#Beatrice Stern

[lirhyapetitpain]

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Link to each cards in this post

[phoward89]

Based on this ask

Young President!Coriolanus Snow x First Lady Wife!Reader

It's no secret that your marriage to your husband, President Coriolanus Snow, is an arranged one. Your father, Colonel Javani Halvir, just happened to be bestfriends with his father, General Crassus Snow, so of course the families had drafted up a marriage contract for the two of you. A contract that was made when you were still little kids.

Of course, when you came of age you got married. The engagement was actually a long one, considering Coriolanus wanted to wait until he graduated the University to get married. You didn't mind tho since it meant you were able to get to know him better due to the longer courtship.

Despite his cold and stoic demeanor, Coriolanus was a really nice man to you. And as time went by he became more and more enchanted with you- well, despite claiming to never love again he truly did fall madly and obsessively in love with you. He always made sure to show you his love and devotion too, whether that be by showering you with gifts or kisses. Whether that be by making sweet love to you or passionately fucking your brains out. But, Coriolanus Snow always made sure that you knew how much you meant to him. Both before and after you said ‘I do’.

But a lot of your so-called ‘friends’, the socialites and wives of other political elites and friends of your husband, would often make little remarks about how awful it must be being married to President Snow since he's such a cold, stoic, hard, hateful, ruthless man. Despite these women being afraid of your husband, they still talked shit about him. And in places they knew you'd overhear too, like in the lady's room at galas, balls, tea parties, etc.

And this afternoon you came home from a charity luncheon for Doctor's Saving Districts very distraught. When your personal maid took a seat next to you on the sofa in your sitting room and asked, “First Lady Y/N, what's the matter? Wasn't the charity luncheon nice?”, you burst into hysterical tears.

“Oh, Beatrice, it was horrible. Completely horrible.” You cry, causing your personal maid to just give you a questioning look. “My friends were gossiping about me and my husband in the bathroom; they said such horrible things.”

“What did they say, First Lady Y/N?” Bianca, your personal maid and friend in the Presidential Palace, asked while wrapping her arms around you, pulling you into a hug.

“That it must be horrible being married to the president since he's such a cold, stern, stoic man.” You told your maid the exact words you heard Livia Heavensbee nee Cardew tell your friend Megara in the ladies room this afternoon.

Before Bianca could say any words of sympathy to you, you begin to break down and cry. “They assume he's a cold and hateful husband when he's not. And they think I'm miserable when I'm happy with him.”

Unknown to you, Coriolanus has finished his meeting earlier than expected and decided to pay you a visit in the living quarters of the Presidential Palace to inquire about the charity luncheon you attended today. Your husband was very proud of you for being such an avid philanthropist. Your kind heart and sunshine disposition made your inner beauty rival that of your putter beauty; it made the president love you even more than he thought possible.

So, when Coriolanus walks into the sitting room only to be met with the sight of your crying, crumpled form being held by your personal maid and friend, he's very concerned. But when he hears your sob ridden voice hiccup, “My friends assume that Coryo doesn't love me because of his proper and stern disposition he displays in public and it hurts. But what hurts more is that they assume I'm miserable in a loveless marriage, Bianca.”

Hearing you say that breaks President Snow’s heart and pisses him off too. How dare the high society women of Capitol City, Panem pretend to be your friends only to gossip behind your back; say blatant lies about your relationship? Who do those useless socialite whores think they are? Making his wife cry? Slandering his personality and his love for you?

Those Capitolite bitches need to pay and he knows just the perfect way to make them do that. Oh yes, he's going to make them pea green with envy at the next gala (which is at the end of the week for the Doctors Saving Districts charity) by being the perfect doting husband to you.

“Those women are just jealous fools, First Lady Y/N. It's clear as day to the entire palace staff that President Coriolanus loves you very much; in fact, those women must be wearing blinders if they can't see how much you mean to your husband.” Bianca tells you in a very supportive and friendly tone.

“I doubt it. My husband's not one for PDA, so there's no true way for my friends to see that he’s not a hateful, cold hearted bastard.” You sniffle, pulling away from your maid and wiping your eyes.

How dare those women call him a hateful, cold hearted bastard towards his wife? Well, he just happens to know that despite being sweethearts with Persephone, Festus is currently cheating on her with not one, but two mistresses. And your friend Megara, well he has it on good authority that her husband, who's a lobbyist for a politician that opposes the president, is having an affair with his driver.

Hmm, these women think that their husbands love them so much because they hang on them in public, but that's far from the truth. Their husbands are putting on a show, an elaborate act, for everyone.

It's an act that Coriolanus never felt the need to put on because he's faithful to you, loves you with his entire being, and doesn't feel the need to ‘prove’ his devotion to you. But now he needs to be a better husband in public than the men your ‘friends’ are married to.

Coriolanus is determined to show you off at the gala in a few days. Make you feel like the most loved and adored woman in all of Panem.

The president decides to back out of the room and let you cry with Bianca, your trusted maid and friend, in privacy. He’ll come back later when he knows your tears are dried and your makeup’s fixed to ask about your charity luncheon. Coriolanus doesn't want to embarrass you by letting you know that he overheard your tearful breakdown about your relationship being labeled a cold loveless one.

When Saturday night rolled around your husband, President Snow, took you to the charity gala for Doctors Saving Districts. You two looked like the epitome of a regal couple- him with his dark burgundy suit and crisp white shirt, complete with ruby cufflinks, and you in your white strappy ball gown with dangling ruby and diamond earrings, ruby and diamond choker, and ruby and diamond tennis bracelet. His platinum blonde hair was slicked back in its signature pompadour while yours was pinned in an elegant half-updo. And to top it all off, you wore matching white roses. His white rose was on his lapel while your white roses were tucked into your half updo- making your silky hair pop beautifully.

All of the men secretly wish that you’re hanging on their arms instead of on your husband's. The men envied Coriolanus for being your husband. One would think men would covet his presidential position, but that wasn't the case.

No...

In fact, you're the most beautiful lady in the Capitol according to the murmurs amongst the elite and wealthy men. Hell, if you'd give them a second look they'd drop their wives faster than a hot potato. But that'll never happen because you only have eyes for your husband, President Coriolanus Snow.

And the cold, stoic, stern, ruthless Mister President only has eyes for you as well. And because of that, he's not letting you leave his side tonight. President Coriolanus Snow is going to show you off; dote on you so much that the socialites of the Capitol will be astonished, envious, and will never utter a slanderous lie against him as your husband ever again.

“There's Hilarious and Livia Heavensbee.” Coriolanus subtly pointed out the miserable looking couple as they bickered by the punch bowl. “Shall we go over and say hello, darling?”

After overhearing Livia and Megara’s hurtful gossip about your husband being unloving to you the other day, well, you didn't want to be around her. But your husband's the president and he's old classmates with the Heavensbees, so you understand why he suggested approaching them to strike up polite conversation. Coriolanus had to portray himself as a polite and charming creature to ensure that he kept his top political position.

Although only Capitol citizens are eligible to vote, a vote for presidential terms is held every handful of years. So, your husband has to play nice with the other Capitolite elite.

And you?

Well…

You need to be the epitome of a perfect wife and a perfect First Lady. Which, unknown to you, Coriolanus feels that you've far exceeded his expectations for you in that department.

“Yes, let's say hello to them.” You nod, a thin smile on your face, as an Avox comes over holding a tray full of champagne.

Coriolanus grabs two flutes of champagne, one for each of you, and dismisses the Avox. Handing you your drink, he takes a sip of his. Once your fingers are daintily wrapped around the champagne flute, your husband's large hand rests on the small of your back as he guides you over to Hilarious and Livia Heavensbee.

“Hilarious,” Coriolanus greets his former Academy acquaintance with a nod. Turning to Livia, who he's always hated, but hates ten fold now because of how she made you cry, your husband puts on a fake smile and greets her, “Livia, I believe you attended the charity luncheon with my wife, Y/N, this past Wednesday.”

Livia Heavensbee nee Cardew looked every inch a fine socialite in her black evening gown and black sheer gloves, but she couldn't hold a candle to you. In fact, her husband's sneaking glances at you while President Snow caresses your back as you're tucked into his side, sipping on champagne.

Mrs. Heavensbee is a bit surprised by your husband's hand stroking up and down your spine. She's also shocked that you're tucked into the president’s side; looking every bit like a woman being doted on by a loving husband.

It can't be so, can it? Coriolanus is a cold, hard, unfeeling, stern, ruthless man. How can he be a doting husband to you? It doesn't make sense to Livia.

No sense to her at all.

“Yes, we attended the charity luncheon together.” Livia confirms, all the while her eyes are glued to the way President Coriolanus Snow’s hand comes to rest on your hip- thumb pressing circles into the white fabric of your dress's bodice.

Not letting the Heavensbees get a word in, Coriolanus brags about your kind disposition. “My darling rose is quite the philanthropist. She heads so many charities and I couldn't be prouder of her for it.” Coriolanus bends down slightly, since he towers over you, and pecks you on the cheek. “Y/N is the perfect epitome of a true First Lady.” Turning to you, he asks in the loving baritone he reserves only for you, “Aren't you, baby?”

“Coryo, you flatter me more than I deserve.” You humbly counter. “I’m not that perfect.”

“See, not a vain bone in my wife's body to even take credit for all the work she does; for being the perfect embodiment of what a Capitolite lady should strive to be.” Coriolanus proudly told Hilarious and Livia while moving his hand up to caress your shoulder. Turning to Hilarious, he asks, “How's business been, old friend?”

“Business is business, as usual.” Hilarious flatly replied, earning him a nod from President Snow.

“Well, as much as I'd like to stick around and discuss your business, I must take my wife to greet some other friends.” The regal president tells the inferior couple, who don't even have matching outfits on, before dragging you away.

Livia’s livid as she sees your husband's hand slide down to pinch your ass while the two of you head towards where your friend Megara's at. Never did Livia think that President Coriolanus Snow could be so doting on you. Why won't her husband caress her or goose her in public? It's not fair!

But, in Hilarious’ defense, he didn't love the dirty blonde shrew. He got stuck with her via an arranged marriage. The ancestor of the founding father of Panem and the heiress of the largest bank in not just Capitol City, but all of Panem, was a very smart match. It just never produced any love, but they did have a son. Plutarch. But they never talked about him.

“I'm surprised you're leading us over to Megara and her cousin Hera. I thought you didn't like them?” You ask your husband as your ‘friends' got into range.

Leaning down, Coryo's breath is hot against his ear as he whispers, “I don't like them, darling, but tonight I'll deal with their useless chatter in order to greet them with you, my love.”

“As nice as it is having you greet my friends with me, Coryo, you're the President of Panem and need to greet high ranking politicians and allies of your own accord.”

“You forget, baby, that you're my First Lady so you're able to be by my side as I greet allies, foes pretending to be allies, and business contacts.”

“Why do I get the feeling that you're going to be extra needy tonight?” You ask your husband in a whisper only he can hear.

Coriolanus icy eyes twinkle mischievously as he says, “Perhaps your beauty has overwhelmed my senses and I want my beautiful wife by my side tonight.” His hot breath tickles your ear as he huskily adds in, “And I want you to ride my cock for hours tonight, my love. For hours upon hours, til I'm too sensitive to get hard and your womb’s overflowing with my seed.”

You're speechless as your husband stops you right in front of your friends Megara and Hera. He greets them with the charming sophistication only Coriolanus possesses from a lifetime of selling snake oil and lies. And just like before, he sings your praises and caresses you in a way that has your ‘friends' seething in silent jealousy.

In fact, Coriolanus does it all night long- dote on you in such a way that every female in the room’s beyond jealous. And when he notices that the Capitolite ladies are visibily shaken by his displays of love and affection towards, he knows that he's won; that his mission to show everyone that you're very well loved and cared for by him- President Coriolanus Snow, has worked.

Oh, and when the Presidential Palace's PR team makes an announcement exactly one month later about how President Coriolanus Snow and First Lady Y/N Snow are expecting their first child, well, nobody at the gala's surprised. Far from it considering how much of a doting husband Coriolanus was to you that night.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @preteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @princess-harvey @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons @tempt-ress

[theitgirlnetwork]

Earn It

Ch. 7: Heaven's Happiness

Note: As always, the love this story receives amazes me. Thank you so much for reading. Thank you for the notes, the reblogs, the comments and messages. Interacting makes this so much fun! I hope you all enjoy this chapter. There will be a lot more time skips from here on out! So you'll all get to know the gang as adults. I will ask that if anyone wants to use my story as inspo for one of your own, or anything else, you let me know, it's more fun that way. I also don't post this or any of my other stuff anywhere else. Once again, hi to my best friend who now reads this story, love you miss girl <3 Anywayyy, I hope you all enjoy! Thanks for reading <3

Taglist:@spookystitchery@anehkael@fkaams@butterflyybabe@sun2flower @holierthancunt @silkenthusiasts @wolflover384 @liziihorta @summerssover @jackierose902109

Warnings: Some strong language

“She’s very gifted, Mr. and Mrs. Whitlock. The best I’ve seen at this age in my career. You could have a professional dancer on your hands.”

The three adults watch from the observing window as Heaven demonstrates Grand Adage for a group of her peers. Her little back straight and stomach tight as she accomplishes the move with a stern discipline that many adults struggle to achieve. 

“We know. So why is she playing Clara?” 

“Beatrice-”

“I’m just wondering, Luca, I mean I just believe it’s our right as her parents to ask Madame Sidorov why our 9 year old daughter is teaching the snowflakes that are twice her age the dance she doesn’t get to be a part of.” 

Madame Sidorov swallows hard as she brings her clipboard to her chest. She’s been running her youth dance company for over 20 years. Many of her dancers have gone on to be successful, working artists. But she’d never seen talent like Heaven Whitlock. The girl came into her studio at the age of 6, excited to show her that she already knew how to go en pointe even though children really shouldn’t and normally couldn’t do it until they were 11. Madame Sidorov had been overcome with excitement. She had a star on her hands. 

The older woman also learned that Beatrice Whitlock also knew what she had. The teacher has dealt with gunner parents before, but none like the stern young woman who trailed in behind her prodigy daughter with her nose in the sky and demands on her tongue. 

“Mrs. Whitlock, Clara is the lead role in the Nutcracker-”

“Bullshit, Sidorov, we both know that the prima dancer role is the Sugar Plum Fairy and the arguably most complicated dance is the Waltz of the Snowflakes, the dance you had my daughter demonstrating yesterday. So,” Beatrice’s heels click as she shifts her weight from one leg to another, hip jutting out. “Why is your best dancer playing the dumb little girl who spends most of the ballet watching everyone else dance?”

“I think my wife is frustrated because we all know our daughter is talented. So we’re having a hard time understanding why those talents aren’t being showcased.” Luca cuts, wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist in an attempt to calm her. 

“Heaven is only 9. We need to allow the older dancers to play the more advanced roles-” 

“Then they should be better.” Beatrice interrupts, swinging her purse over her shoulder, pushing her shades up onto her head. “How about this, until your priorities are straight, we can take Heaven somewhere where things are fair and you can dust off your pointe shoes and start teaching again instead of using my child.”

“But, all of my friends go there.” Heaven whines as they speed their way down the highway for the hour drive back to their home. “I don’t want to find another studio.”

“I know, Stellina, but we want you to have every opportunity. Wouldn’t you want more chances to dance?”

Heaven is stubbornly silent in the backseat, her step father softly pats her foot, reaching back from the driver seat. Her mother turns to face her, a noncommittal look on her face. “Baby, when you came to Mommy a couple years ago, what did you say you wanted to be when you grew up?”

The younger girl bites her lip, tugging irritably at her seatbelt. “A ballerina.”

“Just a ballerina?”

Heaven huffs, crossing her arms over her chest, looking away from her mother. “The best ballerina ever.”

“The best ballerina. Ever. And Mommy and Papino have worked very hard to make that possible for you, yes? Practice everyday, paying for lessons, buying you everything you need. But you’re a big girl now. You’re going to have to learn how to work very hard too if you want to be the best, baby. We can only take you part of the way. You need to think super hard about whether this is what you want. You need to think about if you’re going to earn it.”

Beatrice’s voice is soft and kind, but her words are harsh. She turns around, not waiting for a response from her daughter, satisfied that her whines and complaints had quieted to obedient, stifled little sniffles. 

Heaven stares down at her hands through wet lashes, her bottom lip wobbling as she smothers her sadness. She does want it. She wants to be the best ballerina ever. She is going to be the best ballerina ever. And she’s grateful. Papino and Mommy had given a lot. And she won’t disappoint them. So she’d go to a new dance studio. She would make new friends. And if not, that wasn’t what she was there for. 

Luca Whitlock frowns as he drums his finger on the steering wheel, looking forward at the traffic ahead of them. “How about some ice cream, Stellina? Might cheer you up?” 

Identical sets of brown eyes meet in the rearview mirror. The little girl in the backseat simply sinks against the leather, forcing indifference into her voice. “No thank you, Papino, I’m…not hungry.”

“And you have your, um,” Heaven scratches her head, mentally scrolling through the list of items Tashi would need at home. She was going to spend the first few weeks post-knee surgery with her parents. Heaven had stayed with her girlfriend for the days following the injury, lying to her school and telling them she had a death in the family that required her to take some time away. She just wanted to get Tashi settled before she headed back to UCLA. 

The dancer had assumed that their boyfriend would emerge out of the shadows, and use his charm to weasel out of an apology, ultimately taking over Tashi’s care since he had the most free time.

Unfortunately, he continued to disappoint her. So, instead, she lingered. Slept in Tashi’s bed with her, unwrapped and rewrapped her knee. Cleaned her dorm, brought her any work she missed. The girls in the athletic dorm thought she’d moved in. But now, Tashi’s parents were here to take her home for a little while. 

“I have everything, Hev, you made sure of that.” 

Her heart aches. Tashi sounds so tired. So down. Heaven is so frustrated. She’s ready to move past this part. She wants Tashi to just be better. She tells herself over and over that the surgery would fix it. That once she got the treatment she needs and a little physical therapy, she’d be back to where she was, ready to take over the world with her. 

“I’ll see you when we open, right? You’re still gonna come?” Heaven rocks on her feet, careful not to bump Tashi’s crutch. “You don’t have to, you’ve seen me do most of the dances and I know it might be hard to travel-”

“Babe, I’ll be there. Okay? I need to go.” Tashi lifts Heaven’s chin, giving her a halfhearted peck before turning to climb into her dad’s truck, gesturing for Heaven to stop when she goes to try helping her into the high seated vehicle. “I’ll call you. Why don’t you have Art help you get your stuff from my room? He probably wants to say goodbye.”

“T, are we gonna talk more about that-”

“I told you,” Tashi shrugs, hand on the car door handle, her pajama pants poorly covering the large brace on her knee. “M’not mad. It’s fine.”

It’s not fine. Heaven isn’t stupid. Ever since Tashi and Patrick found out that she’d done…stuff with Art, Patrick has been radio silent, and all Tashi does is encourage Heaven to spend more time with Art who she was decidedly avoiding. She’d gotten…caught up in the infirmary. The combination of the heightened emotions and Art’s soft attention and care caused another moment of weakness. She’d accidentally said something that she’d been denying to herself ever since, and thanking the good lord above that Art had apparently missed. She was determined not to tempt fate for a…fourth time?

Which is why she’d gone back to Tashi’s room and started packing her stuff and straightening up without alerting the blond tennis player who’d been haunting her dreams as of late. And it’s also why she almost pissed herself when he’d somehow materialized in the dorm room doorway, rapping his knuckles against the light wood, in a failed attempt not to startle her.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, but, um, Tashi texted me and said you might need some help getting this stuff to your car.” 

He looks good. She can’t ignore that, but she can refuse to get caught up in staring at him as he leans in the doorway, muscled arms on full display as he leans in the frame, a poorly hidden pout on his face. 

“I’m good.” Heaven shrugs, slinging her bookbag over her shoulder, trying to lift her purse and her other two bags at the same time, only to have all of her belongings fall out of her purse. “Fuck.”

“Fuck, let me help you.” Art bends and starts grabbing the miscellaneous items from her bag.

“I can do it-”

“It’ll be quicker-”

“Art.” She huffs, tucking her hair behind her ears and sitting criss-crossed on the floor. “I meant it, when I said that I was done…Tashi might be trying to teach me a lesson in some kind of twisted way, and I’m sorry you’re getting mixed up in it, but I’m…I can’t be around you and be with her at the same time. Clearly, I can’t handle boundaries.”

“So…so what does that mean? Not talking at all? Is that what you want?” He asks, shoulders dropping, eyes filled with hurt as he inches closer. “Heaven-”

“Sure. If that’s what it takes for it to get you to get I can’t do” she gestures between them. “This, then fine, let’s say that’s what I want.” 

Art clenches his jaw, blinking quickly as he tries to think something he could say. Anything to change her mind. “Heaven, please, I’ll…we’d be friends. We can just, I can’t…please don’t.” he finishes, giving up on trying to articulate his thoughts through his panicked haze. Through all of this back and forth, chasing and running, he’d forgotten the chance that once Patrick was out of the picture, that he might get written out too. 

His eyes scan her face as she shakes her head, shoving the last of her stuff back into her purse and standing. “Art, it’s not like I don’t wanna be around you. But stuff is getting too complicated. This shit is just too much. I haven’t been back to my school in days, Tashi’s leg is fucked and I don’t want to make things any harder for her, Patrick is just fucking gone and I really can’t handle anything more. So when you say we can be friends, I need you to mean it. I need you to tell me we can do that.”

Art finds himself in between a rock and a hard place. He wants to be honest. He wants to acknowledge that he can’t see himself getting over her within the foreseeable future. He wants to tell her that he’s glad she’s probably not with Patrick anymore, and as bad as he feels about Tashi’s leg, he quite frankly does not understand why it has to change anything between them. 

But he’s desperate. Art is humiliated to admit it to himself but, he would do anything to keep the line of communication between him and Heaven open so if he had to appease her by saying that they would be platonic despite the fact that he quite literally gets dizzy standing next to her, fine. Like he’d told himself before, he was playing the long game, collecting the points that matter. So, offering her a tight smile, Art sticks his large hand out to her, encasing her smaller one and jumping to stand at his full height. “Friends. But, friends don’t ignore each other for days, Hev.” 

Heaven bites her lower lip, choosing to ignore the blue-brown eyes that drop to her mouth before looking back up at her and shaking his hand. “Okay. Yeah.” The pair slowly pull their hands apart, Heaven shivers as she feels the calluses on his palm slide across her hand. “As my friend, can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Is,” the girl rolls her eyes to the ceiling, releasing a heavy sigh. “Is she done? You saw it, and you obviously know more than me…is that something she can keep playing with her knee like that?”

He can’t bring himself to dash the hope she was clearly harboring on the behalf of Tashi but the girl’s recovery is…unlikely. Art tucks his hands in his pockets, tilting his head as he chooses his words carefully. “Tashi’s strong, and really fucking good, if anyone is going to recover from that kind of injury, it’s her.”

“So…no.” Heaven sits down on Tashi’s bed, staring forward at the wall that’s littered with pictures of some of the best tennis players in the world. A shaky breath leaves her as she stares at the professional posters, accompanied by the posters Adidas had made with Tashi on them. 

“You’re a really good girlfriend.” Art whispers.

“I cheated on her with you. I’m pretty much the worst girlfriend ever.”

“No, I mean, you’re really invested in her. In the thing she loves, like you care about tennis the same way we do, f-for her.” 

Heaven smiles softly to herself, grabbing Tashi’s pillow and hugging it to her body. “I fell in love with Tashi watching her play tennis. Just like everyone else does.” she jokes, poking Art’s leg with her toe. “When I’m watching her, it’s like I’m getting to witness something. It’s…corny but tennis is her calling. She goes to some other little world when she’s playing, and, even though I’m not a tennis player, she takes me with her. It’s this feeling of closeness that I can’t get anywhere else, you know?” Or at least, nowhere else I’m willing to talk about.

He does know. Art does know exactly what she’s talking about. He felt it. Once, when he and Patrick sat and watched Tashi play for the first time. It’s an all encompassing feeling. He was so caught up in watching her every move that he hadn’t looked anywhere but at Tashi. If he’d just looked three rows in front of him he’d have seen the girl in front of him now. 

The second time, the feeling was more intense, more of a sensation than a mere feeling. It was when he was sitting in an empty theater, watching Heaven dance, just for him. Art had never felt the things he’d felt before. He’d never had the thoughts he thought. He’d held his breath for the entire minute and 26 seconds that she gave him. He sat on the edge of the red, fabric auditorium seat, scared to blink and get left behind. He wanted to capture the feeling and keep it forever. And he has. He’s kept it. And everytime she gives him another taste, a smile, a kiss, a laugh, a touch, he goes back to being alone in the theater, experiencing euphoria for the very first time. 

If that’s the feeling Tashi gives Heaven, then he’s very jealous. And he wants it.

And that’s another new feeling the girls introduced him to. He’d never wanted something like her…or…uh them. 

Jealousy. Longing. Needing. 

Art knew exactly what Patrick was talking about when he said he liked seeing him fired up about something. Because, as much as he loves tennis, it didn’t make his blood boil. It didn’t make his stomach muscles clench with intensity. He didn’t feel that satisfying nervous burn. Not until…

Art needs to test a theory.

He scratches the back of his head, looking down at his sneakers before clearing his throat. “Uh, so, Hev, I’ve got a match this afternoon. And, I know things are weird right now, so you might think I’m a dick for even asking-”

“Arthur.”

“Come watch me play.” He blurts. Heaven’s eyes widen and he finds himself taking a tentative step forward as if he was trying to soothe a spooked horse. “I don’t know, I just figured…I mean, you might miss watching someone play, with Tashi taking a break and Patrick being…himself.” When Heaven continues to look unsure, Art puts himself out there again, trying to entice her the way he knows how. He moves to stand in front of where she’s seated on the bed, crouching to be just below her level. “When I win it will be for you. I’d like you to be there.” Art carefully tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear, before grabbing her chin between his thumb and index finger, moving her face around playfully. “As a friend.”

As a friend. That’s exactly what Heaven repeats to herself, over and over when she carries her bags over to the tennis courts, placing one foot onto the metal bleacher and opting to sit in the seats down on the front to rows. Just so she can see better. And it’ll be easier to slip out before the match is over. Besides, she couldn’t bring herself to sit with the women’s tennis players towards the top. All she could think of when she saw them was that it should have been one of their legs cracking instead of Tashi’s and it didn’t exactly make her feel like a great person. 

She slips into the seat and crosses her legs, struggling as she pushes her overnight bag under the low seat.

“Hey, let me help you.” A blonde girl crouches beside her, pushing along with Heaven and getting the back underneath. 

“Oh,” Heaven offers her a bright smile. “Thanks, I have to head back to my school after this so I have all my shit with me, didn’t think I was gonna come.”

“No problem,” the girl chirps, plopping down into the seat next to Heaven. “Sara. Myles’ girlfriend, he’s playing after this first match. Whose girlfriend are you?”

Tashi’s name is on the tip of her tongue. She swears it is. But the girl is clearly talking about the players that were starting to filter in, with their red shirts that Heaven could see fitting Art perfectly from her seat. His blond curls flopping as his head moves side to side, she knows he’s looking for her. Heaven gives a soft wave to catch his attention and can’t help but match his smile when he spots her, waving back. “I’m not dating a player.”

“Well these are girlfriend seats, so don’t let anyone else hear you say that.” Sara says lightly, pulling her shades down over her eyes. 

Heaven turns to look at her, tearing her eyes away from Art stretching. “What the hell are girlfriend seats?”

“They’re seats…where girlfriends sit?” The girl sits up to get a pixelated picture of her boyfriend on her razor. “You know, the players’ girls sit, so they can see them. No wonder I don’t recognize you, you’re a plant.”

“I’m Heaven, I don’t go here, I’m just watching my friend before I go back to UCLA.” 

“Oh, shit,” Sara’s eyes widen in realization. “You’re Donaldson’s girl right? Myles’ cousin Kyle, trust me I know the names kill me too, but he was saying how Donaldson brought his hot girlfriend out with them the other night and was dick trying to show off for her.” 

“Again, we’re friends, m’not his girl.”

“Hey, Hev!” Sara ducks her head, watching out of her peripheral as Art jogs over, racket in hand, pushing up onto the fence so he could be eye level with Heaven. “Match is about to start, kiss for good luck?” He grins, holding his racket handle out to her. He playfully pouts until she gives in, leaning forward and pressing her glossed lips to the handle, looking at Art through her lashes. The blond wets his bottom lip and pulls the racket back. “Eyes on me, okay?” 

“Whatever, just remember you promised me a win.” Heaven giggles, crossing her arms as she settles back into her seat. Art beams even wider, hopping down off of the fence and jogging backwards back to where the players sit. “And spit out your gum!”

Faintly, she could hear Art’s teammates reprimanding him for ‘making the rest of them look bad’ and she smiles to herself, bringing a hand up to play with her name chain.

“Girl.” Sara snorts.

“Just friends.”

“Yeah sure.” the blonde girl shrugs, pushing her shades back down. “Don’t tell me, tell Donaldson.”

Art delivers a win, as promised. It wasn’t hard, really. One thing Patrick had gotten right was that college kids weren’t really much competition. And maybe he had some very good motivation sitting out in the crowd with her eyes locked on him. So he showed off a little, served a little harder, made the other guy run a little bit more than necessary. He could always explain that away as wanting to impress his coach and any possible reps looking to endorse him. And sure, he might’ve looked over at her for each point he wrenched out of the poor guy from Temple’s hands but…well he didn’t have an excuse for that other than it gave him a rush knowing that she is sitting pretty, legs crossed, perched with the other girlfriends, watching him, rooting for him, breathing heavy for him. 

When matchpoint is declared his, Art smiles cockily, strolling up to the net and shaking hands with his opponent before making his way over to Heaven again, this time climbing completely over the fence, leaving behind his tennis bag on the opposite side of the court. This time she stands, catching him a little as he lands in the small space in front of her and the fence. “Well?” he pants, lifting his hat to adjust his hair before placing it back on his head. 

“Well, what? You want me to say congratulations?” Heaven grins, sweeping some sweat that dripped from his forehead off of his cheek. “Congratulations, Arthur.” she hums.

“Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

“Yeah,” Sarah calls from her seat, smiling smugly up at the pair. “Good job, Donaldson. Why don’t you try to pass some of that mojo to Myles, huh? Getting kinda tired of coming out to these things just to watch you play.”

“I’ve got a lucky charm, that’s all.” Art nudges Heaven, wrapping an arm around her waist so she doesn’t stumble too far away from him.

“Yeah, so, lucky, or the other guy sucks and Art is good-”

“No, I think you’re my lucky charm, don’t try to ruin it-” Art laughs, taking his hat off again, his messy blond hair falling all over as he places it on Heaven’s head, holding her to him as she squirms.

“Ew, Arthur, it's sweaty!”

“It’s the fruit of my labor, Hev, that win was for you!”

Sarah scoffs, shaking her head as she watches the pair, leaning away to avoid getting hit when Art lifts Heaven, swinging her to the opposite side of him to help her get to the steps before grabbing her bags. As she sees him guide her by her waist down the bleachers, both of them cheesing as they chat as if no one else was there and she realizes that Art is leaving the courts before his fellow teammates play, Sarah commends her own instincts.

And then she makes a note to herself to start saving the returning girlfriend seat next to hers for Heaven. The other girls were sort’ve bitches, anyway.

“So, I should head back.” Heaven leans back against the driver door of her car, clasping her hands together behind her. “But, this got my mind off of things for a little, so thank you.”

“It’s what friends are for.” Art laughs, stepping in front of her, hand behind his neck.

“Pft, you’re such a dick. Aren’t you supposed to be the nice one?”

“I am nice.” he smiles, rocking on his feet, feeling his chest tighten as Heaven bites her rose petal bottom lip again. His eyes soften as he stares down at her delicate features and thinks about how right things feel when they’re together. How he hasn’t felt this good in…ever. “So nice, I’m not gonna say what I want to say. I’m just gonna say,” he takes her hand gently, toying with her fingers, pushing her thumb with his own, “goodnight.”

Heaven’s lips part, and looking up into his eyes, how kindly he looks down at her. What she can see in them almost does it. She almost got lost, just like that. But a buzz in her jacket pocket has her grabbing her phone and the message has her taking a small step backward and placing her hand on her door handle. “Goodbye, Art.”

“One two three, one two three, and Peter please keep up with Heaven, Heaven a little less hatred on your face, thank you, two three and up, I want her in the air-” Madame Fontaine claps her hands to the pace of the movements she wants from her two leads, following them as they move across the floor. Heaven holds her breath as she’s lifted into the air for two counts before she’s slid down Peter’s body, draping herself across him romantically as he kneels to accommodate her. “Yes, that is exactly it. Now kiss.”

Heaven feels herself wince, squeezing her eyes shut as she feels Peter’s lips press against hers.

“Still doesn’t look good, Madame.” Fallon calls from her seat. 

“No, no it doesn’t, does it? You two, what’s the issue, tu veux m'humilier et me faire me suicider ou quoi?”

“No, Madame,” Heaven huffs, swatting Peter’s hand away from her waist. “We don’t want to humiliate you or make you kill yourself, I don’t understand why we have to do the version with the kiss, there are plenty of variations without it-”

“You understood her?” Peter squints at the girl next to him before huffing, “Fine, whatever, MacMillan intended for there to be passion between Romeo and Juliet, and you curl your lip up everytime I kiss you.”

“I don’t like doing it.” Heaven shrugs. “I’m a professional dancer, not a porn star, and I’m playing a 15 year old girl, I don’t know why any sane, adult audience would want to watch me lay on top and kiss a grown man and then kill myself to be with him-”

“We open tonight. We are doing the ballet as we rehearsed, you two will kiss and you will tolerate it. Practice if you must, pretend he’s someone else, take a shot before you do it, I don’t care.”

“Madame, we’re 19.”

“Oh please.” The older woman storms off, her assistant behind her and the two dancers are left side by side. 

“So…should we practice?”

“Absolutely fucking not, thank you very much.” Heaven pushes past Peter, snatching her dance bag from the floor. “You’re gonna practice until your knees bleed for the next hour and then you’re gonna soak in the athletic building so you’re actually ready for tonight and I’m gonna go…I don’t know, pray.” 

As Heaven storms away, dramatically slamming the theater door behind her, she can recognize she was in a bitchy mood. She felt like she had a lot of shit to be annoyed about and was frankly pissed to feel her world collapsing around her on the first night of her first college role in which she’s the fucking prima. 

First, she once again demonstrated to herself that she has absolutely no fucking self control when it comes to Art Donaldson, a truth that she’s learned about herself that really agitates her. She discovered this as she struggled into the routine of only responding to the blond every couple of days and found herself sitting up in the privacy of her own dorm, reading and rereading every message she sent, the bright light of her phone shining brightly on her shame.

Second, she still hadn’t heard from her boyfriend (ex?), Patrick. She’d watched a couple of his matches while she was on the treadmill at the gym and as he does, he wins the first two rounds only to lose in the third. He found time to get lazy in his tennis playing but failed to pick up his goddamn phone and call either of his girlfriends.

Which leads to the third thing haunting her. Tashi is fucking irritable as shit. Apparently, surgery does not agree with her, because Tashi had been crabby for the last few days. It started with the day of Art’s match when she’d sent her perfectly timed message. 'Did he win?' It was like she was taunting her. Like Tashi knew Heaven couldn't stay away. It pisses Heaven off even more that she was right. Then Tashi had moved on to venting about how Patrick was absolutely wasting his talent, how the fact that he’s not winning pisses her off even more now that she can’t play. How she’s going pro as soon as she gets the chance because if this injury told her anything, it was that there was no time to wait. How now that she’s got time on her hands, she’s been thinking more about her plan for her life and Heaven’s.

And lastly, the real kicker, what had Heaven gritting her teeth as she did bar warmups this morning, was that fucking phone call. The one from her mother that she received at 5:00am when she was stretching. The one where her mother said she wouldn’t be able to make it to her first night of her first ballet in college in which she’s the fucking prima. And when she expressed her disappointment, Beatrice responded ‘It’s just a school ballet, I’ll come to your first professional one.’ 

So, yep, she was in a shitty fucking mood. 

But she wouldn’t let all of that stop her debut as an adult dancer. She was going to be a pro, she was going to do it her way, even if the 5 seats she had reserved in the front row were empty. 

So, she sits at the vanity backstage, putting her hair into Juliet’s first hairstyle. She listens to music that reminds her of when she was 15 to get into the right headspace as she puts blush on her cheeks. She offers Peter a soft smile when she sees him in his costume and forces herself to try to look at him the right way. Because the things that are pissing her off don’t matter right now. Right now, all there is is Juliet.

It doesn’t matter if Heaven’s smile is fake as the lights shine down on her when she first prances her way onto the stage. Juliet’s smile is real. It’s meaningless if Heaven’s tears are real when she squints and sees that her mother’s seat is indeed empty, her stepfather attempting to send her a thumbs up to distract from the woman’s absence. And so what, if Heaven can’t go to her happy place as she solos because she sees both Patrick and Tashi’s seats are empty as well. As long as she can still breezily get through her motions, as long as it looks beautiful for the crowd, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t fucking matter.

And it definitely doesn’t matter, that as she came out of her fake balcony in her sleep gown to blow everyone’s minds with the most loving, fucking passionate pas de deux they’d ever seen, she accidentally caught eyes with Art in the audience, staring up at her intensely. 

So she doesn’t have to feel guilty that when she kissed Peter, she envisioned him with curly blond hair and heterochromatic eyes. Or the fact that Madame Fontaine told her when she stepped off stage to change into her next costume that it was the most romantic, realistic kiss she’d ever seen.

Does Art know he's stupid? Absolutely. He's never dared call himself intelligent. He didn't need the little voice that sounds like Patrick calling him pussywhipped. He knows. But, he still found himself on the highway, traveling at a breakneck speed, eyeing the bouquet of flowers that he has placed in the seat.

He'd known Heaven was serious about this whole friend thing. She's so good, and kind. And she cares so much about Tashi and Patrick. But Art knows he can treat her better. He's sure of it. Despite what he knows to be true, Art refuses to pressure her...anymore. He'd just rely on the fact that if they were supposed to be together like he believed they should be, they would be. Eventually. Soon. Hopefully.

So he came fully ready to play the dutiful friend. He was gonna stand politely by as Heaven leapt into Patrick's arms after the show. Art was gonna smile politely as she and Tashi shared kisses and exchanged giggles as they talked about inside jokes that they only understood. But then he got there. He'd been directed to the front where the two premier dancers families were arranged to sit and found three empty seats separating him from a man with peppered hair and smart looking glasses who had his own bouquet of flowers across his lap and a Chanel gift bag next to his feet. As he inches into his seat the man looks at him with a smile.

"You must be Patrick. I'm Heaven's stepfather, Luca Whitlock, I'm sorry I missed you at her birthday." The older man holds his hand out to Art with a kind smile. "Nice to meet you."

Art offers him his own awkward grin, accepting the tight squeeze of the man's hand. "Uh, no, I'm Heaven's friend, Art. It's really nice to meet you Mr. Whitlock."

"You as well." The man lifts his wrist to check his watch. "Show is meant to start in a few minutes, hopefully he will be here shortly. Stellina won't like for her boyfriend to be late.

Art shifts uncomfortably again, checking his phone. Patrick had reached out to him a couple days after Tashi's injuries. Mostly to make insults thinly veiled as jokes, clearly still pissed that he yelled at him. Art responded with short, one worded messages.

It's the least they'd ever spoken since they'd met.

The guilt he feels for his part in this fight they were having is very real. But it was currently heavily outweighed by his annoyance at the fact that his friend was seemingly punishing Heaven by not showing up for her big night. He knew Patrick didn't deserve her, and he was only proving his point.

"Is Tashi with Mrs. Whitlock or..."

"Oh, my, my wife couldn't make it. And Tashi is still...healing. Her mother called right before I was supposed to pick her up."

Oh. "Oh."

As much as he's glad he could be here for Heaven, he knows that Tashi and her mother being there would mean more. His heart aches for her as he settles back into his seat and the lights dim. The pain he feels for her only intensifies when he sees her step out onto the stage. She's beautiful. The perfect Juliet. If anyone would make a man fall in love within a few glances, ready to die at the thought of not being with her, Heaven would be it.

Her eyes are sad as she eyes the empty seats, using them as a tragic point of focus as she completes her expert turns. Behind him he could hear people whispering about how gorgeous the girl playing Juliet was, how talented she is. All Art can think is that they have no idea. They don't know how she's managing to be so elegant, so beautiful, so perfect, even as she's in the type of pain she's in.

Art would do anything to bring the light back into her eyes so they would shine the way the rest of her was.

He loves her.

He knows it. He feels it as her eyes finally make their way to his seat and her smile is a little more real. A little bit of light slips back into her eyes. She dances even more beautifully, more genuinely than before. And his mind is filled with the same thought.

Yes baby, that's right. Eyes on me. I'll make it better. I'll make you happy.

And he means it. Friends or not. Lovers or not.

It's on Heaven's first night of her first ballet in college where she's the fucking prima ballerina that Art makes a vow to himself.

He was gonna dedicate himself to Heaven Whitlock's happiness. No matter what that meant.

3 Years Later (California)(Age: 22):

Tashi shakes her head to herself as she watches Art pace in the kitchen. She brings her coffee to her lips, blowing at the smoke slowly as she observes him from the couch, taking a small sip before setting the mug loudly on the glass coffee table. She rolls her eyes when he doesn’t stop his steadily paced steps across the floor.  “You good?”

The blond finally pauses to look at her, jaw clenching and unclenching before he opens his mouth to speak. “This is just different, you know?”

“How? It’s still tennis.” 

“It’s pros, Tashi, I’m just nervous.” Art says, running his hand through his blond curls. “These guys are good.”

“You’re fucking good.” She asserts, crossing her arms. “Look, I can’t make you believe in yourself. If you can’t do this, please, let me know now, because I need to know if you’re not going to make this happen. We have a deal.” 

Art sighs, planting his hands down on the counter, staring down at the scattered marble with a frown as he tries to get out of his head. Suddenly, he feels a hand slide across his back and an envelope lands on the counter between his hands, into his line of sight.

“Something for you to consider while you decide if you’re gonna fuckin’ play like I know you can.”

With that, Tashi storms out, heels clicking on the hotel room floor and the door beeping as it slams shut behind her. Art stares down at the envelope, reading and rereading the name of the sender.His heart both clenches and races as he thinks about what the 4 little words on the small, insignificant piece of paper could mean for him. How those 4 words and whatever they’re hiding behind them will ruin his life. 

The Paris Opera Ballet

[catboxcoffin]

Battler/Kinzo/Projection

Battler’s narrative assault & sexualization is pretty interesting to me as an inversion of sexed roles, so I’ve decided to refine and paste some of my thoughts on it, beginning with Yasu-trice. Battler repeatedly has Kinzo’s (amatory) role projected onto him, both by Piece-Beatrice directly and Yasu’s authorial insinuations. (I won’t incorporate Meta-Beatrice into this analysis for a few reasons, the main being that I don’t think she is Yasu in the same sense as the others; secondarily that she is so gratuitous in her assaults and references that it would be nonsensical to lend any nuance to it. Plus, her indiscriminate performance in the earlier episodes is what sets up such a divergence later on)

I. Episode 4

Gameboard events are a requisite to understanding the skeleton of the stories that we’re actually being shown. Given the nebulous nature of the Meta and what it represents, a tale created and decorated in-universe in an attempt to communicate is generally more useful in viewing its subjects. On that note, the end of Episode 4 is a scarce instance where we are given a physical interaction between Piece-Beatrice and Battler. As Battler stands before the balcony denying her riddles and threatening her, Beatrice doubles down on her stern insistence regarding ‘testing’ him as the Successor, yet engages in innuendo the second he attempts to physically approach her. This presents a noticeable incongruence between Beatrice’s projected mythos and Piece-Beatrice as played by Yasu. She is physically distant, reading as almost shy. She’s stepped down from being an active harasser, instead functioning passively and reactively, ungracefully shifting between goals for the conversation. She is clearly very alienated from an autonomous sense of eroticism, which is why she instead endeavors to lure it out of him (despite her performative disdain). Her drunken sexuality is framed in relation to what she thinks hides ‘within’ Battler; her musings are based on the assumptions regarding <The Head>. She arrogantly asserts that her superficial form is his type, making sure to paint it as a shallow preference she’s pinpointed. (However even this is something she already knows as a fact, erasing any chance of the ‘unpredictable roulette’ she seems to exalt. She has little real confidence in her desirability, and even less in her ability to make him remember his sin)

She continues her attempt at testing his resolve, presenting herself for her ‘new master’ to own her flesh and soul as furniture, victimize her into surrender, and, crucially, remind her of Kinzo. Because that’s what Battler is to her: a reincarnation of Kinzo, carrying his spirit and blood most strongly. And how could he be anything else? Yasu is ‘Beatrice’ incarnate, her predecessors being both swept away and brutally betrayed by Kinzo, and by virtue of Battler’s failed promise, he has done the same. Her conflict arises here: her love for Battler meshing with her repulsion towards Kinzo, and her inability to reconcile them as full people. The same assumptions about Kinzo’s relationship to preceding Beatrices that traumatize her into hatred are simultaneously twisted into a romanticized ideal, and she is continually unable to conceive of her relationships without paralleling these identities and dynamics she’s latched onto. She is an ancestral fatalist, resigning not only autonomy within her own life but puppeting her relatives’ souls as her own. They cannot sleep peacefully as themselves, and neither can an unadulterated Battler. Beatrice indirectly castigates Battler (or her idea of him blurred into Kinzo) through her earlier ramblings on the nature of love-as-lust and the cage of flesh, but later turns around and flirts with the ideas, even going as far as writing her piece to romance Kinzo directly, despite knowing she’s caricaturing her own mother’s harrowing circumstances.

II. Message-Bottle Furniture

Lovelessly—or, perhaps, in a twisted abundance of love—Yasu’s message bottles distort Battler’s entire character into something alien in his six-year absence. This is what it means for new truths to triumph over old truths. Battler, the boy who left his own family due to his indignation over infidelity and who sought the heart in every story, is suddenly a perverted beast. He is a vapid womanizer like his father and an exploiter of status and naïveté like his grandfather. Beyond his will, parodied projections of his profanity are exposed within the message bottles, existing to cement his sin as irredeemable. I believe this is both a semi-conscious self-justification on Yasu’s part (cutting out the moral ambiguity of him simply forgetting) and a way to cope with her own undesirability (by manufacturing a more ‘active’ sin, one that would require Battler to care in the first place).

(…Side Note: I like how the attempted grope of Shannon in EP1 encompasses both this hostile projection and a dance around the desire to be discovered… [Fake breasts]. It adds another layer of selfish assumption to her narrative: he was always a piece. He doesn’t solve the epitaph and he doesn’t remember her because he never had the chance.)

To reiterate, his character is degraded and he is manipulated as a plot device within the message bottles. The narrative hinges on his existence, yet he has little room to move—In fact, his actual presence is hardly necessary. He committed a sin that permanently scarred someone, and he cannot apologize. The victim no longer exists. Battler, as a concept, constitutes a motive for murder. In his absence, he is a myth.

Remind you of anyone else?

III. Kuwatrice-Kinzo / Chick Beatrice-BATTLER

This parallel creates an interesting issue. The line of descendant/reincarnation is blurred and there’s an explicitly incestuous tone, but it quickly becomes more of a foil than a mirror. Kinzo’s idea of reincarnation is pure delusion, Battler rejects it despite it being true; Kinzo is affectionately dominating, Battler is cold; Kinzo rejects his status as a father, Battler grows to accept it.

So, Kinzo’s role is subverted. This should be a good thing, right?

It isn’t. At least, not to the judge of sin.

Chick-Beatrice is not a new creation; this is a glimpse of the Beatrice that first adopted Shannon’s bud of love for Battler six years prior. At this point, ‘Beatrice’ was still individuated. She wasn’t yet mutated by the legend of the witch, the solving of the epitaph, or, arguably, her Battler-desirability complex. This, I assert, is the closest we see to a pure ‘Yasu’ in later years, as the remainder of her true self that resided in Shannon had already been compartmentalized by that point. This is why Dawn is so tragic. Battler has allegedly solved her heart, yet even in his ‘enlightenment’ he is dismissive of her. To the first-time viewer, this rejection is bittersweet: he is waiting for the ‘real’ her to return. Issue is, that is the real her. This is the ‘Shannon’ he knew, before she was twisted into a sadistic amalgam of escapist fantasies dressed up with his desires. By all rights, Chick should align much more with the ‘Shannon’ that loved Battler. The dutiful “blindness of a girl in love,” willing to wait a century to be noticed. But he doesn’t understand that, bemoaning being too late while literally being thrusted another chance to do it right. Of course this chance doesn’t apply to reality, but it never did. He was already facing a postmortem trial for his failure in life, and the end of Meta-Beatrice marks his failure in death.

Battler is fated to only ever have a paternalistic, sympathetic affection towards Chick. Even after learning the truth, it will always be Beatrice that he loves. As much is clear in his Twilight gameboard. He recognizes Yasu as a vessel, but she’s virtually indistinguishable from Piece-Beato, an actor serving as the means for the illusion and providing a sympathetic backstory. Ange was right—there’s no point in having someone love in your place.

Regardless, Battler is himself. If he’d only inherited enough of Kinzo’s blood, maybe he could have loved all ‘iterations’ passionately and indiscriminately. Kinzo fabricated connections out of nothing, he ‘understood’ the reincarnated soul, and he was willing to die before he let her escape. His overbearing, cloying affection had a certainty that I believe Yasu envied, in a way. To be kidnapped and caged forever would be morbidly romantic, to her at least. How tragically ironic that the fatalist who desired to be carried away ended up having to orchestrate the game of love&communication herself…

IV. The Head

Aside from what I’ve mentioned, Yasu has a final, strikingly obvious reason to project Kinzo onto Battler: deflection.

Yasu is a disastrous parallel to Kinzo. They share the disturbing quality of willpower exceeding their body, a flippancy regarding life and death, living in spite of frailty. They are born with and die with nothing. She too dances with the magic of the roulette, staking fate on a miracle. She too ‘met’ Beatrice as an attempt at severing her regrets in life; she too summoned the Golden Witch and received a fortune at the cost of her soul; she too felt blessed and mocked by the myth of Beatrice, after wandering half-dead in a life that was not her own. A life in which she had been suddenly given power as a prank of fate, with the included (mis)fortune of polydactyly. They were each forced to endure Endlessness, awaiting the revival of love that may never come, desperately discarding their dignity for the sake of resurrection. The epitaph chooses both Kinzo’s and Beatrice’s successor. To ‘see’ is to answer the riddle. Just as Kinzo did to ‘Beatrice,’ Yasu has sewn the Ushiromiyas’ souls onto the island with magic, allowing them neither power nor form. Both are vulnerable kings protected by their own castles, refusing to speak the truth. Their massive wealth will be distributed, but the secret tales die with them.

Yasu was afforded unbelievable power by solving the epitaph, but it ended up destroying her with knowledge she did not want. She was given the reasoning that kills love. Upon the horrific discovery that her romantic feelings not only couldn’t be consummated but were incestuous as well, it is almost certain that she would feel the same repulsion towards herself as Kinzo. From that moment, she too was lying about the true nature of her relationships with the ones she loved. She too could not curb her affection or fear in time to tell the truth. There is no path she can make for herself, as she cannot live independently of projected roles. Incapable of individuating herself from Kinzo with self-identity, the logical conclusion is to invert the roles and make herself Beatrice, and more importantly, Battler Kinzo. Then, she must pray for the miracle that someone would come and solve the epitaph, taking back the role she was so haunted by and carrying her to a better life…

[idyllghost]

I’m stoned but you wanna know a headcanon I have that has the potential to hurt; Arthur slipping up and calling Miss Grimshaw mom.

Like I just know in my heart during his upbringing Arthur would accidentally call Miss Grimshaw mom. With every question, her demands for him to wash up, and general concern for him it would just slip from his lips. A simple “Okay mom.” And an immediate embarrassment as Miss Grimshaw smiled. And it comes so naturally to call her that, because despite his limited memories of Beatrice Morgan something about the way Miss Grimshaw’s warm hands would stroke his hair during fevers and stern voice reminded him of her. She reminded him of something so intrinsically tied to home. Regardless, he’d get embarrassed over his slip ups but, Miss Grimshaw’s heart would soften every time it happened because in the end, just like Dutch and Hosea, Arthur was her son. It was evident to anyone who watched them closely for a while that she held a soft spot for Arthur; honestly for both her boys and young Tilly. She raised that boy right along with Dutch and Hosea. That very fact is what made what Dutch called ‘Arthur watch’ so hard for her.

Everyone was vaguely aware of Eliza and Isaac. It wasn’t ever really a secret. Arthur, despite being scared shitless at the prospect of having a child and sporadic visits, it was evident Arthur was proud to have a son. Which is why when Arthur came back early from visiting Eliza and Isaac everyone’s stomach sank. His eyes were hidden behind the shadow of his hat as the sun began to retire for the day. Arthur didn’t have to speak a word that night for everyone to gather what had happened; that he’d lost them.

He’d hidden in his tent for days, barely eating and only crying faintly in the night when everyone else should have been asleep. Eyes red rimmed and glazed as tired hands clumsily made coffee in the mornings. He’d also gotten careless during jobs, getting injured more frequently and spacing. Miss Grimshaw herself suspected that was only the surface of what was going on in his head, after all he was always a quiet child so bottling up his emotions so tight they’d struggle to surface would only be second nature. It’s knowing this that made Dutch implement ‘Arthur Watch’. A way to, as Dutch put it, “make sure he’s safe”. A way that had the tension in the room spiking and Dutch’s voice shaking as he explained it.

 It had to have been midnight with the way the moon glared in her face when Hosea shook Miss Grimshaw awake to replace him in watching Arthur. She was rubbing the sleep out of her eyes when she approached his tent, barely comprehending the sounds that faintly escaped it. But once the last bit of sleep left her mind she was able to fully hear it; fully understand. It was soft cries, muffled in an attempt to conceal them, and her heart broke. Her movements halted and her breath hitched as her heart broke at the pain she heard. But, she steeled herself, lifted his tent flap, and entered. She let out a soft and raspy“Arthur?” And she inevitably heard rustling and a mumbled curse as he lit his lantern. With the light illuminating his face she saw every sharp curve and edge, the thin skin below his eyes almost bruised from restless nights. The red rim around his eyes combined with their puffed up state. His cheeks ruddy and damp. 

“Oh Arthur,” before she realized it she was sitting on his cot and patting his shoulder and he slumped into her touch. His body and mind tired. She pulled him closer to her, a way reminiscent in the way she’d pull him to her when he was barely 15 and waking up screaming from night terrors. With his heavy head on her shoulder she combed through his hair with her hand. “It’s okay son, you’ll be okay.” With those words the floodgates opened as he sobbed into her shoulder and all she could do was hold him through the pain. He only lifted his head up to gasp for air and croak out, “It hurts… Mom it hurts.” And her heart broke even more as she held him closer to her. 

[be-missed]

Not Strong Enough (Chap 8)

Jenna Ortega x Fem!Reader

(pictures not mine)

Summary: Jenna was visiting her mom in the hospital to drop off the food that will be eaten for the hospital party, but she met a resident surgeon and she thought "God forbid I ran into an accident, but I want her to open me and stitch me up." While the surgeon tries her best to keep her fan girling low-key.

Warning: curse words. Also I'm not that knowledgeable when it comes to accident or prognosis of a physical trauma, so I tried to be logical about it.

A/N: Last chapter for my first series. Thanks for reading this piece and the support you gave me.

Masterlist

Chap 1 | Chap 2 | Chap 3 | Chap 4 | Chap 5 | Chap 6 | Chap 7

______________________________________________________________

Chap 8

Y/N with her worried face, heart beats so fast, hands become so clammy, and her blood raised. She faces Natalie, waiting for her answer on where Jenna is. She doesn't care if she showed this much of an emotion in front of Jenna's family or in front of everyone that she has worked with. She only cares about how Jenna is and where Jenna is.

A closing of the door can be heard from the surgery room inside the emergency. Beatrice walked towards them with the stern face that she always carries when she's working or after her surgery. But being her closest friend, you know that this is not just her every day stern face nor this is not just her work face.

You tried to restrict yourself from rushing to your closest friend, so you stand still in your place, while Jenna's family walked towards Beatrice. Standing still from where you are, you don't know if you want to hear the news that Beatrice will tell or if you want to just live your reality and believed that Jenna is okay.

From where you are, you see Natalie hugged her husband and her siblings smiles. That enough comforted you, knowing that Jenna is fine. Before Beatrice has her chance to walk towards you, you ran to the nearest elevator, gladly enough it opened when you pressed the button and chose the highest floor of the building.

Inside the elevator, you don't know what to think, hell you don't even know what really happened. But by knowing that there are a lot of people inside the emergence with minor to major injuries, it's a car crash, a big one. The elevator dings and you strode your way out the metal box and went straight to the edge with the railings.

Looking at the city from above, everything looks so small. But the pit that you have in you stomach is big, heavy, and is eating you out. You are an overthinker, so you will think every possible scenario that you can think of. Jenna helps to calm the thoughts down, but not right now, when she's the one you think of.

Before you jump in your thoughts, a hand pats your back. "She's fine" Beatrice says to reassure you, knowing that you bolted out before she can even get close to you. "She needs a surgery since she got a big cut on her forehead, she also got some brain injury because of the impact from the crash but nothing serious; her car received the greatest impact."

"What's your prognosis?" Y/N asked Beatrice, trying to compose herself and not breakdown. Jenna was the first girl she have ever loved truly and they just got together a few weeks ago, she can't lose her, "Tell me the truth, Bea." Y/N begged.

Beatrice lets out a deep sigh, "Nothing that serious, she needs to rest for a month and let her brain regain its health and recover from the trauma and injury. It may have some side effects, but nothing that she can't face" Beatrice explained to her friend even if she knows that Y/N knows what happens to this kind of case.

"Thanks Bea" the only words that came out of Y/N's mouth, "There's no problem with that, I was also shocked when I saw her getting reeled inside the emergency. Go to her room, I know you want to see her and she needs you" Beatrice replied.

"I just don't want to lose her, I don't think I can handle not having her in my life" Y/N said and Beatrice hugged her friend and reassured Y/N "You didn't okay, she's down stairs waiting for you, I'm sure of it. Just wait for a couple more hours or a day before she regains her senses and be awake. She needs a lot of rest, you know that." Beatrice left Y/N alone and went down.

The girl stayed looking at the night sky or the cars honking below, after getting all the willpower that she needs, she goes down and went to Jenna's private room. Inhale, exhale, she knocks at the door and Natalie opens the door for her.

"Hey, there you are, come in" Natalie ushers her inside, "She's been resting for quite some time now, her vitals are also stable. She's going to be okay" Natalie assures Y/N and gave her a hug.

"I know she will, she's a fighter like her mom" Y/N said and smiles at Natalie. "I'll just just go and get us snacks" Natalie said getting her wallet and heading outside the room.

Walking slowly, noticing how Jenna looks so fragile with the tubes that connected her to a machine and the gauze that is plastered on the side of her forehead. Y/N wants to check every vital signs that Jenna shows just to makes sure that the other girl is okay, but she restrict herself. She reminds herself that she is here as Jenna's girlfriend and not her doctor.

So what she did was, she held Jenna's hand and hugged the girl that was sleeping. Trying to listen to Jenna's steady heartbeat and the warmth of her skin. Trying to be as delicate as she can be, Y/N situated herself and seated by the stool beside Jenna's bed.

Natalie saw the two girls asleep, which she is thankful for, she knows that the both of them needs a chance to regain strength and God knows how much rest they need after what happened.

Rustling from around her woke up Y/N from her slumber, hand still holding Jenna. Looking around she see Beatrice and the nurses that came in to check on Jenna's vitals and to give her more pain relievers. "She's doing fine, she just needs to rest more, we also injected some pain relievers so that when she wakes up today, she won't feel a lot of pain." Beatrice and her team walked out of the room.

"Uhm, I'm just gonna go get my coat in my office, I have a shift in 2 hours." Y/N said to Natalie that gave her a nod and a smile. Walking to her locking room, Y/N prayed, which she usually don't do. She knows know that desperate people do try to find faith, so here she is now, praying.

After getting herself ready and now wearing her white coat, she sits in Jenna's room, silence settles in the room with them, looking at Jenna or trying to busy themselves with other things. A stir on Jenna's bed broke the quietness inside the room. Jenna tried to move and sit down but a gasp of pain stopped her and made her collapse to her bead.

Natalie went to assist her daughter while Y/N pressed the call button for the nurses and doctors. While Natalie tries to help Jenna drink some water and assure her daughter that she is okay, Y/N walks towards them and a smile breaks in her face, seeing how Jenna is okay and now awake.

Jenna looks at Y/N, full of curiosity and a glimmer in her eyes, Jenna thought "If I were in an accident that lead me to this, I hope she was the one that cut me up and stitches me back up." Amusement can be seen on Y/N and Natalie's face.

Natalie broke the silence and said "Oh honey, you were in an accident but she's not the one that performed a surgery on you" with a chuckle, Jenna then looked at her mom and realized that she voiced that thought out loud. It earns a chuckle from Y/N too, "You're funny, you know that?" Y/N said and walked towards Jenna and holds her face, which Jenna froze.

It made Y/N pull away and said "What's the problem? Is there something wrong? Does it hurt?" Jenna shakes her head "No, it's just, it's sudden, you uhm... you touched my face like I'm your girlfriend or something.. probably my doctor?"

"Her girlfriend or something?" "...probably my doctor?"

It echoed through Y/N's mind, what is Jenna talking about, yes of course she's in an accident but...

Oh,

Oh,

Oh...

Right, Beatrice told her that Jenna's car got the greatest impact and she received a brain injury and trauma, but Beatrice didn't tell her that the trauma affected Jenna to this extent. She was frozen in her position, trying to compose herself. Jenna's mother gets close to them and says "Honey, what are you talking about? It's Y/N, do you not remember her?"

Jenna just shakes her head again, "Oh.. uhm.." Y/N can't speak a word, she was angry, sad, and surprised. She was angry at the world for doing this to them, she was sad for what happened to them, and she was surprised that amnesia was an outcome to Jenna's accident. Which she think is impossible, but... if the impact was that great just like Bea said, then it is possible.

Y/N awkwardly coughs to break the tension and said "Uhm, yes, I'm uh... your doctor. I'm here to check your vitals" Y/N said to not worry Jenna or surprise her. Y/N then started to walk closer to Jenna's bed and started to check her vitals on the machine. Trying so hard to not her tears to fall down.

Y/N is not facing Jenna but she can feel her stare burning through the side of her face. Scared to look at Jenna's face, she then holds Jenna's hand where needles are inserted to check if there are any blood flow.

"Do you really think I'll forget about your pretty face?" A voice broke Y/N's melancholy and looked up the girl who is sitting at the bed wearing a cheeky smile on her face. With a confused look that Y/N gave Jenna.

"Do you really think that I'll forget your pretty face?" Jenna repeated herself, "What... I thought..." Y/N can't say a word. With Y/N getting confused on what's happening, Jenna cups Y/N's face and kissed the girl hard on her lip. Before Jenna can let go, Y/N placed her hand on Jenna's nape and deepen the kiss, now realizing what's happening.

Jenna's mom cough from the other side that broke the kiss, "I'm sorry, Nat" Y/N said while she gives the older woman a shy smile. "I'll leave you two to talk, okay. To TALK" Natalie said and gave a big emphasis on the word "talk" that earned the both of them a giggle.

"What's the meaning of this?" Y/N asked perplexed, "I got you good, huh?" Jenna said with a smirk on her face. "Wow, I can't believe this, I don't know if I'll be angry at you or be thankful that you are okay" Y/N said teasingly at Jenna.

"Oh please, don't be angry at me" Jenna said with a pout on her face trying to be cute. "You know cuteness would not get you anywhere, right?" Y/N said and Jenna answered "Well, there's nothing bad in trying right?"

Y/N seats at Jenna's bed, "Are you really okay? Did you not get hurt somewhere? Beatrice said that your car got the greatest impact" Y/N said while trying to caress Jenna's face. "Just body pains and my head, nothing more. Yes, my car did received the greatest impact, but hey, at least we know now that my airbag works" Jenna answered trying to lighten the mood.

Y/N smiles at Jenna feeling relieved that nothing happened to the woman that she loves.

"I love you, you know that?" Y/N said, before she realize what she just said Jenna replied "I know. You know that I love you too, right?" with a cheeky smile.

"I know" Y/N said, realizing that what she have right now is what she wants in her life. To love and to be loved. She can't believe that months ago, she was too afraid to shoot her shot and fearing that she wasn't strong enough to be Jenna's lover.

But here they are now. There are much more things that will come to them, but they both know that they got each other to face incoming battles that life will give them.

______________________________________________________________

END.

A/N: Again, thank you so much for reading and supporting this story and me. Your likes, reblogs, and comments did help me a lot to continue writing. There's a new series that I'm working on, which is Find You Again. See you on my next stories.

[littledata]

There have always been rumours. People see lights in the windows of the rotting old convent, movement where there should be none. The locals whisper about vampires, blood curdling screams in the dead of night, a nun who should have died two hundred years ago.

Ava Silva doesn't believe in any of that bullshit, obviously. What she does believe in is having a roof over her head out of the rain and a place to sleep that cops aren't likely to come poking around in. When she steps through the doors of Cat's Cradle, she expects to find nothing more than a crumbling old ruin.

Instead, she encounters a polite English tour guide who refers to herself as a "member of the church".

Beatrice is sure a stern reminder that this is private property will be enough to deter the trespasser - it always has been in the past, after all. Instead, Ava Silva insists on asking questions and looking around. For the first time in over a century, Beatrice finds herself having a real conversation.

It would be easier to deal with, she thinks, if only she weren't so hungry.

[esotheria-sims]

Another way Wynn kept herself from going crazy from boredom was writing to her new friend and crush, Marcus.

She hadn't really seen either him or Phillip since their spontaneous Artisan Alley get-together, but that wasn't to say they couldn't keep in touch in other ways, outdated though they were. Her letters to Phillip went unanswered (typical), but Marcus' replies came like clockwork, as polite and meticulous as the boy himself.

If anyone had ever told Winona that she'd need to rely on a pen pal for company, she'd have pointed and laughed at the person (and probably noogied them for good measure). But as things stood now, corresponding via letters was a better option than suffering through Adam's stern looks and Beatrice's cold shoulder all day.

Also, if she were being honest with herself, there was a certain charm to be had from sending (and receiving!) a handwritten letter.

[littleskrimp]

Can we just talk about the differences in Beatrice’s character between these two fight scenes?

In season 1, Beatrice is the one who is the moral compass of the group. She’s always keen on the mission and the mission alone. During that particular hallway fight, she only injured her opponents. The goal was to retrieve the divinium shield which doesn’t mean much to her personally but that doesn’t matter because it was a mission for the good of the OCS. So, she kept the damage to a minimum. Season 1 Beatrice puts her personal opinions and feelings aside for the good of The Order. It’s just how she operates given what we know about her past.

In season 2, we see parts of Beatrice start to open up (mostly due to falling for and being around Ava). There’s times where she lets her emotions get in the way of the mission. For example, when she kept Ava from detonating the divinium bomb. When the mission went to hell, she immediately retreated to her old way of thinking. She kept her personal opinions and feelings to the back of her mind. That’s why she said she couldn’t go with Ava when she told her to run and hide. In the season 2 hallway fight, Beatrice’s mind laser focused on getting to Ava. They had kissed for the first time not long before and everything after that became clear to Beatrice. She wasn’t going to lose Ava like this. It may not look it by her expression, but Beatrice is all amped on her emotions at this point. She warned those who kept her from getting to Ava because Beatrice is still the moral one. When they refused to walk away, there was bloodshed. All because she wanted to get to the Warrior Nun. HER Warrior Nun. Her Ava. ❤️

Also, the colors! The left side is blue which to me symbolized Beatrice’s stern and contained nature. It can often be seen as cold. No emotions. The right side is yellow. Maybe orange. Leads me to view this as Beatrice’s inner fire (like the woman in the bar said) burning to be free, finally being let out like an inferno. All emotions on high.

I love characters like Beatrice who walk the lines of nobility and who are considered the moral one. When it comes to those they love getting hurt/possibly dying, they unleash this deadly dangerous side to them in order to protect the ones they love.

[horeformilfs]

Silent Resonance

Lady Lesso x Fem!Student Reader

TW: Bullying, SH, Food Aversion, Dissociation

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

The bell chimed, signaling the end of the Mixed Talents class at the School for Evil. Y/n gathered her belongings, the soft rustle of paper and the click of her pen the only audible sounds in the room. As she packed her bag, she overheard whispers from the group of students huddled near the door.

"Did you see Y/n? So weird, right?"

"Why is she even here? She doesn't belong with us."

Laughter echoed, and Y/n's gaze remained fixed on her desk, fingers nervously tracing the edge of her notebook. Lady Lesso, the formidable dean and teacher, observed the scene with a discerning eye.

Once the room emptied, leaving only Y/n and Lady Lesso, the dean approached the quiet student. "Y/n, may I have a moment of your time?"

Y/n glanced up, her eyes briefly meeting Lady Lesso's before flickering away. "I'm fine. Just heading to my next class," she mumbled.

Lesso's concern deepened. "I couldn't help but notice the whispers. Are you okay?"

Y/n's shoulders tensed, and she hesitated before responding. "I'm used to it. It doesn't matter."

Lady Lesso reached out to place a reassuring hand on Y/n's shoulder, but the touch was met with an instinctive flinch. Y/n pulled away, a guarded look in her eyes.

"I appreciate your concern, but I can handle it," Y/n stated, her voice barely audible.

Lesso sighed softly, her gaze filled with empathy. "You don't have to face it alone, Y/n. If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here."

Y/n mustered a faint smile, her vulnerability briefly surfacing. "Thanks, but I'm used to being on my own."

As Y/n gathered her courage to leave, she added, "I'll see you tomorrow, Lady Lesso." With that, she walked away, leaving Lady Lesso standing in the empty classroom, a mixture of worry and determination etched across her face.

Lady Lesso paced the front of the Mixed Talents classroom, her eyes scanning the students. Today's lesson revolved around mastering illusions, a skill set that required both focus and creativity. Y/n, once again, was immersed in her own quiet world, diligently working on her assignment.

Lesso raised an eyebrow, breaking the silence. "Can anyone tell me the key to a successful illusion?"

Beatrice, an ever student known for her outspoken nature, smirked and raised her hand. "Why does someone like Y/n even belong here? It's a waste of resources, isn't it?"

Lesso's stern expression intensified. "Beatrice, your question is inappropriate. We welcome students of all talents and backgrounds, Y/n is here because she deserves to be."

Beatrice scoffed, undeterred. "But it's a charity case, isn't it? I don't want my education to suffer because of it."

Lesso's patience wore thin. "Watch your words, Beatrice. Y/n is as much a part of this school as you are. Your education won't suffer from diversity; it will only be enhanced. Now, enough of this discussion."

Beatrice fell silent, sensing the gravity of Lady Lesso's disapproval. The air in the room grew tense, and the ever students exchanged uneasy glances.

The bell mercifully rang, ending the confrontation. Y/n hastily gathered her belongings, her face a mask of unreadable emotions. Without making eye contact, she exited the classroom, leaving Lady Lesso to cast a disapproving glance at Beatrice.

As Y/n retreated to her dorm, Lady Lesso's anger lingered. "Beatrice, if I hear any more comments like that from you, you'll find yourself in the Doom Room by the end of the day. Am I clear?"

Beatrice nodded nervously, her bravado dissipating in the face of Lady Lesso's authority. The dean's stern warning echoed in the hallway as Y/n disappeared from sight, seeking refuge in the solitude of her room.

Y/n's dorm room enveloped her in a cocoon of solitude. The familiar click of the lock echoed, sealing her off from the outside world. The dim light cast shadows across the walls as she moved with practiced precision, heading towards the bathroom.

Behind the closed door, she shed the armor of her clothes, revealing a canvas marked by scars that told a silent story. The shower's hot water cascaded down her back, a comforting embrace that provided temporary respite from the world's unrelenting challenges.

In the hushed solitude of the bathroom, she reached for the razor, a tool that offered a fleeting escape. With each deliberate movement, she added to the mosaic of scars that adorned her arms. It was a ritual, a painful dance that mirrored the silent battles fought within.

Afterward, as the water carried away the evidence of her pain, she carefully tended to the wounds. The bandages wrapped like armor around her arms, a shield against prying eyes and whispered judgments.

Dressed in a dark magenta dress, she emerged from her sanctuary, the scars hidden beneath the fabric. The dining hall beckoned, a realm of shared meals and silent conversations. Y/n navigated the sea of students, her presence a delicate dance of avoidance.

At the dinner table, she sat alone, a solitary figure in a crowd. The clatter of cutlery and murmur of conversations surrounded her, yet she remained ensconced in her own world. The magenta dress, a bold choice against the muted backdrop of the hall, hinted at a resilience that belied the shadows she carried.

As she picked at her food, the scars hidden beneath the fabric served as a testament to battles fought in silence. Y/n, the quiet enigma in a world of noise, carried on, finding solace in the anonymity of her struggles.

Lady Lesso observed Y/n from across the dining hall, a lone figure in the midst of a bustling crowd. Concern etched across her features, she made her way to Y/n's side.

"Y/n, may I have a moment?" Lesso's voice, soft and measured, reached Y/n's ears.

Y/n looked up, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, but she nodded and followed Lady Lesso to the quieter confines of the hallway. The air outside the dining hall felt less suffocating, yet Y/n's anxiety remained palpable.

"Y/n, you're not in trouble," Lesso assured, noting Y/n's anxious demeanor. "I just wanted to check in and see how you're doing."

Y/n's shoulders relaxed a fraction, reassured by Lady Lesso's gentle approach. "I'm... I'm okay," she stammered.

Lesso observed Y/n's untouched dinner and asked, "Why aren't you eating, my dear?"

Y/n hesitated, her gaze fixated on the floor. "I... I can't eat the food. I'm kind of a picky eater"

Lesso's expression softened, realizing the depth of Y/n's struggle. "I see, food aversion can be challenging. Would you mind telling me more about it?"

Y/n took a moment to collect her thoughts before speaking. "It's just... certain foods make me uncomfortable. It's been that way for as long as I can remember."

Lesso nodded, offering a comforting smile. "I understand. How about this? Later, we can go to the kitchen together. You can tell me what you'd like, and I'll make sure you get something you're comfortable with."

Y/n glanced at Lady Lesso, a mix of surprise and gratitude in her eyes. "You don't have to do that. I'll manage."

Lesso placed a gentle hand on Y/n's shoulder. "I want to make sure you're eating, Y/n. If there's anything I can do to help, please let me know."

Y/n's gaze met Lesso's, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. "Okay," Y/n whispered, appreciating the genuine concern that transcended words.

A gentle knock echoed through Y/n's quiet dorm room, interrupting the rhythmic scribbling of her pen against paper. Curious, she approached the door and opened it, revealing Lady Lesso standing on the other side.

"Y/n, would you like to go to the kitchen for dinner?" Lesso inquired, a warm invitation in her eyes.

Y/n hesitated, glancing at her unfinished homework. The echo of Lady Lesso's concern from earlier lingered in her mind, and she nodded, deciding a break might be a welcome respite.

As they strolled down the castle's corridors, Lady Lesso engaged Y/n in conversation, trying to bridge the gap that silence often created. "How have you been feeling, Y/n? Is there anything on your mind?"

Y/n offered a faint smile, appreciating the effort. "I'm... managing. Thank you for checking in."

The descent down the winding staircase marked their approach to the kitchen. However, fate had other plans. Midway down the stairs, Y/n's foot caught on an unseen obstacle, sending her stumbling forward. Panic flickered across her face as the ground rushed up to meet her.

In an instant, Lady Lesso reacted, reaching out to grab Y/n's arm and prevent her from a potential fall. Yet, the yelp of pain that escaped Y/n's lips cut through the air.

Lesso's expression shifted from concern to shock. "Y/n, what happened? Are you hurt?"

Y/n winced, cradling her arm protectively. The pain was evident, but she remained silent, avoiding Lady Lesso's worried gaze.

Concern etched across her features, Lady Lesso gently asked again, "Please, Y/n, tell me what happened. Are you okay?"

Instead of answering, Y/n abruptly pulled away, her eyes avoiding Lesso's gaze. With a muttered "I'm fine," she turned and rushed away, leaving Lady Lesso on the staircase, a mixture of shock and concern etched on her face.

The air in the dorm room felt heavy as Y/n, lost in a haze of emotional turmoil, hurriedly entered the bathroom, forgetting to lock the door behind her. The dim light cast shadows on the walls as she retrieved the razor, the familiar tool that offered a distorted solace.

Unmindful of the consequences, Y/n began cutting her arms and legs, the physical pain momentarily eclipsing the internal struggles. The bathroom became a refuge for her chaotic emotions, a place where she could momentarily escape the weight of the world.

As the emotional storm intensified, Y/n entered a state of dissociation, the outside world fading into a distant hum. The knocks on the dorm room door went unheard, drowned out by the cacophony within.

Lady Lesso, growing increasingly concerned, approached Y/n's dorm room. Knocking on the door yielded no response, prompting her to push it open tentatively. The sight that greeted her sent a shockwave through her.

"Y/n!" Lesso's voice held a mix of urgency and genuine concern as she entered the room, scanning for the student. The light emanating from the bathroom drew her attention, and she knocked on the door.

"Y/n, please open the door," she implored, her worry escalating with each unanswered plea. When silence persisted, she took a deep breath and gently pushed the door ajar.

Her heart sank at the sight of Y/n, lost in a sea of emotions, the razor in hand, and scars marking the canvas of her skin. "Y/n, let me help you," Lesso whispered, her voice a mix of compassion and determination.

Y/n's distant gaze met Lesso's, a fragile vulnerability in her eyes. The weight of the situation hung in the air, and Lesso understood the gravity of the moment.

Lady Lesso stepped into the bathroom, her heart heavy with concern. She approached Y/n cautiously, aware of the delicate nature of the situation. "Y/n, can you hear me? I'm here to help. You're not alone."

Y/n's gaze remained distant, lost in the turmoil of her emotions. Lesso knelt beside her, avoiding any physical contact, and spoke in a gentle, reassuring tone. "I won't touch you without your permission. Let's take this one step at a time. Can you focus on your breathing for a moment?"

After a few moments, Y/n's breathing steadied, a sign that she was slowly returning to the present. "Good. Now, can you tell me if you're comfortable with me helping you clean and bandage the cuts?"

A slight nod was Y/n's only response, her voice seemingly trapped in the walls of her emotional fortress. Lesso acknowledged the silent agreement, respecting the boundaries that were crucial in this vulnerable moment.

Lesso moved around the bathroom, gathering the necessary supplies. She spoke softly, providing a constant stream of reassurance. "You're doing great, Y/n. I'm here to support you. We'll take care of this together."

As she cleaned and wrapped Y/n's arms and legs, Lesso maintained a steady dialogue, a lifeline of words weaving through the heavy silence. "It's okay to feel overwhelmed, Y/n. You're not alone in this. If you ever need to talk or if there's anything I can do to help, I'm here."

As Lady Lesso continued tending to the wounds, the atmosphere in the bathroom shifted from distress to a fragile calm. Y/n, still enveloped in the quiet cocoon of her emotions, finally found her voice.

"Thank you," she whispered, the words a shy and quiet acknowledgment of the support offered by Lady Lesso. In that moment, gratitude bridged the gap between them, a small beacon of connection in the midst of the emotional storm.

[sleepingdeath-light]

being best friends hcs ; frank

requested by ; 🐝🍯 anon (09/05/23) [2/3]

fandom(s) ; welcome home

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; frank frankly

outline ; “My welcome home obsession is creeping in too 😂 can I have some best friend headcanons of Barbaby, Wally, and Frank? They’re my blorbos. ❤️ if you can’t do all three I’d like just Barnaby! He’s so SILLY!! And I wanna be his best friend ✨

Also I claim bee anon!! 🐝🍯”

warning(s) ; none, just fluff!

whilst he is rather calm by nature and has his expression turned down in a perpetual frown, frank is the most loyal friend you could ask for

he’s always there when you need someone to talk to, only being a phone call or a house visit away from making you a cup of your favourite hot drink and sitting down in your/his living room to talk through what has been bothering you

he tends to take a more logical approach to problems and will help you construct a plan to approach and tackle your issues — be that something tangible like work stress or something less so like being unable to get to sleep or struggling with creative block

you’re the first person he calls upon when the weather is just right to go and catch butterflies — he even makes sure to keep a spare net handy for you whenever he sets out for it

he even gifts you some of his pinned specimen of that’s something you’re interested in — saving some of the best quality catches and setting them aside to gift to you at a later date

has your phone number written on a note that he keeps right next to his phone, despite having long since committed it to memory

he keeps each and every card and letter you send him — being far more sentimental than most give him credit for

whilst he is unfortunately stuck with a permanent frown, he does show his emotions quite openly with you through his eyes — you’re one of the few people to see him laugh so hard he’s cried

always keeps some of your favourite sweets in his pockets when you’re both out and about, always pretends it’s a coincidence though

he also keeps plenty of your favourite foods at home, always ready for a surprise visit

you are the only person who doesn’t get a stern talking to for messing with his hair or mistaking him for something catchable with a net — though he’s still not best pleased whenever his vision is suddenly obscured by the all too familiar fabric

doesn’t really use nicknames, preferring to use your name as fully as you’re comfortable

like if you’re a robert and are comfortable with it, he’ll call you robert — but he’ll also call you bob if you’re more comfortable with that

same for beatrice versus bee/bea or literally any other name

he is not up to date with anything like slang, please don’t introduce any to him he’ll just get a headache

isn’t too big on matching with you as best friends, but if you make a friendship bracelet or something like that then he’ll get misty eyed and he won’t ever take it off (not if he can help it, at least)

remembers all important dates but tends to forget things that you mention to him regarding gifts — which usually leads to a mad scramble involving him enlisting your neighbours to help him solve the accidental puzzle he created for himself

[hypertic]

Avatrice - neighbors AU

[and Beatrice has 2 kids]

Ava knocked on the door, shifting her weight from one foot to the other while she waited. Hearing the steps from the other side becoming louder with each passing second was almost enough for her to turn around to leave.

Almost, had it not been for the door opening right before she could run back to her apartment, revealing her neighbor greeting her with a small, polite smile.

Beatrice Xin.

Her next door neighbor that, though she’d moved in a couple of months after Ava, she knew almost nothing about.

She knew that she left too early in the morning and came back too late in the evening, but somehow managed to have enough time to take care of two little girls that, if Ava had to guess, were between five and two years old. She didn’t know much about the girls either; she assumed they were her daughters, even if Beatrice seemed far too young and far too busy to have kids, it was not her place to judge.

She also knew, from the few times they’d crossed paths, that Beatrice always managed to offer her a small, but genuine smile, despite how tired she seemed. If Ava was being honest, Beatrice smile was disarming, and she vividly remembers her legs going weak the first time she saw it.

That was another thing she knew: Beatrice was painfully attractive.

However, that was as far as Ava’s knowledge on Beatrice Xin extended, hence why she felt so awkward standing there.

“Hi.” Ava greeted shyly, already unable to stop her hands from fidgeting with a lose thread of her shirt. Beatrice kept her eyes on her; unreadable. “I’m Ava Silva, your neighbor from the other side of the hall.” In her head, Ava was thanking every deity she knew for giving her enough confidence to introduce herself without stuttering.

“I’m Beatrice Xin.” She offered her a hand for Ava to shake, who took it immediately, giving her a bright smile as she squeezed it gently. Beatrice smiled back, wider this time but still small, and Ava could do nothing but stare.

Beatrice let her, her own eyes scanning over her neighbor’s features to commit them to memory. Suddenly, she became aware that she was still holding Ava’s hand, the smaller girl’s grip loose around her own firm hand. She let go, maybe too quickly and too awkwardly, but Ava didn’t seem to care.

“Right so….,” Ava trailed off, her nerves getting the best of her. “There’s no way I can say this without sounding weird or stupid or straight up crazy and I completely understand if you just shut the door in my face-“ Beatrice’s amused yet slightly threatening eyebrow raise was enough to get Ava to stop her rambling and take a deep breath. “Can I borrow your kids?”

Any trace of amusement was gone as soon as Beatrice heard the word ‘kids’.

“Excuse me?” Ava took notice of her british accent and wondered how someone could grow more attractive by the second. She quickly pushed those thoughts aside, feeling herself grow smaller in front of Beatrice’s threatening eyebrow raise and her suddenly closed off demeanor.

Ava fought the chills crawling up her spine, suddenly aware of the small height difference in Beatrice’s favor that made her all the more scary. Still, she took another deep breath, desperate to at least get her neighbor to hear her explanation and not think she’s completely insane.

“I… I kinda told my ex that I couldn’t go out with him today and meet his new girlfriend because I have to babysit, when I really just don’t want to go because even if we ended on ‘good terms’ and we’re friends, it’s going to be so awkward and I’m not sure I’m ready to put myself through that but I-“ She cut herself short to catch her breath, giving Beatrice a sheepish smile.

“What do you need the kids for then?” Beatrice asked before she could continue. “You said no, so why do you need my kids?” her voice was stern and demanding, like a high school principal, her face unreadable as ever.

“Well,“ Ava sighed, preparing herself to blurt out the second half of her explanation. “He said they could come to say hi while I babysit, because he lives in another city and wanted to stop by, since they’re only here for the weekend and it’s the only time he’s available. I couldn’t backtrack with the babysitting lie, because that would make it too obvious that I don’t want to meet them so…”

Ava looked up from her fidgety hands to the woman in front of her, who stared back at her with what Ava thought -hoped- was maybe a small glint of amusement in her dark, expressionless eyes.

“I know it sounds insane but you’re the only person I know that has kids and they really won’t stay for long; 30 minutes at most.” Beatrice frowned, and Ava couldn’t believe she actually seemed to be thinking about it. “I swear I’ll take good care of them, please!” Ava pushed, ready to beg on her knees if she had to. “I’ll owe you anything! I can clean your entire apartment!, or take down your trash for as long as you live here.” She decided to finalized with her offers, and Beatrice let out an annoyed sigh.

“Are you really willing to go this far to save yourself the embarrassment?” Beatrice questioned, and Ava wasn’t sure if she was making fun of her or if she was genuinely curious.

“Yes!” Ava answered, too sure of herself. Beatrice rolled her eyes at the answer, but couldn’t hide the small smile making its way to her lips.

Ava felt a spark of hope grow in her chest at the reaction, and decided to give her the best puppy eyes she could muster.

God.

At that moment, Beatrice genuinely felt like she couldn’t say no. For some reason, this complete stranger that seemed to put all her faith in her, hoping that Beatrice was just as insane as she was and would aid her in her stupid lie, was actually managing to convince her.

Beatrice took her time to study the girl, who seemed just a couple of years younger than her and knew nothing about. Just by their first interaction, she could tell the girl was like an open book, all of her emotions easy to label just by taking a look into her eyes. She didn’t seem like a real threat and, if she truly wanted to kidnap or harm her children in any way, Beatrice didn’t think she would be to borrow them like they were a cup of flour.

“Fine.” Beatrice stated, and Ava let out a relieved yelp, jumping around to celebrate her small victory.

It could be good to get to know her neighbors anyways.

“Really?” Ava asked, buzzing with energy.

“Yes, but with one condition.” Ava became serious all of a sudden, ready to obey whatever this woman said as long as it would spare her the embarrassment of being caught in a lie. “You have come to our apartment, and I get to stay.” Beatrice stated firmly.

“What?” Ava frowned, slightly confused. “What’s the point of babysitting if their mom is here?”

“I can just stay in Oli’s room.” Beatrice answered, getting a puzzled look from Ava. “The baby.” She clarified, regretting her decision already.

“Ok, yeah. Sounds fair.“ Ava nodded, and for the first time since she got there, she caught a glimpse of Beatrice’s apartment.

Unlike hers, it was spotless, furnished with simple furniture in white and grayish tones. Beatrice gestured for her to come in, allowing Ava a full few of the apartment. Despite most of it being grey and white, the place felt warm and homey, with the evening sunlight shining through the windows and a couple of scattered, colorful toys in the fluffy grey rug of the living room.

“When is your ex coming?”

“Shit.” Ava muttered, as she checked the time on her phone.

“Language.” Beatrice scolded, and Ava had to bite her tongue to keep herself from giggling.

“Sorry. He said they’ll be here in 20 minutes.” She answered sheepishly.

“That’s not a lot of time.” For some reason, Beatrice seemed to be worried about her, even if she clearly disapproved of the entire plan. “You should hurry and get my kid to like you if you want this to work.” Ava was momentarily shocked at how invested Beatrice sounded, but didn’t hesitate to follow her to the kitchen.

“Willow.” Beatrice called as they entered, and Ava was met by wide brown eyes staring at her with a mix of surprise and curiosity.

The little girl stood up, her pigtails swaying from side to side as she ran to meet them at the door, her bangs slightly disheveled. Her hair was a lot darker than Beatrice’s and her skin paler, but otherwise they looked quite alike.

“This is Ava, our neighbor.” Beatrice introduced, and Willow extended a hand for her to shake, just like her mother. Ava shook it gently, giving the girl a smile as she introduced herself.

“I’m Willow!” She replied with excitement that Ava didn’t hesitate to mirror.

“It’s such a pretty name! What were you doing there, Willow?” Ava said pointing at the kitchen table, and after some hesitation the girl dragged her by the hand she was still holding to show her.

“I was coloring the animal book auntie Cam got me.” She sat back down, and Ava stood next to her, appreciating Willow’s attempt at staying within the lines.

“Willow, “ Beatrice voice echoed from behind the pair, making them both turn around with wide, attentive eyes. “Would you like Ava to play with you for a little while?” The young girl furrowed her eyebrows, trying to push her bangs aside.

“Why?” She asked innocently. Beatrice knelt down in front of her daughter, fixing her messy bangs for her.

“Well, since Ava lives next door, I thought it would be nice if you get to know her, don’t you think?” Willow nodded, because everything her mom said made sense; most of the time. Beatrice gave her a smile and gestured for Ava to sit on the chair next to Willow, while she sat in the one across from them.

Though the little girl was quite shy and closed off at first, taking hesitant glances up to her mom after she spoke, it didn’t take long for her to warm up to Ava. She always thought it was a lot easier to talk to children rather than adults, and really enjoyed taking part on their own little world.

“You’re doing it wrong!” Willow giggled as Ava colored outside of the drawing instead of inside, which was absolutely on purpose, and not because she got distracted by her small talk with Willow.

Ava felt her phone buzz, and typed a quick reply to JC before making gestures to Beatrice that she needed to go.

“Willow,” Beatrice spoke, gentle as ever but still commanding all of the little girl’s attention. “Would you like to help Ava with a game?” Willows eyes went wide at the mention of a game, going from her mother to Ava as she nodded excitedly.

“What is it?”

“Ava is playing pretend with a couple of friends, and they’re coming to see her.” The girls mouth formed an ‘o’ that Ava couldn’t help but mirror. “She’s pretending to be taking care of you while I’m gone.”

“But… you’re here.” Willow frowned, her eyes going from Ava to Beatrice in search of an answer.

“That’s why we are pretending I’m not here.” Beatrice explained patiently.

“So you’re in the game too?” Beatrice nodded, and Willow copied her, seeming to understand. “What does the winner get?” She asked, a confident smile on her face.

“Do you like waffles?” Ava asked, and if she noticed the angry look Beatrice shot her, she chose to ignore it. Willow let out a happy yelp, standing from her chair and jumping up and down.

“Willow,” Beatrice called, and the girl jumped all the way to her. “Remember, to win the game, you have to stay with Ava and her friends, and pretend I’m not here, capisce?”

“Capisce.” The little girl replied, making a motion of taking off a hat.

Before Ava could comment on their vocabulary they heard the door bell ring, and Ava felt her heart shoot up to her throat. Beatrice just gave her a reassuring nod before disappearing into the small hallway.

“Let the games begin.” Ava said to Willow solemnly after hearing the door of the room click.

###

The game lasted a little over 20 minutes, seeing that JC had made a dinner reservation for them and was really just stopping by.

It was nice to see him, Ava admitted, even if it was awkward at first, the conversation managed to flow nicely just like before they dated. She even managed to make small talk with his new girlfriend, who was really sweet and allowed their conversation to go uninterrupted by engaging with Willow and her Lego tower.

As soon as the door behind them closed, Ava let out a sigh of relief, realizing it wasn’t as bad as she’d thought. It was nice, actually, and it gave her a weird sense of closure to see JC after so long and meet as friends.

“I win!” Willow chanted, jumping through the living room as Beatrice came out of the room, holding Olivia in her arms.

Ava gave Willow a triumphant high five and a bright grin to Beatrice, who seemed both surprised and relieved that it’d actually worked.

“You didn’t have to bribe her you know?” Beatrice whispered, seeing the little girl run to the kitchen in anticipation of her prize.

“I kinda did.” Ava giggled, cooing at the baby in Beatrice’s arms. “I had to bribe you too.” She added with a wink.

Beatrice rolled her eyes, walking ahead of Ava to hide the light blush creeping up her cheeks.

“You don’t have to do anything, by the way.” Beatrice said, after putting Olivia down on her chair. She opened the fridge to take out the ingredients for the waffles, while Willow searched for the largest pot she could find to make the mix. “You just… owe me one?” Beatrice said tentatively, feeling her heart warm at the sight of Ava’s bright smile.

So, Beatrice found herself spending the rest of the evening with this stranger, Ava, and her old waffle maker, far more entertained than she’ll ever admit.

Though she scolded Ava more than she ever did her own child —for not measuring the ingredients, for mixing the batter so energetically it got everywhere, including Beatrice’s shirt, among other things— she couldn’t help but smile all the same, seeing Willow laugh carelessly and enjoy her tower of waffles covered in syrup.

After Olivia had eaten all of the broccoli mush that wasn’t on her clothes, and Willow had long forgotten her waffles and devoted herself to watching her favorite show in the living room, Ava took it as her cue to leave.

Beatrice couldn’t hide her surprise when she came back from putting Olivia to bed, and found the kitchen as spotless as it had been.

“What? It was as only fair I cleaned up my own mess.” Ava said with a teasing smile.

“Thank you.” Beatrice said with the widest smile Ava had seen from her.

It was easy to smile around Ava, Beatrice noticed.

“Thank you.” Ava said, taking a step forward. “You really saved me from a lot of…”

“Explaining? Questions? Embarrassment?” Beatrice offered, and Ava gave her a shy nod, but her smile never seemed to leave her. Not like Beatrice wanted to.

“Yeah… thanks.” Ava said as she walked out the kitchen, waffle maker held firmly between her hands.

“Willow, say bye to Ava.” Beatrice called once they reached the door and, despite how entranced the little girl seemed by the colorful cartoons in front of her, she ran up to Ava and almost tackled her with a hug. Gently, Ava wrapped her arms around the little girl who mumbled something unintelligible.

“Can Ava come back to play?” Willow asked Beatrice after separating herself from Ava, her tiny hand still clutching Ava’s shirt.

“You should ask her, Lou.” Beatrice placed a gentle hand on the girls hair, staring down at her with so much love Ava felt her heart melt.

“Can you come back to play?” Willow asked her, lightly pulling Ava’s shirt.

“Of course!” Ava promised, shooting an anxious look at Beatrice to confirm she was actually ok with that that. “I’ll see you around, ok?” She said, messing up the little girl’s hair with endearment.

“Bye!” Willow waved, and Ava mirror her, but aimed her wave at the girl’s mother instead.

“Bye, Ava.” Beatrice said, offering her a final, polite smile before closing the door.

Ava let out a sigh, her chest filled with warmth and contempt and hope of seeing Beatrice, and her kids, again.

[the-penguinspy]

on well-kept ledgers

Beatrice knocks twice on the window, catching the attention of the man inside. You can only rely on yourself, her father’s stern voice sounds in her head, voice booming in time to the pounding of her headache, to the slick slip and catch of spandex against the sweat of her skin. Everyone else is a liability, another unknown variable to account for in a world where situations can turn on a dime. Trust is weakness, and reliance is setting yourself up for failure.

The man approaches the window. Muscles tense, she half-expects (half-hopes) to be turned away, but he just takes one look at her and wordlessly motions her in.

As Beatrice shifts her body across the threshold and bites back a curse at the ache of her bruised back, she makes out the click of the window latch and an urgent screech of closing curtains before the man leads her further into the house down a set of stairs. There’s a hot flash of guilt at how her boots must be leaving dusty imprints on the carpet, but she follows dutifully. 

A quick downward trot and a sharp left brings her to the kitchen. The man pulls out a chair for her to take at the table before he plods to the counter, fussing with a kettle and a cooking pot. 

Only once he’s satisfied with the stove does he retrieve a small first aid kit from the bottom kitchen cabinet and set his chair adjacent to hers. Still, he doesn’t say anything aside from the initial my name is Hans, information offered voluntarily when he treats her cuts with antiseptic.

“Why?” Beatrice asks, after her wounds have been tended to, once the steaming bowl of stew has been set in front of her, after the tea has been poured into her mug from the kettle. She had spotted the neatly placed pair of women’s oxfords in the foyer when she came trudging down the staircase, had seen the mess of big lego bricks strewn about the living room rug. You don’t know if anyone was following me. You risked your home, your life. Your family. You risked it all for me. 

The man – Hans – only takes the seat opposite from her and pours himself a cup of tea, and he blows on it softly before bringing it to his lips. “Because you would have done the same for me,” he says. “Because you did do the same for me.”

[threadbaresweater]

All the Arlin lore I could scrounge up (for now):

When we first move in together, we live in a little single wide trailer on a massive plot of land in the middle of nowhere at the end of a long dirt road. There's meadowgrass and trees and wildflowers everywhere, some horses and a dairy cow and chickens. We make/hunt a lot of our own food and live a very simple, off the grid kind of life. Sometimes I'll go with him on his work trips, sometimes he'll take a break and we'll stock up the old winnebago, load up the dogs, and go driving somewhere on our own. We've seen all of the lower 48 states, but the west is our favorite. He always brings something back for me when he's gone for a few days. There are trinkets all over the house that I have to rotate out now and then. As much as I love his thoughtfulness, he's also very much a packrat and it would break his heart if I ever got rid of anything he bought for me. A lot of our furniture is vintage or hand-me down stuff. We rarely wear shoes. Arthur cuts the grass on his riding lawnmower in cutoff jean shorts and his hat with a marlboro hanging from his lips. We love having friends over for weekend long get-togethers (think swimming in the pond, barbecues, beer, and lots of cheap lawn chairs). He teaches me to shoot a gun, I teach him to play his favorite tunes on the piano. It's a comfortable, intrinsically happy existence that brings me SO much comfort.

And then we begin to build our family. We wait about 3 years, then we talk about me going off the pill. I'm pregnant within the first month.

Our first baby's name is Beatrice, after his mother. She has bright blue eyes like her father and a fiery temperament from day one. Arthur can't believe his eyes when he holds her for the first time. He didn't think he'd ever get the chance to live a "normal" life, let alone start a family with someone who found him worthy and loveable enough to marry and settle down with. Beatrice is meant to be an only child, but the moment he meets her and experiences firsthand what it's like to be a father, he wants more. Not to mention, he loves to see his woman barefoot and pregnant, swollen and waddling around with his child cooking in her belly. Rumor has it he also likes the idea of getting her pregnant just for the act itself, but that's between him and his wife.

So then, we have Charles, a calm and peaceful little boy with big hazel eyes and a sweet disposition. Less than a year later there's Margaret and Mason, the twins, and two years after that, Jenny is born. Strong, handsome, smart children. They have mama's heart and daddy's resourcefulness. Arthur is a stern but loving father. Teaches them about respect and hard work, but also how to have fun when the day is done. Together, we teach them about love and teamwork and what family and loyalty to a cause really means.Years pass, and life is happy and full– total balls to the wall insane sometimes, but a ton of fun. We're well into our 40's when the last child- Leah- is born. She is tiny and fragile. Our miracle baby, against all odds.

On his most lonely nights when the need for each other is mighty strong, he'll video call from the bunk, but not before making sure all the windows are covered and he's tucked away from any prying eyes at the truck stop. When he does come home I make him go straight to the shower and I'll put his clothes on a heavy duty washer cycle while the kids are running feral through the backyard. We sit down to a family dinner and end the night with a little bonfire and smores in the backyard, and after the kids pass out he shows me just how much he missed me. He sleeps like a rock- well past noon the next day. and then he's on the road again the next day before the sun comes up.

@pastelle-rabbit and @wifesuguru tagging you because you asked 😘

[kendrene]

Ava doesn’t think she’s ever witnessed Beatrice pray. 

So far, she’s just caught glimpses. Barren words hastily mouthed in the back of the van that brought them deep into the heart of the Vatican. Bea’s dark eyes upturned in silent thanks after they’d again come face to face with death only to narrowly escape it. Flashes of Beatrice’s unwavering faith, but not the slow thread of beads through fingers — her belief spoken, willed into existence.

She happens on the ritual early one morning, sensing motion at the corner of her eye in the midst of the shuffle from bed to bathroom, legs half-asleep but not dead, high-cognitive functions still on the pillow. 

Ava doesn't mean to stop and stare. She knows it's not polite to. But knowing is one thing, doing is entirely another, and in Ava’s case there’s often a chasm between one and the other.

Framed by blue skies and peaks snow-capped even at the height of summer season, Beatrice sits so still she seems part of a painting. The rising sun pours in through a window rimed with frost, prismatic, surrounding her in a nimbus of rose-gold light. It glows gentle across her cheekbones, highlight to her freckles, haloes her hair unbound and damp from the shower she must have sneaked off to take while Ava was asleep. She’s bright and soft and beautiful in a way that Ava feels should be revered. Head bowed, eyes shut, open hands turned heavenward, beseeching. 

It’s not worship as Ava had imagined. For her, faith has the shape of the old mildewy priest that would visit the orphanage on Sundays, and that of Sister Frances’s stern warnings about sin. Faith as Ava knows it is a castle built on guilt, is repentance out of fear and the divine threat of retribution. 

She averts her eyes, heat marching from the nape of her neck up to her ears. This is something different. Something intimate, and Ava is trespassing. 

She lasts a grand total of three seconds before going right back to this furtive silent study. Her gaze darts from detail to detail, never resting for long as though it would for her somehow be possible to devour Beatrice whole. Back to the smattering of freckles astride her cheeks and nose, darker than Ava remembers from all the days spent in the sun, training. To her lips, shaping words Ava, too, knows of by rote, that to her ears have never felt so holy.

Ava’s eyes find a final perch on the prayer beads blazing in the light, and all breath leaves her in a rush, but no. The blue glint is not that of divinium; it's common semi-precious stone. Ava is safe. She can keep staring.

Beatrice gathers the rosary close to her chest, hands cupped over it, possessive, her prayers nearly done. Ava wishes she had a little faith left of her own. She would walk, then, inside the sunlit kitchen, sit across from Beatrice, and reach out with both hands. Pretend she can’t remember how to do the sign of the cross, just as an excuse to have Bea’s hands cover her own. And if that makes her a sinner, if in the eyes of God she’s irredeemably flawed, well. A broken body is hell enough. The real thing can’t be much worse.

[lord-emerson]

The World Through Your Eyes

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Howard Underhouse/Oswald J. Emerson

Tags: Glasses Kink, Dom/Sub Dynamics, POV Second Person, Howard POV, Gentle Dom Oswald, Strap On, Pegging, I say glasses kink but what I really mean is "Howard can't see for shit and they are both being so so horny about it"

Words: 792

Summary: With the world completely ablur, it is easy for you to give up control even further. You can tell that words are being whispered into your ear, but you cannot ascertain their meaning. You can feel the teasing scratch of fingernails going down your forearms. The touch is light, with no harsh intent behind it. Yet in your current predicament, it feels just as exhilarating as the kiss of a blade, about to break skin.

With the world completely ablur, it is easy for you to give up control even further. You can tell that words are being whispered into your ear, but you cannot ascertain their meaning. You can feel the teasing scratch of fingernails going down your forearms. The touch is light, with no harsh intent behind it. Yet in your current predicament, it feels just as exhilarating as the kiss of a blade, about to break skin. “Still with me, Fluffy?” That d__ned nickname brings you back, a little. You don’t have the strength to pretend to be annoyed at it for once. You hum in response. “Please use your words, darling.”

You think you can almost see the gentle expression on his features as he leans in and tucks a stray hair behind your ear. It grounds you enough that you feel a little bit of fight coming back to you. “Yes. Get on with it, Oz.” He chuckles. The nearby rumble of it so present, so comforting. “Should I trust your words or your body on this, hmm?” And then he’s moving, where is he going, is he coming closer- “Alright. Have it your way.” Soft flesh, pressing against your lips.

You close your eyes and open your mouth eagerly, ready to take whatever you’re being given. When your tongue brushes against a nipple, you can’t help but moan.

Your hands twitch where they’re tied together in your lap.

You press your face closer against his skin, seeking out all the contact you can possibly get. You both hear and feel the sharp intake of breath before he pulls away from you again. Your lips chase after him before you remember yourself. You feel a kiss being planted in your hair and then he’s gone. You open your eyes again, for whatever that’s worth. You watch his silhouette, angry red scar on his hip standing in stark contrast with the rest of his pale skin. He’s somewhere near the door now, his back turned to you. The thought occurs to you suddenly.

He could just leave me here like this. Then…

But I know that he won’t. Huh.

Trust in your fellow human beings is not exactly something you encounter often. Sure, you trust an acquaintance not to attack you while having tea at Beatrice’s. You trust yourself not to get killed on a mission to the Khanate. You trust a lover to leave you satisfied. You don’t trust them to keep you safe and sound. You don’t and you shouldn’t. Yet here you are, completely devoid of sight and bandages and freedom of movement, laying yourself bare for the man in front of you. You should give your libido a stern talking to sometime. Later, perhaps. He returns to you holding something, the edges of it so blurred your only clue is its dark colour and vaguely cylindrical shape. Is it… a pistol? You are about to speak when that something is being shoved into your mouth. Your body startles, but your neutral expression stays rooted in place. Old habits die hard. Speaking of old habits, your tongue brushes against the obstructive presence in your mouth. It tastes like polished wood, long with rounded edges- oh. The moment the realisation kicks in, you give out a noise that might make another man go red with shame. But not you. You take to sucking on the strap easily, your head bobbing along its length while the rest of your body tries its best to keep your balance. For a second you find yourself wondering… if it had been a gun, would you have reacted any differently?

“There you are,” says a gentle voice, hand brushing against your cheek. “So good for me.” You redouble your efforts at the praise, the movement of your head almost giving the impression of nodding. You hum against the strap the way you would against its flesh and muscle counterpart. You think you can hear a cut off gasp from the man holding it against your lips, but you’re too far gone to concentrate on it. “That’s enough, dear." By the time your mouth is free again, your head is buzzing. You can barely keep yourself from shaking as you pick up the sound of leather cords being stretched and tightened. You feel fingers brushing against your thighs, rubbing patterns into the dark hairs. When those fingers stray further towards your crotch, your stomach flips in anticipation. Your leaking member remains untouched as he reaches further down, toying with the end of the plug inside of you. “Would you like me to-“ “Yes,” you say, breathless. “Fuck, Oz, yes, I would.” Even without your glasses, there is no mistaking the look in his eyes, sparkling with a smile.