#maybe i want to see happy lesbos | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years ago

Text

The Crucible (part eight)

[Carrie AU; UK Tour]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Word count: 10,126

TW: None, for once lol

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

-Dreamer In Disguise-

“Tell us about the night of May 28th. Of the events leading up to the incident.”

Katherine grit her teeth tightly, then exhaled a sharp breath through her nose, releasing her mounting anger. Her eyes were stinging, like fire ants were infested in the sockets and wouldn’t come out no matter how hard she scratched. Her face was still blotchy and washed out from crying, but she held herself as confidently as always, not willing to give into the crime Mulaney so desperately wanted her to be a part of.

“It was meant to be a celebration.” Katherine said strongly. Her voice held no evidence that she had been crying just a few minutes ago. “It was supposed to be the biggest night of our high school lives. The ending of one chapter and the beginning of the next. If only--” Her words caught for a moment, but she would not break again. “If only--”

“If only what?” Mulaney urged.

“If only I hadn’t told Anna to go to prom with Joan!” Katherine exploded, slamming her palms on the table and making even Madeline jump and Mulaney look at her more warily. It pleased her, and she eased back down, steadying her sharpening breath. “Then maybe nobody would have died. But just because I should have done that, doesn’t mean I regret having her go.”

Mulaney’s eyes glinted and he leaned in, hungry for a confession.

“Anna sent me a picture.” Katherine said. She took out her phone and slid it over the tabletop. The screen showed an image of Anna and Joan, grinning brightly at the camera with two other kids, George Boleyn, Anne’s younger brother, and his girlfriend, Jane Parker. “Look at how happy she is… I’ve never seen her smile like that before. So carefree and peaceful…”

She put her phone back into her pocket and shook her head. She blew out a sigh from her nose.

“That’s why I don’t wish I didn’t have Anna ask her.” She said. “She was happy for the first time in her life. Truly happy. And who am I to take that away from her?”

Her eyes began to burn again. She fingered her shredded tissue, a whirlwind of emotions storming inside her skull. She wanted to release it on this skeptical detective before her and show him that she was innocent.

“I hope it was good for her. That prom. Before things went to hell.”

------

It was like a dream. An actual perfect dream.

The prom glimmered in droplets of amber and gold, sapphire and jade, obsidian and pearl. Fragments of gods and goddesses and mythical creatures prowled across the walls in detailed murals, capturing ancient battles in their canvases forever.

The gym had been morphed into a huge, vaulted space that hummed with activity. Intricately carved Greek pillars and spires and arches dotted the space, and green and silver drapes of silk dipped from the ceiling. White fairy lights were lit up everywhere, casting soft glows across various tapestries and weavings decorating the walls and architecture. Miniature recreations of temples acted as buffets for the hundreds of partygoers, bearing chips and cookies and cakes and other treats. There was even a large bowl-like piece that was shaped like the Great Theater of Epidaurus, holding salad condiments around the wide sides and lettuce in the middle. A chocolate fountain burbled on a nearby table, the most modern-looking piece of decor in there.

The food temples encircled a giant white fake-marble tree that the origins of were unknown to mostly everyone. The trunk was carved with intricate designs that looked like they had taken hours to scratch away, and the lush shrubbery it bore was braided with silver lights, making the entire decoration a beacon of sterling radiance. Transparent ice blue globes hung from the many reaching branches, lit up with fake candles inside of their hallowed out interior. They glowed like captured moons within the party.

The stage was set up to look like the Parthenon, with white pillars along the apron and wings, coiled by ivy and flowers. Golden and iridescent fabric braided the top, glistening in the fairy lights. A hired band was set up at the center, along with the DJ booth, which played most of the music. Behind them were the thrones for prom king and queen, all shiny and poised, ready for their royals.

Music catapulted around the high, canvas-covered walls like thread winding around and around the assembled students. The sound seemed to swallow Joan up, reverberating in her bones. Partygoers whirled together on the dance floor, the colors of their suits and dresses sparkling in bright tornadoes. They stomped and jumped and clapped in time to the beat of the music, a kaleidoscope of rainbow rhythm.

However, the highlight of the ball were the sculptures. There were at least ten different elaborate carvings sparkling importantly in the party space. Twisting spirals, weaving tendrils, and delicate beads mingled with glorious bells and vast shipwrecks, towering trees and clusters of griffon feathers. Joan wanted to run her hands over all of their smooth, bubbly surfaces.

“Anna.” Joan squeezed Anna’s arm tightly. “Anna, Anna, Anna, Anna--”

“Yeah?” Anna looked down at her.

“Look.” Joan pointed to the sculpture garden with her free hand.

“Wanna go look at them?”

Joan nodded vigorously. Anna chuckled. They both began to walk over, and Joan nearly dragged Anna when she leapt forward to look at the closest sculpture, a beautiful, branching ice tree with fat orbs of sugary fruit.

“It’s so pretty…” Joan murmured, her eyes sparkling.

“No wonder it’s so cold in here,” Anna observed. “They have to keep these from melting. Damn, this must have taken forever.”

“Yeah…” Joan nodded slowly, like she was taking in the secrets of the universe. “Ooh, look at that one!”

The two of them went over to a sculpture of roaring waves with captured pieces of poetry within their depths. Joan ogled at the ice with great interest, taking the time to read every piece of paper inside. Anna patiently let her, smiling at her look of awestruck wonderment. She was glad she was distracted so she didn’t notice all the stares they were getting.

But Joan did. She had picked up on it from the moment they stepped inside. It seemed like everyone in the entire gym was staring at her like she was an alien from outer space. She did her best to ignore all of them, but she could feel their eyes burning holes into her skin.

She’s never felt so exposed before, not even in the showers last Friday.

“Why, Anna von Cleves!”

A voice cut through the music and talking and laughter rebounding throughout the gym. Joan spun around and saw two people approaching them- a brunette boy with amber eyes, wearing a black tux, a silvery grey undershirt peeking out around the collar, and a blood red rose boutonniere, and a girl she didn’t recognize. She was taller than her date and had curled dirty blonde hair and grey-green eyes. Her dress was long and flowing, ebony black like the boy’s but dappled with silver specks like stars. The straps were thin and the bodice was gathered and fitted snugly against her bust.

“George!” Anna embraced the boy tightly in one of those “man hugs” men always seem to do, rapping his back so hard it sounded a little painful.

“You look good enough to eat, honey!” George whistled, looking Anna up and down.

“Some would say I am delicious.” Anna said.

“Okay, if you two knew how many people thought you were dating, you wouldn’t be joking about it.” The girl piped up, looking amused.

“Tell Anna to stop looking so goddamn queer!” George chortled.

“You know I always gotta look a little lesbo.” Anna said.

Then, George raised his fists and Joan flinched back a little. She flexed her powers, prepared to save Anna, but then Anna raised her fists, too, and began throwing playful jabs and poked at George’s stomach and chest. George did the same, and they began circling each other like two tuxedo-clad cats standing off against each other for a dead mouse. Joan realized that it was a game of sorts.

“Don’t let it bother you,” The girl said to Joan. “If they kill each other, I’ll dance with you.”

Joan couldn’t smother the smile that came to her lips. She looked down shyly for a moment, then lifted her head again to watch George’s and Anna’s sparring match. Anna tagged George twice, then got jabbed in the waist. They kept grunting and gobbling playful threats to each other.

“They’re too silly to kill,” Joan observed, tilting her head at them. “Like dinosaurs.”

The girl laughed and smiled, and Joan felt something warm flood through her.

Was this what delight felt like?

“Joan,” Anna said. She and George had stopped fighting and she now had an arm around his shoulders. “This is my best buddy, George Boleyn! And this is his girlfriend, Jane Parker. She goes to Chamberlain.”

She didn’t go to Kingston. So maybe that’s why she was being so friendly.

Joan liked it.

“George, Jane, this is Joan.” Anna continued.

“Joan, hi,” Jane smiled down at the girl.

“Joan!” George exclaimed. “Oh shit. Hey, can I just personally apologize for all my sister’s bullshit? I wish I could say she isn’t always like that, but…” He trailed off with a dry laugh.

“Wait…” Joan began to put the pieces together. “George Boleyn… You’re Anne’s brother?”

George laughed. “Yup. The youngest of the bunch. We have an older sister in college named Mary. She turned out pretty okay.”

“...I’m sorry.”

George burst out into even louder laughter. He shook Anna’s side, wiping a tear from his eyes.

“Oh, Anna, I love this girl!” He said.

Joan blushed dark red, ducking her head. Anna grinned at her.

“She’s great, isn’t she?” She said.

There was a light touch on Joan’s shoulder, warm and soft, easy for her to shrug off if she wanted. She turned her head to see that it was Jane’s hand.

“I love your dress,” Jane said. “Where did you get it?”

“I made it.” Joan told her.

“Made it?” Jane gaped, looking the length of the sparkling silk gown up and down. “No shit!”

Joan blinked a few times, then echoed, “No shit.”

Jane laughed. Anna grinned even more. Joan felt like a sinful little rebel.

“You really made that?” George asked.

“Oh, now who’s queer?” Anna said, earning her a smack on the arm.

“I did.” Joan answered George. “I like to sew.”

“You have got to teach me sometime!” Anna said. “I tried before but it didn’t turn out so well. A sweater somehow became a snake warmer.”

They all laughed. Joan felt glee bubbling up inside of her the longer and longer she talked to Anna and her friends. It was so nice to be a part of conversations and share her talents with other people.

“Yeah, of course,” Joan said to Anna.

“Hey, ladies,” Said a heavily sneering voice. “And Anne’s brother.”

Maggie, Maria, and a boy came gliding over. Maggie was wearing a pure white toga with gold lace to fit the Greek theme, while the boy, tall and tired-looking, was in a maroon tux. Maria wore a bright tangerine orange dress that had no sleeves and was loaded with fake jewels to make her gown sparkle.

“Hello,” Anna said. There was a sort of warning in her voice, like she was daring the three of them to try something and see what happened.

“Joan!” Maggie exclaimed in a very forced friendly voice. “Wow. You look so...different!”

Joan struggled not to squirm. She didn’t like the way Maggie was looking at her, like she was being sized up. Jane stood tall beside her, a protector of sorts, narrowing her eyes at Maggie.

“Thanks,” Joan mumbled. The bedazzled gems encrusted on Maria’s dress caught her attention and she looked at her in wonder. “Wow… You’re so shiny.”

Maggie snorted. “Shiny?” She said. “Joan, what are you talking about?”

“You made The Human Tide,” Joan went on, ignoring her. She lifted one of Maria’s hands in her own, tracing the lines on her palms. “Passion and lust, envy and yearning, wrath and guilt…” She looked up at her, eyes shining. “Did you put some Sylvia Plath in there?”

“What?” Maggie said uneasily.

“I-I did,” Maria stammered in an oddly rapt way. “I didn’t think anyone would have noticed… Nobody ever understands my pieces.”

“I’m very observant,” Joan stated. “Charles Dickens and Edgar Allen Poe and lines from the Odyssey…”

“Okay, not you’re literally just saying random names.” Maggie said. She looked at the others. “What is going on?”

“Shh.” George shushed her, earning him an evil glare that he deftly dodged around Anna.

“It was very beautiful.” Joan said, releasing Maria’s hand.

“Thank you,” Maria said, wide-eyed. “That--that means a lot. Thank you.”

Joan smiled at her. She looked at Anna in a sort of glance of approval and Anna grinned back at her.

“This is so fucking weird,” Maggie hissed under her breath, the swept away into the crowd. Maria and her date lingered around.

“Oh, hey,” George suddenly said to the boy in the maroon tux. “I know you from...Trigonometry? You’re William, right?”

“Yeah,” The boy, William, nodded.

“Where’d you get your dress?” Maria asked Joan at the same time.

“She made it.” Jane said.

“I made it.”

Maria looked Joan up and down, sort of like Jane did, then said, “Shut up!”

Joan flinched slightly and bristled. “You shut up!”

Maria laughed. Anna set a hand on Joan’s shoulder to relax her, chuckling slightly.

“Really, you made that?” Maria asked.

Joan nodded. “It’s a really simple pattern. I also got the fabric really cheap.”

“Wow.” Maria said. “Give it a twirl!”

“What?”

“Twirl your dress!” Maria specified, then demonstrated, spinning in a shimmering circle of orange and silver. “Like that!”

“Oh--” Joan blinked. “Okay.” She twirled for them.

Maria gasped loudly. “LOOK AT YOUR ASS!!!”

Joan yelped and leapt backwards against Anna, eyes bulging. George burst into laughter. William leaned to the side slightly to get a look and nodded in approval.

“Now THAT’S queer!” George chortled.

“Okay, after seeing your ass, the whole ‘nun in street clothes’ thing is no longer acceptable.” Maria said to Joan.

Joan’s bewildered expression does not lessen. In fact, she looked even more confused and startled after hearing that. Jane leaned down to her and whispered, “It was a compliment.”

“You’re glowing,” Maria said. “You really do look great, Joan. So different!”

Joan blushed shyly. “Thank you.”

Someone gently took Joan’s arm. “Let’s go find our table.” Jane said, and began guiding Joan through the crowd. “Yikes. Why is everyone acting so weird around you?”

“I’m not--usually like this.” Joan said. “All nice and pretty and dressed up. I’m kinda weird…”

“I like weird.” Jane said. “It makes you special.”

Joan ducked her head to hide her bashful expression. Jane chuckled.

“Here we are!” They stop at an empty table that was coiled with ivy and violets. Three candles flickered on the tabletop. Anna and George caught up to them.

“They’re really trusting us with real candles?” George said, peering at the small flames. “Not the best decision they could have made.”

“How are you doing?” Anna asked, sitting down next to Joan. “Feeling alright? Need to go out and get some fresh air? I know parties like this can be a little much. With everyone packed together and whatnot.”

Joan’s heart fluttered in her chest. She’s never had someone be so worried about her before. Anna genuinely cared about how she was feeling.

“I’m okay,” She answered. “It’s a lot, though. I’ve never been to a place like this before. It’s amazing.”

“It’s not so bad once you get used to it,” Jane put in.

Joan nodded. “I hope I’m doing okay. Again, this isn’t really my crowd, you know?”

“You’re doing great.” Anna told her. “Trust me.”

“Joan?” A voice called.

George leapt to his feet instantly and dragged Jane with him to go visit with another table, saluting Anna and Joan as he careened away. The remaining duo blinked, then realized what he was fleeing from.

It was Miss Aragon.

The gym coach appeared from the crowd in glistening swathes of gold, like an angel descending from heaven. Her dark brown hair was elegantly curled, framing her makeup-covered face perfectly. The dress she wore was smooth, with no wrinkles or frills, and had short sleeves so her muscles could be revealed to wandering eyes. A black pendant hung around her strong neck, glinting like polished onyx in the light.

“Oh, Miss Aragon!” A smile came to Joan’s face the moment she saw her favorite teacher. “You look incredible!”

“Thank you.” Miss Aragon said. “You look beautiful.”

Joan ducked her head humbly. “That’s very nice of you,” She said. “I know it isn’t true, but thank you anyway.”

Miss Aragon and Anna both ruffled slightly at that.

“Don’t be modest,” Miss Aragon said. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

Joan blushed. “Thank you… Really, thank you.”

“Hey, Miss Aragon!” Anna said to the coach.

“Anna.”

Joan blinked and glanced back and forth between the two of them. Why did Miss Aragon look so threatening? Why did Anna look slightly nervous? Was there something going on that she didn’t know?

“You guys want some punch?” Anna said briskly, standing up. She smoothed out her tux and straightened her flower crown. “I heard Henry and Francis spiked it.” She snickered.

“Oh no,” Joan said in a woebegone voice. “Isn’t it dangerous to drink spikes? What if someone chokes?”

“Really?” Miss Aragon said to Anna at the same time.

Anna laughed, then noticed Miss Aragon’s unamused, deadpan expression. She stopped instantly.

“Uh-- No.” She said. “I’m joking.”

Miss Aragon’s expression did not change. Anna cleared her throat, then sidled off towards the food temples. Miss Aragon rolled her eyes and sat down next to Joan.

“So,” Miss Aragon smiled at her. “Is it everything you dreamed?”

“It’s nice.” Joan said.

Miss Aragon laughed. “Just nice?”

“It’s like being on Mars,” Joan admitted. “Now that I’m here, I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do.”

“I remember my prom,” Miss Aragon mused. Joan tipped her head in interest. “I went with the captain of the basketball team. She was six foot seven inches tall!” They both laughed. “So, I went out and bought a pair of these Stiletto heels so the kiss goodnight would be less awkward. Anyway, we went in her pickup truck, which of course broke down, so we had to walk the last half mile to the prom.”

“Oh no!” Joan gasped.

“By the time we finally got there, my feet were so blistered that all I could do was just sit there. I was sure I ruined the night, I couldn’t dance, but you know what? We just sat there and talked for hours. And it turned out to be one of the best nights of my entire life.”

“Wow,” Joan said. “I’m so happy for you, Miss Aragon! I’m sorry you couldn’t dance, though.”

“Could have been worse,” Miss Aragon shrugged. “There was this one girl whose boyfriend brought a toy gun so he could pose like James Bond in the picture.”

“Oh,” Joan giggled, despite not knowing who James Bond was. “He sounds like fun.”

“Yeah,” Miss Aragon nodded. “He was arrested.”

Joan stopped giggling instantly. Miss Aragon chuckled.

“But it’s okay.” Miss Aragon said. “It’s just a dance. Not that special.”

Joan nodded. Her gaze began to slide back to the party around them, to the mass of writhing limbs that was the dance floor. Mostly everyone was dancing or talking, but she spotted a few people staring over at her and whispering to each other. Some glanced away when she noticed, pretending they weren’t gossiping about her, while others didn’t even try to make it seem like they weren’t talking behind her back. She turned her head towards them fully, unable to look away, and felt fear and shame bubbling back up inside of her.

(Mama was right Mama was right Mama was right Mama was right)

Miss Aragon smothered those thoughts for her.

“Are you excited for summer?” Her coach asked. Joan turned her head back to her, successfully pulling her attention away. “Then you’ll be in Year 12. One grade closer until graduation!”

“I don’t know,” Joan admitted. “Graduation makes me nervous. I don’t even know what I want to study.”

“That’s understandable,” Miss Aragon said, nodding. “I couldn’t wait to graduate.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah,” Miss Aragon said. “I hated high school.”

“Oh, god.” Joan leaned in. “I do, too. I know you’re not supposed to say that, but I do. I hate it. I hate it so much.”

“Preach it to the choir.” Miss Aragon said. “No offense.”

Joan smiled slightly. Miss Aragon took one of her hands and stroked the knuckles with her thumb.

“Just remember,” She said. “Nothing that has happened will matter after graduation. Nothing. Except, you know, things like good grades and studying. You take what you want and leave the rest behind. You don’t even have to see any of these people again if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t?”

“No.” Miss Aragon said. “Oh, but I highly recommend the ten year reunion.”

“Why?” Joan asked eagerly.

“Everybody’s different. People will say, ‘Oh my god, so-and-so hasn’t changed a bit,’ but they’re LYING.” Miss Aragon told her, a devilish smirk twitching on her lips. “Everybody changes. And not always for the better.” She scanned the crowd, her smirk curving fully. She leaned into Joan, subtly nodding towards a trio of girls in insanely expensive dresses. “Like, those girls over there? Right now, they’re at their peak. They will never be more pretty or more popular, and in ten years, they’ll be fat.” She snickered. “And the fat girls, some of them will be thin, and the cute boys will be bald. The jocks will have beer bellies-- it’s fantastic!”

Joan dissolved into giggles and had to cover her mouth.

“And the ones who were miserable?”

Joan stopped giggling. She watched Miss Aragon nervously. Her hand was squeezed comfortingly.

“They turn out just fine.”

A grin came to Joan’s lips and she didn’t try to stamp it down.

(i’m okay i’ll be okay)

“They do,” Miss Aragon said, squeezing Joan’s hand again. “So enjoy yourself, and try not to take it too seriously. Everything is going to be okay.”

Joan vaulted into Miss Aragon’s arms, unable to hold herself back. Miss Aragon chuckled and hugged her back, cupping the back of her head to her chest with one hand and rubbing up and down her spine with the other.

“Thank you,” Joan whispered.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” Miss Aragon told her.

“Woah,” A voice said. “I better not catch you hugging any other girls like that!”

Joan and Miss Aragon parted as Anna set two cups on the table, grinning.

“Have a good talk?”

“Uh huh,” Joan nodded.

“We did.” Miss Aragon said. “And on that note- Anna. Can I speak with you for a moment?”

“Sure.” Anna said, sounding slightly guarded.

Miss Aragon smiled at Joan and kissed the top of her head before standing up. She took Anna by the arm and guided her away, far out of earshot from Joan.

“Having fun?” Miss Aragon asked. Her voice wasn’t nearly as loud as the blasting music, but the biting words still cut smoothly through all the noise.

“Yeah,” Anna nodded. “Yeah, I am. I think Joan is having fun, too. She’s making a lot of progress!” She looked over her shoulder for a moment, seeing that Joan was pulled over to one of the desert tables by Jane and George. George put some whipped cream on a brownie, then handed it to Joan, who observed the canister seriously for a moment and then promptly sprayed herself in the face. She dropped the can with an alarmed screech and tottered backwards as laughter erupted around her. She was laughing, too.

“That’s good,” Miss Aragon said, smiling fondly at Joan as she was trying to wipe her face off. “I just thought you should know,” She turned her smile to Anna, “that if you show Joan anything less than the time of her life, I will personally see to it that you are expelled.”

Anna gaped at her, mouth hanging open slightly. All the color drained from her face. Miss Aragon narrowed her eyes dangerously, leaning in.

“Do you understand the words that just came out of my mouth?”

Anna swallowed hard and nodded. Miss Aragon smiled again.

“Very good.” The coach said, pleased. “Now go get back to her.” She caught Anna’s arm when she tried to walk away. “Oh, and wait for a slow song to dance with her to. She’ll look stupid dancing to anything fast.”

Anna nodded again and was released. She scampered back over to the table, glancing over her shoulder at the coach as she went.

“Everything okay?” Joan asked as Anna sat back down.

“Yeah!” Anna answered. “Yeah, don’t worry.” She looked up as a slower song by Billie Eilish began to play. “You wanna dance?”

“No.” Joan said instantly.

“Oh--” Anna blinked. “Alright.”

“Sorry…” Joan hunched her shoulders in. “Maybe later. But not right now, please? I still wanna get settled in completely.”

“Yeah, of course,” Anna said. “We can just talk, alright?”

“I like that idea.”

“So…” Anna shifted in her seat slightly. She looked Joan over, then plunged into a question she really hoped wouldn’t upset her date (and make her have to retake Year 13 when Miss Aragon found out), “If I may...how’d you get those scars on your hands?”

“Ah--” Joan coiled her scarred hands into her cowl, looking embarrassed. “Um-- It’s really stupid…”

“No, no, no--” Anna caught her before she could tuck herself back into the shell she was just starting to come out of. “Hey, why don’t I tell you one of my dumb scar stories?”

Joan looked up at her in interest.

“Okay, so--” Anna looked around like she was making sure no one was around, despite there being dozens of people all around them. “I have this little hole in my lower stomach because when I was eight, I put a pencil in my pants and it stabbed me when I went to pee.”

Joan instantly burst out into laughter. It was such a pleasant sound to hear coming out of her, slightly high pitched and adorable.

“Really?” She sputtered out.

“I swear to god!” Anna said, laughing with her. “You can’t really see it anymore, but you can feel the indent of where the hole is. I also have this bad boy,” She rolled her left pant leg up enough to reveal a giant, faded burn scar on her inner thigh. Joan ogled it.

“What happened?” The younger girl gaped.

“When I was 13, me, my younger sister, and my cousin were riding around in a golf cart. My cousin was driving, and he ended up turning in a cul-de-sac way too fast, flipping the entire golf cart on my side. I hit the asphalt and, since I was sitting next to my cousin in the front, that whole loaf fell onto me, breaking his fall and letting him come out completely unscathed. I, however, got this burn.”

“Wow…” Joan murmured. “Were you scared?”

“At the time, oh yeah,” Anna said. “My sister wasn’t moving at all. I thought she was dead. So we got a helicopter air lift to the hospital. That was pretty neat!”

“You aren’t...ashamed of it?” Joan asked softly. “Your scar?”

“I used to be,” Anna admitted. “But it’s a part of me, you know? It’ll only look worse if I try to get rid of it. Besides, it looks pretty cool, and it's not like anyone sees it that often anyway. It’s always too cold to wear shorts.”

Joan nodded. She unconsciously traced one of the webs of scar tissue lacing across her left hand. She looked up at Anna with courage in her eyes.

“I stuck my hands in fire.”

Anna raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

“Uh huh,” Joan nodded. “I found a picture of my father and my Mama threw it into the fire. I tried to grab it and burned myself pretty badly in the process.” She splayed her hands open, revealing the entire spider web of burns to Anna’s eyes. They were white than her already-porcelain skin, like someone had tried to paint over them. “They used to look really bad. All red and peeling a lot. But they’re gotten better, I think.” She rubbed her rough palms together.

“Wow.” Anna said. “That’s pretty metal.”

Joan looked at her strangely. “They’re not metal? This is skin.” She looked down at the scars.

Anna laughed.

“So… Did you know him?”

“Hm?” Joan looked back up at her.

“Your father.” Anna clarified. “If I may. Did you know him?”

Joan shook her head. “No. He left when I was just a baby.” She paused for a moment, then added, “I have his eyes.”

“Oh,” Anna said. “I mean, I’m glad the rumors aren’t true. Not that him leaving is a good thing, it absolutely isn’t, but it’s better than people saying--”

“My Mama killed him?” Joan finished. She looked up at Anna thoughtfully. “I don’t think she did. But you still never know…” She shook her head and rubbed her palms against her dress. “Can we--go outside?”

“Need some air?” Anna asked.

“Yeah,” Beads of sweat were welling up on the crown of Joan’s head. “It’s getting kinda hot in here.”

“Come on.”

The two of them slipped out of the prom through the door that fed into the rest of the school. It was much cooler in that hallway and much quieter, with only dim storm lights turned on overhead. They walked a few paces down until they got to the entrance hall. They sat down on the huge main staircase.

“Are you okay?” Anna asked, gently touching Joan’s arm. There was worry in her eyes.

“Yeah,” Joan answered, nodding. “Trust me. I just need to get away from all that noise for a moment.”

“Gotcha.” Anna said. “It was getting pretty wild in there.”

Joan nodded again. She was staring forward, looking out the huge windows all along the entrance way of the school. The sky was completely black now, even with the layer of clouds, and sheets of drizzling rain could be seen sparkling in the outside lights.

“So…” Anna said, hoping to ease back into some small talk. “What do you want to study in college? I know you’re only in Year 11, but I’m curious.”

“Oh, I dunno,” Joan shrugged. “Is sewing an option?”

Anna laughed slightly. “I’m not sure.”

“What about you?”

“Something with agriculture,” Anna told her. “I kinda wanna be a game warden. I like animals. A park ranger would be cool, too. I could get an entire tower all to myself!”

“That sounds scary.” Joan said. “Being all alone in a tower in the middle of the woods...”

“Don’t put it like that! You’ll crush my dreams!” Anna teased. “I actually thought about being a singer at one point, too. Can you believe that?” She snorted and shook her head.

“A singer?” Joan echoed. “Can you sing?”

“I like to think I can.”

“Can you show me?”

Anna blinked, slightly shy. “Right now?”

Joan nodded eagerly.

“What would I sing?”

“Your poem!”

“What?”

“Your poem, silly.” Joan said again. “It’s basically a song, you know. Just give it a rhythm!”

“Oh.” Anna blinked. “Right. Okay.” She cleared her throat meaningfully. “Let’s see…

An eagle's just another bird

Until he can spread his wings

A river's just a sheet of ice

Till winter turns to spring,”

Her voice came out husky and smooth, like molten caramel. Each word flicked languidly off of her tongue, dripping easily into open ears. Joan watched her in amazement and great interest and then, shockingly, began to sing the next few stanzas.

“And though the clouds may block the sun

Don't mean that it's left the sky,”

Joan’s voice was soft and slightly raspy, but higher pitched and easy on the ears. It was light and airy and pronounced each word with silky gentleness. Anna was so startled from hearing it that she faltered for a moment. Joan giggled at her bewildered expression.

“What?” She asked.

“You sing beautifully.” Anna blurted.

Joan blushed. “Thank you. I hope you don’t mind. Your poem was just so amazing that I sorta kinda memorized it… Sorry.”

Anna blinked at her in amazement. Nobody had ever been so interested in any of her writing pieces before, not even Katherine.

“No, no it’s okay!” She said quickly. “That’s so cool. That you like it that much. It means a lot to me.”

Joan smiled. “I’m glad.” She said. “Now, what was the next part?”

“Umm… Oh!” Anna cleared her throat again, then began singing once more,

“Just when you think you've seen it all

There's more than meets the eye,”

“Like, things I dream,”

“And things I feel,”

“There’s more to me,”

“Than I reveal,” The harmony they pulled off together was like nothing Anna had ever heard before. Her deep alto and Joan’s light soprano mixed together beautifully, sounding like liquid sugar in their ears.

“And cause I shine in quiet ways

I'm someone you don't recognize,” Joan sang, a smile twitching on her lips.

“I’m a diamond in the rough

A dreamer in disguise…”

They finished in another chilling harmony. Joan beamed at Anna. Anna smiled back at her brightly.

“That...was incredible.” Anna breathed.

“I know!” Joan exclaimed gleefully. “We sounded SO GOOD! I didn’t even know I could sing like that!”

Anna had never seen her so energetic before. Even Joan never felt this way before, so happy and at ease. She must have come out of her shell a lot more than she thought.

“You’re great, Joan.” Anna said. “We should really hang out more often! Are you free tomorrow by any chance? Katherine, George, Jane, and I were going to have an after party at my house. We have a pool!”

Joan looked absolutely thrilled to be invited. “I would love to go.” She said, eyes glowing. “Do you really mean it, Anna?”

“Of course!” Anna said. “We were also going to watch a few movies, too. Have you ever seen Star Wars?”

“No.”

Anna gaped at her in shock. “Really? You’ve never seen a single Star Wars movie before?”

“We don’t have a TV at my house.” Joan admitted. “What is Star Wars? Is it, like, World War I in outer space?”

Anna burst into laughter. Joan blinked at her in a delighted way.

“Now I REALLY have to show you!” Anna said, wiping an eye. “It’s a date!”

“Yeah,” Joan said excitedly.

They hung out on the main staircase for a little bit longer, discussing plans for the next day and Anna giving Joan permission to wear one of her bathing suits (since she didn’t have her own), then ventured back into the prom.

“I still can’t get over how pretty it is,” Joan said as they walked past a sculpture shaped like temple ruins. “It’s like a dream. A perfect dream.”

The plants were one her favorite parts by far. All around her there were glorious purple exploding star-shaped flowers, delicate pale orange orchids, clusters of petals the color of bananas, odd little orbs in ruby red and sapphire blue. Hanging moss and trailing vines and reaching willow were like curtain doorways to new parts of the prom in all shades of emerald green. And then, there was the tree glowing brightly among all the greenery.

It was so much more beautiful up close. Joan could see all the little details in the pure white trunk, which must have taken forever to get just right. The globes hanging from the branches were the same icy blue as her eyes, she realized, and she blinked at them in wonder. Was the color really that beautiful?

Looking closer, she noticed something in the hollow of the closest globe. A rolled up piece of paper! In fact, several of the globes had one or more, folded or rolled up to sit inside. There was also a small brown table next to the tree with pens and pieces of paper for anyone who wanted to write something. George was currently doing just that, looking very dutiful as he did so, while Jane waited by his side. She noticed Joan and Anna and perked up.

“There you guys are!” She said. “I was wondering where you went.”

“Sorry,” Anna said. “We just went out to get some air. What are you guys doing?”

“Making wishes,” Jane told her. “That’s what the tree is about. You’re supposed to write a wish or desire on a piece of paper and then put it into one of the fruit things.”

“So the decoration committee can laugh at you when they read all of them after prom,” George added as he was writing. “So don’t mark your name. And hope your handwriting doesn’t get recognized.”

“Wanna write one?” Jane asked.

Anna nodded, then nudged Joan questioningly.

“Sure,” Joan said.

They went over to the table George was hunched over at and each took a pen and piece of paper. Anna thought for just a moment, then began writing something, while Joan hesitated a little bit longer.

She had so many wishes that she thought about all the time. Being adopted into a nicer family, Mama loving her like a normal mother would, having friends, finding her father, getting a kitten… There were so many things to put down, and so little room, so, after a moment of deciding, she wrote, “I wish to always be happy like I am now.”

She rolled her paper up like a scroll and tucked it into an empty globe. Jane did the same, then Anna, and then, finally, George.

“So, what did you guys wish for?” George asked as they walked back over to their table. “Because I wished for something practical. Money.”

“I should have known,” Jane chuckled. “I wished for an easy, hopefully painless transition into college after summer is over.”

“Eternal love,” Anna said.

“A pet cat,” Joan lied, feeling too sappy to say her actual one.

“That’s a good wish, that’s a good wish,” George nodded in approval.

The four of them began to chat for several minutes, discussing summer plans and swapping funny stories. Joan didn’t have much to share, seeing as her life wasn’t exactly very easy to bring up in a lighthearted conversation, but Anna, Jane, and George each made sure she was included. She was perfectly happy with just listening quietly, but actually getting to partake in the talk felt like an honor she didn’t deserve.

“What about you, Joan?” George had been asking. “Got any embarrassing secrets?”

Joan thought for a moment, sifting out several way-too-dark things to share.

“I can’t swim,” She finally admitted.

“Woah, really?” George said. “I thought everyone learned how to swim.”

“Where? In school?” Anna snorted. She turned her head to Joan, eyebrows furrowed. “I guess that makes tomorrow’s pool party a little unfortunate, huh?”

“I still wanna come.” Joan said quickly, afraid the opportunity will be taken from her. “I agreed regardless, didn’t I? And I’ll be okay. I just had a bad experience with water one time, that’s all. It’s been years, anyway.”

(the tepid water and her wrinkled fingertips marked the end of her bubble bath. Mama just checked on her, but her patience had doubled since then. she called for Mama to help her out of the tub, but Mama did not respond. she tried twice more but she heard no returning calls. she decided that she did not really need Mama’s help; she was five and a big girl.

the slippery acrylic tub and her misplaced feet resulted in her arm roughly slicing on the sharp faucet. a metallic and unknown smell engulfed her. all she saw was red, just like candy apples. so much red falling from her arm and coloring the bathwater. unexplainable fear and pain overcame her. she started to cry and within seconds, Mama was standing at the door.

she had always been beautiful, but the flour smeared on her face and the stress lines present on her features did not do much for her. the sheer horror on her expression scared her further and transformed weak cries into wailing screams. Mama appeared white as a sheet as they stared at each other, motionless. the tub water was noticeably darker when she started to feel a painful sensation shooting down her arm. in a flash, Mama was carrying her onto the sink counter, swaddling her in a towel that turned crimson red almost instantly. Mama was wearing her special apron and bore a grim look on her face.

Mama left for just a moment, then returned with something gleaming.

there was no warning given before Mama started putting a needle and thread through her skin. it reminded her of sewing a dress together. she can only feel a light tugging, but it did not quiet her cries. Mama finally cut the thread after what felt like forever. the cuddles she got after that were like angel hugs. she thought she should hurt herself more often.)

“What happened?” George asked with great interest. Jane lightly whacked his arm.

“Don’t be pushy.” She chided him, then looked at Joan. “You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to, hun.”

The pet name sent flickers of pink flames glowing on Joan’s ears. Her heart fluttered wildly inside of her chest, like a butterfly flapping its wings for the first time.

“Well--”

(the shower. the blood in the water like when she was five. her blood. girls all around her laughing, throwing things, humiliating her.)

“I was twelve, and I snuck away from home to this Christian summer camp because I wanted to make some friends,” She said. “That, of course, went south, and all the kids participated in a game where they would dunk me in the pool until I started drowning.”

Silence filled the table. Joan instantly felt guilty and lowered her head.

“Sorry…” She mumbled. “I-I shouldn’t have…”

“I’m so sorry, Joan.” Jane looked sympathetic and concerned. “That sounds awful.”

“Those kids are awful.” George corrected her. “I’m sorry, too.”

“Me too.” Anna nodded. She gently took one of Joan’s hands and squeezed it. “That’ll never happen ever again, I promise.”

Joan smiled at her. “Thank you.” She wanted to dive into Anna’s honey brown eyes and catch the reflected flames in there. She wanted to tell her and George and Jane how much this meant to her.

Suddenly, Anna’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, but kept her other hand holding Joan’s.

“Oh, it’s Kat!” She said to the other three. “She’s asking how the night is going.”

“Amazing!” George declared. “Really amazing! Isn’t this prom the GREATEST?”

Jane tipped her head at him and smiled, and Joan realized that THAT was what it looked like when someone was in love.

“It is amazing,” Jane agreed.

“Yeah,” Joan nodded.

“I’m gonna send a picture to her,” Anna said. “Come on, guys! Everyone get in!”

They all huddled together, even Joan, who got snugly sandwiched between Anna and Jane. Anna snapped a picture and then sent it to Katherine, along with a quick text telling her how things were going. By the time she finished, the music had changed into a slow, soothing song, and couples began to group together on the dance floor, including Jane and George.

“Oh--” Anna looked up with a smile. “It’s a slow song, Joan.”

Joan froze, her eyes widening. She began shaking her head, but Anna was already standing up and gently taking her hands. She pulled them back quickly.

“No, Anna, I can't--” Joan stammered nervously. She glanced at all the couples dancing, noting how smoothly they moved, and couldn’t possibly imagine herself swaying among them. She would be much too clumsy. “I’ve never danced before.”

“That’s okay,” Anna said dismissively.

“No, no, Anna--” Joan’s fear was mounting. This was where everything went wrong, this was where things got messed up, this was where her perfect night fell apart--

“Hey.” Anna knelt down in front of her. “It’s going to be okay. It’s just one little dance, and all we do is hold each other and sway. Just like everyone else is doing.”

Joan glanced at the dancers again. It didn’t look too hard…

“B-but what if--”

“Shh,” Anna carefully adjusted Joan’s flower crown so it would be straight again. “Everything is alright, Joan. Nothing bad will happen. Remember: if anyone laughs, I kick their ass.”

That got a tiny smile from Joan. Anna smiled back and lifted Joan to her feet, guiding her onto the dance floor.

“Okay, so you’re going to grab my hand like this. See?” Their right hands clasped together in the air. “And then set the other one on my shoulder.” Joan’s left hand rested on Anna’s shoulder, while Anna’s gently cupped her waist. “And then we sway…” They swayed. “See? It’s easy. You’re a natural!”

Joan smiled shyly up at Anna. She glanced around them, and realized mainly everyone was too absorbed in their partners to notice she was dancing with them.

“And...if you wanna get fancy with it…” Anna smirked. “We can do the Dancing With The Stars move.”

Joan had no idea what that was, but it still sent lightning bolts of anxiety shooting through her.

“N-no, Anna, no, I can’t--”

“Shh, shh, shh,” Anna hushed her gently. “Just trust me.” And then she stepped back slightly and spun around slowly so her arm would be draped across her torso and Joan would be pressed against her chest. Joan looked up at her with a mix between an amazed and deer-in-headlights look. “See? Easy! Wasn’t that fun?”

Joan nodded wordlessly, lost in her wonder. Her icy blue eyes were sparkling like starlight twinkling on fresh snow. Anna gently uncoiled her and they got back into position.

“You’re a good learner.” Anna told her partner.

“Thank you,” Joan whispered, ducking her head. “Can I spin you?”

Anna laughed. “Sure.”

Joan spun Anna, but ended up twisting their arms quite painfully before the full rotation could be complete, so they had to break away and come back together with unknotted muscles. They both laughed.

“Good first try!” Anna said.

Joan giggled.

A serene silence fell between the two of them as the music went on. They swayed together like a white and pink boat drifting on the quiet waves of the ocean at night. The rhythm they rocked to was conducted by years worth of longing and desire from Joan’s part, and now it was all blooming before her. Everything she’s ever wanted was happening. Friends, a fun night away from home, people who actually give a damn about her… She could feel tears of joy pricking in her eyes and she quickly blinked them back.

“Do you really have to be home by eleven?”

Anna’s voice, smooth and caring and not a bit cruel, cut though the singing playing from the large speakers set up. Joan looked up at her. It felt like she had just woken up from a nap, that the music had lulled her into sleep and she slipped away into a blissful dream. But it wasn’t a dream. This was real. The bodies rocking around her and the beautiful decorations and her perfect dress and Anna’s hand in her own--it was all real.

“Yes,” Joan said, processing what Anna had asked her. She frowned. “I’m sorry. I promised.”

“No, that’s okay!” Anna said quickly. “It’s just that after prom, a few of us were going to go to--”

“OKAY.” Joan said, pulling away and hugging her hands in close.

Anna blinked. “Um. What?”

“No, no, if you want to go off with your friends, I understand. I-I-I don’t want to spoil anything.” Joan sputtered out, feeling her heart sink back into the black abyss it had finally climbed out of for the first time in fifteen years.

“What I was going to say was,” Anna said, taking Joan’s hands again and pulling her back against her. She began to sway again. “If you’d like to, after prom, we could stop at the Blazer for awhile.”

Joan blinked. She suddenly felt embarrassed about how she had jumped to conclusions so easily, that just goes to show how much she truly trusted Anna, but Anna didn’t seem to mind.

“I’ve never been there.” She said, unsurprisingly. She didn’t go to many places.

“They have the BEST fries!” Anna stated, grinning.

“I’d love to.” Joan said.

“Then it’s decided!”

A smile was starting to come to Joan’s lips, one that felt like it would stay there for the entire night no matter how hard she tried to smother it. After years of vicious bullying and constant teasing and unfriendly looks, she suddenly found herself wrapped in attention and warmth. Anna or Jane or George didn’t hate her or were afraid of her like Mama had said at all. More than that, they seemed to actually like her. They were talking to her and being nice to her and making her laugh, and none of it seemed forced in even the slightest way. They were making her forget, for all these hours, how miserable she had been and how miserable she truly was. The pain was numbed.

For once in her life, for the first time in fifteen years, she truly felt happy.

“Thank you.” Joan whispered, breaking another few peaceful seconds of silence between them.

“What for?” Anna asked, tilting her head slightly.

“For everything.” Joan clarified. “For taking me to prom. For the limo. For being so nice to me.” The tears were coming back, but she wasn’t sure she was going to be able to blink them back this time. “I know you don’t like me like that, and I know it’s only one night, but…” She looked up at Anna, her eyes sparkling. “I’m glad I got to be your date tonight.”

“Me too.” Anna said, taking Joan by surprise.

“R-really?”

For a moment, Anna frowned at her disbelief, but then she shook her head and chuckled slightly.

“Of course,” She said. “I’m having the best time with you.”

“B-but what about Katherine--” Joan stammered, her voice catching in her throat.

“Katherine isn’t here right now,” Anna said, wiping away the tear that rolled down Joan’s left cheek. “Tonight, you’re all that matters to me. I’m going to make sure this is the best night of your life. And the nights and days and everything else after that. You aren’t alone anymore, Joan.”

That’s what broke Joan.

The girl whimpered, bottom lip quivering, and a cascade of sparkling silver tears began pouring down her face. Anna cupped the back of her head and brought it to press into the crook of her neck for security. Joan cried steadily, thanking her over and over again through squeaking sobs.

“How about this?” Anna said when Joan began to quiet down and was able to pull her head back. Her makeup was slightly smeared, but Anna still thought she looked amazing. “We dance for a little longer, see what poor fools get elected as prom king and queen, and then head to the Blazers for a bite to eat. And I’ll have you home by eleven.” She smiled warmly. “How does that sound to you?”

Joan nodded.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Joan squeaked. “Maybe eleven-thirty…”

“Whatever you want.”

“Eleven-thirty.”

Anna smiled even more. “Wonderful.”

They fell into blissful silence as the song began to wrap up. Joan’s eyes were starting to sting, but she didn’t care. She tucked her head underneath Anna’s chin and rested her head on her chest, relaxing. Anna swayed them both gently, acting as a protective barrier that Joan never wanted to be away from.

The song soon ended and the two of them parted. George and Jane bounded over to them, with George grinning his head off and tapping his feet energetically. Jane rolled her eyes at him fondly, then smiled at Joan and Anna.

“I saw you guys dancing,” She said. “You were really good for your first time! This one,” She jerked her head at George, “tripped on MY FEET and dragged me to the ground when he fell the first time we danced together.”

Anna and Joan laughed. George was not fazed by his girlfriend spilling embarrassing things about him. In fact, he seemed a little proud.

“It’s going to be funny to tell our kids one day!” He said.

“Oh, you,” Jane rolled her eyes again and poked his nose. “Oh, Joan. Your makeup smeared.”

Joan blinked and lifted a hand to her face. “Oh dear,” She murmured in dismay.

“Not to worry!” Jane waved a hand. “I have some makeup in my car. I can help you fix it.”

“Really?” Joan said. “Thank you.”

“No problem, lovely!” Jane said. She gently took Joan by the arm. “Anna, I’m going to borrow your girl for a moment. George, don’t do anything dumb.”

“Yes sir!” George beamed. When Jane and Joan whisked through the crowd and out into the parking lot, he sighed lovingly, “I love her so much…”

Anna laughed and patted his back. “I can tell!”

Meanwhile, in Jane Parker’s blue Hummer, Jane was dutifully applying fresh makeup onto Joan’s youthful face and thinking back to some of the things she overheard Anne Boleyn saying about her when she was over at the Boleyn residence to hang out with George. The young girl before her didn’t look ugly at all, despite what Anne had said, nor did she look like a freak. Her eyes may be a strange color, but they were the most beautiful shade of blue Jane had ever seen before.

Jane suspected that, deep down, Joan actually enjoyed the kind of pampering she was giving her in the car, despite the distrust in her eyes as Jane drew near with a mascara wand. Not that she needed anything more, but still. Little Miss Five Minute Skincare had obviously missed out on a lot of the girly stuff that had saturated Jane’s existence since birth.

It made sense, though. From the rumors she heard and from everything Anne griped about, she didn’t have a normal upbringing like most people should have. Something much darker lurked beneath those silly stories.

Something terrible has happened to this girl.

And, judging by the “hideous” hand-made flannels Joan apparently wore quite often to school, her mother hadn't been much of a fashion mentor either.

Once Jane had achieved the smoky eye effect she wanted, she applied some gloss to Joan’s lips. The girl had quite an amazing tone to her mouth. Pity it was drooped in a sullen pout at that moment.

Jane leaned back to admire her handwork.

“Well?” She adjusted the rear view mirror down so Joan could see her reflection. “How does it look?”

“Pretty…” Joan murmured. “But it feels like I have dirt on my face.” She pouted adorably again.

Jane laughed. “Makeup has that effect, unfortunately.” She said. “But you look lovely. Now, come on, let’s get back inside.”

They journeyed back into the prom, chatting idly as they went. Joan was smiling again, but her hands kept twitching like she wanted to rub her eyes. This was probably the first time she’s ever worn mascara, Jane realized.

“Wow,” Anna murmured breathlessly when Jane and Joan got back to their table. Even George looked a little starstruck at the newer, better makeup applied to Joan’s face.

“Do I look alright?” Joan asked shyly.

“Better than alright!” George said.

“You look beautiful.” Anna added. “Gorgeous.”

Joan blushed bright red. “I’m glad.” She said. “Because this black stuff is making my eyes sticky. And itchy.”

“That’s mascara, sweetheart.” Jane corrected her.

“It’s AWFUL.” Joan said. “Do girls wearing makeup always have to feel this? How do they do that? I’d rather pluck all my eyelashes out!”

Jane, Anna, and George laugh. After a moment, Joan joined them, giggling.

“I’m going to go grab a drink,” Anna said, parting from the group and going over to the bufett temples.

“Excuse me?”

Anna spun around and found herself facing a young woman, maybe a Year 12 or Year 13, with tassels of red hair and striking smoky grey eyes. Her dress was scarlet, accenting her hair perfectly.

“Sorry,” She said, smiling slightly, “I just had to ask before I made a fool of myself. Are you two a couple?” She nodded in Joan’s direction.

“What? No!” Anna barked. The laugh came out more harshly-sounding than she meant, making her instantly guilty. But she was right- she wouldn’t date Joan. She was too young for one, and for another, she was already with Katherine.

The redhead was devouring Joan as the girl giggled over something George was saying, effortlessly adorable.

“No, we’re not a couple,” Anna found herself repeating as the redhead purred her appreciation. “But Joan” Anna couldn't resist. She really wanted Joan to open up to new people. “…Joan’s a total stud.”

God, that felt a lot weirder to say than she expected. She did NOT like that.

“Really?” The redhead’s gaze shot to Anna’s face and then back to her object of attraction. “Joan?” She teased the name with her tongue. “God, she's cute. Do you think I have a chance?”

Anna shrugged and sipped her drink to stifle a giggle. To be honest, she didn’t actually know. She had never ever seen Joan with anyone romantically before, making her believe she was a raging asexual or mother-superior-in-training.

The reality was that Joan was left tongue-tied by male and female nudity alike. Two years into high school gym, and Anne would say she STILL averted her eyes when changing out with other girls in the locker room. She was just hopelessly shy when it came to all matters sex-related.

“She may play hard-to-get.” Anna finally said.

“Ah,” The redhead nodded slowly. She chuckled. “Thank you.” Then, like that, she glided back off into the mass of writhing limbs that was the prom. Anna respectfully waited ten seconds after she left to snort her laughter.

“You’ve got some fans, Jo,” She said, walking back over her friends.

“What?” Joan blinked up at her innocently.

“I think someone has a crush on you.”

Joan’s face flamed red instantly. She stammered on a reply, but all her words came out squeaking.

“O-oh.” She choked. “Nice?”

Anna chuckled and patted her head. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure it was nothing. And you can always say no.”

Joan nodded. A second later, the music switched to an upbeat Lady Gaga song. George began to bound excitedly.

“Oh, I LOVE this song!!” He yelled. “Let’s dance!”

Anna glanced at Joan, who appeared to be a little more confident at dancing. They all moved to an emptier spot on the dance floor and began to dance.

“Come on, Joan!” Jane encouraged, noticing that Joan was just bobbing her head to the beat of the song. “Shake that bony white ass!”

Joan was flabbergasted at that, but was motivated to get a little more into the song. Anna, Jane, and George all clapped and cheered for her as she did so.

Unbeknownst to them, Maggie watched on with Bessie at her side. Bessie’s amethyst purple dress went with her bleached white hair surprisingly well, but Maggie wasn’t sure if that was intentional or not, seeing as Bessie’s head was filled with quite a few moths. Anthony was somewhere in the crowd near the food temples, lost in the cluster of black tuxedos so much like his own, fetching drinks like Maggie had asked.

“God, just look at them.” Maggie sneered in disgust, watching Joan dance like an idiot and Anna, Anne’s younger brother, and Anne’s younger brother’s girlfriend actually make it seem like they liked her. “Couldn’t you just vomit?”

“I can’t believe Anne is missing this.” Bessie said, wide-eyed. Maggie definitely saw flickers of longing and jealousy in her dark brown eyes; she wasn’t exactly very subtle with her big gay crush on Anna von Cleves.

“Trust me, doll,” Maggie said dismissively. She shot a smirk at the stage. “She isn’t missing a thing.”

22 notes · View notes

thisiswhatalesbianlookslike · 4 years ago

Text

My Coming Out Story

I wanted to tell my story in chronological order, but I am feeling especially sad today. This seemed like a good place to share, and I feel compelled to tell my story.

In October, my sixteen year old cousin committed suicide. My sister-in-law was pretty worried about me since I was pretty depressed at the time, and I had not come out to my parents yet. I guess if it had not been for her, I would not have come out when I did, but regardless of when I made the decision to open up to my parents, they would have reacted the same.

I told my mom on a Friday at the end of October. It was the day after my cousin’s funeral, and this secret I had been hiding for so long was not able to stay inside any more. It was inevitable.

My mom was packaging up some food for me because I frequently went grocery shopping in her cabinet (lol), and my mom was asking about my dating life. I was with my ex-girlfriend, Monica, at the time, and I told my mom I was dating a girl. She immediately announced that she needed to go to the bank, and told me to leave. It was a very awkward situation since she had made me all this food, and based on her reaction, I no longer felt welcome in my parents home. Looking back, that was probably the last time I have gone in their home and felt like I was welcome fully.

My mom cried all weekend (in her walk in closet ironically), and my two older brothers ended up at my parents house on a Saturday night chatting about my confusion towards my sexuality until 2 am. My dad texted me on Sunday inviting me for dinner that night, but I told him I was not able to until Monday night. I had *literally* worried myself sick, and I showed up very unwell on Monday nervous as can be.

My mom made all my favorites, and when I arrived she put on a good front and told me we would talk when my dad got home from the store. I remember staying silent for most of the dinner, especially after my dad walked into my mom pulling her meatloaf (yes meatloaf, my fav) out of the oven, and said, “Wow Helene! You really outdid yourself! Is there an army of lesbos coming for dinner?” I was not completely shocked because I know how conservative and Catholic my parents are, which prevents them from accepting pretty much everyone, so I knew what was coming my way.

My dad told me I should lost weight so boys would like me. My mom told me I was going to hell, and I was fucking up my life. The night ended by them stating that I should think about what they said. I threw up all night when I got home and cried myself to sleep. A couple days later, my mom called to tell me about this Conversion Camp she found in another state that she wanted me to give some thought too. Hell. no.

I was uninvited from Thanksgiving, and by Christmas we had managed to pretend nothing was happening so we could spend it together “as a family”. However, I made it clear I had not changed my mind, and I was a ~lesbian~ despite their many attempts to convince me otherwise. I begged my parents to come to therapy with me, but according to them, “McNamee’s don’t do therapy,” so I learned that if I want to be a member of the family, I have to keep my mouth shut.

My dad who once claimed I was overweight was now convinced that I was too pretty to be a lesbian, and my mom clung to the hope that it was all just a phase. She would call my older brothers everyday crying if one of her friends daughters got engaged or became pregnant. There was no winning with her, she ALWAYS played the victim card because of all I was taking from her (perfect wedding, little grandbabies, etc).

If you know me at all, you will not be surprised that my favorite day of the entire year is my birthday, February 10th. Well, my mom wanted to take me for dinner, and I had just came from therapy. We made it though the main courses with no drama, but she could not help but ask about therapy. She brought up how she has been so sad and crying every day, and “frequently thinks about killing herself” since I came out to her. She said I was selfish, and if the roles were reversed she would pretend to be straight to make me happy, which was a confusing statement. I reacted emotionally as anyone would, and she began getting very upset, and told me she would rather KILL HERSELF than have a gay daughter, and got up and left the table.

Some other things have happened since, but I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive her for what she said. We talked briefly during this quarantine, and I thought maybe she had a change of heart, but at this point, I don’t see that happening.

I have good days. I have bad days. I have days where I cannot get out of bed or I cry myself to sleep. I cannot fathom how parents could possibly pick and choose the parts of their children they want to love. This world is hard enough to be apart of sometimes with all the racism, sexism, and homophobia.

I am lucky to have so many friends and family members who do love me. I have had to make my own family. Both my brothers tell me that I should be kind to my mom, that she was raised differently, that I am being selfish. I am always willing to see things from someone else’s point of view, but not at the expense of my self-worth and heart.

Anyway, that is part of my story. I hope if you take anything away from this, it will be to show love and acceptance to people who are different from you, but most importantly, to show love and acceptance to yourself. I am still learning how to love myself. I have had to change my mindset in many areas of my life to fully understand how my own family could choose to treat me this way.

*Sorry for any spelling/grammar errors. This was an emotional piece to write, and to be honest, it’s hard to reread.

#comingout #lesbian #lesbianvisibility #lesbian pride #queer girl #pride #acceptance #lgbt rights #loveislove

16 notes · View notes

shigarakis-fifth-hand · 5 years ago

Text

Momo Yayorozu and Shoto Todoroki, the daughter and son of the richest families in all of Tokyo. They went to UA together, lived together, and were what every couple wanted to be. Shoto was protective, strong, and quiet. Momo was outgoing, polite, and brilliant. They were what everyone wanted to be... except for their secrets.

It was 4 am, and Momo was wide awake. Not with her boyfriend, but her girlfriend, Jirou.

“Mmm.” Jirou moaned, tangling her hands in Momo’s hair as she was pinned to the bed. “Mmm, why can’t we stay up later? It’s okay Friday.” Jirou playfully tried to pull up Momo’s shirt as her girlfriend smiled sadly.

“I have my conference meeting at my father’s rally.” Momo went back to kissing Jirou passionately. As much as Momo wanted Jirou’s pants on the floor, she knew that she would need sleep for tomorrow. “You mean another one if his anti gay-marriage rallies?” Jirou asked sadly as Momo nodded, trying not to talk about it. She wanted to avoid crying at all costs, it made her eyes puff.

“Yes, Todoroki and I are going to represent a normal couple.” Momo smiled jokingly as Jirou smiled back. “Oh please, I could see Deku’s hickeys miles away. There’s nothing normal about you and Todoroki in a couple. A lesbian and a gay boy should not be forced to date.” Jirou kissed her girlfriend’s nose. “I love you Lovebug. Just stay safe, and I’ll bring you something sweet to class tomorrow.” The two giggled, kissing again as Momo’s hands explored Jirou’s body.

In the room on the other side of the building, Deku and Shoto were having a similar situation.

“Shoto!” Izuku yelled as Todoroki slammed into Izuku, leaving his knees weak. “Harder baby.” Deku murmured, unable to talk as Todoroki slammed his cock in and out of Izuku, leaning him over the desk. Shoto did exactly that, pushing in and out faster, pushing in as much as he could, leaving Deku a moaning mess as he reached his climax. “That... was amazing.” Deku whispered weakly as Todoroki carried him over to the bed. “I love you Zuki. Never forget that.” Deku smiled at the nickname Todoroki would only say behind closed doors.

“I won’t Todoroki, why do you keep saying that? I’d never forget it.” Deku tried to sit up before sitting back down in pain. “My father is making Momo and I give a statement about why gay marriage is bad this afternoon.” Todoroki hid his face in the pillow, trying not to cry or look into Deku’s eyes.

“Aww, Todo. It’s okay. I know none of those feelings are true. I see the way Momo almost barfs when she has to kiss you.” Deku tried to joke as Todoroki began to cry. “No, Shoto. Don’t cry, it’s going to be okay. Once you’re an adult, you will be able to come out to the public and be a gay icon for everyone. We can finally make our relationship public and all the homophobes will feel bamboozled. Then... we can finally move in together and...” Deku began to kiss Todoroki’s neck, hugging him close and gripping his thighs like Todoroki did when Izuku cried.

“I wonder why you’re with me Izuku. Why you stay with me even though you have to watch me kiss a girl and hold hands with a girl. When my father calls you my best friend in interviews, and not the love of my life. You deserve so much better than this situation.” Shoto ranted as Deku held Todoroki close, sucking on his neck and leaving tender kisses.

“Don’t be stupid. How can I complain when I see the way you and Momo struggle? I’ve found Jirou sobbing, seen Momo silently cry behind her father’s back, and then I see all the pain you’re going through. I know none of that is real, and it never will be. In some way, I’m glad I’m not the one being lied to.” Deku smiled, pecking a kiss on Todoroki’s lips. “Deku, will you come with me to the rally? I don’t think I’ll make it alone. Momo will be there, but I can’t look at that girl while we’re pretending to be a couple. It feels so wrong for the both of us. Jirou is coming with Momo, I was hoping you’d come with me.” Deku smiled sadly before nodding.

“Of course I’ll come baby. I can’t let you forget how gay you are.” Todoroki let out a chuckle as the two laid down, leaving Todoroki to spoon his boyfriend.

It was the beginning of the rally, and all four of the teenagers were tired from last night. “Nice hickey you lesbo.” Deku whispered in Jirou’s ear as the two tried not to burst out laughing. “Don’t think I can’t see the concealer covering Shoto’s.” Jiro squeezed Deku’s hand before adjusting his tie. “How about we try this whole straight thing? See who can be the best actors? Maybe turn it into a game?” Jirou asked as Deku snickered.

“Yes, we can make this situation at least not as awful.” In that moment Deku wrapped his arm around his gay friend, while she grabbed his hand, intertwining his fingers. “Nice rainbow nails.” Deku teased, looking down at the nails Momo had done for Jirou. “Oh please, nice white-and-red promise ring.” She looked down at the silver band that Todoroki had painted to match his hair. That was Deku would always have Todoroki with him.

The two turned red, trying not to laugh out loud and draw attention to themselves. They knew the news were already taking pics of the UA students from the Sports Festival.

“Okay, okay. Mics on, Mics on. Welcome ladies and gentlemen to the Todoroki Yayorozu campaign for fixing young adults. Welcome pro heroes, thank you for joining us.” The small crowd began clapping as the two men sat down in front of their Mics. “Now if you’ll allow it, our reporters have many questions regarding your Movement.” The two men nodded as one reporter spoke. “Sir, how do you plan on tricking the minds of these children to think normally again.” Deku felt Jirou squeeze his hand angrily at the word normal. What was normal about forcing your children into a relationship to prove they’re not gay?

“Oh no, there is no tricking here. It is simply fixing. See, let’s look at our star couple. Momo and Shoto, will you please stand?” The two stood up side by side, wearing the same outfit of a black and white suit. “When they entered high school, they were not interested in each other, but simply we were able to put them together and they’re happy. Children’s minds are like clay, if you form it right, it’ll eventually stick. Isn’t that right boy?” Endeavor softly punched Todoroki as he nodded.

“Yes, right now we are in a perfect relationship.” Todoroki explained, his voice showing no sign of emotion. His heart was nowhere near his words. The crowd murmured in response to Todoroki, and Deku couldn’t help but feel a pounding in his heart. He wanted to go up there and kiss his boyfriend, like how he should be able to. Not have to sneak around because his father was a douche.

“The next one if for the couple. What do you two think about gay marriage? Our viewers say that they trust your opinions because they see you with closer ages to them and therefore deem you as more relatable.” You could see Momo look at Jirou nervously, sweat forming on her brow. “Um, I- no comment.” Momo couldn’t take her eyes off Jiro as she pushed away the mic. “Nonsense dear. Here, they’re tired. Let’s get an opinion from other teens like them. Shoto, invite your friends up here.” As soon as Deku stood up, followed by Jirou, the entire crowd stared at them.

Walking up, Todoroki stared at Deku, and felt so hot in that very moment. He hated every bit of this, and the tension in the air between the four could be cut with a knife.

“U-uh, we think that...” Jiro couldn’t think of a response, looking between the audience and Momo, who she was sitting next to. “Ugh, I can’t take it anymore!” Momo screamed, causing all the reporters to step back and snap pictures. Momo knew that she would be on every cover of the newspapers freaking out if she didn’t act fast. She stood up, staring down at the men on the other side of the table. “You and your hatred disgust me! I’m gay dad! I like, no, I love girls!” In response, the crowd was filled with murmurs, some surprisingly happy. “Who are you to speak like this Momo?! You don’t know what you’re talking about! You have a boyfriend, you-”

In an instant, Momo pulled Jirou from her chair and kissed her, seeing cameras flashing from every direction. Now this was some great cover. Momo would only imagine the dream of seeing her kissing Jirou all over the media.

“Shoto Todoroki, how do you respond to this? This has got to be heartbreaking.” The crowd went silent as Shoto began laughing hysterically. “Oh please, this has been going on for at least two years now. Momo and I never had romantic feelings for one another.” Todoroki smiled, gripping hands with Deku as he stood up. “And I’m not confused father, your heart is filled with so much hatred that you’ve become confused with people who are different than you, and bad people. They are not the same father.”

And with that, Todoroki grabbed Deku by the hand and walked out of there, leaving the kissing lesbians behind.

“Shoto! Any comment on your relationship? Our viewers will want to know what stage you are at with your boyfriend.” The reporters followed them out the door and to Shoto’s car. “Here’s a comment.” Todoroki turned to the cameras before kissing Deku in front of all the cameras, hearing so much flashing and clicking. “Shoto!” Deku yelled, embarrassed as he turned away from the corners and into Shoto’s chest. “What? If the lesbians can make out, I can kiss you.” Todoroki smiled at the cameras before getting in the car and driving away.

“I cannot believe that just happened. That was crazy! All the reporters, they even looked happy when we all did that. Did you see the look on your dads face? That was insanity!!” Deku ranted as Todoroki smiled, holding Deku’s hand. “I know.” He smiled before turning into a cafe’s parking lot.

“All this gayness has gotten me hungry.”

49 notes · View notes

jaytopmodelrankings · 4 years ago

Text

Hi...

Hi everyone. I wasn’t expecting a lot of things to happen so abruptly, that would leave me MIA for quite some time on everything, including Tumblr. I was initially not even going to give any notice about what was going on, until I decided to open my email app on a whim and saw a notification from Tumblr from a torrent of asks in my inbox as to my welbeing.

Firstly, I want to apologise for ever leaving and choosing not to update anyone about it because I felt so weak and helpless at the time. I wasn’t going to share this initially but I thought maybe sharing my story would shed some light as to why this blog became so important to me.

I have always struggled with the spectrum of identity and gender, and while I identify as being gender non-binary, I was born what is biologically referred to as female. The concept of it was subtle enough for my realisation to go unnoticed, and I never really “came out” about so to speak of. That is until I realised that I looked more at girls than I did boys, and not just because we shared changing rooms and whatnot.

Out of pure bad luck, my father discovered my preferences when my brother let it slip one time in the middle of a pronounced family argument. Since then, he watched me like a hawk, because to him, having a “lesbo daughter” was a shame that needed correction. While never so aggressive that I would fear for my life, his mental abuse was terrible and he wasn’t above a slap or two if I ever mispoke.

I started this blog, not only out of inspiration from other rankers online, but also because watching all the beautiful women on this franchise objectively, it almost made me realise how I should not have to keep the fact that I was attracted to women like a dirty little secret. This community of not just rankers but Top Model fans built each other up, agreeing to respectfully disagree whenever conflicts occurred, and hyping all the strong, incredible bad-arse women (and some terrific men of course) that made this modelling clusterfuck a guilty pleasure for us all. Unfortunately, my father recently discovered this blog too, and it provoked one of the most painful and cruel arguments I have ever had.

I’m currently staying at a close friend’s house, and have been slowly trying to heal and just process everything. I can’t go back, but I don’t know what to do moving forward. I’m hurt and saddened, and most of the time i just want to hide in the guest room I’ve been so kindly given and never come out again to the world.

I know it sounds bleak and dramatic, and I honestly know that I have to grow stronger and move past this terrible ordeal, which is why after reading through all the asks, I decided to post this.

I’m coming back, guys. Just not right now. I hope you can understand I just need some time away from everything to work on me and being happy being just me. Abandoning this ranking blog and all my other endeavours would hurt more than continuing them, so rest assured this is not the last of me. I’ll come back stronger, happier, and with all my commentaries intact and ready for all of you.

This is probably such a rambled mess, but what I’m trying to say is that despite being disowned and ostracised from my relatives, I know that there is much better out there for me and a lot of good in store. And I am no longer willing to bow down to prejudices and hate. I hope maybe my story encourages a lot of you to start your own ranking blogs because it can become almost therapeutic sharing your opinions, even on a silly reality show.

Some of you may choose to unfollow, since I can’t pinpoint an official return, and i respect that, and bid you farewell with all the gratefulness of a young person who has received so much support and love from this amazing ANTM community. Thank you so much everyone. Special thanks to @antmrankingskd who has always been an inspiration, and whose recent ask really gave me an incredible boost after weeks of wallowing in self-pity (and whose blog I urge you to binge if you need some content), and @amateursmizer who has been constantly in my DMs hoping to reach out because they were deeply concerned for my absence when i expressed my love and passion for this blog and community.

Sorry if this has been too jumbled and incomprehensible, I’m probably rambling so much- I just hope you get i appreciate all the support, and hope you are willing to wait for me just a little while longer for my health.

JJ will be back, my lovelies. Soon. I love you all dearly, be kind to one another and be brave enough to be bold. I’ll see you soon, hopefully bigger and better.

JJ xxx

7 notes · View notes

serenagaywaterford · 5 years ago

Note

How opposed do you think serena is to labelling herself with ‘lesbian’? Would she ever use any alternatives?

I think, Serena… Hmm… would be adamantly opposed to any label for a very long time. Because she would be stuffed full of religious indoctrination and shame being fed by heaps of internalised homophobia and specifically lesbophobia. I can’t see her being very comfortable with any label for a long time even when she is in a relationship with another woman. She’d be the type to refer to June (or whomever) as her “partner”, and make sure it’s vague and safe. Never “girlfriend”, cos that’s too bold and upfront. Never admit that it’s actually two women. She’d hide behind language like “partner” or “significant other” for sure, probably even say “they” instead of “she” when in conversation with people, just to hide a little more.

That said, down the road? If I’m taking her out of canon, hmm. I think the journey to a label would be long but mostly direct. Firstly, I don’t know what any alternatives are to “lesbian”. It’s a pretty specific thing and literally none of the other words I can think of mean lesbian. (Unless they’re reclaimed slurs like dyke or lesbo, etc. or something really clunky like “homosexual woman” which lbr nobody really says.) Whether she would go through a phase of mislabelling herself because she is afraid of the word is another question though. Would she consider herself bisexual? Perhaps. It would be incredibly difficult to admit that an entire marriage was pointless and unfulfilling. Denial is powerful. Like how could a lesbian be married to a man for so long? Right? (I really don’t want to get into any debate about lesbian purity but it happens, and there are plenty of lesbians who have.) I think she could hang onto that for a while. I can see her clinging on for dear life to the bisexual label, for a host of reasons.

[And I know I may differ with some Serena/June fans, but I do not headcanon her as bisexual. I just don’t. June, yes, actually because I believe her romantic and sexual attraction to men is genuine and real. Serena? Not in a million years. That woman is as gay as a window and yes, I will die on this hill regardless of what canon tells me.]

She may even insist one of those stupid “It’s not all women, just one!” Like, I’m not homosexual, it’s just this specific person! LOL. Okay. Sure, Jan. Cos that’s a real thing. I see Serena being very much that sort of person in rabid denial.

Like I said though, I would suspect eventually she would recognise things and put every piece of her life into perspective, and give herself a little break. I also think internally she would be immediately questioning whether she is homosexual. Cos, yeah, that’s part of her whole ideology, this gender traitor gay-hating thing. She would think that about herself and try to mitigate it, and talk herself into some other excuse. Like “It’s not me, it’s just her. It’s a one-off. Or it’s a phase.” Something like that to make it seem less than it is.

But no, Serena wouldn’t call herself an alternative. Cos, a)I don’t know any so I can’t speak to that lol and she certainly wouldn’t call herself a slur, and b)it’s SERENA. She wouldn’t be sitting around on social media or going to gender studies courses in uni. She wouldn’t even know the language, slang, or whatever 60239 sexual identities and labels people have now. She would know the basics and have to pick from those. Gay, lesbian, bi, ~gender traitor~. That’s all she would know, PLUS the slurs because there is no way someone with that much hate, and surrounded by so much hate pre- and during Gilead wouldn’t be aware of them. Even just from church.

I think she may start with “gender traitor” because it’s what she’s familiar with, and it’s sort of …vague in a sense. Also, the shame. MAYBE eventually once she’s done the whole journey or whatever she may use “gay”, and I would suspect she would before using “lesbian” cos let’s be totally honest, it is the hardest for so many women to say. There is still so much stigma attached and women are still afraid to say it, cos also it is the most dangerous for women. To be a lesbian means to be unavailable to men entirely. They don’t like that. At all. They will do anything to change that. It starts with words and ends with rape. Even saying “gay” as a woman is somehow less threatening for some reason, but “lesbian” is a definitive statement. (Maybe it’s cos “gay” for women has been watered down and so many people just use it without understanding that it is HOMOSEXUAL. So men can hear gay, and be like “Meh, she’ll be with dudes too cos all these other ~gay girls~ do.” Yet a man says “gay” and he is equally as threatening and gross to straight men as a lesbian is, but for different reasons. Being exclusively homosexual makes straight people (but especially men) hate you. And when they hate you, it is a scary place to be. So, I can deffo see Serena being quite afraid. Like she is a pretty huge coward generally lol and this would be even worse. That’s what got her into so much of her own bullshit. So she would be terrified of the word lesbian.

TMI: I know I was. I adamantly refused to use the word for years cos it was gross and scary or whatever idiocy I had in my head. I was actually at a comedy club with my girlfriend and the comedian picked us out (it was all straight people) and said “Oh, we’ve got some lesbians here, right?” and I was so completely horrified and terrified that I blurted, as disgusted as I could, “No! I’m not!” And I’ll tell you my girlfriend wasn’t very happy for one thing, and the comedian just looked confused. Like, clearly I am. But I just loudly refused to be called that cos I was scared. Of so many things. So, I get it. I get the absolute refusal to accept that you are that word because it’s all sorts of things. Mostly associated with bad. But it’s not. And I don’t even have the really deeply ingrained homophobia as somebody like Serena does (I deffo had internalized homo/lesbophobia tho). So, if I struggled with it, I am certain someone like her would struggle a lot more. Especially when the stakes are even higher and more dangerous. Like, this is a woman that has supported a regime that hangs gay men in public and rapes/genitally mutilates lesbians and knows exceptionally well how easily a regime can target and eradicate gays and lesbians.

Now, would Serena EVER say it? I’m not sure. I think about that sometimes writing fic. How does Serena view herself? Would she ever get to a healthy enough place that she could call herself a lesbian? Or is she somewhat of a lost cause? (It also comes into play how much she’ll ever admit about the shit she’s done.)

Sometimes I doubt it. I sometimes think she would spend her whole life talking around the actual word and using euphemisms or long descriptions instead of saying the word. Because that is a lot A LOT of lesbophobia for her to unpack. More than a lot of people. (Not to mention she’s a very stubborn and proud person so part of that would be admitting she was wrong in the past and… well, lbr, Serena is NOT good at that either lol.) That said, there are some raging homophobes that come out and quite quickly embrace the most “extreme” label because it is such a relief. It’s freedom. It’s safety in a totally different way than a lie. Could she be like that? Almost as if she launches herself into another ~cause straight away? Hmm. Maybe. She does also have that streak in her.

So, long story short, anon. I dunno. I would suspect IF she ever does, it would be a long, long journey for her but it wouldn’t beat around the bush (unless that journey involves mislabelling herself in an attempt to soften the blow/part of self-discovery). I don’t see her using any “alternatives” tbh. Cos it’s Serena, a woman in her mid-late 30s who has spent her whole life either in church, in very right wing conservative circles, and/or in a literal religio-fascist society. Not a 20 year old on tumblr who has all this new lingo at their fingertips. She simply wouldn’t have the language. Or care. I’ll be honest, most people over 30 don’t give a shit about all this. You’re gay, you’re lesbian, or you’re bi. That’s it. Maybe at a push some of them use “queer” now. And frankly, Serena would never, ever use that word. Not with the huge stigma attached to that in church/right wing circles where it is literally a slur and nothing else. She wouldn’t be the type to “reclaim” anything. She’d hear that word and likely only think of the horrible, violent ways it was used in her upbringing and communities. It would probably evoke fear. I’d say possibly even trauma. So, I would definitely cross that one off the possible “alternative” list. (I’d also cross “homosexual” off that list too for the same reasons. That word is said with such hate, disgust, and derision in conservative and church communities. It sounds like poison when they say it. And Serena couldn’t get past that for a very long time, I’d guess.)

She’s simply not that sort of person to make a stand like that or face demons that frequently lol. She is not a very brave person, nor is she one that simply doesn’t care what people think of her. She appears to care very much and that would be a huge influence on her behaviour and thoughts. Unless it’s something she ADAMANTLY believes in. Like, she has to hit a limit before she snaps and doesn’t care what people think anymore. (We’ve only seen that Serena a few times in canon. Most of the time she’s a cheerleader for the status quo.) I do believe deep, deep down she doesn’t truly care… but fear/validation is a crazy drug. It would take a lot for her to get there.Wow, I said long story short and just went off on another tangent so okay. I’m done. Serena: no alternatives, uses “gay/lesbian” after a very, very long time–if at all. *shrug* I dunno. I can possibly be persuaded otherwise but this is basically my view...

#Anonymous

5 notes · View notes

butchstalinist · 5 years ago

Text

Since you’ve decided to block me right after this nonsensical statement, I’ll take it upon myself to respond here to each of your “points.”

“q*eer was a slur just like any other term...outside of cishet.” -- Let’s go a step at a time with this tumultuous statement. I’ll speak to a couple terms that have originated as slurs within LGBT spaces, and those that have not. First off, remember that the definition of a slur is not “any word that’s ever been used as an insult” otherwise many day-to-day words would be slurs. A slur is a term that was created out of systemic harm of a specific group, and can be linked back to that source.

Before we even go into this discussion we have to remember that slur in itself isn’t even a very encompassing term. By the dictionary definition you could include almost any insult as a slur. So, we need to remember what is commonly being referred to when the term “slur” is used today. When I discuss the word, I think of terms that originated from systemic harm as well as continuate systemic harm through usage.

Lesbian as a term came from Lesbos, the Greek isle where Sapphos lived. Gay came from carefree and happy, picking up more harmful denotations when linked with SGA individuals. These are both terms that have never needed to be reappropriated (reclaimed) as they did not start out as harmful terminology. One can argue that gay became semi-appropriated as a harmful term, but due to it’s origins it does not carry the systemic affects of terms originated in those ways.

So, what are some terms used among LGBT people that did originate those ways? H*mosexual is one that began as a very clinical way to refer to LGBT individuals, and as such many people are careful to not use it on those that may be uncomfortable with it. This is also the case with Tr*nssexual. Despite many members of the community using these terms for themselves, they originated from systemic harm and still carry that power for many people. They are slurs. Maybe one day we’ll reach a point where they aren’t, but for now they have systemic power to harm.

The q slur began as a way to refer to “weird” or “strange” things. That’s why many people enjoy reclaiming it, in fact. They enjoy to embrace their identity as outside of the norm utilizing that term. I grew up in a rural area and this term is not empowering or away from the systemic roots it came from. I would ask you use your empathy to recognize why some may not want to be called that term. You can use it for yourself if you’re harmed by transphobia or homophobia (as that is the systemic roots of the term).

But this isn’t really a lesson on what a slur is and isn’t. It’s one of respect. Of “empathy” for people who have grown up with the q slur harming them systemically. Hell, if I met someone who didn’t want me to call them gay, then I wouldn’t, even though it’s not a slur.

To tackle your final very brief point; I will speak to transphobia, transmisogyny, etc. whenever I see it. Ace/Aro identities have no common language or definition, and often the things that go with it (split attraction model, mogai, etc) are very harmful, in my opinion, to the LGBT community. I am openly not a fan of the ace/aro “community,” terminology, or radical inclusion.

If you’d like to talk to me on the subject feel free, but it’s very odd to send a message and then block me. Why not go on anon or simply make the post on your own blog to vent your anger?

#long post #ask to tag #q slur

5 notes · View notes

whoatetheapple · 5 years ago

Text

Stone Flowers

I saw this draw of Medusa and I blind girl as girlfriends so I decided to write a short fic about it. Enjoy!

Note: I have a very low knowlegde of Greek Mythology, I’m sorry for any mistakes.

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

She was born blind. The story of what happened with her eyes was not precise, however her mother was almost certain it had something to do with her being ill during a certain time of her pregnancy. During that time, the healers thought both the mother and the baby were not going to survive, yet they did (even though her father wished they had not when he learned of the girl’s condition). Since she could not miss what she never had, she learned to pay attention to her surroundings by hearing. In this way, she learned from her mother that she was the prettiest of the 5 children (and from her siblings that they all looked the same), learned to take care of the house, to cook and to take care of herself. She especially loved to talk with people in the town, when she went out with her mother. That way she could learn about things that happened not only in Eresos, the town where they lived in, but also about all over Greece. So she heard of the Nemean lion that Heracle slayed and the Minotaur that Theseus encountered in Crete, those creatures that were cursed by the gods and defeated by heroes that were half gods themselves. But those stories made none of the easier to hear about the creature that appeared in the east side of Lesbos, just a horse ride away from her home. The creature that no man was able to defeat, that no hero came back from going to face. Which naturally created a forbidden zone in the forest that only the bravest (or stupidest) would dare get close to. So when in a clear morning, after her mother passed away, and her father told her that he wanted some berries, the ones that only grew in the edge of the forbidden forest, in his dinner, she understood that what he really wanted was for her to be gone. It was not a secret that he never wanted her and always said that the girl would never get married and would stay forever his burden. (She proved again and again that she did not need any help to take care of herself). Even as aware as she was about his intentions for her to get lost, she went out to find the berries. Her sister and the youngest of her brothers objected, but none of them had quite the courage to go against their father’s wishes, so she heard their sobs as she left. Walking through the forest was a little difficult, since the ground was not leveled and she had to go up and down a hill with only a walking stick to stumble in the stones. However the direction was easy to follow, she only had to keep the sun burning her front while she went towards the left side of the island. The shift from the lively forest to the forbidden one was very noticeable too. All the way through she heard sounds of birds, small animals and even some deer, but suddenly everything was quite. Even the wind made less noise as it passed by. As if the place was still, like a statue. Being blind never frightened her, but the quiet did. She wanted to run. Instead, she crunched down and started to feel around for the berries. That was when she heard a voice. "You’re not a hero" the woman said. The voice was a beautiful one, the kind that made you wish to hear in a lullaby: sweet and comforting. The girl heard the woman’s footsteps getting closer, so she stood up to reply. "Were you expecting one? I’m just trying to find some berries" "I’ve only ever received heroes in my house since I was sent to this place" the woman replied before stopping maybe one or two footsteps away, then she pointed out the obvious. "You’re a blind girl" "The very opposite of a hero, I’m afraid" "Well, I’m glad" the woman sighed in relief. "That must be the first time I meet someone that prefers a blind girl than a hero". "Heroes don’t like me so much" "And why is that?" The woman fell silent, and the only thing the girl could hear was the shuffling of some plants. Then the woman took her right hand and placed something that felt like the berries on her palm. "Here, take it. I bet those were the ones you were trying to find, they are very delicious" "Thank you" "But why would you come so deep inside of the forest for some berries?" The girl then told the woman about her father.

"I think it’s better if you go home then, show him how amazing you are for coming back from a quest no one managed before" the woman’s voice was excited, sounding happy for her. "You’re right. Thanks for the help." The girl reached her right hand forward and waited for the woman to take it. "I’m Kassie by the way" "I’m Medusa, it was nice to meet you." The girl then went back through the way she came. Much for the surprise of her family, she was back with not one single scratch and prepared the supper as if she never left. In the next day, she was sent for the berries again and found Medusa once more. "You father is not a man to give up easily I see" "I won’t give up easily either" From then on they started a conversation about their families that continued every time the girl came back. Kassie talked about her mother, her four siblings, her birth, and Medusa told her about her 2 sisters and being a maiden in the temple of Athena. "What made you leave the temple?" "I’ll tell you that another day... if you come back" So she kept coming back, not only because her father wanted her gone, but also because she missed Medusa when she was away from her. Her presence was addicting, everything about her was so sweet: her voice, her smell, her personality. It made Kassie dizzy and her stomach turn every time Medusa took her hand to give her something, even though it seemed that the woman was very careful for them to not be close during their interactions. After weeks of the girl coming to collect berries everyday, Medusa finally commented on the girl’s father intentions. "I’m sorry, but you father is mean and not even the brightest. How could he not realize that the monster won’t keep you from coming back?" "You’re not a monster. You might be cursed but you’re not a monster" They were set side by side eating a cooked rabbit that Medusa hunted before she arrived. The woman then stood up. "When did you figured it out?" "From the moment I met you" the girl said it nonchalantly. "Then why didn’t you run away?" She sounded sad, scared even. Kassie offered her hand for the woman to take, and when she did so, the girl pulled her close until Medusa was set by her side again. "You’re not a monster, you didn’t hurt me and I’m sure you had no intention to hurt the heroes that never came back. What happened to them?" "They turned into stone. You can’t see it, but I’m cursed to have snakes in the place of my hair so I’ll be so ugly that I’ll turn people that look at me into stone" The girl then reached her free hand in the direction of the voice. Medusa immediately understood what the girl wanted and placed the girl’s hand on her face. Kassie traced Medusa’s features with the point of her fingers. The line of her jaw, the arc of her eyebrows, her cheekbones and her nose. The woman had a delicate face. "For me, you’re beautiful" The girl’s heart raced when Medusa’s hands took hers and leaned her face forward, touching their foreheads together. "Can I kiss you?" The woman asked with a voice so quite that was mostly a whisper. "Yes" And so she did. Medusa met her lips in a delicate way, the same way she held her hand and caressed her palm. It was almost impossible for Kassie to think that a woman so sweet and caring, that treated her like a flower, could turn people into stone.

#fic #stone flowers #medusa

4 notes · View notes

lets-talk-appella · 6 years ago

Text

i’m nobody’s but yours

Chapter 15/25 - Beca

Summary: Beca is straight as an arrow. 100%, totally, completely straight. Except for one problem that 100%, totally, completely changes everything: Chloe Beale.

Title borrowed from Calum Scott’s “If Our Love Is Wrong.”

Word Count: 4k

Rating: M (for dark themes, homophobia, masturbation, and eventual smut in later chapters)

TW: This chapter depicts homophobia, hate language, and slurs. Please be prepared for that.

AO3, FFN, and below.

The sound of her phone buzzing incessantly shatters Beca’s concentration. She reluctantly drags her eyes from her laptop screen and reaches for her phone, seeing several texts from Jesse.

J: How’s it going?

J: Becaw!

J: Are u with Chloe?

J: I bet ur with Chloe

J: Did u guys do it yet?

Beca cringes and rolls her eyes. There’s just something that seems so very wrong about her ex-boyfriend asking about her current girlfriend (even thinking the word still makes butterflies flutter in Beca’s stomach). She types back the only thing she can think to say to that.

B: Gross.

His reply is almost instantaneous.

J: If u think it’s gross u might have to reexamine

J: Again, I mean

Beca sighs, giving her laptop a last regretful look, mourning the loss of her productivity. She pushes her chair away from the desk so she can prop her feet up on it while she types up her reply.

B: I mean you asking about it is gross. It’s weird, dude.

J: It’s been like forever tho

Beca scowls. It most certainly has not been “forever,” and besides, it’s really none of his business in the first place.

B: It’s been 3 weeks.

J: Forever

B: You’re weirdly invested in this. Stop.

J: Just trying to be ur lesbro. If I were gay for Max, I’d expect u to support me

Beca snorts; if Jesse were, in fact, “gay for” his new roommate, she supposes she’d be asking him just as many questions about it.

But not those kinds of questions.

B: Supportive is different than asking if we’ve done it. Are you gay for Max?

J: Don’t think so

B: Great. Bye, Jesse.

J: Bye!

Beca sighs in relief, placing her phone face-down on the desk. She returns to her laptop, lowering her feet from her desk and scooting her chair back in place. Just as she moves her hands to the keyboard, though, a light knock sounds on her closed bedroom door. Unlike Jesse’s intrusion, this one is welcome; she smiles, the familiar sound filling her chest with warmth, and calls, “It’s open!”

A second later, the door opens and she hears light footsteps on the stairs leading up to the room. Beca looks over and catches Chloe’s eye, peeking over the railing.

“Hey, how’s it going?” Beca greets her, grinning happily when Chloe walks toward her with purpose.

Instead of answering, Chloe rests one hand on the back of Beca’s chair, pushes it away from the desk, and, with practiced ease, swings a leg over to settle into Beca’s lap with a contented sigh.

“Oh, hi,” Beca manages, her hands rising automatically to Chloe’s hips to steady her and keep her from falling backward.

“Hi,” Chloe grins down at her. “Have a second?”

Beca nods, already tilting her face up, and Chloe leans forward until their lips meet.

They exchange kisses for several minutes, Beca losing herself in the feel of Chloe’s body warm and solid against hers, and of her lips and tongue moving languidly against her own. No matter how often they kiss, Beca doesn’t think she’ll ever tire of the way it makes her entire body light up and hum in response. She’s starting to think that any minute not spent kissing Chloe is a minute wasted.

Her hands slip up the back of Chloe’s shirt, fingers idly drawing patterns against the warm skin of her back. Her touch grows bolder, sliding up to trace over Chloe’s bra strap teasingly and back down. Chloe hums and presses even closer, her hands letting go of the back of the chair in favor of sliding into Beca’s hair, cradling the back of her head and holding her close.

After several minutes of this, their kissing comes to a natural end. Chloe pulls back somewhat reluctantly and turns around to sit in the chair so that her hips rest between Beca’s legs. Beca leans forward to wrap her arms around Chloe’s waist, drawing their bodies even closer together, and rests her chin on Chloe’s shoulder, inhaling the scent of her shampoo.

“Feels nice,” Chloe whispers, leaning into Beca.

Beca hums in contentment, watching Chloe examine her open laptop.

“What’re you working on?” Chloe asks, reading the screen.

“Applying for a couple of jobs,” Beca replies, pressing a kiss to the side of Chloe’s neck and smiling when it makes Chloe squeak a little. “Um, New York, mostly. Chicago, too, and Nashville.”

“All over, huh?”

“I want to keep my options open.”

“Right,” Chloe says faintly, leaning her head into Beca’s temple momentarily. Her fingers trace idly over Beca’s arms around her waist, leaving Beca’s skin twitching in response. Chloe takes a deep breath that Beca can feel, then asks, her tone a little off, “Do you wanna go on a walk or something? Take a break from this?”

“I’d love to,” Beca replies, now pressing a kiss to Chloe’s cheek, “but I’m meeting my dad and Sheila for dinner in, like, half an hour.” She glances at the time on her laptop. “Or, like, in twenty-three minutes.”

“Oh, that’ll be nice,” Chloe replies, her tone a little too bright to be natural. Her hands still against Beca’s arms.

Beca raises an eyebrow and looks at her as best she can from their position.

“Okay, yeah,” Chloe concedes, “I know, but they’re paying for dinner at least.”

“That is a good thing,” Beca agrees, leaning her cheek against Chloe’s shoulder. “I don’t know, my dad has just been on my ass about getting together since we saw them.”

The temperature in the room seems to drop at the reminder of their last encounter. Beca squeezes Chloe gently, trying to bring her back to the present.

“Well,” Chloe says bracingly after a moment. “Good luck, and tell them I say hi.”

“Okay, thanks,” Beca sighs. “I’ll need it.”

Chloe taps on her arms lightly once, asking without speaking to be let up. A little begrudgingly, Beca releases her hold around Chloe’s waist, allowing Chloe to rise from the chair. As soon as she stands, Beca misses her warmth.

“I’ll let you get some work done, then, before you go,” Chloe says, making her way back across the room. “Come find me later?” she asks.

“Definitely,” Beca promises. “Got something planned?”

“Maybe.”

Chloe makes a show of walking away, swaying her hips more than totally necessary, and consequently, Beca finds herself more focused on them than totally necessary. At the top of the stairs, she pauses, turning with a smirk, and Beca knows she’s been caught.

“Um, ah –”

Chloe grins wickedly, but before she can comment, the bedroom door reopens and Amy’s voice drifts up from the foot of the short staircase.

“Oh, hi, what were you two aca-lesbos up to? Better not have been on my bed.”

“No promises,” Chloe quips back, her tone less than innocent.

Beca closes her eyes, leans forward, and groans into her hands.

She’s totally whipped.

Beca parks Chloe’s car (they pretty much have an unspoken agreement that Beca can borrow it whenever she needs) in the lot of Platter o’ Peaches, her father’s favorite family-style restaurant in Barden. She turns off the car but doesn’t get out yet. She feels twitchy, electric, almost, as if some sort of storm is coming in the distance. The last time she’d seen Sheila and her dad echoes unpleasantly in her mind, setting her teeth on edge.

Well. I’m sure if you asked, maybe he’d be willing to be more than friends again. He’s good for you, Beca.

Honey, with your looks, you should be able to get any cute boy you want.

She hasn’t unbuckled her seatbelt yet, and for a moment she debates the merit of just driving away again. She could always claim she forgot about meeting them and try to reschedule. She has a feeling that won’t fly, though, and takes a steadying breath, resigning herself to her fate. She unbuckles her seat belt with a grumbled swear word and steps out of the car.

She’d parked close to the entrance, so the walk is short. She hauls open the annoyingly heavy door, knowing she’s running almost five minutes late. Sure enough, when she steps inside and greets the expectant-looking host, she hears her name being called.

Glancing to her left, she sees her dad and Sheila already have secured a table toward the center of the restaurant. They both wave at her, her dad looking happy to see her, and Sheila appearing almost disappointed, as if she’d been hoping Beca wouldn’t show.

Beca can already tell this won’t be pleasant.

With a closed-lipped smile at the host, Beca walks over to their table, weaving through other customers. It’s a Wednesday just before dinnertime, so the place isn’t super crowded, but it’s far from empty. While no one sits at the tables directly next to Warren and Sheila, a group of what looks like businessmen sits at an adjacent table, and an elderly couple sits near the windows on the opposite side of the room. The back wall is lined with booths, only two of which hold small groups of people, already digging into their gravy-covered meals.

Beca reaches her dad and Sheila’s table, forcing a smile onto her face that probably looks just as painful as it feels.

“Hi, Beca,” Warren greets. “You’re looking well.”

She hates how formal he is. He never used to talk like that when it was just him and her mom.

“Thanks,” she replies, pulling out her chair.

“Cutting it a little close on time, though,” Sheila notes, taking a sip of her water.

Beca’s teeth clench together as she takes her seat. “Yeah, well, my hair took a while.”

She’d pulled it into a messy bun 30 seconds before leaving the house.

Sheila raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment any further.

“So… how’s it going?” Beca asks, trying for at least some civility. She knows she’s probably being harsher than they deserve, but they had almost ruined her second date with Chloe.

“Really well, thanks,” Sheila answers, then follows with, “No Chloe?”

Beca’s back tenses against her chair. Sheila’s tone is neutral, and if Beca didn’t know better, she’d almost think Sheila’s asking out of polite interest. However, the way Sheila looks at her, as if waiting for her to stumble and give something away, is unnerving. Warren merely peruses the menu in front of him, seemingly oblivious.

“Oh, no, no Chloe,” Beca tries to laugh it off, moving her chair back closer to the table. “Why do you ask?”

“You two seem to spend a lot of time together,” Sheila replies with a shrug that’s probably meant to be casual. “I think you’re with her more than with just about anyone else, that’s all.”

“Yeah, well,” Beca stalls, hiding her nerves by unfolding her napkin and arranging it in her lap. “Just, we were co-captains. So, Dad, what’s good here?” She knows it’s a blatant deflection, but it’s the only thing she can think to do.

Warren looks up, blinking, as if surprised to be addressed directly. “Oh, you know,” he says mildly, though Beca most certainly does not know. “The burgers are always my go-to.”

“Awes, well, I’ll look,” Beca replies, hiding her faint blush at the use of Chloe’s word behind the menu as she starts to search for a decent lunch.

Thankfully, silence falls as all three of them examine the menus. Beca’s almost positive her dad and Sheila don’t really need the menu; they probably eat here often enough, since neither of them can really cook. Beca uses the time to try to calm herself down, reading each menu item through carefully. It’s mildly concerning that the only items that seem to come without some form of gravy are the salads and club sandwiches.

When the waitress comes to take their order, Warren selects a regular hamburger and Sheila orders a salad and soup, with a loud and unnecessary comment about watching her weight. When the waitress turns to her, pen and pad in hand, Beca panics a little and ends up ordering the turkey club sandwich, even though she doesn’t really like turkey.

As soon as the waitress leaves with their orders, Sheila opens her mouth, probably to ask about Beca’s personal dating life or something equally invasive, but Warren cuts her off.

“So, you’re applying for jobs, then?” he asks, leaning forward.

Relieved, Beca takes the opportunity to tell them about the various producer positions she’s uncovered all across the country. He seems genuinely interested, as does Sheila, and that topic of conversation lasts well after their food comes and they start to eat. She’s careful to avoid mentioning Chloe and her own job search.

The lunch is actually going surprisingly well, and Beca feels herself relaxing as their meal continues without incident. She’s already more than halfway done with her club – the bacon on it helps cover the turkey – when two women, slightly older than her and holding hands, enter the restaurant.

They’re very clearly a couple; not only are they holding hands, but they’re looking at each other in a way Beca recognizes from how Chloe looks at her now. Beca immediately tenses, her eyes flicking to Sheila, who appears too enthralled by her limp salad to have noticed the couple’s entrance.

Beca watches closely as the host greets the women with a friendly smile and – no, no, no – leads them toward the table Beca shares with Sheila and Warren. Beca’s shoulders tense and she stares down at her club sandwich, desperate to keep Sheila’s attention down and away from the couple. The host leads them so close to their table that it Beca can feel the air stirring as they pass, but she still doesn’t look up.

Beca wonders why the women aren’t more careful in public. A small, snide part of her thinks they should know better than to act like that around potentially hostile strangers.

It’s not until the host returns to his stand that Beca risks a glance over her shoulder to see where the women ended up. To her alarm, she sees there are only a few tables between them, the women sitting at a booth along the wall directly behind Beca.

If Sheila were to look up, they’d be almost directly in her line of sight.

“Are there usually tomatoes in this salad?” Sheila asks the table at large, poking at a leaf of lettuce with her fork.

“Um –”

“You know, I’m going to ask,” Sheila twists around, looking for their waitress, even though she’s almost done with the salad anyway.

Her eyes scan the restaurant, and Beca can tell the instant she sees the couple. Her eyes lock onto them and her jaw goes slack.

Beca winces, dropping her attention to her plate.

“It’s getting worse,” Sheila says in an undertone, her voice full of disgust.

“What is?” Warren asks.

“That,” Sheila emphasizes, and without looking up, Beca knows she’s either pointing or nodding at the women so Warren can spot them.

Beca’s stomach rolls. She doesn’t think she can finish her sandwich.

“Maybe they’re friends,” Warren sighs, sounding so tired that it makes Beca look up. “Or sisters.”

“Not with the way they’re looking at each other.”

Knowing that she can’t feign deafness any longer, Beca glances over at where the women talk over their menus, smiling at one another with clear affection and happiness.

“Ugh, as if anyone wants to see that,” Sheila spits out. “I have half a mind to ask to switch tables.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Warren admonishes, rolling his eyes.

It doesn’t have any impact on Sheila.

“It’s in public now, everywhere,” she continues. “You know, ever since they passed that ridiculous marriage equality garbage, the whole country has gone downhill.”

“Sheila…”

“What? I’m just stating facts. That law has everyone in a tizzy. It’s rude, you know, forcing themselves on us, like –”

“I’m dating Chloe.”

The words come out before Beca can stop them, totally beyond her control and likely in response to the disgust in Sheila’s voice. As soon as they’re out, she wants to take them back, to rewind, to pretend it hadn’t happened, but she can’t.

Immediately, panic rises in Beca’s throat like bile; she’d never intended to come out like this, with just some throwaway comment that doesn’t even come close to describing the most important relationship in her life.

Warren stares at her, his expression blank and surprised. She can’t tell what he’s feeling, has no idea what he thinks of her. Sheila, cut off mid-sentence, only stares at her, mouth open. It makes her look very foolish.

Beca takes a bite of her sandwich in an attempt to settle her stomach. Her entire body is numb.

“What did you say?” Sheila asks quietly.

Beca can’t answer.

“You’re a dyke?”

The instant Sheila asks, Beca stiffens and grips her sandwich tightly, the word impaling her stomach like a knife.

Beca’s dad puts down his hamburger and turns to Sheila, his expression serious. “Hey, that’s not –”

“That’s what she said, Warren, not me. She said she’s a dyke.”

Beca’s ears are ringing and she struggles to catch her breath. This is all her fault. She’d messed up. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

“No, I said I’m dating Chloe,” she manages.

Sheila laughs, a cold scoff of a noise. “Same thing! Either way, it’s not natural,” she insists, then turns to Beca’s dad. “See, Warren, I told you they were too close, I told you it wasn’t right –”

Warren speaks over her, ignoring her scandalized expression. “While this is a, uh, surprise… we would love to get to know Chloe more, Beca,” he says kindly. “Why don’t you invite her over for dinner sometime?”

“Oh, sure, just encourage her!” Sheila throws her hands into the air, shutting down the idea before Beca can respond.

Beca puts down her sandwich, setting it back onto her plate. Her hands have started to shake.

A few people at the tables around them have tuned to stare, while simultaneously pretending they don’t notice anything amiss. Beca can only hope that the lesbian couple sitting behind her haven’t heard Sheila’s carrying voice.

“How long have you two been… how long has this been going on?” Warren asks carefully, compensating for Sheila by keeping the volume of his voice so low that Beca has to lean in to hear it.

“Um. Like three weeks,” Beca replies, not looking at him.

“Three weeks?!” Sheila gasps. “That’s – we saw you! Warren, I told you they’d been holding hands. I saw it!”

Beca knows she can’t lie.

“That was a date,” she whispers. On her plate, her food stares sadly back up at her.

There’s a beat of silence while Sheila and Warren absorb and process what she said. Beca’s eyes flick from the table to the door, mentally calculating how long it would take to for her to cross the distance.

“Beca, you’re confused,” Sheila begins in a sickly-sweet voice. “You’re not – what makes you think – how do you know you’re – like that?”

“How do you know you’re straight?” Beca fires back, meeting her in the eye for the first time in several minutes.

Sheila gapes at her in shock, while beside her, Warren seems to be trying to hide a smile. Beca shifts in her chair.

“You know what, I never liked this Chloe girl,” Sheila says pompously after a second, lifting her water glass to take a leisurely sip. “Suspicious type, and loud. Too friendly, like she wants something.”

“Sheila –”

“No, no, let me finish,” Sheila stops Warren and leans forward, extending a hand across the table to Beca, as if asking her to link their hands. Beca doesn’t touch it.

“Listen, Beca, honey,” she says quietly, adopting what is probably supposed to be a motherly tone. Beca hands curl into fists in her lap. “Did she persuade you? Is the threatening you with something if you don’t go along with her sick game? Has she touched you... inappropriately? We can bring her up on charges for that kind of thing.”

“Sheila!”

“It’s – that’s – no!” Beca argues back desperately, her eyes starting to sting. “I asked her out! I’ve wanted to date her for a long time!”

“I’m sure that’s what she let you believe –”

“No, that’s how I feel! I’m in love with her!”

“She’s brainwashed you into feeling something you don’t! You aren’t in love with her!”

Silence follows Sheila’s shout. Around them, the restaurant stills and heads turn in their direction. Warren shifts, looking awkward and uncomfortable, and reaches for his hamburger as if his wife and daughter aren’t engaged in a heated argument.

Gradually, the other diners around them return to their own business, and the soft hum of conversation around them resumes.

Beca breathes hard, staring at her plate again, trying to calm herself down. Yelling isn’t getting her anywhere. She needs to get out.

Before she can, though, Sheila says, much more softly, “Is that why you broke up with Jesse?”

“Oh my god!” Beca stares at her, incredulous. “Is that all you care about?”

“You broke up with him to be with – with Chloe?” Sheila presses, closing her eyes briefly as if Chloe’s name is a disgusting swear word.

“No, I – well, yeah, but it’s not –” Beca doesn’t even know what she’s saying anymore. She can barely hear her own voice over the pounding in her ears.

“You said you like women now.”

“I –”

Sheila leans forward again, glancing around to see whether she still has an audience. Satisfied that no one seems to be watching them, she says grimly, “You know what, I knew it was wrong to leave you with your mother for so long.”

“What?” Beca gasps, bewildered.

Warren looks up from his burger sharply, his eyes flicking between Sheila and Beca.

“Beca, I need you to be honest with me now,” Sheila continues. “Were you ever molested as a child? Did that turn you away from men?”

Beca’s jaw falls open. She can’t think of a single thing to say.

“Oh my god,” Warren hisses, angry for the first time. “You can’t honestly believe that!”

“She hasn’t answered, Warren.”

He turns to Beca, looking exasperated. With a sick pang, Beca realizes he actually expects her to answer the question.

She’s never despised him more than she does in that moment.

“Of course I wasn’t molested,” she spits out through gritted teeth, her face warming with rage. “That’s just – that’s disgusting.”

Sheila sits back in her chair, annoyed. “No, honey, that’s us trying to get to the root of this problem. I know the marriage equality passing must be confusing, and I’m so sorry about that. You aren’t – you’re not gay, Beca. I think, if you try to get back with Jesse, or just even if you find the right guy –”

Beca rises abruptly from the table, her hands slammed flat against its surface. Her entire body trembles with rage and she knows she’s about a second away from crying in anger, but she refuses to give Sheila the satisfaction.

“You know what?” she spits, taking petty satisfaction in how her father flinches away from her. “I’m done. I’m in love with Chloe, and that’s all it is. What you’re saying is – it’s –” Beca growls in rage, furious her words are failing her now. She takes a breath, then says with as much poise as she can muster, “You have to get used to it, or this is the last time we see each other.”

“Beca…”

Beca doesn’t even glance at her father. She reaches down, snatches her purse off the floor, and digs in it until she finds her wallet. Snapping it open, she fishes out a ten-dollar bill and throws it on the table, paying for her own meal.

Without another look at Warren and Sheila – and with a silent apology to everyone else in the restaurant, and especially to the lesbian couple – she walks away from the table, head held high.

“Beca!” Warren calls again, but she ignores him as completely as he’d ignored her when he’d walked out on her and her mom all those years ago.

She flings open the restaurant door, storms to Chloe’s car, fingers fumbling with the fob to unlock it. She has to try twice, but she eventually gets it, wrenches open the driver’s door, and throws herself in before slamming it.

Resting her forehead against the steering wheel, she draws desperate gulps of air into her lungs, trying to calm down so she can drive. She’s still trembling head to foot, and her throat and eyes burn with unshed tears. Squeezing her eyes closed, she imagines what’s happening inside the restaurant, wondering how long it will take her dad to come after her.

She imagines she has time to kill before that happens.

She yells out wordlessly in frustration; her heart still pounds and she wonders if she’s about to be sick. She knows she shouldn’t drive yet, but she needs to run, to escape from the mess she’d left behind.

Gritting her teeth, she starts Chloe’s car, turns the stereo up as loud as it can go, and, after fumbling with the seat belt until it clicks into place, tears out of the parking lot at top speed. It’s risky, and it’s stupid, and it’s impulsive, but she presses the accelerator down even further, her only thoughts of escape and of the home she has in Chloe’s arms.

#bechloe #bechloe fic #my writing #beca mitchell #chloe beale #pitch perfect fanfic #i'm nobody's but yours #chapter fifteen #depiction of homophobia #depiction of hate language including slurs #beca's parents

61 notes · View notes

writershapeholeonthedoor · 6 years ago

Text

Thinking out loud - Foxxay

I'm thinkin' bout how

People fall in love in mysterious ways

Maybe just the touch of a hand

Me, I fall in love with you every single day

I just wanna tell you I am

Cordelia looked around while sipping her drink. She saw Myrtle and Bubbles laughing like teenagers in the seats a little to her side. Mallory was listening to some history Coco was telling her (she seemed a little bored, but still listened close, something Cordelia thought was more than she could do). Queenie was by the radio, trying to change the song the most discreet way possible (she already fought because of it with Madison twice). Behold and John Henry were whispering in some corner, but she wouldn’t get worried about it now, they already showed they sweeped sides. What surprised the most was Zoe and Madison in the couch, talking really close. Since the actress got back from the Murder House, they have been inseparable (Cordelia couldn’t get it, since both have so much against each other, but fine to her).

And then there was Misty, dancing around the room, shawl around her shoulders. It wasn’t the one Stevie gave her, it fit her outfit, white and lacy, gorgeous. Like her. Stevie was with her, they were doing some strange dance moves together that amused Cordelia no end.

“Sweet child.” Cordelia looked to her side, where Myrtle were smiling at her. “You better give your girl a dance.”

She gave a embarassed laught, but got up. It was a night to celebrate, with the anticrist to deal still, her visions of the end of the world and her imminent death, they needed something to feel like it was okay.

A marriage it is.

“Excuse me.” Cordelia poked Stevie’s shoulder. “May I?”

“Of course, dear!”

Misty blushed a little when Cordelia put her hands on the younger girl hips. “Miss Delia... Delia.” She corrected herself, blushing harder.

“Hi there, Miss Day... Misty.” Cordelia joked back.

“Can’t believe it.”

“What?” Misty shrugged and got closer. “What?” Cordelia insisted.

“This. All of it.” Cordelia spin they around, and Misty giggle a little. “I got back from Hell... ya kissed me...”

“You kissed me back.” Cordelia teased, but blushed a little too.

“Yeah, I did.” Misty got even closer, their chests were touching. “And then ya asked me to marry ya... tonight.”

“We don’t have plenty of time, in my defense. Do you regret it?”

“Nah.”

“Does the fact that I called Stevie Nicks to make the cerimony helped in the decision?” They both laughted. Cordelia rested her cheek on Misty’s left shoulder and sighed. “I waited a long time for you, miss Day.”

“Imma sorry.”

“Not your fault. I’m just happy you’re here now.”

Cordelia thinked back to when they met. She was blind, lost, scared even. But when she hold Misty’s hands, she could see the other girl with perfection. Cordelia don’t believe in love at first sight, even more because she didn’t see Misty at all, but she does believe she felt in love for her right there when they hold hands.

It facineted her.

“Excuse, Lesbos.” Cordelia looked to Madison, but decided not to say anything. It was a good day, Madison wouldn’t ruin it. “You’re kind of taking the whole space.” Cordelia arched her eyebrown. On the days Madison decided to put music on, it definelly wasn’t Fletwood Mac, and she never danced to any of it. But then she saw Zoe blushing hard behind her. They were holding hands. “Don’t say a word about it, or a kill you sooner.”

Misty took distance from them, bringing Cordelia with her. “Ya really going to die, Delia?”

Cordelia felt her heart stop. “A new Supreme is rising... it is what it is.” She looked deep in Misty’s eyes, ignoring Mallory apologizing look behind the girl. “I will love you till then, and even when I’m not around anymore.”

“That shit is romantic.” They heard Behold say, but neither payed attention. “What? She did a pact with the devil to bring her back, can’t get better than that.” Cordelia assumed John had gave him a look.

“I love ya too, Delia.”

“Good.” Cordelia smiled. “That’s why I need you to leave.”

“What?”

“You need to heal.” Cordelia squeeze her waist when she tried to get away. “And you will be a target to Langdon. That’s why tomorrow morning you will leave with Stevie.”

“Cordelia, I can’t...”

“Yes, you can.” The Supreme put her hands on Misty’s face to keep her still. She tried to say everything she needed just by her eyes. It occured to her that Misty didn’t knew her real eyes before she died. She hoped the girl liked them better then the different color ones. “I need you to do it. It’s going to be risk to stay. You need to recover, find your magic again. But I can’t stay still and wait for Langdon to make his move. I need to attack. I have a plan.”

“Is it a good plan?” Misty never looked so young to her, not even when she died in her arms, on when she get back in life.

“You would be surprised.” Cordelia smiled to put more intent on her words.

Misty sniffed. “I told ya, ya would be a great leader.”

“Yes, you did.” Cordelia put some blond hair behind the girl’s ear. “Stevie will protect you, her house is completly safe, I made sure of it. No matter what happens, if you stay inside, you will be safe.”

“But... what about ya?”

“I will find you when is safe outside.”

“Do ya promisse me this?”

Misty was crying, and Cordelia hated herself for doing it. She didn’t wanted to lie, but she also wanted to reasure her. “I promisse I will do everything I can to go back to you. What type of wife would I be if I didn’t?”

Misty didn’t laught as she thought, but she did gave a little smile. They both heared a small sniffe by their side and turned around to see Zoe crying on Madison’s shoulder. Madison seemed a little in panic, not sure what to do.

"That's so sad and cute." The girl sniffed again.

“Now, more than ever, you girls need to be strong.” Cordelia said more loud so everyone could hear. “If witches don’t fight, we burn.” She looked at Myrtle, who have her a nod. “But not tonight.” Cordelia smiled at Misty, geting on her tip toes to give her a kiss. “Tonight we celebrate.”

53 notes · View notes

echoes-of-realities · 6 years ago

Text

now, I am not the fool I was when I was younger

Notes: There isn’t enough Brittcedes in this fandom and I’ll gladly take on the role to change it.

Title from “Exeunt” by The Oh Hellos

Mercedes is more than grateful that Brittany and Santana decided to postpone their engagement party by a couple weeks, because she was forced to miss the engagement and she refuses to miss this because it’s not everyday that your two best friends get engaged. Mercedes has suffered through them being insufferably adorable for months while on tour, and she deserves to be able to go as the proud best friend because she’s over the moon happy for them.

Santana gets roped into getting ready at her mom’s house with her mom and her auntie halfway through the day, and so their plans of all getting ready together get derailed. Brittany kisses Santana goodbye, quick and comfortable like they’re a couple of old marrieds — something Mercedes has teased them about since their senior year of high school, something they take a lot of blushing, bashful pride in — before Brittany ushers Santana out the door. She turns to Mercedes with that bright, teasing look in her eye she always gets right before the two of them gang up on Santana. “It’s probably for the best,” Brittany tells Mercedes, and out of the corner of her eye she sees Santana pause on the front porch and eye them suspiciously, and Mercedes tries not to burst out laughing already, “Santana takes too long to get ready anyways.”

“You’re much better at doing my hair anyways,” Mercedes agrees before Santana can even open her mouth to protest, “Satan isn’t nearly gentle enough.”

“Watch it, Wheezy,” Santana threatens as she trudges backwards down the front yard of the Pierce’s house to her mom’s waiting car in the driveway, before pointing warningly at Brittany, who’s smiling sweetly with fake innocence, “And you, you’re the reason I take so long to get ready in the first place.”

“Love you, babe!” Brittany calls back sweetly. Santana’s returning sentiment is cut off by the front door swinging shut. There’s a beat of silence before Mercedes and Brittany meet each other’s eyes and burst into giggles.

“You’re the only person in the entire world who could get away with that,” Mercedes manages around her laughter.

Brittany’s eyes soften and melt and she runs her thumb over the inner band of the ring on her finger, a habit that Mercedes’ noticed she’s picked up lately, before she shakes her head slightly. “You could probably get away with it too,” she argues as she heads for the stairs.

Mercedes laughs and trails after her. “Maybe, but I still have to worry about some kind of payback if I do.”

“She gets back at me too,” Brittany argues over her shoulder. When Mercedes raises her eyebrows, Brittany’s skin blooms in bright red splotches across her cheeks, obscuring the freckles she’d picked up from their time in the southern states. “Okay,” Brittany concedes, quickly looking straight ahead and cupping her cheeks to will away the prickling heat there, “Maybe my payback is more enjoyable than whipped cream to the face.”

Mercedes barks a laugh and follows Brittany into her room. The bed’s neatly made, something Mercedes knows is more due to Brittany’s parents than any inclination Brittany has to make her bed, and Mercedes’ bag is already tossed against the pillows. “What time do we gotta leave again?”

Mercedes quickly checks her phone. “We’ve got, like, two hours and a bit before we’d be late.”

“Cool,” Brittany grins, “Because I have no clue what I’m going to wear.”

Mercedes groans and flops back on the bed with a laugh. “Start the fashion show,” she concedes easily.

Brittany claps her hands and throws herself on the bed to hug Mercedes and give her a messy kiss on the cheek, much to Mercedes’ protesting laughter, before she bounces off towards the closet. “Santana hates fashion shows because we always end up late to everything,” Brittany says, the rattling hangers a backdrop to her bright voice.

“I can’t imagine why,” Mercedes says dryly, and she barely has a moment to smirk to herself before she’s being whacked in the face with a decorative pillow. “Hey!” she complains, tipping her head back to glare at Brittany.

Brittany shrugs from where she stands by the closet, upside down and tilting to the side like she’s drunk from Mercedes’ position sprawled on the bed. “I picked up a lot from Lord Tubbington’s gang days. He was always teaching me new moves, but he always said stealth is the most important.”

“What?” Mercedes laughs, scanning the area around Brittany for the any sign of where she grabbed the decorative pillow turned ammunition, but the closest pillows are the ones neatly arranged on the armchair in the corner, undisturbed and nowhere near Brittany.

Brittany shrugs and pulls out a couple hangers before shaking her head and shoving them back into to her closet. “Stealth, my young pupil, is the most important part of any sneak attack.”

Mercedes laughs and shakes her head, turning back to stare up at the ceiling. “You’re crazy, you know that, right?” Mercedes teases, and she receives another pillow to her face. “Hey!” She snaps her head back to glare at Brittany, but she’s still pawing through her closet, giving no sign of where she’s pulled another decorative pillow or any indication that she’s moved at all. “Where are you getting those from?”

Brittany shrugs but Mercedes can hear the smirk in her voice when she answers with a flippant, “A sneaky attacker never reveals their secrets.”

Mercedes just laughs; she’s long given up on trying to decipher every single thing Brittany says, but she doesn’t need to understand her to know that Brittany’s particular brand of humour is both downright hilarious.

The fashion show goes by seamlessly, including blasting music from Brittany’s speakers until her little sister comes in to investigate. She frowns at the both of them from the doorway until Mercedes scooches over on the bed and holds her arm open for Brittany’s sister, who doesn’t take much coaxing before she wanders across the room and crawls onto the bed. With Brittany’s sister cuddled against Mercedes, they relentlessly tease Brittany for both her outfit choices and for her exaggerated, joking dance moves, until they both vote yes on a loose sweater and a skirt, right before Brittany’s sister is called out of Brittany’s room by their mom to go get ready herself. Brittany and Mercedes share the bathroom down the hall to do their hair and makeup together; Brittany carefully straightening Mercedes’ curls and then putting a slight wave back into them, Mercedes helping Brittany braid back the longer parts of her bangs into a crown and then pinning the rest of her hair up, Brittany helps Mercedes with her eye shadow and Mercedes helps Brittany with her lipgloss. Brittany leaves to go change into her outfit back in her own room while Mercedes quickly changes in the bathroom, smoothing her shirt out before reaching for her earrings. They’re not in her makeup bag and they aren’t on the floor and they aren’t in the bottom her overnight bag either, and Mercedes slowly starts to panic before she remembers Brittany’s earlier suggestion to put them on her dresser where Lord Tubbington has no chance of getting at them.

She breathes out a sigh of relief and quickly tidies up the bathroom before heading back to Brittany’s bedroom down the hallway, knocking politely on the door more out of respect for Brittany’s parents still wandering around the house; they’ve been sharing a hotel room with Santana at least every couple weeks — depending on how much money they made in the last city sometimes they even got their own rooms — for the last couple months and accidentally walking in on one of the others naked lost its shock value after the first couple times.

“Britt, I hope you’re halfway decent because I’m coming in,” she calls. There’s silence as Mercedes pauses to listen and that’s when she finally realizes that there’s no music blasting from the speakers anymore. “Brittany?” Mercedes tries again. When there’s still no answer she carefully eases the door open, expecting to find Brittany knocked out somewhere from falling over but instead finding Brittany sat quietly on her bed, flipping through a photo album and in a dress her sister and Mercedes definitely hadn’t approved.

“Britt?” Mercedes calls quietly. Brittany jumps a little and glances up at Mercedes in surprised fright. “What happened to our pick earlier? Your sister and I vetoed that dress before you even put it on.” It was a hot dress, but Mercedes knew it also wasn’t really Brittany; she doesn’t even know why Brittany had it in her closet, it clings to Brittany’s body instead of flowing around her playfully like the rest of her clothes.

Brittany plucks at the hem of her dress and shrugs. “I dunno,” she mumbles, avoiding Mercedes gaze and staring back down at the photo album. “I just wanted to try something different.”

Mercedes frowns and crosses the room, carefully sitting beside Brittany so she doesn’t disturb the photo album in her hands. “We were so young,” Brittany murmurs. Mercedes leans closer to look over Brittany’s shoulder, smiling when she sees Brittany and Santana’s grinning faces staring back at them, both exhausted after an almost seventeen hour flight to Lesbos, but both happier than Mercedes had seen them in months, which had been her first thought when she liked the photo on facebook almost a year and a half ago.

“You’re still young,” Mercedes teases, but instead of laughing like Mercedes intends, Brittany just grows small and nervous.

“I know,” she says simply and Mercedes shifts closer until she can wrap an arm around Brittany, moulding to her side and hoping her own warmth will brighten Brittany back up again.

“Girl, what’s this really about?” Mercedes murmurs. “You’re not having, like,” she hesitates, because it feels ridiculous and wrong to even put the thought out there because Brittany and Santana have always been Brittany-and-Santana long before they were outed, but she takes a deep breath and continues anyways, “second thoughts about getting engaged or anything, are you?”

Brittany shakes her head vehemently. “No, never,” she says, her blue eyes growing bright and fierce and determined, “I’ve loved Santana since we were five years old and I know I’m going to keep loving her until we’re a hundred and five.”

Mercedes smiles because Brittany and Santana are downright adorable, once you get to know them, but it fades a little because Brittany grows even smaller a moment later. “But,” Mercedes prompts gently.

“But sometimes—” Brittany bites down so hard on her lip that Mercedes winces, watching Brittany knot her hands together over the photo album and worry her fingers in a gesture endearingly reminiscent of Santana’s own nervous habit. “But sometimes, and I know it’s stupid but— I worry about Santana waking up someday and realizing that she didn’t get to, like, live her life when she was young, or something,” she mumbles.

“I hope you aren’t taking Kurt’s dumb outburst to heart,” Mercedes says on a soft sigh, “Lord, I love that boy but he doesn’t know when to keep his nose out of other people’s business.” Brittany just shrugs and keeps staring at the album in her lap, and Mercedes feels that fierce protectiveness fill her, the one she first felt in November of their senior year when Santana and Brittany got outed, the one that only grew in strength over the past almost half a year of touring together. “I swear I’ll give him an earful if it’s his fault,” Mercedes promises, “He’s lucky I had to leave for New York before you two got engaged because I would have given him a piece of my mind right then and there.”

Brittany just shrugs again, small and quiet and Mercedes so wishes she could ease that insecurity out of Brittany. “I mean, we are really young,” Brittany says quietly, “I just don’t want her to regret anything.”

Mercedes can’t help the soft laugh that escapes her because the idea is ridiculous, but Mercedes knows that sometimes those ideas stick and claw at your heart despite your brain telling you otherwise. “Britt,” she says earnestly, pouring all her certainty into her voice, “that girl loves you so much she can’t see straight.”

Brittany chokes out a small laugh despite herself, seeming surprised by the sound. “The best part about being out of the closet is the pun opportunities,” she says wisely.

Mercedes laughs and tightens the arm around Brittany’s shoulders, drawing her further into her embrace. “I can’t imagine Santana ever waking up and regretting anything about loving you even for a second. That’s the craziest idea I’ve ever heard, and you know all the crazy things we’ve done in the name of glee club.”

“I know,” Brittany mumbles, “I know it’s dumb because Santana is, like, a huge sap about everything regarding our relationship but— I dunno. I can’t help but worry sometimes.”

“That’s natural,” Mercedes says gently, “No one knows the future. But I know you, and I know Santana, and I’ve seen how hard you’ve fought to get to here. And I know, I know that no matter what happens in one year or ten or twenty, you and Santana are going to still be fighting just as hard to keep loving each other.”

Brittany remains quiet but then Mercedes feels that steely fierceness — the one Mercedes’ always admired in the other girl once she knew to look for it — fill up Brittany’s limbs like molten metal before she sits up, shoving the photo album towards her pillows, and turning to give Mercedes a proper hug. “Thanks ‘Cedes,” Brittany mumbles, “Sometimes I just need someone to remind me when I’m being dumb.”

“Please, you’re the genius of the Troubletones,” Mercedes says fondly, tightening her hold on Brittany. “It’s not me and it’s not Santana, and it certainly wasn’t Sugar.”

Brittany flushes with that pink, creeping heat as she pulls back with bright laughter. “I don’t know whether to be flattered that you called me the genius of the group or insulted at the implication that my fiancée isn’t.”

Mercedes shakes her head and grins at Brittany. “Puh-lease,” she snickers, “As if Santana wouldn’t be the first to proudly admit that you’re the genius.” Brittany laughs and ducks her head, biting down on her lip to try and hide the bashful-in-love smile threatening her and running her thumb over the inside of her engagement ring. “Now c’mon, girl,” Mercedes says with a sudden clap, causing Brittany to jerk out of her thoughts, “hurry up and get changed, we’ve got an engagement party to get you to.”

“But I like this dress,” Brittany whines.

“Nuh-uh,” Mercedes scolds shoving Brittany off the bed, “We’re going with my pick. I have best friend veto privileges.”

#brittany pierce #mercedes jones #brittcedes #brittana #glee #glee fanfiction #also Slight #brittanacedes #too which is more for my own tags than anything #my writing #(and Technically #santana lopez #)

94 notes · View notes