue and a modern sense of propriety didn’t work. A scene of Jo hiking her skirts up to her knees with her bloomers on display while in public was awful, as was the scene where she unabashedly started to strip down while Laurie was in the room, and both scenes just undermined the period setting and were extremely jarring. Again, because the film was so rushed and the dialogue so quick and rapid-fire, we lost the emotional impact of many scenes. Period pieces need to be slow, you need time to savour the dialogue and actions, to feel the emotions and take time to appreciate the depth of the events and relationships.

And speaking of relationships, I cannot get over how much this filmed missed the mark when it came to the sisters’ relationships. Such a huge part of the appeal of Little Women is the bonds between the sisters and this film just blew right past them! I didn’t feel any deep connection between the sisters, and this was particularly noticeable with Jo and Beth, who share such a deep bond in the book. I think part of this problem stemmed from the fact that it took five scenes for the sisters to actually share a scene together; our introduction to the girls happens in four separate scenes, with each of the girls by themselves, in their own setting. Compare (because I have to) with the 1994 movie, in which the first four scenes of the film focus on the girls together, only separating once Meg and Jo attend the Gardiners Christmas party. The sisters’ relationship is such a huge component of the novel, but this film spends little time or focus building it and it is definitely a big reason as to why the film feels so empty.

There is so much more I want to say (for example, the horrendous way in which the film somehow made Jo look like she’d regretted turning down Laurie and held onto said regret for five years and how they juxtaposed her sending him the letter saying she would marry him, which WTF, never happened in the novel, with Laurie returning, having married Amy, like, way to pit the two sisters directly against one another, which even the 1994 adaptation had sense enough not to do) but this post has already turned into a freakin’ essay and most of my grievances have been aired.

To end this (very long) rant on a positive note, I want to reiterate that this film was charming in many ways, and while I do have many complaints, it was still a decent adaptation of my favourite novel, which wasn’t so far removed from the source material that I couldn’t enjoy it. It will never match the emotional depth and warmth of the 1994 movie, but I can see myself coming around to it in the future and liking it for what it is. I just wish more care and effort had been put into it and it had concentrated more on the emotion of the novel rather than the events.

#little women #little women 2019 #little women spoilers #phew this was long #long post

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journal-of-an-outlaw · 4 years

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Price to be Paid - Chapter 24

AO3 Link here!

That night the gang gathered to celebrate Jack making it home safe and sound after his ordeal with Angelo Bronte. Crates of beer and other liquors were brought out, the fires roared full and bright, and a weight seemed to be lifted from the shoulders of everyone as they settled into the surroundings of Shady Belle.

Except for you, who couldn't stop thinking about the letter you found from Mary.

All this time. They had been writing back and forth for however long and about god knows what. Maybe she just needed help or someone to vent to, their story was still classified as a mystery to you. But never once had Arthur mentioned her or made you think that she was still a part of his life.

Javier strummed the guitar and caught your eye. His eyebrows danced when he asked you to sing and you agreed quickly, needing a distraction from the way your thoughts were headed. This was a party after all, might as well have fun. The two of you spent almost an hour around the warm flames of the fire, dancing and singing to entertain the others. Jack loved the attention even if Abigail was unwilling to let him go. You understood; Jack was her whole world and he had only just gotten back after the terrifying ordeal.

You walked around after the music had ended and others wanted to sing admiring the love these people shared and the many ways it was communicated. Sean pulled Karen into his lap and whispered something, most likely dirty, in her ear causing the woman to be taken over by a fit of giggles. Hosea and Dutch stood as watchful figures from the porch. Lenny was tapping his foot from his spot on guard duty and humming along when he thought no one could see him.

“YN! Where’s that fiance of yours at?” Tilly called from her spot next to Mary Beth and you sat with them.

“That’s something I’d like to know. Saw him earlier, wonder where he got off to?”

Mary Beth looked at you with bright eyes. “Maybe he’s hiding, planning something big for you!”

Clearly she had a few drinks in her as she rocked back with laughter. You and Tilly shared a glance at her reaction and chuckled along, enjoying the carefree way her hair rolled around her shoulders.

You left them and wandered back inside, calling out for Arthur. It didn’t come as a surprise when you got no answer, standing alone in the big house that was falling apart around you.

A small cheer went up outside and you walked out to find Arthur hitching his horse up, waving off those greeting him and tipping his hat as he walked in, embarrassed at the extra attention from his drunken cohorts. Dutch slapped his shoulder with encouraging words and Arthur stopped for a moment before spotting you standing on the porch.

You tried to hold the memory of the letter in your mind as you stared him down, but the moment his face broke into a smile you knew you couldn't fight it. Arthur was many things; kind to those in need, fiercely loyal to the gang, loving and caring to you after all those months of hiding his feelings, and something inside of you said he would never cause you harm. Brushing the thought of Mary aside for the night you let him scoop you into a hug once he ran up the steps and held on tightly, inhaling his scent of tobacco leaves and leather.

“Sorry I ran off darlin’, Dutch needed something from town and I thought I would be back before now.”

“Wasn’t too long. Just enough time for me to worry about my fiance, but ain’t nothing new there.”

Arthur growled low in your ear and pushed the doors behind you open. After confirming that no one was around he laid you back against the wall and held himself against you. His hands swirled your hair between his fingers and he looked at you hungrily, eyes darting to your lips and breath coming in short. A warmth pooled in your belly at the glint in his eyes.

“Arthur, everyone is right outside they might -”

“They won’t.”

The slow smile that spread across your face broke him and in a heartbeat he pinned you to the wall in a kiss, one hand lazily roaming your hips while the other gently cupped your cheek. You grabbed each side of his leather jacket and swirled one finger against his chest in the hair that peeked out before pushing his shirt open a few buttons to fully explore. You found your way down and rubbed the bulging spot in his jeans, laughing lightly at his response. Arthur groaned against your mouth, bucking his hips in response to your touch.

“Why, Mr. Morgan, so quick to arouse! Whatever could that be for?”

He hung his head into the crook of your shoulder and sighed. “Got this woman that fills my head with thoughts that are pure torture and sin. Have to watch her walk around, knowing what she sounds she makes when it’s just me causing the noise. After all that, when I finally get to touch you? Sweetheart it’s hard to not...well, you know.”

A blush worked its way up his cheeks as he pulled away from you. You knew his mind would quickly turn to shame so you grabbed his hand and pulled him away; through the house and up the stairs to the room you shared together.

“I’m, I’m the same Arthur. I didn’t mean to tease you. Anytime I find myself dreaming of you...it’s not decent.” You laughed with your arms crossed and watched for his reaction. His eyebrows shot up at your words but he kept his gaze on your face as you spoke. “I’ve never felt like this Arthur, like at times I might burn up and die if you don’t touch me right that minute. It’s crazy and wild, but I hope it never goes away. Wouldn't trade you for anything in this world.”

Arthur’s blue eyes sparkled as you approached him and he hung his arms around your waist. “How’d an ugly old cowboy like me get so lucky with a woman like you? Maybe you hit your head harder than we thought leaving Blackwater.”

You chuckled. “I’ll happily spend the rest of my life convincing you you’re more than you see, Arthur Morgan. I hope you know I’m in for the long haul.”

“Well,” he grabbed your hand and kissed below your engagement ring. “I’m glad you know what I meant when I asked you to marry me.”

You threw your head back laughing, feeling happy and aglow inside. The conversation would have continued if a voice down below hadn’t started to yell for Arthur to come join the group, leaving you to sigh. “One day, we won’t be dictated by everyone around us.” Arthur agreed and followed you out.

Hosea greeted you both with a beer, smiling and starting some idle chatter. Arthur and he discussed his run into town, and you could have sworn once or twice Hosea’s eyes cut to you before speaking but it may have been the beer warping your thoughts and perception.

Sean was leading the group in an Irish song about being back home in Donegall and motioned for you to join, eager to have another voice in the mix. You smiled and raised your beer to decline his offer as you enjoyed resting against Arthur for the time being.

“You ever sing Arthur?”

He shook his head. “Nah, wouldn't subject anyone to that kind of torture.”

“Sure he does!” Grimshaw pipped up next to you. “Heard him humming along when he does chores or helps out, thinks no one is around though.”

You laugh as Arthur tipped his head down. Clearly it was something that he didn’t want to be pressed on any further.

The night continued on with a beautiful sparkle. Everyone was relaxed and happy as the music filled the air to cover the melody of crickets and frogs coming up from the swampy bayou. The drinks flowed freely and the sight of Abigail holding little Jack again was enough to put a smile on just about everyone’s face, even Charles who wandered over every so often on guard duty. Dutch had declined making a speech early on in the night and stuck to his resolve, Molly close by his side as they drank and talked. It felt like it had been ages since the two got along for more than a few minutes and you could see how young Molly looked as the scowls and crying stopped. You felt like a real and proper family for the first time in ages and it warmed you that things felt semi normal.

Javier approached you later on with a bottle in his hand. “YN! Have you seen Miss Tilly? I have a question but can’t seem to find her anywhere.”

You shook your head. “Last I saw her was with Mary Beth going on about something, Arthur may have but he’s over talking to Lenny and Sean.”

The two of you looked over at the sound of roaring laughter and Lenny nearly falling off of his chair. Sean was bent in half, laughing harder than you had ever seen him while Arthur wiped tears from his eyes in between speaking. He must have been telling some story to the younger men as there was a lull and he leaned in dramatically to tell the last line and off they went again. Javier muttered something under his breath and you laughed along, happy to see them all enjoying the evening. After a few moments of chatting Charles came up to tell Javier they were switching for guard duty, much to Javier’s pleasure. He nodded to you and headed off towards the perimeter of the camp.

“Seems to be a lively mood tonight.” Charles looked around the group as he spoke.

“Everyone is lighter, we got Jack back and it’s a good time, I think. Dutch hopefully has something up his sleeve and I’m so happy I could burst. Not to talk about it all the time.” Charles smiled at you as you continued to gush about camp and being happy with Arthur. He understood you meant it out of love and not to overshadow anything else going on.

“Just hope we can get out of here soon. Being in the swamps makes me anxious. I’ve seen gators out there as tall as me and twice as strong, I have no intention of going near that water anytime soon.”

You shuddered at the thought. The swamps had not called to you while staying at Shady Belle and you hoped to keep it that way. “Something about the way they move. Give me the creeps.”

“Speaking of creeps,” Charles muttered to you. Micah walked into camp and held his arms up like a king greeting his subjects. No one met him the way they did Arthur hours earlier and his face soured into a scowl. Dutch called out a greeting but it was only met with a wave before he made his way to the fire to sit down by Bill. The two of them scoured and slumped in the corner while the rest of the camp carried on lively.

“Hey! Bring me a drink.”

You looked at Micah as he called over to Charles. Standing frozen you began to worry how this would play out. Micah yelled again, this time including a slur which was met with protests from those sitting nearby. Charles tensed up and you laid a hand on his arm to try and keep him away but by then Arthur had sauntered over. His eyebrows narrowed at the sound of Micah’s voice.

“Just ignore him, Charles He’s trying to make himself feel powerful.”

Charles nodded but his hands balled into fists as Micah continued to yell. Finally he burst.

“Get your own damn beer, you coward!” Charles smashed his bottle on the ground and huffed his chest, breathing heavily. Micah stood and began to stalk over but not before Dutch stopped him in his tracks.

“Enough! Micah, take a walk. The rest of you relax, there’s not much that can bring down my mood like infighting.” He shook his head, looking around the group. “Really. Tonight is a celebration, let’s keep it that way.”

You let go of Charles and watched him stalk off to the other side of camp. Arthur sighed beside you. “Here’s hoping he gets lost in the swamps.”

Laughing, you dug your elbow into Arthur’s ribs as he raised his bottle. It was a good thought but you didn’t want anyone to hear his nasty thinking. It was one thing to know Micah was disliked by the group, but another to be the ones actively voicing that opinion.

The rest of the evening carried on in a much lighter mood. People continued to sing and dance even after Javier retired his guitar for the night. He wanted to spend some time out on the docks and enjoy the moon and the stars. John and Abigail got into it for a bit, biting remarks coming one after another until Jack told them to stop and they seemed to sober up. Up until that point their normal had been to disagree, but you hoped moving forward things would change. Hosea retired early, as well as Grimshaw and Uncle leaving most of the gang gathered in clumps around the house. At one point you thought you saw Mary Beth and Tilly run off together, but no one could find them by the time you went to bed. Kieran had just left for guard duty when Arthur tugged on your arm to head upstairs. Never before had you been so grateful to see your mattress, even if it was just too small for the both of you.

The sun crept through the broken blinds the next morning to greet you. Knowing you should get up but not wanting to, you rolled over and snuggled into Arthur’s side to block out the sun. His snores drowned out any thoughts you had of sleeping in for a while, but you eventually stood and stretched to start the day. The beauty of the sun shimmering through the leaves and broken bits of paint drew you outside into the morning light. You picked off a piece and held it in your hands, admiring the way the dew settled so gently on its edges. As you enjoyed the moment a sound caught your attention, and you could just see two figures pressed up against the wall of one of the small structures out behind the house. Stretching as far as you could over the railing, you caught a glimpse of Tilly’s yellow gown as she and the other person moved out of your sight. A giggle floated through the air and you froze, knowing what kind of sound that was. Tilly wasn’t alone, but she definitely wanted to keep up the illusion and not be found.

You smiled and made your way downstairs, pondering about who the lucky person could be. More than once you had caught Javier speaking in hushed tones to Tilly and thought they would be very suitable together, she seemed to bring a softer side out of the passionate man.

But that thought was dashed as Javier greeted you from the gazebo at the front of the property. He was cleaning his fishing pole after returning from a short trip with Hosea. A box of perfectly gutted fish sat next to him and he lightly sang until you approached. Javier was a perfectionist; making sure that each stroke of his blade was worth the effort he put in to move it.

“Morning, YN! Why the face? Something wrong?”

You shook your head, looking around the grounds. “Not wrong, I just thought I knew something but turns out I was wrong. I didn’t have anything figured out.”

“Ah, now I see. And what is it you thought you knew?”

Javier was a proud man and your friend, and you didn’t want to upset him by saying an assumption that was clearly so far from true. You leaned back against the railings of the structure and crossed your arms. “It’s silly. You’ll just laugh at me.”

“Nonsense!” he cried while dropping his fishing pole. He gave you his full attention. “How about I promise not to? Make you feel better?”

Just as you were about to confide in Javier, a soft giggle interrupted your thoughts. From around the back corner of the house Mary Beth walked alone with a flush in her cheeks and a smile across her face. You watched her as she seemed to float by, ignoring everyone who passed in favor of the thoughts moving around her head.

You tilted your head, thinking, when something seemed to settle in place.

“Oh!” You whirled around to face Javier who looked conflicted, eyes darting between you and Mary Beth off in the distance.

“YN, just let it go, don’t say anything you -”

“No, Javier don’t worry!” you smiled. “It’s not, I just saw Tilly out back and thought it was you with her! That’s why I didn’t say anything. But you knew, didn’t you?”

Conflict flashed across his face as he watched you. “I...yes, fine, I knew. Tilly came to me to confide and talk about it, she felt like it was wrong from what others have told her in the past. But...love isn’t wrong, it should be taken and cherished in any form it’s sent. And Tilly is one of the best women I’ve ever met, reminds me why I’m in this gang in the first place.”

“Javier, that was beautiful. And please know I would never say anything to her, the secret is safe with me.”

He sat back relieved and smiled. “Some people don’t get it. Glad you’re a good one.” You chatted for a few more minutes before your stomach gave you away for being starving, and you left Javier to sing again once more. Breakfast had just been served and you wanted to go wake Arthur.

The door pushed open slowly and you found Arthur kneeled down by the bed. He faced you with a smile that melted your heart and you sat next to him, gently squeezing his shoulder before greeting him for the day.

“What are you doing down there, cowboy?”

A smile tugged his mouth to one side at the nick name. “Need to head into the city for a few hours, trying to find something though, ain’t where I left it.”

“Is it by any chance a letter? Perhaps from Mary Linton?”

Arthur had a dark expression on his face for an instant. “You found it.”

“It was on the floor of our room, Arthur, but I thought you would talk about it with me instead of just running off. Is that who you’re going to see? Mary?” Your voice was quiet but steady as you spoke. The emotion coursing through your veins didn’t have a name yet, and you couldn't tell if the beating of your heart came from fear or something else.

“I...she wrote me for help, YN. That’s all.” Arthur avoided your gaze as he spoke. “Mary and I go back, way back, and I swear this is the first time she wrote me in years. I found her in Valentine when her younger brother got involved in something stupid, and now it sounds like her family is in trouble again. I don’t like being yanked every which way, but I owe her.”

“Is that all it is?”

Arthur drew in a sharp breath. “Of course! You think I’m running around behind your back?”

“No,” you looked down at your hands. “But from what she said it didn’t sound like it was the only time you had spoken of late. I get keeping people from your past, Arthur. I’m not mad. I just wanted to hear it from you.”

“I promise, YN, there ain’t anything to tell. Years ago, we were engaged but her daddy knew better than to let his only daughter run off with an outlaw and put his foot down. We tried to stay in touch, didn’t work well. Kept fighting and bringing up things neither of us wanted to discuss. So I told her that if she knew what was best for her to never write again. Turns out she married some old fool; we both moved on.” Arthur shuffled around while talking, clearly a sign of talking of uncomfortable subjects for too long. “Like I said, first time I heard from her in years was needing help back in Valentine. Her brother joined some group, she had me convince him to leave and go home. I’ve always been good at scaring people into doing things they don’t want to and she knew it. I’m not looking forward to going into town, but I don’t like to leave people in need.”

You snorted and thought to yourself before responding. On one hand, it made perfect sense that Arthur would help Mary. She was a single woman in the city with nowhere left to turn, and wasn’t in a position to make it publically known she was in need of assistance. Women who ran families did so at a detriment to themselves, for every move was over analyzed and ridiculed at the first sign of weakness. On the other hand you didn’t want Arthur spending time with someone he used to love and wanted to marry, even if that was years ago. It felt invasive and you made up your mind.

“Arthur I...I don’t think you should go.”

He looked at you surprised. “This ain’t really up for discussion here. She needs help and I’ll see her off.”

Your heart started to pound at the impending conflict. You had always had a small temper and you felt it rise as you spoke, unable to hide how much this choice had hurt you.

“But as your fiance, I thought we would talk about it. Look at it from my point of view; a woman who was engaged to you suddenly wants your help? Right after we get engaged?” Your voice kicked up in volume and you heard the heat in your words. “And what if this isn’t the end of her requests? Will you always just run off after her and leave me here?”

Arthur stood in front of you with a dark look in his eyes. It was times like these that you knew why Strauss sent him off to collect debts. His deep blue eyes had seen many things in their lives and knew how to bend the will of the person before him. It would be terrifying to face this man and hope to win.

As he spoke his shoulders rose in anger. “As my fiance you should trust me, and know I’m making the right call. This ain’t about you, sweetheart, you best leave it alone.”

The use of your favorite term of endearment felt like a slap across the face and you stood to match him. You were unsure of why you spiraled so quickly into anger about this but you felt your hands shake as you balled them into fists at your side.

“Don’t call me that. And answer the question; will you always be running away from me?”

“Only if you sound as shrill as you do right now!”

You took a step back. “What is wrong with you? That’s all you have to say?”

“I’m not...god dammit.” Arthur rubbed his eyes and turned away. “I didn’t mean that, I just, you two get in my head and it -”

“Don’t you dare lump me in with her, Arthur Morgan.”

Your voice was low and cold. The mood in the room shifted from quick, fast anger to something much more permanent and heavy. Arthur turned to face you and it was all you could do to hold his eyes and not burst into tears. This was your first fight over something real and tangible, not the silly squabbles that were fixed with a few words and a smile. At first this thing with Mary was nothing more than a question as to why the letter was hidden away like a secret. But now it felt like you were defending yourself as Arthur’s choice over Mary, which you knew was utterly ridiculous.

Wasn’t it?

He took a deep breath before continuing. “YN, I didn’t mean for this to go so wrong. All I wanted was to help out someone who needed it, and things got all messed up. Please know, darlin’, I would never run away from this, you are exactly who I need.”

It was sweet; a plea and a lifeline that should have ended things right then and there. You should have smiled and sat down to talk about the situation like adults and explained your point of view. But something about that route felt too easy, a way out, so you pushed it to the side and threw your caution to the wind.

“It sounds so nice, doesn’t it?” Your tone caught Arthur’s attention as something was clearly wrong. “That I’m exactly who you need. Wrapped up with a little bow. But there’s something missing, and it’s clear in the way that you want to help Mary. We cannot live together in your life, Arthur, you either have to bury the past and move on with me or ignore what we have for what used to be. I won’t fight you on going to see her today, I don’t like ultimatums. But know I won’t stay if I know your heart is divided.”

With his hands on his hips he walked the length of the room. He picked up a photo and stared, lost in the memory for a moment before setting the frame back down. For a few more minutes Arthur silently stalked the perimeter gathering his thoughts as he went. You felt like your heart was about to leap out of your chest from the way it kept time with his footsteps.

Finally, he broke his silence. “Did you misunderstand me the day I proposed?”

“What?” you sputtered, completely thrown off.

“I asked you, as a woman, to be joined to me, as a man, for better or for worse.” Arthur stridded over and stood before you. “There’s no division in my heart and I won’t stand here and be accused of loving another woman. Now, I’ve done some pretty bad things in this life, but breaking my oath? My word? I would never do that. You know loyalty’s all we got sometimes. As long as you’re going to act like a child, you’ll be treated like a child, so you’ll forgive me if i ignore the nonsense coming out of your mouth.”

You moved to block Arthur as he began to leave the room, but he continued without a glance back and ignored your protests.

“Once we’ve had some time to cool off we can discuss this, but I don’t trust myself not to say something I’ll regret later.” With a tip of his hat he left, the door swinging closed behind him and ended the argument.

In a fit of rage you picked up the nearest photograph and hurled it at the wall, rejoicing in the way the glass shattered into a thousand little pieces. It was satisfying to see something physical to represent how you felt inside, angry and still unwilling to let go of your side. Never had someone had such an affect on you, not your father or your mother or even poor sweet Henry. Arthur Morgan affected you so completely it was enough to make you scream. It made you feel powerless and fully in control at the same time, which when you thought about it too much made your head spin from the beating of your heart and the blood pulsing in your veins.

You stood still to calm yourself down and watched the sunlight pass through the leaves outside the window. They swooped and swayed in the breeze, and thinking of them brought you back to a normal level of thinking. You sighed looking at the damage from your outburst and began to clean up the tiny shards so no one would be hurt later. When you turned the picture over you let out one barking laugh, for you had serendipitously selected the photograph of the woman who brought you to this place; Mary Linton.

The door opened slowly after a soft knock. Abigail stuck her head in and saw you hunched on the ground looking at the broken picture.

“Oh, dear I’m sure we can fix it. Here, let me see the damage.”

“Oh,” you sighed, “it runs deeper than you can see.” You handed her the picture and watched her face intently. At first Abigail was surprised, then confused, and she finally settled on angry.

“Ah. I see she’s finally crawled back out of her hole and wormed her way into Arthur’s life again.” She brushed off the bits of glass and picked up the rest in her skirt, dumping the trash out of the window. “I wasn’t here last time, obviously, but John said she nearly broke him. What a vile woman coming after him now! He’s got you, he’s happier than I’ve ever seen him and she just wants to ruin that.”

Part of you agreed. The selfish, small part of you that wanted to hate this woman because she simply had poor timing. It was the same part that made you lash out at Arthur instead of talking about it, as he so fondly said, like a child. You told Abigail about everything that had happened from the letter to your fight and she listened intently, always paying attention to you.

“She ain’t evil, Abigail. She’s a woman in need. And honestly I should be grateful that I’m with someone who sees the good in the choice he made. Imagine if it was you or me asking, reaching out to someone we knew could get the job done no matter what, for help. Would you want to be turned down just because they’re with someone new?”

Abigail stood by the window, mouth opening and closing as she tried to formulate a response.

“I made a mess of things just because I got a little jealous. Do you think I should go after him?” You watched your friend smile.

“I want to say you should never chase a man after a fight. That it’s his job to come around to your side and see he was wrong, but we both know my experience lies with someone a little less brainy than Arthur.” She moved back to lean against the window frame. “You’re more adventurous than me, YN. You’re brave and smart, so I think we both know that you’re going to go after him and set things right. I’ve always admired your ability to put goodness first. I never got a chance to see that way of life, but I’m sure glad you did.”

You swept Abigail into a hug, laughing. How lucky had you been running into her? She had told you before she rarely befriended people, but something about you made her change her ways in Blackwater and you had found a true life friend. That was something you would always be grateful for.

“Alright then, it’s settled. I’ll head into Saint Denis and track Arthur down so I can apologize for being a total ass.”

Abigail laughed and squeezed your arm. “Well, you’re a lady so I’d say you only have to apologize for being half an ass. Never let them know when he’s seen the whole thing. Sets a standard."

An hour later you were riding off with Charles who had agreed to your plan. He had a need to go into the city anyways, despite hating the place, and thought he knew a good place for you to start your search. Arthur had taken the letter to Mary so no one knew exactly which hotel she was at but there were only a few which meant it would be easy to locate.

"A friend told me to head towards the old market, the one in that alleyway. Not sure why but said I would find it interesting. I'll take you to Arthur on the way."

You didn't reply beyond a nod at the strange request Charles had. The gang often found themselves running errands without knowing the full purpose. It was hot in Saint Denis and you regretted putting on the long dress you had chosen to impress Arthur. Although the colors were beautiful the multiple layers seemed to grow in weight the longer you sat on Eclipse's back, sticking to your skin with sweat.

Charles led you down a maze of streets and you found yourself lost again in the wonder of the city. You knew most of the group hated to be in the pit of civilization because it threatened their ideals and way of life, but you loved the pulsing vibrancy that radiated from people walking down the street and the bustling of change in the air. It felt like each building had a story, good or bad, and was only waiting to be listened to so its secrets could be told. It was exactly what the gang hated that drew you into the melting pot of Saint Denis.

“You say a friend of yours led you to the marketplace? And who might that be?”

As he dismounted, Charles grunted. “Just someone I met who I can trust. He lives in the city, travels around and gives information when he can.”

The two of you stood at the entrance of a street market. Behind you, the train yard was loud and busy with the metal screeching of brakes and shouts going to and fro. You took in the sights and the smell with a deep breath.

“You like it here, don’t you?” You nodded back at Charles. “I can’t stand it. Feel like I can’t watch my back, someone’s always there watching.”

“There’s so much life!”

In the market itself were about a dozen or so stalls, all decorated with bright colors of rugs and food being sold. People shouted their wares and you were tempted to stop and sample a few, but one look at Charles quieted that option. No matter how wonderful everything was around you, Charles Smith was unshaken in his resolve to be stoic and rocklike in appearance.

“I like the feeling of freedom, how it moves in the people. There’s art and education and all of the things I never had sitting right at their fingertips.” You were quiet for a moment as you contemplated the city again. “It’s not jealousy, if that’s what you are thinking. It’s the opportunity to make your own decisions here, to know that you would be allowed to fail and grow. It’s, well, it’s true freedom if you ask me.”

“Not everyone is free here, though, do you know that my child?”

You had made it through the market without anything catching Charles’ eye and as you reached the exit a voice called out to you. A monk in long black robes stood against the stone wall holding a bowl out to you with a few donations thrown in. He had a kind face with lines around his eyes and mouth that deepened when he smiled. While a full beard covered his jaw and neck, his head had been shaved and shone in the midday sun.

“I’m sorry?”

“Well, while you and I are able to walk around and enjoy this beautiful freedom, some are starving and will have to fight just to get by. Are you able to donate so that they won’t go hungry tonight?” The man gently extended the bowl towards you and without any hesitation you dropped in a handful of coins. The man’s smile widened and he put the donation tin down before extending his hand.

You introduced Charles and yourself. “Brother Dorkins, a pleasure to meet you.”

“How are you getting on out here, Brother? Enough food to last?” Charles’ gruff voice spoke behind you and at first you thought he was being sarcastic. But he had a soft look in his eye and you could tell he respected the Brother for using his life to help those less fortunate.

“These are a somewhat apathetic lot, I’m afraid.” Brother Dorkins peeked around the wall into the market as if he was checking on something. You shared a look with Charles before he spoke.

“Our uh, mentor says that America is designed to induce apathy in people.”

“That’s a wonderful insight!” The monk crossed back over and stood in front of you. “He must be a wise man, your mentor.”

“He’s probably the best of the lot of us.” You replied. Charles hid a smile behind his hand as you winked in his direction.

“That’s wonderful. The, the thing is I’m...well, poverty will always be with us, but slavery I-I thought we had banished that.” Standing on his toes Brother Dorkins looked over the stone wall back into the market. You started at his words and saw a flash of anger in Charle’s expression.

“Slavery?”

“Saint Denis is acting as a staging post for shipping slaves off to some of the islands.”

“Where are they coming from?”

“South, mostly Mexico. You should take a look for yourself, I’ve heard that the pawnbroker down the block around the corner, the one with the green door, well they say he sells more than forlorn trinkets.”

Like a bullet Charles took off, shoving through the crowd to get to the pawnbroker. You cast a sympathetic look back at Brother Dorkins and promised to return shortly after dealing with the supposed slavers. Part of you wouldn't believe what you had heard. Slavers? In this day and age? But from the way Charles was dead set on putting a stop to it you realized it must be a reality for people who didn’t look like what folks thought of as ‘American.’

Just as you rounded the corner Charles put an arm up, holding you back. Silently you looked on to see what slowed his war path when you saw him. Holding who you could only imagine was the pawn shop owner pinned to the wall, Arthur hissed a threat out between clenched teeth as a woman stood nearby, peeking around the corner onto the encounter.

“What’s he doing?” Charles shook his head as his eyebrows pulled together in confusion. A few moments went by and finally the shop owner pulled something from his pocket, slamming it into Arthur’s hand as a pass to be let go. Your fiance dropped the man and stalked off down the alley towards the woman as the owner ran back into the green door, slamming it behind him.

“Probably got roped into helping someone...retrieve something.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” you chuckled. The scene disturbed you but it was something you were going to have to deal with later. You walked behind Charles towards the store.

A small bell rang as you entered the cluttered shop. Only a few rooms wide, the shelves were packed to the ceiling and it was a wonder anyone found what they were looking for. Books were next to pictures and boxes of jewelry in odd arrangements and made no organizational sense. It got worse the further you walked, and around the corner you saw the man from the alley wiping his brow.

“Oh, customers. Well if you’re going to buy something, be quick about it and if not, get out.” You placed a hand on Charles’ arm at the man's words and walked up to the counter, leaning over and resting your head in your hand.

“I’m looking for something...special.” You began. The man was still flustered and not paying attention and for the distraction to work he needed to be watching you.

“This is a full shop you must be more specific,” he snapped before finally turning to face you. You batted your eyes and leaned in close to block the view of Charles snooping behind you.

“I was thinking of a necklace, something long and daring. Can you help me out? Want it to hang down to here…” the man’s eyes trailed down your bust as you dragged a finger south to keep his attention. “What do you think?”

“I, umm,” he fumbled with the handkerchief in one hand and his glasses in the other. “I think, hey! You, get away from there.”

As the owner moved around the counter towards Charles you stopped him with the sound of your pistol hammer clicking into a loaded position. He looked down at the cold metal being pressed into his midsection and jumped back, confused about your quick change of appearance. You shrugged, a small smile playing on your lips.

“What on earth is going on here? Is this a robbery?” You shook your head as a loud sound behind you made you watch Charles. He had found a secret doorway behind a bookshelf and dragged the structure away to reveal a set of stairs. He nodded at you then headed down. A sigh escaped from the shop owner before you hushed him, bringing your gun up a bit higher to level with his chest. He must know what was going on.

Not five minutes later Charles emerged with two other men speaking quick Spanish to each other. As the trio left the main room a thought occurred to you.

“Actually, we’re robbing more than your slaves,” you spit out. “Give me the cash in your register and know that if my friends and I hear of more trouble you’re causing that it will be your last. People aren’t objects, you sack of shit.” With the cash in your hand you finally left, feeling good about what you and Charles had accomplished together.

Your victory was short lived however as Charles grabbed you by the shoulder and practically dragged you back towards Brother Dorkins on the other side of the market.

“What the hell!” You hissed.

“Don’t look back, he’s here.”

You rolled your eyes. “We saw Arthur together, ain’t a bad thing to be out -”

“Not Arthur,” Charles looked around before pushing you and the freed slaves at the monk. “Your father.”

“He’s here?” You could feel the blood race through your veins as the adrenaline pumped faster through your body. Your heart kept time with the footsteps all around you and it was suddenly hard to focus.

“Brother Dorkins, you were right. We broke them out and took the cash. Here, please,” Charles handed over the wad of cash you had secured. “Not to cut this short but she has to get out of here.”

The monk nodded solemnly. “God works in mysterious ways, my friends. I see the trolly coming around the corner, perhaps that’s a good escape?”

You nodded. “Charles, go with Brother Dorkins, make sure he gets them out of here safe. I’ll meet you at the end of the line.” He nodded and patted your back, taking one last glance behind you before leaving down the street with the other men.

You anxiously walked towards the approaching street car and flagged it down, desperate to be hidden and out of sight. The driver slowed and waved you up. Just as you took a seat next to a young woman your father walked out to the street, looking around to where you had just been as two of his agents turned back to wade through the market. You ducked down to hide your face, apologizing as you pushed up against your poor neighbor to keep yourself safe. After the trolley moved down around the block you sighed and leaned back.

“I am so sorry, ma’am, please forgive my brutish behaviour. I was trying to escape someone I knew, my father actually.”

At first her dainty features were pulled together in annoyance. It was deserved, you had shoved yourself into her seat and hidden in her dress without saying a word. But after you apologized she softened and laughed lightly.

“I can tell you a thing or two about trying to outrun a father, must be some womanly rite of passage in this city. But all is forgotten.” She fanned her face gently as the afternoon heat hit its peak. “I actually just had a run in with my father myself, chased him all around town just to end up back where I started. What is it about men that they think they can outsmart us?”

You laughed, the tension quickly leaving your shoulders. “Must be something to do with the fact they sired us, like a paternal bond they will forever lord above us.”

“I agree! Although I’ve never heard someone talk about it so boldly as yourself. You sure you’re alright, miss?” You nodded. This woman was sharp and you instantly liked her. It probably had something to do with her not screaming as soon as you sat down and confessed you were outrunning your father.

“I’ll be fine. Truth be told this isn’t the first time I’ve had to hide from him.” You paused for a moment before speaking again. “I probably shouldn’t say that to a stranger.”

At that she held out her white gloved hand in an introduction. “If we’re going to continue to share secrets we can do away with the strangers part. You might as well know my name. I’m Mary. Mary Linton.”

#price to be paid #rdr2 #fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #i'm so dumb and I literally forgot to post the text #smh #female reader

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galaxydrcaming · 10 months

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@dancngthroughlife

"Beth?" Jo couldn't believe her eyes as she turned around to look at her younger sister. "Oh my god you-- I thought you were... Never mind. I'm glad you're here." She didn't care if Beth didn't truly remember her, if she just thought that there was a familiarity, she was glad to see her. Jo hugged her younger sister tightly, trying to refrain from tearing up. Beth had passed. Jo hadn't been able to stop it, to help her sister get better. Now there she was in Sydney. "Amy is here too, she's still the same old Amy, just a bit more mature than she had been." She'd always been closer with Beth out of all of her sisters, but after finding Amy here, the two were starting to get closer just a little.

Eyebrows raise as she realizes the other knew her name, despite feeling like she was familiar, she couldn't recall a time where they had met before, she wasn't exactly social by any means. When she begins to stammer, wanting to know why she knew her name, she watches the other hug her and it takes a moment for her to respond, wrapping her arms back before trying to subtly slide away from it, not wanting the other to be hurt by the quick hug. "I'm sorry, how do you know my name, and I can't say I know who this Amy person is."

#c; jo #( && the warmth that keeps the fire going ;; beth speaks )#( && genna )

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letterboxd · 5 years

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Ranking Little Women.

“This is a film not about a single woman’s quest for identity or independence, but about the infinite power of a woman’s community.”

Letterboxd is humming with Little Women Cinematic Universe energy, particularly since the trailer for Greta Gerwig’s new version, with its cast pulled straight from the Letterboxd Year in Review, dropped.

“I have a guttural five star type of feeling after the trailer,” writes Leia. “Bi culture is thirst-watching this for Timothée Chalamet and Florence Pugh,” Raph enthuses.

Yeah, we see you watching and re-watching all the previous film adaptations of Louisa May Alcott’s landmark 1868 novel that you can fix your eyeballs on. We’re not ones to doze by the fire; we like adventures. So let us take you on a romp through past Little Women screen adaptations, in which we rank the productions based on our community’s stantastic response to each.

From left: Milton, Daisy & Ruby.

Little Women (1917) Directed by Alexander Butler

Though the March family lived in the town of Concord, Massachusetts, it was the British who got to the beloved American book first, with this silent film adaptation.

Starring Ruby Miller as Jo March and musical-comedy star Daisy Burrell as Amy March, the film is considered lost, so nobody on Letterboxd will ever be able to confirm how the prolific English actor Milton Rosmer stacked up as rich-boy-next-door Theodore ‘Laurie’ Laurence.

Letterboxd ranking: #7.

Conrad Nagel & Dorothy Bernard.

Little Women (1918) Directed by Harley Knoles, screenplay by Anne Maxwell

Also considered lost is the first American adaptation, by the brilliantly named Harley Knoles, a British director who spent the 1910s working in the US. Matinee idol Conrad Nagel played Laurie.

Letterboxd ranking: #4. Jo March was played by silent film queen Dorothy Bernard, whose father hailed from New Zealand (as does Letterboxd), therefore this version ranks highly even though there are no Letterboxd ratings or reviews to confirm this fact. Instead, check out D.W. Griffiths’ dark, march-across-the-desert film The Female of the Species, in which “only Dorothy Bernard gives a believable performance” according to Michael.

(An aside: Here’s a list of unseen silent films that actually do exist, but that nobody on Letterboxd has yet seen, apparently.)

From left: George Cukor directs Katharine Hepburn, Joan Bennett, Frances Dee and Jean Parker in ‘Little Women’ (1933). / Photo courtesy MGM

Little Women (1933) Directed by George Cukor, screenplay by Sarah Y. Mason and Victor Heerman

Now we’re getting to the meat & potatoes of Little Women standom. Not that it’s a competition, but Katherine Hepburn is the one Saoirse Ronan needs to beat. Hepburn set the screen standard for gutsy portrayals of Jo March, and appropriately so in this first version with sound because let’s be honest, when the world got to hear Jo March speak those lines aloud for the first time, Hepburn’s voice was the perfect choice.

The prolific Cukor was nominated for the best directing Oscar (he eventually won one in 1964 for My Fair Lady), but it was the screenwriters, married couple Mason and Heerman, who won the Academy Award for their script. (Hepburn also won that year, but not for playing Jo March.)

Letterboxd ranking: #3. “A true gem of depression-era cinema,” writes Taj. “Every single scene in the first half of this film is a pure delight.”

“I’d like to personally thank Katharine Hepburn for being absolutely perfect,” writes Skylar. Morgan concurs: “Hepburn plays Jo with a rough physicality, bold confidence, and a gentle sensibility, standing out in a rather unremarkable movie.”

June Allyson and Rossano Brazzi.

Little Women (1949) Directed by Mervyn LeRoy, screenplay by Sally Benson, Victor Heerman, Sarah Y. Mason, and Andrew Solt

Why re-write a script that’s already perfect? Mervyn LeRoy’s 1949 Technicolor update lifted most of the screenplay and music from Cukor’s version, throwing in an on-trend acting line-up of June Allyson (Jo), Janet Leigh (Meg), Elizabeth Taylor (Amy) and Margaret O’Brien (Beth).

Never mind who played Laurie in this version (okay, okay, it was hunky Rat-Packing socialite Peter Lawford); the real tea here is the American film debut of Bologna-born Italian great Rossano (The Italian Job) Brazzi, as Professor Bhaer.

Letterboxd ranking: #2. “This is the best Little Women, fight me,” DylanDog declares. “I’m so impressed by the fact that they rewrote/restructured/padded out the 1933 screenplay, assembled a nearly pitch-perfect cast, and made such a fantastic Technicolor remake,” Dino reasons. “We actually see way more of the novel’s subversive gender politics play out here, and Jo’s motivations are much more palpable.”

“Although I also really like the 1933 version, the Hepburn film lacks the warmth I do find in the 1949 adaptation,” Annewithe writes. “I feel that this version conveys the true spirit of the book and is as cozy and warm and loving, and it’s in colour!”

Susan Dey and William Shatner.

Little Women (1978) Directed by David Lowell Rich, screenplay by Suzanne Clauser

Between 1949 and 1994, all we got was this seventies miniseries adaptation, which flies far under the radar of Letterboxd’s Little Women obsession with only two member reviews.

Susan Dey was a smart choice to play Jo March, given her Partridge Family profile at the time, while Meredith Baxter Birney, who played Meg, went onto huge sitcom fame as Michael J. Fox’s mom in Family Ties. The real curiosity factor here, writes LouReviews, is “the casting of one William Shatner as the Professor, and he’s rather good!”.

Letterboxd ranking: #6. “This story keeps moving me,” is all Sandra had to say, while LouReviews writes “not essential by any means, but if you like the novel, you'll want to see this”.

Winona Ryder and Christian Bale.

Little Women (1994) Directed by Gillian Armstrong, screenplay by Robin Swicord

It only took 126 years from publication for a woman to get behind the camera of a Little Women film, despite Alcott’s masterpiece long being a prime example of (white privileged) female complexity in storytelling. (Although, it’s fair to note that women have been involved in the scriptwriting for every Little Women film adaptation that we know of.)

Released—as Gerwig’s 2019 update will be—at Christmas, Gillian Armstrong’s version was as star-studded as they come, with 90s it-girl Winona Ryder—fresh off Reality Bites—as Jo March, and Christian Bale as Laurie. Also: Kirsten Dunst, Samantha Mathis and Eric Stoltz, with Susan Sarandon as Marmee.

Letterboxd ranking: #1. Sydney writes: “It’s really tough dealing with the fact that this movie is probably never going to get the respect it deserves.” Well Sydney, we’re happy to make your day. This Little Women is currently the highest-rated on Letterboxd (except for Bale’s facial hair, which is not highly rated by anyone). Thomas Newman’s score is much beloved, and the film is, in Julia’s opinion, “the definitive adaptation!”.

On a recent re-watch, Lauren “was transported back in time to my childhood and for those two hours everything felt simple and safe.” Meanwhile Sally Jane Black, in a thoughtful piece, gets right to the heart of Little Women-love: “This is a film not about a single woman’s quest for identity or independence, but about the infinite power of a woman’s community.”

Little Women (2017) Directed by Vanessa Caswill, screenplay by Heidi Thomas

Not strictly a film, but well worth a mention, this recent three-part BBC adaptation stars Thurman-Hawke offspring (and Once Upon a Time... in Hollywood flower child) Maya Hawke as Jo March. Emily Watson plays the March matriarch, and—Gerwig connection alert!—Kathryn Newton (Lady Bird’s Darlene) is Amy March.

Letterboxd ranking: #5. Alicia is a fan: “Winona will always be my Jo, but Emily Watson absolutely kills it as Marmee! Just love her FACE!!!! Her pain is your pain; her joy is your joy. Oyyy!”

Bethchestnut was slowly convinced: “A very handsome and loving production, even if there were a lot of things that bothered me about it. Doesn’t help that I watch the 90s version every year. Still made me cry twice.”

Little Women (2018) Directed by Clare Niederpruem, script by Clare Niederpruem and Kristi Shimek

Released to mark the novel’s 150th anniversary of publication, this version wins points for casting Lea Thompson (Howard the Duck, Back to the Future) as Marmee, but loses points for the weird contemporary update, in which the March sisters inexplicably lose the messy complexity of their far more adventurous 19th-century selves.

Letterboxd ranking: #8. “Who decided casting Ryan from High School Musical was a good idea?” asks Sue.

Also worth seeking out: two different Japanese anime adaptations, the 1981 series Little Women’s Four Sisters (若草の四姉妹), and the 1987 series, Tales of Little Women (愛の若草物語), which aired on HBO in 1988 and is notable for writing in a black character. Not worth a mention: this 1970 TV adaptation.

Greta Gerwig’s ‘Little Women’ opens in cinemas this December.

#little women #greta gerwig #timothee chalamet #saoirse ronan #florence pugh #meryl streep #winona ryder #katherine hepburn #letterboxd

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verai-marcel · 6 years

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One and Only (Ch 2 of 4, RDR2 Fic, 18+ ONLY)

Chapter 2 of 4.

Chapter 1 is here. Tags & summary are there too.

Also find it on AO3.

Chapter 2: Ever Closer

Over the following weeks, as you grew accustomed to being with the gang and getting to know everyone, Arthur would keep checking in with you, making sure you were okay. He seemed to know when you needed time alone and would take you on a fishing trip at least once every few days. He would fish quietly with you, let you lead any conversations, or just let you think.

You tried to be sociable with everyone, but it wasn’t in your nature. Talking with others was just so tiring sometimes, and you never had much to say beyond the usual pleasantries. You had quickly found ways to recover; washing clothes, offering to get water from the river, any job that would take you away from the camp. You liked the women; Karen and Mary-Beth were nice but almost too chatty for you. Tilly was sweet and she didn’t talk your ear off, which was a plus. Abigail was always busy with Jack, and the air around Sadie was always so sad that you found it hard to approach her. Miss Grimshaw was strict, but she had a soft spot for you, who worked hard and didn’t mouth off like the others.

As for the men, well, in the beginning they talked to you a lot. But as the days went by, they all started to let you alone for the most part, once they realized you didn’t talk much. You didn’t flirt, you didn’t offer any information about yourself beyond simple answers, and you soon realized that if any of them tried to get closer than an arm’s span to you, Arthur would appear out of nowhere and tell them to get to work. Lately though, he just glared at them until they backed off.

During the first week, Arthur took you out for shooting practice, to see your skills. After realizing that you knew little more than the basics, he insisted on taking you out for practice every time he had a free hour. You enjoyed the time with him more than you cared to admit.

***

One night, after being with the gang for two weeks, Arthur came to you with a rifle and a grin.

“You got some energy? We’re gonna practice your night shooting.”

You had just finished helping Pearson clean the stew pot, so you nodded. “Sure, where are we going?”

He took you out into the Heartlands, where you could see the river of stars and the moon shining brightly on the landscape. Setting up a few bottles, he handed you a slightly used rifle.

“Got this for you. So you can go hunting with me some time.”

“Thank you. I'll not ask where you got this from,” you joked.

“They won't need it anyway,” he said with a short laugh.

As you raised the rifle to shoot, you felt Arthur step behind you; feeling the heat from his body against your back, you swallowed as he gently placed his hands on your shoulders.

“Stand up straight,” he said in low voice. “Angle your arm like this.” One hand moved down your shoulder to your elbow, his fingers tracing down your arm as he moved you into the correct position.

His other hand slid down from your shoulder to your back, his fingers splayed out against you. “Breathe in and aim, breathe out and shoot.”

You did as he said, and you could hear the bullet hit the rock below the bottle.

“Close. Aim a little higher.” He leaned in so his face was close to yours so he could get a better view of where you were aiming. You raised the barrel a bit more, took a deep breath, and fired again. And again. And again.

Ten times later, you heard the clink of broken glass.

“I got one!” you said excitedly.

Arthur chuckled and stepped back from you. “Good girl. Now just five more.”

You stared out into the darkness to see the other five bottles, and they were smaller than the one you had managed to hit. You sighed and kept practicing.

***

Took her out shooting last night. Her form needed help, so I told myself. Truth was I just wanted to be with her, and used any excuse to do so.

I couldn't stop touching her at first. But she didn't pull away, so I had to. I need to control myself, before I become unable to stop. Susan would kill me if she knew. Weren't proper.

***

One day during the third week, you sat under the shade of a tree, drawing a deer drinking at the river. You were so focused on your drawing, that you had not noticed anyone around you until you heard a voice over your shoulder, almost in your ear.

“Nice drawing.”

You yelped, and the deer immediately bounded away. You sighed and turned to Arthur. “Dammit, I was almost done.”

He looked at your drawing. After a few moments, you started to get self-conscious and moved to close your journal. But as you tried, his hands enclosed around yours and kept your page open so he could examine your deer sketch. You could feel his breath on your neck, and his arms around you felt warm and inviting. You leaned back against him a little bit, testing the waters. He didn’t move away. If anything, you thought he may have moved a bit closer to you.

Arthur finally hummed approvingly. “I think your drawing is done. Looks good.”

You smiled and turned your head slightly to look at him, but he was much closer than you thought. Accidentally bumping his head, you whispered an apology.

He nuzzled your cheek and whispered, “S’okay.” He stayed where he was for one breath-taking moment.

And then he let go and stepped away from you.

“You coming back to camp soon? I was thinking we might go get you a horse.”

Your disappointment at not having his warmth near you anymore was quickly replaced by the excitement of getting a horse. “Really? Where?”

“There’s a small herd of wild horses up north of Valentine. Was comin’ back from a job, saw them there.”

You grinned like an idiot. You couldn’t wait. “When do we go?”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“I’ll go pack!” You barely finished your reply before you raced back to camp to pack up your bag.

***

Her smile was like a sunrise, when I told her about getting her a horse. I’m glad I didn’t act upon my baser urges when she was in my arms. But it was a damn close thing. She smelled fresh, like wildflowers and honey, and I wanted nothing more than to kiss her. But I shouldn’t. She’s too pure for the likes of me.

***

You and Arthur rode on his horse, Rhea, through the plains and up along a ridge, the two hour trip not feeling that long with the companionable silence the two of you shared.

When you caught sight of the horses, you pointed them out to Arthur. He steered Rhea towards the herd, and together, the two of you managed to capture a beautiful blue roan. You named him Starshine, for the bright white star on his forehead, and the fact that by the time you had finally tamed him, the stars were shining in the night sky.

“It’s a bit too late to head back to camp,” Arthur said, looking up at the sky. “Maybe we should camp out here.”

“But it was only two hours.”

“We’ve wandered pretty far from where we first started.”

You looked around and realized that indeed, you were so far north from Cattail Pond that you couldn’t see it anymore. “Oh.”

Arthur was already trotting away on Rhea, looking for a good camping spot. You followed on Starshine, petting him and murmuring in his ear how pretty he was, what a good boy he was, and you were sure Starshine was practically preening by the time you caught up to Arthur. He had found a spot that was perfectly surrounded by trees, but with enough clear, flat ground to set up a tent and a campfire. He pointed out the river that was close by too, in case you wanted to bathe in the morning.

“Uh, not that I’m saying you’re dirty or nothin’, just, if you wanted to.” Arthur quickly added.

You laughed. He could be so awkward sometimes, and you found that endearing. Over the past few weeks, you had noted that he was a little bashful around you compared to the other women. Maybe it was because you were new, and the other women had been around him for years. Maybe he’d be more open with you later, once he had gotten to know you better.

That thought made you pause. You were subconsciously already planning on staying long term. You hadn’t stayed anywhere for longer than a month. And you were already thinking about staying for a year, maybe more. As you watched Arthur stoke the campfire, you wondered about your evolving plans. One thing was for certain: a blue-eyed cowboy was at the center of them.

He rolled out two bedrolls, one inside the tent, and one outside of it. He gestured at the tent. “You can stay in there, I’ll stay out here.”

“You sure? It’s your tent. And it ain’t that cold, I could sleep outside.”

“My lady deserves the best I can offer,” he said.

You blushed, and hoped the darkness kept him from seeing it. “Sure, thank you.”

***

I called her ‘my lady’ out of habit. I hadn't meant to say it, she isn’t used to the way I speak like the other women in camp. But seeing her blush was worth it.

***

Four weeks after you had joined the gang, you were trusted enough to wander off for a day or two at a time, taking your horse to travel around and work delivery jobs or pickpocketing in the city. And if Arthur caught you before you headed out to the city, he always made sure your gun was in proper order, and told you that if you didn't come back by the following morning, he'd come find you.

You were well aware of the work that the others did, but Arthur kept you off those jobs. So one day, when he came to you, you expected another fishing or hunting trip. Instead, he asked if you wanted to come rob a homestead that night with him.

“You’ve got good instincts, figure you could help me find the stash quicker.”

You agreed, and later that night, after a few harrowing close calls, the two of you managed to get in and get out of the house with little incident, finding a decent stash. With your earnings, you decided to go to town the next day and get yourself a new dress, since your one dress was beginning to look very ragged, despite all your best attempts to sew all the tears. And you knew that as much as you liked your blouse and breeches, it wasn’t quite common enough that you wouldn't draw undue amounts of attention.

So the next afternoon, after you had finished all your chores, you got your old dress on and went to your horse.

“Where you goin’?”

You turned to see Arthur with his hands on his gun belt.

“Just to Valentine, get a new dress that doesn't look like rags.”

“I'll go with you,” he said immediately, walking towards Rhea.

“You don't have to,” you started to say, but he gave you that stubborn look that you had to come to call the ‘it's happening’ scowl. Sighing, you climbed up on Starshine and started towards Valentine, with Arthur following close behind.

In town, you hitched your horse and walked towards the general store.

“I’ll be in the gunsmith. Wait for me in front of the general store?”

“Sure,” you said, and headed in. You decided on a blouse and skirt instead of a full dress; it gave you more options, and you liked the idea of this light blue blouse with your dark brown breeches. As you shopped, you noticed one of the men in the shop looking over at you. You ducked your head, paid for your items and left the store.

“Miss?”

You turned to look at the man. He looked like he was about your age. “Yes?”

“I haven’t seen you around here before. I’d remember such a pretty face.”

“Just came to town,” you easily lied.

“Oh? Well, if you ever need anything, you can ask me. I’m Rupert, by the way.”

“Anna,” you said, giving him your fake name that you used when you had to give one.

“I work here at the store, so if you ever need anything delivered, I can help you with that too.”

“Oh.” Then you thought of something. “Does the shop ever need additional errand runners? I’m looking for some light work that I could do to help the family.”

Rupert smiled. “Why yes, sometimes we do.” He stepped a bit closer to you. “I’d be happy to have you help me with the deliveries that are farther away, that’d make the time pass faster.”

You nodded and smiled back. “Sounds good, I’ll come by some time once I’m settled in.”

He took another half step closer, and you felt a bit uncomfortable with how close he was getting. You took a step back.

Noting your shyness, he also leaned back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to crowd you. Would you like to join me for a drink? Just to get to know each other. As friends.”

You looked at him. He had a cute dimple when he smiled, bright brown eyes, and an sweet smile. He seemed like he’d be a good friend.

“There you are.”

You turned to see Arthur walking up towards you. His eyes went from yours to rest on Rupert.

“Who’s this?” he said, his voice deepening as he stopped next to you. His arm snaked around your shoulders and pulled you closer to him.

“Rupert, sir,” he said, standing up a little straighter. Then he looked at you. “Older brother?”

You laughed, unable to contain yourself. “No, family friend,” you lied. “Almost like an older brother.”

Rupert smiled, looking a little relieved, until Arthur glared at him. “Well, nice to meet you, sir.” He turned back to you. “Hope to see you around, Anna.” He quickly stepped back into the store.

Arthur pulled you away from the store, perhaps a bit rougher than normal. Without being asked, he helped you up on your horse, and then climbed up on his. The two of you rode out of town in silence, and for once, the quiet was uncomfortable.

“Arthur?”

He stopped. You pulled up next to him and looked at him, even though he was trying to hide his expression under his hat.

“What’s on your mind?”

After a long sigh, Arthur looked up at you. “Do you know what he was doing?”

“Who, Rupert?”

“Yeah.”

“Talking to me?”

Arthur sighed again. “He was trying to sleep with you.”

You blinked. That couldn’t be. He seemed so friendly, and you didn’t have a bad feeling about him. You knew sleaze bags, and he didn’t seem like one.

“Well, maybe not right away,” he continued. “But that was definitely his goal.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m a man, and I saw how he was lookin’ at you.”

“How am I supposed to know that?”

“It ain’t obvious?” His voice went up an octave, his tone incredulous.

“I…” You took a deep breath. “I lived alone for so long, and I don’t have any experience speaking with men outside of my family. So no, I don’t think it’s obvious.”

Arthur looked down, chastised. “Oh. Well. Just don’t talk to strange men, then.”

“It’s not like I go out looking to do that. Sometimes it just happens. Like today.” Then you suddenly had an idea. And you trusted Arthur.

“You could teach me.”

“What?” His voice went up even higher than before.

“Teach me about men, so I know what to look for when one of them talks to me looking for something more.”

He sputtered.

“Or I can learn on my own,” you said.

“No, no, no. I’ll teach you,” he said begrudgingly. “I don’t want you askin’ anyone else. And this is just between us. Don’t tell no one else about this.”

“Yes, sir,” you said jokingly.

He gave you the most inscrutable look after you said that, and your laughter died away before it could leave your mouth. Instead, you felt like your insides had caught on fire at his intense gaze. Arthur finally turned and cantered away, and you urged Starshine to follow. The silence between you now was not uncomfortable, but it was tense. Like you had just asked a wolf to come to supper.

***

She asked me to teach her about men. And I agreed, like an idiot. But the thought of any other man with her, it boils my blood.

And when she said “Yes Sir” to me? Felt like I was going to lose it then and there. Couldn't think straight, I just stared at her with all these improper thoughts in my head.

What the hell am I going to do?

#arthur x reader #arthur morgan #writing #fanfic #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2

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artificialqueens · 6 years

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Undone, Chapter 1 (Bitney) - Stephanie/Veronica

A/N: Welcome to Chapter 1 of UNDONE, a slow-burn Bitney lesbian AU. (This is a reposting of a story that was previously on RGF, because we intend to post future chapters here instead.)

Summary: Courtney and Bianca have instant chemistry when they meet on the set of their new job - a TV show set in the Golden Age of Hollywood. Only one problem: Bianca is married.

TW: This story deals with themes of emotional abuse, and since that can be subtle, we’re going to keep a general TW on all of the chapters, even when it seems like it doesn’t apply.

***

Bianca examines the actor in front of her critically, making sure that the pleats are straight and there are no wrinkles, that all the edges are clean and sharp. She knows she’s taking too long, being too compulsive, but she’s determined for everything to be absolutely perfect.

It’s the first day of production for “Silver Screens, Broken Dreams,” her latest gig - an HBO drama all about 1950s Hollywood intrigue. She’s been trapped in the wardrobe trailer since 6 am, powering through the background talent with the help of her PA and about 5 gallons of coffee. Right now, she's trying to get through the day players and stand-ins before she has to help her department head with the lead actors - who are turning out to be a real handful.

“Alright...stand here.” She directs him to a spot on the wall, taking a Polaroid for the binder. “Thanks, Louis, you’re done.” The actor leaves, and she calls out for her PA. “Jamie!”

The frazzled-looking young woman comes racing in from the adjacent trailer, where she was steaming and tagging the next day’s wardrobe. Seeing her anxiety-riddled face, Bianca almost feels bad. She knows that she’s been taking her own frayed nerves out on the girl, snapping at her so many times, she’s surprised Jamie doesn’t have bite marks. She’s just such a damn newbie and Bianca is not a babysitter. This job is too important.

“Send in the next victim,” Bianca says brusquely.

Jamie nods and opens her mouth to ask a question, then thinks better of it and scampers off again.

Bianca turns to clear some scraps off her work table, checking her binder, crossing Louis off her list. When she hears the trailer door open again, she turns around to greet the next actor, and the air is knocked out of her lungs. Standing in front of the open door, backlit by the bright California sunshine, is the most dazzlingly gorgeous blonde she’s ever seen in her life. Heart-shaped face like an angel, hooded green eyes, a delicate jaw, and a perfect, petite body with legs for days. Bianca swallows, picking up her measuring tape, trying to cover her shaking hands.

Courtney steps forward, letting the door swing closed behind her, looking at the wardrobe assistant standing in front of her, who is biting her plush, ruby lips in the cutest way. Courtney tries to breathe evenly, taking in her wide blue eyes, chocolate brown hair, the way her clothes hug that body, which is too curvy for her own good. Holy shit. Courtney knows what she likes, and this girl? Checks every box.

When Bianca hears the girl’s lilting Australian accent, suddenly her looks aren’t the most alluring thing about her.

“I thought I was gonna be the one getting naked, but this works too.” Courtney gestures to a button on Bianca's shirt that had popped open, eyes glittering with mischief.

“Sorry.” Bianca quickly pulls her shirt closed, making Courtney laugh. “I usually know the name of the person that I'm getting naked with.” Bianca chuckles weakly, knowing she’s making a fool of herself.

“I used to care about that, but the name tags kept falling off during the orgies, so now I’m more chill.” Courtney flashes a coy smile, toying with one of her long pigtails.

Bianca looks at her for a moment before grinning back, revealing deep dimples.

“You’re trouble.”

“No, actually I'm Courtney.” Courtney shakes Bianca's perfectly manicured hand.

“Bianca.” Courtney’s heart deflates just a little when she catches sight of the huge diamond glittering on Bianca’s finger.

“Great,” Courtney breathes. “Now we can get naked.”

“Right. Speaking of which, I need you to...uh...disrobe. Please,” Bianca says, knowing that this is the weirdest part of her job.

Courtney doesn’t appear to be fazed, whipping off her top and kicking off her shorts, posing seductively in her bra and panties.

Bianca clears her throat, wondering if she was ever that free-spirited, even when she was young and single, and deciding...probably not. She consults her chart, trying not to ogle the tan, lithe body in front of her.

“Courtney...you’re standing in for Eliza, right?”

“Yup, that’s what they tell me.”

“Alright, so let’s double check your measurements and then do I have a dress for you.” Bianca begins to measure her, jotting down the numbers in her binder.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, you’re gonna love it. Sexiest you’ll ever look. I can tell it’s gonna be right up your alley. Don’t steal it. I know you’ll be tempted.”

Courtney giggles. “Well, now I can’t wait to see it.”

Bianca finishes, then walks over and pulls a dress off the rack. Baby blue, buttons up to the neck, ankle length. She swings it from the hangar, ambling back over to Courtney with a smirk.

“Miss Eliza is fresh off the train in this scene. Nice little midwestern girl, uncorrupted by Hollywood's evil ways. We’ve got a matching bonnet, too.”

“Oh my god…” Courtney laughs, looking at the dress, hands over her cheeks. “Well, that’s almost as modest as what I wore to church yesterday.”

Bianca throws back her head and laughs.

“Oh really? You were in church yesterday?”

“Well. I was at The Abbey yesterday.” She holds up her arms so that Bianca can help slip it over her head. “It used to be a church. Now it’s...gay church. AKA Sunday Funday.”

“Same thing, eh?” Bianca laughs.

“Exactly.”

“Let me just make sure the hem hits you properly and then we can deal with the hat.” Bianca finishes fastening the buttons and kneels down to adjust the hem. “It’s really something else. Beth wants me to-”

“What are those things?!” Courtney suddenly shrieks happily, eyes wide with delight.

“Oh, those are my dogs. Samson and Delilah.”

“They are fucking tiny, holy shit!” Courtney squeals, looking at the tiny little chihuahuas sleeping in what appears to be a purse with a mesh side. Sammy yawns, and Bianca gives a small chuckle.

“Yeah, they’re pocket-sized.”

“Pocket-sized bougie little purse dogs. I fucking love it.” Courtney laughs. “They don't even look like dogs.”

“Nah, they're basically rats who bark. Alright, dress is good. Time for the real magic.” Bianca holds up a demure blue hat with long dangling ribbons.

“Dear god,” Courtney mutters.

Bianca laughs, placing the bonnet on her head and tying the ribbons into a neat bow.

“Precious,” she says, with an amused nod. “Can you stand over by that wall?”

“Sure.” Courtney poses for the Polaroid camera, eyes smoldering.

“Okay, you’re good to go. Here are your shoes. Come back at the end of the day so we can check you out...I’m sure you know the drill.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you later.” Courtney slips on the shoes, then gathers her clothes, stuffing everything into her bag. She points at the dogs. “I am gonna cuddle the shit out of you real soon, and that’s a promise.”

“They can’t wait, I’m sure,” Bianca replies, biting back a grin.

“Thanks!”

As Bianca watches her leave, she realizes that there’s an unfamiliar warmth spreading in her chest - she’s already anticipating the blonde’s return. She takes a deep breath.

“Jamie!”

The PA runs in, breathless, grimacing in pain, standing in the doorway with an expectant, worried look.

“Are you in the mood for some Starbucks?” Bianca asks.

“I...what?” Jamie blinks at her.

Bianca smiles kindly, handing over her credit card.

“You’ve been working so hard. Why don’t you take a break and go grab something? I could use a real coffee, too, instead of this crafty stuff.”

“I...okay. Thanks!” Jamie accepts the card tentatively. She seems slightly suspicious, but doesn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Send in the next actor before you leave, okay?” Bianca grins again, flashing her dimples at the girl, and then goes back to her clipboard, a faint smile still on her face.

***

At lunchtime, Bianca sits with her boss, Beth, and the art department girls they’ve worked with on three shows. She listens in on all the latest gossip: the shake-ups in the writer’s room, who’s getting fired, and potential new scenes they’ll have to prepare for in the coming weeks. She sees Courtney walking towards their table with her tray and waves.

“Hey,” the blonde says. “Room for one more?”

“Sure, but...you don’t want to sit with the other talent?” Bianca asks her with a soft smile.

“Talent?” Courtney chuckles, sliding into a seat. “I’m a stand-in. I’m not talent; I’m a human prop.”

“Well, that’s a refreshing level of self-awareness,” Bianca laughs. “And hey, props are important too. That’s Katie, she takes props very seriously.” Bianca gestures to a brunette at the end of the table.

“Hi!” Courtney waves, shrugging good-naturedly, then says, “I’m not saying I don’t have talent. I’m just not being paid for it on this particular production. I have many talents, actually.” She licks her fork, fingers toying with the buttons on her dress.

“Good to know.” Bianca swallows, heart racing. She can feel her cheeks heating up as she watches, thighs pressed together under the table. She’s unable to tear her eyes from Courtney’s, trying to figure out if the naughty expression that flashed across her face was real or imaginary.

Beth exchanges pointed look with Sarah, the production designer, and then they both go back to eating.

Suddenly, there’s a flurry of activity as the set PAs come rushing around with new call sheets.

“What the fuck, this is a whole ‘nother set!” Sarah exclaims. “We’ve been dressing the library all day, why are we suddenly shooting in Mr. Harris’ office?!”

“Miranda needs a root canal, Jay had to switch it.”

“Motherfucker!”

The art girls jump up, screaming frantically into their walkies, and Beth huffs, exasperated, choking down a few mouthfuls of her lunch.

“I guess I better go get the new wardrobe ready. It looks like the boys are back in their Day 4 looks.”

Bianca rises to follow her.

“No, you stay and eat. You’ve been here since 6. I’ll get Jamie and Chris to help me. Seriously, eat,” she repeats, when Bianca protests.

And suddenly Bianca and Courtney are left alone at the table. Bianca smiles awkwardly, flashing her dimples.

“Never a dull moment, eh?” Courtney asks.

“Nope,” Bianca agrees.

“So...how long have you been married?” Courtney gestures to the impressive rock on Bianca’s finger.

“Oh, uh…” Bianca looks down, playing with her ring. “A little over six months. But I’ve been with my husband since we were like 18, so...sometimes it feels like forever.” She bites her lip, trying not to get distracted by Courtney’s green eyes, how bright and attentive they are.

“Aww, that’s so sweet. And a little gross,” Courtney jokes, then says, “I'm sure he’s lovely.”

Courtney lays her hand on top of Bianca's, rubbing her thumb along the ring, gazing into her eyes.

“Um. Yeah,” Bianca replies hoarsely. “What...what about you? Any...uh…” Bianca’s mind is mush.

“Nah. I’ve been single for almost two years. But it’s been pretty fun, because I’m kind of going through a slutty phase.” Courtney wraps her tongue around the straw of her drink, holding Bianca’s gaze, eyelashes fluttering.

Bianca clears her throat. What the fuck is wrong with her? She deals with stunning actors every single day. Beautiful, naked young actors, who she has to measure and dress and it’s never caused her to bat an eye. Like Farrah, the girl who is actually playing the part of Eliza, the one Courtney is a stand-in for. She’s got the same build, same blonde hair, a beautiful face by any objective measure. But despite having met her 4 times for fittings over the last week, Bianca isn’t positive she could pick her out of a line-up of other young Hollywood blondes. And now here’s this girl with a dress buttoned up to her chin, and Bianca’s palms are sweating just looking into her mischievous, flashing green eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing here, cunt?!” someone asks, and Courtney finally breaks her gaze with Bianca to look in the direction of the voice. A tall, pouty-lipped girl with messy blue ombre hair, wearing a flannel shirt, a trucker hat that reads ‘I ❤ TITTIES & BEER’ and a tool belt full of mic packs.

“Adore? You’re on this show?” Courtney squeals delightedly.

“Apparently, chola! Hey!” Adore grins and slides onto the bench beside her, giving her a hug. She and Courtney had been friends (and occasional fuck buddies) for about three years. The type of friendship where, when they’re together, they’re joined-at-the-hip, ride-or-die besties, but can also go weeks at a time without talking. Which explains why neither of them knew about their current jobs – Courtney as stand-in and Adore in the sound department.

“Hiya, love,” Courtney laughs. “Nice hat.”

“I see you already found yourself a hot girlfriend, first day. Nice work, whore,” Adore nods appreciatively in Bianca’s direction, pinching Courtney’s thigh.

“Adore, this is Bianca. She’s in wardrobe and she’s a respectable married heterosexual woman.”

“Ew, why?” Adore wrinkles her nose.

“Why what?” Bianca asks, sitting up straight, bracing for trouble. She immediately dislikes this blue-haired, foul-mouthed young woman.

“Nevermind,” Adore says dismissively, then turns back to Courtney. “Bitch, you’re coming to Roosterfish on Thursday, right?”

“Of course.”

“Rad. Wear something pretty and maybe you’ll get lucky.” Adore gives her a brief kiss on the corner of her mouth and then gets up, sauntering away, cables dangling from her hip like a rope.

Bianca follows the girl’s swinging hips and round ass, wondering what the deal is between her and Courtney, and why she suddenly feels possessive over someone she just met that morning.

“She’s cute,” Bianca manages to force out.

“Oh yeah. She’s so much fun, too. We met on this god-awful indie film, years ago. I swear I’ve worked on student films that were less of a tragic mess than that disaster. Having someone around with a sense of humor saved me from a nervous breakdown. We’ve been friends ever since.”

“That’s cool.”

“And the sex isn’t bad either.”

Bianca coughs, spitting out some of her diet coke. Courtney sips her own drink, batting her eyes innocently as Bianca attempts to recover some dignity.

***

After a long, exhausting first day of shooting, Bianca finally arrives home to her Brentwood condo - a modern, pristine two-bedroom, tastefully decorated in shades gray. She walks over to the sofa and collapses, arm over her eyes, muscles aching. She’s not sure how long she’s been laying there - maybe 3 minutes, maybe 5, when she hears the front door open.

“Hey…” she calls weakly.

Jared chuckles, striding over to her and jumping onto the couch to lay beside her.

“Rough day?”

“Mmmmm…” She snuggles against him.

“So I guess this means there’s no dinner?”

Bianca opens one eye and scowls at him.

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously, I’m hungry.” Jared kisses her cheek. “And Willam and Matt are coming over at 8 to work on the presentation for Joe, so, you know...we need to feed them.”

“Babe, I’ve been up since 4 am. Can’t we just order in?” Bianca runs her fingers through Jared’s light brown hair, pouting.

“Awww, you’re tired? After one day of playing dress up?” Jared mocks her in a teasing tone, snickering. “You just had a month off, you lazy bitch.”

Bianca narrows her eyes at him, tongue pressed into her cheek. There’s a long heated moment. His eyes dance with laughter, challenging her to fight back. But she won’t give him the satisfaction.

“I think there’s salmon and pesto in the fridge,” she finally says.

He grins, sliding his hands around her waist, kissing her neck.

“Good girl,” he growls against her skin, pulling her close.

She sighs against him, arching forward, then meets his lips for a deep kiss, grasping his hair, thrusting her hips forward.

“Oh, fuck…” he breathes, digging his fingers into her ass.

She bites softly at his bottom lip, grinding down against him, earning another groan, and then, without any warning, she jumps off the couch with a saucy wink.

“Later, babe. I need to cook, remember?”

He leans back, panting, chuckling slightly.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he calls after her, eyes glued to her ass as she ambles into the kitchen, laughing gaily.

***

Courtney’s been staring down at her phone for the last 5 minutes, texting someone, while Bianca works on Linda, one of the day players. She’s giggling softly to herself, a sly smile on her face, Dede curled in her lap. Bianca tries not to obsess about who could possibly be captivating her attention so completely, but it’s proving to be quite a challenge. Finally, she finishes with Linda and turns to Courtney, clearing her throat.

“Alright, blondie. You’re up,” Bianca says, lifting the dog out of her lap and placing her back into the carrier.

Courtney stands, tilting her phone towards Bianca to reveal a picture taken earlier in the dressing room.

“Is this picture sexy or desperate?” she asks sweetly.

“Um...I guess it depends where you crop it,” Bianca says, swallowing.

“Good point.” Courtney laughs.

“Who ya texting?” Bianca asks, playfully batting her eyes.

“My friend, Violet. I guess she’s sort of an ex, too.” She looks at Bianca for a moment, trying to read the expression on her face. Is she jealous? Courtney decides that she might like that.

“Violet...huh.”

“What?”

“Well, I’ve just found that girls with color names typically have a high rate of STDs,” Bianca says casually, shrugging.

“Oh really?” Courtney raises one eyebrow.

“Mmm…” Bianca goes back to pinning her dress.

“Doesn’t Bianca mean ‘white’?” Courtney asks sweetly.

“Go fuck yourself!” Bianca barks quickly, causing Courtney to burst out laughing.

“I think I actually might when I get home."

“Ughhhh, too much,” Bianca groans, shaking her head, trying to stop the dimples from appearing on her cheeks.

Courtney giggles and goes back to her phone.

“Seriously, what’s up? You look like the cat who swallowed the canary.”

“Nothing,” Courtney smirks.

“Really?”

“We’ve just barely seen each other since I lived in Australia, since she’s always on tour when I go back.”

“On tour? For what?”

Courtney looks up, straight into Bianca’s bright blue eyes, as she says, “She’s a burlesque dancer.”

“You seriously fucked a burlesque dancer?” Bianca tries not to gape, openmouthed.

“I didn’t say I fucked her….but I did.” Courtney twirls her hair, a coy smile on her lips.

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Actually, she’s was my first, back in the day.” Courtney sighs dreamily, one eye carefully watching Bianca’s reaction.

“Your first time having sex was with a burlesque dancer?”

“I mean, she wasn’t a burlesque dancer then.”

“Sure, but Jesus. What is your life? My first time was with a person who’s still living in my hometown, married with three kids, working as like, a hospital administrator.”

“Well, I’m sure he’s lovely too,” Courtney assures her, laughing. “Anyway, she’s coming to town this weekend so I want to think of something fun to...”

Bianca sticks her tongue into her cheek as Courtney continues. She supposes it’s her fault. She did use gender-ambiguous language. Intentionally? she wonders. And she is married to a man, so Courtney is only making the same assumption about her sexuality that everyone else always makes. But she can’t help but be the slightest, tiniest bit disappointed that this opportunity to reveal a deeper truth about herself passed by without her doing anything about it, the moment fizzling now like flat champagne.

“...what’s a good synonym for ‘thrust’?”

“Uh…” Bianca wrinkles her nose.

Thankfully, she’s saved from the awkwardness of helping Courtney with her sexting by one of the Production Office PAs coming in to get their orders for a Starbucks run. Bianca asks for a venti dark roast with a splash of cream. He turns to Courtney.

“Would you like anything, Ms. Hamilton?”

“Ummm, sure,” Courtney says, looking up from her phone. “Can I get a bottle of coconut water? But, only if they have the kind that’s fair trade, like Harmless Harvest - with the green cap.” She flashes a cute smile.

“Sure thing.” He ducks out of the trailer.

“Good god,” Bianca mutters, pinning the waist of her dress.

“What?”

“You’re just a lot.”

Courtney holds up her phone, pursing her lips to take a selfie.

“I know,” she says replies brightly, lashes fluttering.

***

“Okay, so, since we’re dealing with all the outerwear tomorrow, and it’s gonna be like 85 degrees, Neil said we can bring on another PA to help,” Beth says, scanning the legal pad in her lap as Bianca listens attentively. “I’m putting you in charge of her, so just give her the rundown in the morning and make sure she’s on set all day to take care of the talent and keep the coats tagged, etc.”

“Got it,” Bianca says.

“Alright, so we’ve got the boys in their power suits, Eliza in the little salmon sweetheart number, Margie’s pencil-”

“Hi, sorry to interrupt…”

Bianca and Beth turn towards Courtney, leaning against the screen door, an apologetic look on her face.

“Um, they want me to hold a glass in the next scene and Joey asked me to get rid of the red nails. Do you guys have any polish remover?” Courtney wiggles her fingers, showing her short, bright red nails.

“Sorry, no,” Bianca replies. “Maybe try makeup?”

“Oh, right. Cheers! Sorry again!” Courtney skips down the steps, skirt flouncing. Bianca watches her, how the big swirling skirt accentuates her tiny waist, blonde hair shining in the sunlight.

“Marjorie’s in the pencil skirt. I’m not thrilled with how the top is looking. Maybe if we add a wrap, or something to...B? You listening?”

“Hmmm? Yeah.” Bianca looks back at Beth, who has a bemused expression on her face. “What?”

Beth presses her lips together, shaking her head.

“Nothing.”

Bianca narrows her eyes.

“So we’re adding a wrap to Marjorie’s ensemble? Should it be green to stay within her color story for the episode, or you wanna add some contrast?”

“Let’s stick to the color story,” Beth replies, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

***

“Is that just an entire plate of cheesy mashed potatoes?” Courtney asks Adore, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

“Yeah, I’m carbing up.” Adore shovels a huge bite into her mouth.

“Gross,” Courtney says, taking a delicate bite of her broccoli.

“Whatever, judgey.”

“Bianca! Hi!” Courtney waves Bianca over enthusiastically.

“Hey.”

“Um, wanna sit?”

Bianca shifts, glancing over to her usual table, where Beth and her other wardrobe department co-workers sit, along with the art girls. She takes a breath and slides in beside Adore, unable to say no to Courtney’s bright smile, setting the dog carrier on the bench.

“Sure. Hey, Adore.”

“Yo.”

“I’m glad I caught you. It totally slipped my mind earlier but I’ve actually got something for you.” Courtney picks up a large handbag and while she’s rifling through it, Adore looks over at Bianca and mouths “her pussy.”

Bianca makes a face at Adore, who throws back her head and laughs.

Without even looking up, Courtney says, “Adore, would you stop?”

“Sorry, boo,” Adore giggles, not looking the slightest bit sorry.

“Okay, so, I don’t know what your stance is on putting dogs in clothes, but I saw these and I couldn’t resist,” Courtney says, putting two tiny outfits on the table. “And you know...it’s not like they’re real dogs anyway.”

“Oh my god,” Bianca opens her mouth in amazement, laughing. She turns to the dogs, who are scratching at the mesh on the side of the bag. “What do you guys think? Yeah, I think she’s crazy too.”

There’s a little dress covered in daisies, and overalls with a turquoise plaid shirt.

“I got one that’s high femme, and one that’s sort of soft butch. You can choose who wears what. I’m not trying to push gender labels on them simply because of biological sex.”

“That’s nice. Very open-minded.”

“Yeah.” Courtney flutters her lashes.

“Can’t wait to see Jared’s face when Sammy’s wearing a dress,” she snickers.

“But they’re cute, huh?”

“Super cute. That’s...I mean. Thanks.” Bianca grins, dimples deep in her cheeks.

“You’re very welcome. Hopefully your spoiled, bougie purse rats wear them in good health.”

“Shut up, they’re perfect.” Bianca laughs, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Perfectly hideous. That’s right! You are!” She reaches over to scratch Sammy behind the ears through the small opening in the bag.

“Asshole!”

Courtney giggles and kicks her under the table.

“Jesus, get a room,” Adore laughs.

Bianca turns to scowl at her.

“Sorry.” Adore shoves another bite of potatoes in her mouth. “Damn, why is everyone so touchy today?”

***

“So then Alexis texted me and told me she had a huge crush on Shea, who is Sasha's girlfriend,” Courtney explains while Bianca pins up her hem.

“The lesbian community is shook!” Bianca deadpans, when she looks down at her phone, seeing a text from Roxy, Jared's assistant.

ROXY: Hey girl. I just got a job with WME so I told Jared I’m leaving. He seems pretty pissed. I’m sorry, I really like you but you know how it is. If you ever need anything just text me ok💕

Bianca pauses for a moment, a little puzzled, before typing out a reply. She really liked Roxy, but she’s a little confused about why the girl thinks she would need something. She supposes she’s just trying to be polite.

BIANCA: All good, hon. Best of luck.

“Bianca Del Rio!” Courtney exclaims dramatically, hands on her hips, annoyed that her attention was diverted from her thrilling story of Westside lesbian drama.

“Sorry Court.” Bianca sighs.

“What just happened?” Courtney asks, expression softening.

“Jared just lost another assistant.”

“Another?”

“Yeah, his company has a hell of a time hanging onto people. This girl was great though, I really thought she’d stay. But she got a better offer, and so...hang on, let me check on him.”

BIANCA: I just heard about Roxy. You alright?

JARED: Whatever. That cunt didn’t even give two weeks notice. Fuck her.

“Well, seems like his pride is a little wounded,” Bianca says, chuckling softly. “I’m gonna have a very sad boy when I get home.”

“Aww.”

“Yeah. Poor baby.”

“Masculinity is so fragile,” Courtney comments, examining her nails.

“Oh my god, tell me about it. I just pray this doesn’t turn into a week-long sulk fest.”

“I’ll try to manifest some positive energy for you,” Courtney says sweetly.

“Yeah, thanks.” Bianca goes back to the hem. “I’m sure that’ll change everything.”

“Oh! Oh my god, so listen. Apparently, Sasha found out about what Alexis said, but didn’t tell Shea, but then started acting all weird around her, and so Shea is totally confused, and then…”

***

“Sasha, why don’t you just tell Shea? I don’t really get what you’re trying to accomplish here?”

“Because I’m not trying to start drama?” Sasha rolls her eyes. “Shea and Alexis are friends. Maybe Alexis didn’t mean anything deep by it.”

“But you’re being weird!” Courtney exclaims, laughing.

“I am not! You’re just perceiving my actions as weird because you’re expecting me to be weird, making it somewhat of a self-fulfilling prophecy. I, however, am acting entirely within the scope of normal rational behavior. You need to chill.” Sasha sips her drink delicately.

Courtney’s known Sasha for years - nearly since she moved to LA, when Sasha was in high demand in the fashion world for her androgynous aesthetic, steely blue eyes, and killer cheekbones. Now, she’s traded in the shaved head for a burgundy China doll cut, and works as a sculpture artist and Associate Professor of Russian Literature at Loyola Marymount. She can usually intellectualize her way out of anything, but Courtney isn’t buying it tonight.

“I am chill, Sash. I’m just trying to give you some advice, before everything turns into a shit show, and you-”

“Heyyyyy,” Adore interrupts, a sleepy, drunken smile on her face, slurring, “Courtney, maybe you shouldn’t be giving anyone advice right now? Like, seriously?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Courtney asks, cutting her eyes at Adore.

“Courtney’s in love with a straight girl,” Adore explains. Sasha looks at Courtney with a mixture of horror and delight.

“Fuck off, am not!” Courtney turns away, flipping her hair in Adore’s face.

“Okay, sorry. Courtney’s trying to bang a straight girl,” Adore corrects herself, attempting to spit out the mouthful of blonde tresses.

“I am not,” Courtney laughs.

“Are too! You’ve been flirting your sweet ass off all week, you little slut.” Adore smacks her on the ass.

“Not even! We’re just friends, cause she’s she’s cool, and funny-”

“And hot.”

“So what? Like I’m not supposed to be friends with someone because they’re hot? That would be...discriminatory,” Courtney says.

“Like racism, practically.” Adore nods mockingly.

“Yeah. Practically racism,” Courtney agrees, giggling.

Shea and Pearl approach the group with a fresh round of drinks.

“What’s practically racism? Are you fucking white girls doing that false equivalency bullshit again? You know I hate that.”

“I know you do, and I would never,” says Sasha, kissing her. Courtney smiles.

“I’m not white,” says Adore.

“You’re white enough to piss me off in this context. Take your shot,” Shea orders.

“It was a joke; Adore was mocking me,” Courtney explains.

“Oh, well in that case…” Shea holds up her shot glass. “To mocking those who ask for it.” She winks at Courtney as they all down their shots.

“You’re such a bitch,” Courtney laughs, wiping her mouth.

“I know, but that’s why you love me, right?” Shea replies, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek.

“Let’s dance, you boring cunts!” Adore yells, grabbing Courtney’s hand, causing her to let out a gleeful shriek.

***

“Should I be embarrassed that you have to take in every one of these dresses because of how small my tits are?”

Bianca laughs, pressing down the pedal of the sewing machine.

“Are you embarrassed? Because you seem pretty confident to me…”

Courtney is currently twirling on a stool, topless, in her underwear, waiting for Bianca to be finished with the alterations. She holds both of the dogs in her arms, so thankfully Bianca isn’t so distracted that she sews through her hand, which she’d almost done earlier. Courtney thinks for a moment.

“Well...I mean I guess it’s good that I’m basically flat chested. It does allow me to get jobs, like this one, as the body double for a 16 year old.”

“Wait a second. Farrah is sixteen?”

“Yeah.”

Bianca stares at Courtney, flabbergasted, making her laugh.

“Why did you think they need a full-time double?”

“I dunno, I just figured she was expensive and they wanted to save cash. She was on that Disney show, and doesn’t she have a movie coming out with-”

“She’s not expensive. She’s just underage.”

“Jesus. They need to stop putting so much makeup on her. The first time I met her, I wasn’t sure if her or her mother was the younger one,” Bianca says, finishing the stitching and standing up with the dress.

Courtney puts down the dogs and walks towards Bianca.

“Oh my god, her mother. Miss Trinity Taylor. I think she’s only 30-something, so that makes sense. But you’re right, they do pile a lot of makeup on Farrah’s little face.”

“Although the more I talked to Trinity, the older she seemed. I think she must have gotten a bad batch of botox between the first time I met her and now, too.

“You mean that droopy lid? Yeah, hopefully that goes away.” Courtney giggles, lifting her arms so that Bianca can slip the dress over her head.

“Bless her heart…” Bianca murmurs, straightening the dress.

“Bless her heart. You know, say what you will about the American south. But you guys do have the nicest way of saying ‘fuck that bitch.’”

Bianca bursts out laughing.

“We do!” she agrees. “We really do.”

***

Bianca and Jamie check in the wardrobe at the end of the day, carefully tagging everything and making sure that they have polaroids and that the binders are complete.

Bianca nods appreciatively at the PA’s notes in the binder for the background talent. “Good work,” she tells her.

Jamie smiles, wheeling a rack into the other trailer, a blush rising to her cheeks. Bianca realizes that it may be the first compliment she’s given her all week. She sighs, hanging up a garment bag, trying not to listen in on the conversation that Courtney’s having behind the curtain as she changes.

“...No, I told you, the key was in the flower pot...the African violets, get it?!...Anyway, glad you found it...Yeah, I’m almost done here, so we’ll meet you at the theatre…With bells on, love...Adore wants a lap dance, so please make that happen...I’ll send you her picture...Yes, she’s hot...I’m hanging up now...You’re terrible, Muriel.”

Courtney emerges from the changing room and hands Bianca her dress, backpack on her shoulder.

Bianca tries to keep her voice light as she asks, “Your burlesque dancer?”

“Yeah. She and some of the other girls are staying with me this weekend. Hopefully my house is still standing when I get there tonight. They’ve been in my hot tub, drinking my wine all afternoon.”

“Mhmm.” Bianca says. “Sounds like you’ve got a fun weekend in store.” Bianca isn’t sure why, but the thought of not seeing her for two days is making her feel strange, like a weight bearing down on her chest.

“Let’s hope so!” Courtney replies cheerfully.

“Court! Hurry up!” Adore barks from outside the trailer. “I’m hungry and that means I’m cranky…”

Courtney heads for the door, turning around to say goodbye.

“See you on Monday, B.” She flashes a sunny smile, then suddenly looks a little embarrassed. “Shit, is that okay? Do people call you that?”

Dimples appear in Bianca's cheeks as she smiles back.

“Yeah. B’s fine. See you Monday.”

Courtney pulls open the door, hesitating for one more second, glancing over her shoulder at Bianca.

“Courtney! Come on!”

“Bye…” She skips down the trailer steps.

“Goodnight.” As the screen door swings shut, Bianca collapses into her chair, face buried in her arms.

#rpdr fanfiction #bianca del rio #courtney act #bitney #adore delano #oc #lesbian au #fluff #angst #undone #sasha velour #shea coulee #stephanie #veronica #tw emotional abuse

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onefail-at-atime · 6 years

Text

Arya x Gendry Week - Eavesdropper

Arya Stark remembered the last time a ruler had come to Winterfell. That visit had changed her entire world. Bran had been injured. Jon had left for the Wall. And she, Sansa, and her father had ridden South with the King. Looking back, everything had changed for the worst in that moment and she wouldn’t allow her family to be caught unawares. Dragon Queen be damned. She would protect her family, even if it meant that she had to give up being Arya Stark in order to spy on every single person that crossed through the gates.

Though she would be lying if she didn’t admit that it was difficult to watch her elder brother arrive and not immediately pull him into a hug. That reaction was for a different Arya, a helpless Arya who couldn’t protect her family. And so she remained in the shadows of the upper landing, disguised as a serving girl and hidden by the hordes of people that filled the courtyard. She watched it all silently, recognizing some familiar faces and committing the new ones to memory. Jon’s voice pulled her back. He had turned to his men, announced that there would be supper held in the hall, and then spoke a name that had been long forgotten, a name that belonged to yet another long dead person she had cared for.

“Gendry!” Jon called. “Don’t spend all night in your new forge, eh? You deserve a break.”

A piece of Arya that she had ignored for so long seemed to crack at the name when it had been spoken aloud, only to shatter absolutely when the man Jon had called came into view. It was him. She knew it was. Even from a distance and with his closely cropped hair and beard grown from weeks of travel, she knew it was him. His eyes were the same, his smirk was the same, and those same features brought a flood of memories that she thought she had buried ages before.

She hated herself for the emotions that followed the memories, emotions that threatened to spill and ruin her steady demeanor. She was a fight and a trained assassin. She was a Faceless Man. She wouldn’t allow herself, couldn’t allow herself to feel whatever it was that had unsettled her breathing and distracted her from her focus, her purpose.

How could it be him? She thought as she fell deeper into the shadows in order to disappear. He couldn’t be there. He couldn’t be serving her brother. Hadn’t he refused to do so all those years prior? Hadn’t he refused to be her family?

Her emotions were a jumbled mess for the rest of the day. Her private reunion with Jon gave her time to push the confusing memories from her mind in order to focus on the fact that her brother was whole, and safe, and home.

“But how did you even escape King’s Landing, Arya?” Jon had asked the question that startled her to her core because of recent events.

She didn’t answer, she couldn’t answer.

Her escape from King’s Landing would forever be tied to Gendry and after seeing him alive and well and serving her brother, she wasn’t sure she wanted to say anything. And though she didn’t want to say anything, she did want to know everything. Leaving Jon behind, she chose the servant’s face once more and began to watch.

She found him in the courtyard outside the master forge and watched silently, taking in every detail. Gone was the boy full of teasing smirks and glares that she used to throw crabapples at whenever he annoyed her. In his place was a young man who had already taken charge of his surroundings. But it didn’t escape her notice how he acted differently. Physically, he was stronger. There was no doubting that in the way he worked to lift the crates and barrels of supplies needed in the forge. But she noticed a darker side to him in the way that he carried himself, as if he had been fighting something far longer than any person should have to. It was the lack of joking with the men and absence of a smile that confirmed her suspicions.

What had he been through? Arya couldn’t help but wonder. She had changed immensely from the last time they had been together.

Gone was Arry the orphan, Nan, Beth, and the countless other names she had used to secure her safety. She pondered how much she herself had changed as she followed servers into the Great Hall and pledged to maintain the fires in the hearths, which would give her the best vantage point in the hall. It was from that spot where she saw Gendry enter the hall with the man she now knew to be Ser Davos, Jon’s advisor. Does that mean he’s Jon’s advisor as well? Gendry certainly seemed friendly with her brother. Jon had stood where the two men had arrived and jokingly thanked Davos for pulling the smith away. They’re close. She mused. The night continued on as she tended to the fires and watched those in the hall, her gaze constantly drawn back to where Gendry supped with Ser Davos. His blue eyes darted across the hall at frequent intervals and there was a moment, the briefest of moments, when his gaze had met hers, and she fought the rush of emotions once more. And though his stormy blue eyes held no warmth, she still felt the comfort that his gaze used to bring during their years together. And as the night carried on, it became more and more difficult to keep cover. She learned from overheard conversations that Jon and Gendry had gone beyond the Wall together, had fought together. They had traveled up and down the coast of Westeros together, had fought together, and according to Ser Davos, “got into more trouble than my seven sons combined”.

The hall began to empty but Gendry remained, his clouded gaze still darting around the hall as if watching for something. Could he be watching for her? Her stomach flipped at the thought and she forced herself to continue on with her servant’s role.

It was Jon who surprised her by abandoning the King’s Table to join Gendry and Davos. “I don’t know about you but I could sleep for ages.” Jon muttered as he fell onto the bench across from the two men and accepted the mug of ale that Davos passed to him.

“Didn't you sleep all the way from Eastwatch to King’s Landing?” Gendry quipped. Memories stirred within Arya at his teasing.

“Excuse me.” Jon protested. “I had a near death experience.”

“Yet another near death experience.” Davos reminded him pointedly. “You both returned frozen and near death. And don’t you go teasing one another again, ya hear? You’ve had too much drink for any sparrin’.”

“Ah, Davos.” Jon drawled out. Reminding Arya of the countless times that Robb had protested any of their father’s cautionary speeches. Jon smiled despite the man’s protest. “You know, I’m sorry my sister wasn’t here. She always got into trouble. You’d get along with her.”

That did it. Arya held her breath as she turned slowly, still sweeping in order to gauge their reactions. And her loss of breath was not unrewarded. Davos and Gendry had exchanged a knowing look, one that said there was more to the story. And so when Jon began to speak again, Gendry cleared his throat to interrupt.

“Look Jon.” Gendry began as he nervously glanced around the hall once more. “We trained and fought beside one another. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Jon nodded with a smile. “Bastard brothers in arms.” His gray eyes narrowed in confusion. “What’s this about?”

Gendry exhaled loudly, letting go of a breath she was sure he had been holding for far too long. The way he clenched and unclenched his jaw was a nervous tick still familiar to her. “We’ve become good friends, Jon. Both you and Davos helped me find a purpose in this war … but I’ve been lying.”

Arya continued to sweep the floor, but her gaze never broke from the three men across the hall. “Go on.” Jon’s voice was cautious.

Gendry refused to make eye contact. Instead, he focused on the grip he had on his ale mug as he began to speak. I-I knew your sister. Arya. We ran from the Lannisters together. She trusted me with her name when no one else knew and we trusted one another with our lives.”

“Why not tell me?” Jon’s voice was dark with accusation. “If you were so close with my sister, why not tell me?”

“Because I thought she was dead!” Gendry blurted out. Arya felt a stab of shock at the pain in his voice. His words broke her as he continued to speak. She could tell he was fighting tears and it made her disguise that much harder to maintain. “We were separated when the Brotherhood sold me. They were planning to take her to your brother Robb. Davos helped me escape, I heard the news of the Red Wedding, and gods, Jon.” Gendry’s voice cracked. “I felt every bit a bastard of Flea Bottom because I couldn’t protect her. I couldn’t save her.” Gods, why had she decided to wear a face? The feelings stirred inside her. All the emotions she had fought to control felt like a raging storm within her heart.

“And now?” Her king brother was staring at his friend, their friend, as if for the first time.

Gendry closed his eyes, presumably in order to collect his thoughts. When he opened them, he looked up in order to meet Jon’s gaze directly. “Until that point, I hadn’t had a true friend before, not family. But your sister?” From across the hall, she could see the brilliant blue of his eyes that were nearly brimming with tears. “Arya was both. She was my best friend and my family.” He paused once more to turn towards the hearth, his gaze staring into the flames. “We’re honest with one another, Jon. It’s why we’re friends. Believe me when I say that all I want is to be able to prove myself to both of you. I want to fight alongside both of you.”

The breath rushed out of her. ‘I can be your family’ rang through her ears. Everything felt like a crumbling mess as she replayed his words. ‘Arya was both.’ What did he mean by that? What could he mean by that?

Once again, Jon’s voice interrupted to bring her to reality. “I owe you more than my life if you kept my sister alive.” Jon paused, as if purposely considering his words. “I understand why you didn’t Arya. I thought she was dead as well and it hurt to think about her, so I won’t hold it against you.” Arya could see his smile grow. “But you know, after your reunion with her, I hope the two of you will tell me about your travels. I’m sure you have quite a few stories.”

A shaky laugh escaped Gendry, something that made her want to throw her arms around him and her reaction scared her. Stories indeed. She mused as she watched the three men bid goodnight to one another. What would Jon think after learning everything? A flush of warmth flooded through her and she accepted that it would be a common reaction tied to Gendry, though she refused to admit why. She abandoned the hall once the men had left and rushed to her room in an effort to become herself once more, which was an odd sensation. Hadn’t she spent years telling herself that she wasn’t Arya Stark?

And yet, she wanted to be Arya Stark. She wanted to find her friend and put the infernal jumble of emotions to rest. But if there was anything that the overheard conversation had helped her to realize, it was that she wanted to be m’lady.

- There are so many reunion scenarios to explore between now and the premiere of Season 8. Jon & Gendry are the bromance that was promised. I need more interaction between the two of them and if Arya doesn’t get a chance to wear more faces then I will be very, very upset.

#axgweek #axgweek2018 #arya x gendry week #arya x gendry #arya & gendry #arya stark #gendry waters #gendry baratheon #gendrya #jon & gendry #game of thrones #got #got8

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queenbethbdb · 5 years

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Royal Desire

Wrath: Let's go, my man. George, find Beth. [George's collar jingled with each step, the 4-legged male eager to be on the move after the hours of being cooped up in my office following the series of news bombs regarding Lash and my shellan, the lockdown, and the talk with Lassiter.

My bonded male demanded black blood, preferably Lash's and the Omega's more than ever. Lash had been close enough to Beth to kill her, or worse, be could have tortured her like Bella had been. I refused to go there with what the angel had been through; Beth would not have survived that.

The need to check on Beth made me a male on a mission and I was /not/ seeing or talking to anyone else until I did. The wake of my bonding scent would warn a stray body to keep away, and if that didn't work I'd gladly rip off a head or two.

A soft whine and wiggling body at the end of the harness drew my attention. As did the scent of my shellan. Night blooming roses. My fangs lengthened as I homed in on her scent.]

Leelan…

Beth: *Gliding down the stairs with as much elegant grace as I possessed, I came to a sudden halt. Wrath’s scent reached me before George could, and I was already smiling when I saw Wrath. The past few days had been slow and agonizing after the shopping fiasco with Lash. I still felt nauseated. The only two people in the world that could calm my nerves were Wrath and Little Wrath. One was with Nalla and Bella, swimming and having fun with the water guns I bought them.

The other was standing in front of me, looking fiercer than I wanted him to. He seemed upset and relieved at the same time. Without a heartbeat’s hesitation, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around his neck* I’m here, Wrath. Are you done for the day?

Wrath: [Biting off a growl, my arms wrapped around my shellan, pulling her against me as my mouth found the side of her neck.] I am, and I think it’s time we had some privacy, Leelan. [The few days that had gone by we spent passing like ships in the night, but now that the Brothers were handling things and the manse was locked down, I needed to reassure my female, and myself, that she was safe.]

Is the rest of your day free, mine Beth? [This time I didn’t hide the possessive growl, and I should have from the whine at my leg followed with a bump of a head. George was just as sensitive to my moods as Beth was.] I’ll get Fritz to take George out for a long walk…

Beth: *The instant Wrath’s arms enveloped me, I felt a sense of relief wash over me. I’d held it all together since that night and I didn’t admit to anyone what if felt like. Right now, I knew I didn’t have to say anything to Wrath. He already knew. And the warmth and safety I felt in his arms was all I ever needed. I rested my head against his broad chest, closing my eyes and took a long, deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling the stress leave my body and my next breath was all about my man. Breathing him in and needing him more than I’d ever needed him before. His words barely registered and all I did was nod, not trusting my voice to be stable enough to speak. We walked together and found Fritz in the kitchen, giving George off to him before making our way in silence back to the royal suite*

Wrath: [Beth's tension slowly gave way, her body melting into mine and damn if I didn't feel like a motherfucker for allowing shit to go so far that she bottled up the tension. I held her for a few moments before reluctantly loosening my arms around her and heading to find Fritz.

The walk to the suite was without a word spoken between us, and that silence continued once we were behind closed doors. And it bothered me like an itch you couldn't scratch. Fuck.]

Leelan, talk to me.. [Pulling my shellan against my chest, I gently cupped her face, silently cursing my blindness that prevented me from gazing upon my female. I knew what she looked like, in all her emotions, bless the Virgin Scribe I had had that privilege before my sight was completely gone. But I'd never wished for it back more so than right now. My lips met Beth's forehead, then her nose and settled in a gentle kiss on her sweet lips.]

Beth: *I didn’t have the words to describe what I felt right now. I knew they would find me once I’d allowed myself to relax and refocus, but right here and now Wrath wasn’t going to get what he was asking for. I didn’t have it in me. All I wanted was his arms around me and some quiet time for us without interruptions.

I loved my son and my family, but once in a blue moon, the only one I needed was Wrath. A soft groan slipped past my lips when our lips touched and I used the opportunity to deepen the kiss and take his mind off the talking part of this experience. And it worked as well as I expected it would.

My hands slid under his shirt, lifting the black material over his head and tossing it on the floor. Every move intentional. Every touch a reflection of my desire*

Wrath: [Beth's kiss was anything but soft, earning her a low possessive growl. Wrapping my arms around my female and pulling her flush against me, fuck talking, my female needed more than words and I was wholly on board with complying with her demand.

Her taste and touch set my body and mind on fire, Beth's hands under my shirt made the damn thing restrictive along with my leathers. In a quick move I lifted my shellan, urging her legs to wrap around my waist and spun around to pin her to the door of our chambers with my hips grinding against hers. Licking into her mouth my fangs lengthened, catching the corner of her lip and tasting her sweet blood.

That tiny taste sent more than a rush through every cell, flooding the room with dark spices and the need to mark and reclaim my female. Hands tore at my leathers, a demand to be free pushing the limits of my zipper as my mouth worked down Beth's neck, scraping fangs along her flesh.]

Beth: *My male was all consuming and attentive at the same time.I felt the tension in my neck and shoulders ease with every touch of his talented hands, and every brush of his warm, smooth lips against my now heated flesh.

My legs and heels dug into his ass and thighs, to support my body as I started moving against him, groaning at the barrier my jeans provided as I felt him free his length. My core aching to be filled and my breasts thrust up against his hard chest. My head falling back with a soft moan as his bonding scent enveloped me. The familiar scent of his dark spices sending me into spiral I knew I wouldn’t break free from until we were both sated and unable to move*

Wrath: [The way my female moved against me told me all I needed to know: that she needed me as much as I needed her. Growling low with a final hard push of my hips into hers, I slid my hands to cup her ass and turned again, making progress toward the oversized King bed.

I didn't need to count the steps as instinct took over and I was laying my shellan down over the velvety bedding. Swift hands made short work of removing her clothes, placing a kiss as each slip of her flesh was revealed to my touch. Beth's moans told me, as if I needed eyes to see, where and how she needed touched. In the slower frenzy managed to get my shitkickers off and strip without breaking contact.

Once flesh to flesh, I felt mine female cup my face and take off my wraparounds. She was the only being I'd ever allowed that kind of intimacy, my sightless eyes envisioning the beautiful creature that had stolen my heart and sealed my fate to hers until I was called to the Fade.

This time was about us, for us. And time stood still in that moment. In one powerful stroke I sheathed myself in her embrace, roaring out her name over and over again as we upped the tempo, giving everything I was to Beth.]

#SL #RoyalDesire #BondedBrothers

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everythingcollided · 7 years

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I Know [Carl Grimes]

Summary: She’s aware of who she is, all of the things she’s done, how screwed up she is. But, it’s Carl’s job to show her that it doesn’t always matter and that even through that, your heart is still beating; loving.

Words: 2,850

Warnings: Swearing(maybe like one), slight angst, fluff

I know I’m broken.

I watch the cracks in my eyes shine in the light reflecting off the mirror. I feel the fractures under my skin spread and shift as I move, as I live. I see it in the way they stare at me, at us, like we’re some kind of monsters that need to be locked behind a cage. I don’t tell them that I’m already behind one. It’s not the walls that close me in, though. It’s me.

I know I’m a monster.

I live through what I’ve done in my nightmares. All the walker bodies stacked up, one against the other. Blood, everywhere. Human bodies, one against the other. Gunshots, bullets ripping through skin. Eyes; blue, brown, green, hazel, losing their light, turning milky or not shifting at all. Somehow that’s worse. Clothes being ripped off of screaming bodies, people almost being broken by something other than death, other than the walkers. By other people.

I know I can still be happy.

Sometimes I wake up in the mornings, in my own bed, shrouded in covers that smell like lavender and everything I’ve wanted the world to be since my dad died, since everyone else died. I can hear laughter coming from somewhere downstairs, the kitchen, bacon sizzling, some song by Journey completing its scratchy spin on the record player Rick picked up a while back. Sometimes I think that things will be alright when I join their smiles that have been as dormant as mine at certain points, join Carl as he reads one of his comic books and we both sip coffee out of matching bright colored mugs in our pajamas because we have nowhere to go. Just for that day.

I know my world can crumble.

Bite marks fill pages among pages in my mind. The one my brother had revealed on his shoulder, the one Sophia had in the exact same spot when she stumbled out of that barn. Bodies torn to shreds. My mother’s ripped in half and strewn across the lawns of five separate houses, T-Dog’s rib cage visible to the naked eye and glistening with blood, the fallout of the Anderson’s and so many others in Alexandria, Noah devoured alive in that rotating door. Bullet holes in skulls, tanks shooting explosives, bodies flying, my best friend getting his eye shot out and becoming heartbroken at what he’d become.

I know I can still trust.

Glenn passes around a picture of a growing baby and it feels like a puzzle piece has just squeezed into place. He’s smiling and Maggie’s smiling and everyone is smiling and it’s okay. Michonne and I practice in the backyard, swinging and slashing our swords at each other with no want of destruction. Rick glares at me and it’s because I took the last pop tart, Daryl hides his snicker at a joke I make, Carol and I make cookies and pass them out to fellow Alexandrians even if they believe they might be poisoned, Abraham calls me nicknames that annoy me to no end but give me a warmth of having people who care, Carl and I make a pinky promise over something stupid and my heart feels like it’s collapsing in on itself.

I know we’re best friends.

He found me on the farm and we promised each other we wouldn’t die. I stood by his side when he killed a soldier in the Governor’s army even though I was scared of him, he stood by mine when I got sick and was coughing up blood even if it had to be through a sheet of glass. We hugged the life out of each other when we reunited after the prison was destroyed and I’d never felt more relieved. We read comics and argue about what superhero would win a fight against the other, we talk and talk and talk after we’ve had a nightmare and neither of us can get back to sleep. I helped him get in contact with the real world again after he’d lost his eye and his smile was the best thing I’ve ever seen. He held me when Beth had been carried out of that hospital with a bullet through her head and I held him when he came out numb with his baby sister in his arms.

I know I’m in love with him.

We share a joke and a laugh in an abandoned roller rink on the road and suddenly I’m blushing and hiding behind my hair. My sketchbook is crammed full of blue eyes and freckles and I have to get another one because I’ve run out of pages, half of the pictures that come out of my camera are of a boy I call my best friend, songs that get stuck in my head are all so gooey I want to scratch them out of my brain. My heart jumps at cerulean and my skin heats at contact, my lips want something they’ve never had before and curve when they see that dumb hat peek around a corner, my fingers like the feel of soft brown hair in a moment of weak hugs.

Tears form in my eyes when I see a frown and hear that break in his voice, when we start talking about how much it hurts knowing that everything is gone. We speak about graduation and marriage and prom and thirst for it and I know I want to do it all with him. I agree with everything and pretend that most of my demons don’t taunt me with his death, pretend I don’t feel like a coward for calling him a friend and not something more. He laughs and smiles and plays with my curls and he’s happy around me and that’s enough.

Even as we sit here in the dark of the room we’ve decided to share, sweaty and shaking from twin tortures of sleep, it’s enough that he’s here, in front of me. I tell myself that over again in a mantra but there’s always that part of me that disagrees. The teenager, the believer, the one full of hope. The reason I can still smile and love and accept these people as my family.

“Do you want to talk about it?” His short breaths bring a skip in mine and I turn away from him. I shake my head every time. No. Then quiet. Silence until one of us falls asleep and the other goes back to their bed across the room. Across is too far, always.

I deny because it’s constantly him. Bleeding, dying, eating me, helpless against forces out of my control. Those alone are enough to break me but then there’s that stone that drops in my stomach when I shoot up, ripping through my heart and lungs and settling right at the bottom. It’s too much to bare, too much to relive through.

But tonight I nod. I look at the collage of pictures we’d pinned together on the light blue wall that’d never failed to remind me of his eyes. Everyone we’ve lost plus those we’re still holding onto. The both of us are there too, all over. Joyful, blushing, sparkling, naive idiots and suddenly I can’t lie to him anymore because I do want to talk about it and I do want to tell him what he makes me go through by simply sitting there in a crumpled shirt and grey sweats.

“You were in it, you’re always in it. We were on a run in some dumb shopping mall and you’d disappeared somewhere. I was having a heart attack thinking you’d gotten swallowed when I found you looking at clothes of all things.” I angle my head upwards to meet his one blue eye to keep myself composed because he’s here and he’s okay. The exposed wound of his eye is on full view and the moonlight peeking through the blinds and against the walls make him look tragically beautiful. He’s smiling, a little lift of the left side of the lips.

“You think we could get matching shirts? That’s what you said, and then you suddenly disappeared. I could hear your screaming all around me, closing in, but I couldn’t see you anywhere and, and...I couldn’t do anything. All I could do was curl up on the floor and cry and it hurt more than anything I’ve ever felt before. I-I-“

Carl’s hands grip at my shoulders. “Shut up. Don’t say anything else.” Thumbs leave trails of fire against my cheeks as he wipes away the tears that have fallen from my eyes without consent. “I don’t like it when you cry.” he mumbles.

“Sorry,” I sniff pathetically. I’m always somehow showing weakness around him. I hate it. “I’ve just seen you die so many times, so many, and I’m tired of going to sleep only to see it over and over again.”

He’s quiet for a while after his hands drop from my cheeks and I wonder if he’s even going to say anything, if he’s going to back down. “We were still in the prison,” he says. It takes me a moment to realize he’s talking about his dream. “And you were sick. We were laughing over some stupid joke you made through the glass when you started choking. You were choking on your own blood and I couldn’t get to you. The door wouldn’t open and I kept on banging on the glass but it wouldn’t do anything and...you were gone. I don’t know how much worse it would have gotten if I didn’t wake up.”

I sigh at the fissure in my heart when tears fall out of his eye and wipe at it, murmuring, “I don’t like it when you cry either.” We share a pathetic chuckle and I drop my hand from his face.

Carl catches it a moment after it’s slapped against the mound of bedsheet between us, interlocking our pinkies in that familiar way. I watch him, bright eye directed downward. His nose twitches, an action that warns of incoming tears. “Don’t die, okay?” The sleep heavy husk of his voice cracks under all the pressure.

I’ve seen him vulnerable a handful of times, after his mom, the eye, the church, after Atlanta, after the farm. Each broken stare weakens me a little bit more. I find myself nodding to him, squeezing the finger in contact with his. “Okay.”

And then he’s smiling and I’m smiling and were staring at each other and the moment’s been glued back together. I want to kiss him, so bad, but my stomach coils and tightens at the glance I steal and I’m suddenly retreating from the thought. I meet blue that’s shifting all around my face; back and forth between my eyes, my nose, my lips. His Adam’s Apple bobs with the force of a gulp.

His mouth opens and I know he wants to say something, but it slams shut before his voice escapes. I raise my eyebrows at him in question and he looks at the wall of photos like I did minutes ago to avoid my gaze, a sigh floating through the air and lips pursing.

“Carl,” I call and it’s when he turns for an answer that I realize I have no idea what I was going to say. I just wanted him to look at me. I dig for a question. “What is it?”

Those lips open slightly again, managing, “I-“ before they hang there. I glance up at him and begin to tell him to go on, to distract me from leaning forward.

But my mouth is stopped from emitting sound by his own.

Something whooshes through my body, something that makes me feel numb and exhilarated at the same time. It causes my heart to speed up until it’s pounding in my ears, my hands have suddenly become completely developed in his and they’re warm and comforting, a fire has been lit underneath my skin and I have no hope of catching my breath, but my eyes manage to slide shut.

The contact disappears too fast.

Just as quick as he came, Carl leans back, thankfully continuing to clutch at my hands and unfortunately leaving me with only the remnants of the mint chapstick he puts on before bed every night on my lips. It’s the only thing that informs me I didn’t just imagine that.

I can’t form a coherent thought in my brain. It’s been blown to bits and I’m trying to clutch up the fragments as Carl avidly avoids my eyes that have opened to protest his absence. He gives a second long chew to his bottom lip before whispering out with a breath so low I wouldn’t have been able to hear if it weren’t the middle of the night, “I love you.”

I blink in response, my organs dropping out of my body and through the floor. I fumble for responses and nothing can make it out of my mouth because my heart is crawling up my throat and choking me. Carl’s expression darkens the longer I take to recompose myself and it rips through me like a bullet.

Come on, voice, you can do it.

“S-seriously?”

His head whips up, long hair slapping against his forehead. It’s brown against honest, honest blue and tears spring into my eyes without warning because in this world, in all of this destructive, heartbreaking, terrible shit Carl Grimes found it in himself - his terribly tortured self - to let me through the chinks in his armor and the breaches in the walls he puts up for everyone to see. He loves me. It’s still weaving itself through my mind.

Carl nods with that rare shyness he has and I can feel the smile spreading across my face. I’m going to be exhausted when I come off of this emotional high.

“I love you too.”

The grin that emerges from my words punches me with the reminder of how utterly attractive my best friend is. All sprinkled freckles standing out in the pink hiding under his skin, chocolate hair messed up and undeniably soft, one blue eye shining brightly in the dark and the other a constant reminder of how brave he is, the forest smell that constantly surrounds him shrouding me in a safety I’ve always had when he’s around.

Carl lets out a breath, “God, that would have been embarrassing if you didn’t.” Our laugh is one of happiness this time, full to the brim on relief. It fades out quickly when we find ourselves in each other’s eyes again, Carl clearing his throat after a minute with a question of my name.

I’m pretty sure I give a hummed response.

“Can…” he blinks, takes a few deep and angry breaths. “Can I kiss you again?”

My whole body feels like jello and through that I have to force myself from screaming out in agreeance, muttering out a, “Yes.” that’s bursting with light.

And so we both lean forward this time. My senses indulge in mint and wilderness and body wash and shampoo, his hair tickles my forehead and I know it’s something I’d love getting used to, his hands so used to gripping guns and knives are now holding my cheeks in place and I don’t want that to change anytime soon.

I know we’ll be alright. Somehow, someway.

As long as we’re there to guide each other through the nightmares.

#carl grimes #carl twd #the walking dead #twd #carl grimes imagine #carl grimes x reader #rick grimes #michonne #t dog #nightmare #romance #fluff #carl grimes fluff #lyd writes

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