#my dearest sister erika💗 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rosesloveletters · 5 months

Text

Merry Christmas, Erika🎁🎄

for @ajokeformur-ray

overall word count for this gift package: 6,965

Merry Christmas to my beloved sister🥹 I put together this collection of gifts to bring you a little holiday cheer. I hope these fics make you smile.

Per tradition, here is a handwritten note from me:

Second, I forced Wonka to write a letter too (just kidding, he was delighted!)

Next, I've written you four fics. Putting these together for you was such a pleasant and joyful experience and I hope that you enjoy them as much as I did while writing them. If there is anything that you don't like, I am more than happy to write you something else so please do not hesitate to ask! I love you so very much and I hope that these stories are just what you are needing ❤️

A Mother's Daughter // Erika & Mary Reilly (familial)

Summary: You are settling into a routine of waking at 3am to study and your Mama does everything she can to gently ease you into your days; Mary reminisces and reflects on the similarities she notices between herself and her daughter.

Word Count: 3,277

It was becoming difficult for Mary to tell the difference between herself and her daughter.

It seemed to be mother’s dream and unattainable desire for her daughter to be a direct reflection of herself, yet Mary was beginning to wonder whether that was something she wanted.

That was not to say that she wanted nothing in common with her daughter; it was her greatest honor to witness a plethora of similarities between herself and her child, however, the reason she worked as hard as she did was to provide her daughter with an even better life than she had.

You possessed all the best qualities of all three of your parents and even though your Father might have argued against those qualities you inherited from your Papa, both Mary Reilly and Henry Jekyll knew that you would not have even been half the miraculous woman you had grown into if it were not for your Papa’s involvement and subsequent contribution.

Even though they each had initial reservations, they reconciled that it was meant to be.

You were who you were because of all three of them and you would grow up to be an intelligent, fiercely independent, determined and hard-working woman because that was what they had instilled in you from childhood.

You were as much a part of them as they were of you.

You had inherited much more from your mother than just her hair and Mary could attest to that.

On this cold, December morning were you already out of bed and seated in your Father’s study as you bent over your books and took notes on today’s coursework.

While you read, Mary gently combed through the length of fine, brown hair that hung down your back.

She admired it as she combed, unable to take her eyes off you.

It was the same as every morning, though now instead of caring for your hair before you left for your full day of work inside your Father’s study, she would follow and take care of you there so as not to keep you from your studies any longer than necessary. She could afford you this kindness because, after all, she was your mother. She would have given her life for you if it were necessary; she was more than willing to sacrifice a bit more time in her warm bed before braving the day and the frigid, wintry air that waited to greet her.

Mary had brought you coffee the same as she always did when you awoke before sunrise.

These days, you were crawling out of bed even earlier than she was and that concerned her. You needed your sleep if you were to study as hard as your Father did. He was perhaps not the best example, as he often neglected his physical health in favor of his studies and Mary had watched the deterioration and ill-effects that had had on him. She cared for you as much, if not more, than she did for him and she could not bear the thought of you unintentionally causing your own suffering, martyring yourself for the sake of work, the same way that he had done.

She noticed how exhaustion clung to you.

Dark circles had formed permanently under your eyes which used to be bright under the right circumstances, only now were they bloodshot due to the countless hours you spent immersed within your textbooks.

Your eyes always darkened a shade or two during the winter, but Mary knew it wasn’t just that.

You were tired even if you wouldn’t voice it, but a mother always knew the truth.

She was proud of you, nonetheless, even despite her concern.

You made her proud even without trying because you were her child. When she had given birth to you, she felt her world become that much smaller. The stars in her skies were now contained in your eyes and her gravitational pull shifted; her center of orbit revolved around you. She loved you with a fierceness that only a mother could and no amount of attempts would ever be enough to put that kind of love into words. She wanted to save you from the world, but also from herself because as she could see you growing up, she could also see you growing towards her.

She didn’t not want you to follow in her footsteps; it was difficult to explain how she felt that she had to protect you from becoming her.

Every mother wants a life for their child that was better than their own.

Mary defined herself as no different, because she too wanted you to have a far better life than she had.

If it were up to her, you would have that life without sacrificing yourself and your mental and physical well-being to attain it.

A concerned frown creased her features as she lost herself in thought while tenderly picking apart a decently sized knot in your hair. Her fingers were gentle as she worked diligently to save your hair from any breakage; she never hurt you when she did your hair and you rarely felt a single uncomfortable maneuver or tug from her steady hands. She soon had the knot untangled and she gently combed through to release the rest of the tangles.

You never looked up from your reading, eyes scanning the texts on each page as you forced more knowledge into your brain before the sun had even risen. While most everyone else inside the house was still fast asleep, you were ready to learn. You enjoyed these early mornings because of the quiet and how much easier it was on you to study after you were freshly rested. You knew in the back of your mind that you had your parents worried about you, but you also knew you had to do this.

Every part of you was screaming how much you wanted this. You were on a quest to achieve your dreams and you were not going to stand in your own way of them.

Mary only hoped you would give yourself far more credit for how far you had come.

She had watched as you had risen from the depths, dusted yourself off and started fresh as you forged on, headed for greater things. She saw you experience far too much and from the very beginning had she cringed at some of the horrors life had dealt you. You had not deserved the things that had made you suffer and if she could have lifted those burdens from your shoulders and made them her own, she would have done so in a heartbeat and never looked back. She would not have regretted her decision to save you, to take your pain as her own.

You were her everything and she would have sacrificed all she had, for you.

You knew not what your Mama truly thought; her silence was deafening, but not because it was steeped in judgement or disappointment. It was difficult for her to begin to open up to anyone, even you, because she spent her life in the present. She did not hold onto the past, but she did her best to learn from what she had been through. Her experiences had shaped her as much as anyone but she knew for certain that there was no sense in dwelling on things she could not change and, therefore, she clung to what she had now as consolation for all injustices she had suffered throughout her life.

You were the better part of her, she believed, not because you had nothing to overcome, but because you were much stronger than she ever was. Perhaps that was because of your Papa’s influence, but in Mary’s mind, it was because that was just simply who you were bound and determined to be.

You were so much like her, after all, but to her, you were better.

She had grown with you while you became better and better versions of yourself and took on more than anyone your age should have ever needed to.

You never had to do it alone – she, your Father and your Papa all made certain of that. They all loved you, more than you would ever know, and they were all equally proud of the woman they had raised.

Mary soon traded your comb for your favorite brush and began to draw the brush carefully yet deliberately through your long, chestnut tresses. Your hair cascaded down your back like a waterfall of chocolate (I’m not sorry for that reference) and drew her eyes towards the ends which were still bleached several shades lighter from the summer sunshine. Her fingers slid through your hair like a knife through butter; its silkiness was of likeness to hers, but the texture and color were all your Papa’s.

Mary smiled wistfully at that thought, wondering how your Papa had felt seeing so much of himself in you.

She supposed that your Papa would be proud to have been at the forefront of your conception and to have seen his most striking traits be passed on to you. She was aware of how strong your connection to him was and even though it would have been odd for her to say aloud, she was pleased at that, which was perhaps why she kept it to herself.

Your Papa had been through so much and had sacrificed almost as much as Mary had. He was noble and honest and gave up what little he had to begin with to do what he thought was right. That sentiment made your hands shake and the lump that always formed in your throat when you thought about it too much was good company for when you needed to feel something real and there was nothing to grab onto.

Those times were infrequent now, though once, they had been as often as the sun rising and setting each day. You were arriving at a time in your life that you had always dreamed of, but now that it was slowly becoming a reality, you were afraid to take the leap to get to the other side. It’s always terrifying to take that first step, to know that you didn’t knowwhat awaited you, but you had made it this far and had overcome every obstacle in your way and Mary wanted you to see that and to acknowledge and know that you were capable of so much more than you believed you were.

Some days it seemed as though your dreams were unattainable and each day had you considered giving up, but just like your parents were you determined to do and to be your best and you knew as well as they knew that you would never, ever give up.

Though like any mother, Mary did worry.

She had her fears the same as anyone else, but it felt impossible for her to say it in words. To put it out into the universe was to deem it a reality and Mary was a careful person; she would choose to speak her mind at times when it was deeply necessary, but she had reason to believe that if she did so more frequently, she might save herself from the heartbreak of having left too much unsaid.

She would not make the same mistakes with you that she had almost made with your Father.

Almost, because your Papa wouldn’t let that happen.

Edward Hyde spoke his mind when no one else wanted him to or would even listen.

He said what your Father and Mama tiptoed around.

He set it all into motion and, if you wanted – which you most certainly did – you could and would say that your existence was because of him.

Mary had known all of this to be true from the very start and it lightened her heart a little to know you had so much support from all sides. You were thoroughly loved and cared for and each of them provided things to you that no one else could.

You were your parents, but this thought did not make you cringe. You strove to make them proud from the very moment you woke up each morning until you laid your head upon your pillow to fall asleep for the night. How much you worried that they might be disappointed in you or lecture you seemed almost insignificant during mornings like this when all was quiet, even your mind.

You understood why your Mama loved the morning so much and why she defended what little personal time she had. The morning was when you felt the most like yourself or, at least, the version of yourself you wanted to be all the time.

To always feel ready to take on what life threw at you was empowering and even though you were tired, you were doing what you loved and that was what was most important, now and always.

Mary finished brushing your hair and had begun to braid it the way you liked.

Her delicate fingers wove each strand into loose braids, taking care not to snag any pieces beneath her short fingernails. She secured each end in black, silk ties and handed them to you over your shoulders for you to touch and hold for a bit of comfort. She smiled to herself as she watched you take each braid and feel it, enjoying the way your hair slipped easily between your fingers. You were proud of yourself for how well you cared for it and for devoting the time to grow it and maintain it throughout the five years you had been letting it grow long.

The length it was now was once merely a dream, but some dreams have the possibility of becoming a reality and this was just one example. You had so many more dreams you were chasing after and so many more you had yet to achieve, but you would. Even when you thought it an impossibility, Mary knew how capable you were and she knew, deep in her heart, that there was very little you couldn’t do and so much more that you could.

“All done,” she whispered as you took a break from the books to thank her for taking care of you once again, “would you like some more coffee?”

She did not even need to ask.

You nodded, never one to turn down coffee when it was offered.

“Of course,” you replied to her, “thank you, Mama.”

“You’re welcome, dear.”

A simple exchange yet filled with so much love and care.

You were as devoted to your family as you were to your studies; your parents took good care of you and, in turn, you took care of them by being the best daughter they could have ever asked for. Though no amount of work was what made you worthy of that title. You earned it simply by existing, for you were deserving of love as much as anyone else and you had parents who gave it wholeheartedly; their love for you would never be left unsaid.

As Mary left the room to prepare you another mug of coffee, she now reflected on how different you and she truly were.

The difference between you and Mary was that she remained where she was because of her mother.

She had become a chambermaid after her mother put her into the service to protect her from further abuse and for that was she eternally grateful to have been given an opportunity for a better life.

You, on the other hand, were following a path not unlike your Father. That might have frightened you in the past, as there were things about your Father which made you a bit nervous, but now were you content to share a connection with the man who had helped give you life.

Your relationship with him felt strained now and then, like a dance between two people who followed different rhythms, yet now were things different in part because of your studies but also because you had begun to accept his faults instead of blaming him for making mistakes when he was only doing what he thought was right.

Working alongside him had given you perspective. You learned how difficult his line of work truly was and you were not even studying the same thing. Nothing in life was easy, but it could be done with the right people there to support you and you were learning as much about life as you were about psychology.

The human mind fascinated you and the least you could do was give yours a break.

You had once said it yourself: ‘the key to me continuing to keep myself together is to not look my stress in the eye.’

You were aware of how stressed you were, but ultimately, you had not the energy or the time to piece yourself back together. You were set on achieving your goals and unfortunately that meant making certain sacrifices, even though your dreams felt further and further away by the day.

You would soothe your soul when you could, but for now, you had more and more steps to take and, luckily for you, you had inherited your Papa’s stubbornness and your Father’s ambition and drive. For now, you had to look the other way because your stress was bigger than you and there simply was no time to quell it.

You were trying your best and for that would you always, always be worthy of everything and more. You did not have to earn your existence; you were worthy of your life simply because you had been given the chance to live it and your parents would see to it that you remembered that.

Mary went down to the kitchen with the intention of preparing your coffee for you. She would bring it to you so that you would not have to pry your eyes away from your textbooks for even a moment. She knew how determined you were to achieve this dream and she was waiting on the sidelines, cheering you on as much as she could. She wanted this for you perhaps more than you wanted it for yourself because this was your dream. You wanted this career and she saw how much of yourself you had given to get it. Though she wished you did not have to give anything up for what you wanted, she understood and would support you in anything. You had it in you to do this, whether you thought so or not.

She did, however, want you to put yourself first.

She loved you for you and would continue to support and encourage you to chase your dreams and take what you wanted in life.

In life, you only had one chance to get it right and it was daunting, but you were fearless in your tenacity and your spirits were buoyed by the love provided by your parents.

You and your Mama were one in the same because your mornings were your own, though each of you spent them in very different ways.

You saw each other, you loved each other and you encouraged each other to reach for the stars and go after the very different dreams you both desired.

For you: a thriving career to support you and a space you could call your own.

For her: a simple, quiet existence with your Father and your Papa as well as your safety, security and success.

She was so proud of you and she loved you, for all that you had been, were and would be.

Step, Step, Step // Erika x Arthur Fleck (romantic) // Joker (2019)

Summary: You have recently been discharged from therapy and suddenly your fear that your lifestyle would not be conducive to Arthur's seems a lot less plausible. // You finally open up to Arthur and he gives you reassurance when your negative thoughts try to weigh you down.

Word Count: 2,112

Before you had been discharged from therapy, you often felt that your worries had worries.

You were a ball of anxiety, riddled with stress and tinged with the fringes of depression, but you did not have the time necessary to devote to your mental health and, besides, the lifestyle you led would not have been conducive to your beloved’s…or would it?

That was what you told yourself and perhaps for a long time that was what was holding you back. Ironic, it seemed, that it was this very thing which you grabbed onto to force yourself to take steps towards feeling well again.

Arthur had been where you found yourself now and he knew what you were going through. If anyone could have helped to guide you through this, it was him.

You had been asked to keep a journal, just like he was. You met with a therapist (although yours were online sessions) and, slowly yet with deliberate, steady progress, were you able to climb to the top of this mountain and see to the other side.

The sun shone more brightly here and you felt brave enough to begin the downward descent towards simple living and thriving in the life you had chosen for yourself. With this seemingly insurmountable mound of stress no longer standing in your way, you could use the lessons you had learned in therapy and apply them to your life as you lived it. Mending one’s mind and cultivating a more positive existence was a daily journey and your healing was not linear.

However, you now had a baseline and you would know when you needed to stop and take a breath.

Our minds are complex places and it takes a vast amount of loving care to attend to our own needs.

You were learning to do your best for yourself and it made Arthur and all your loved ones so incredibly proud.

“As silly as it sounds,” you said to Arthur one day, “I was afraid that our lives wouldn’t mesh.”

Arthur let your words steep like the tea bag in his cup as he swirled the hot liquid once or twice to disperse the flavor, “what do you mean?”

His innocent response made your heart swell and you almost didn’t want to tell him your thoughts because of how it might make him feel, “I don’t know…” you began as though you were stalling, but his gentle gaze on you prompted the words that didn’t seem to want to come and suddenly were you finally, finally spilling your guts to him, “when I’m waking up to study, you’re sleeping and I never want to wake you.”

You were aware of his struggles with insomnia and how precious sleep was to him because of that.

Arthur heard every word that you said and didn’t say, his gentle eyes still on you as you spoke more.

“Then, in the evenings when I’m getting off work, am exhausted and ready for bed, you’re still awake and will be for several more hours. I suppose I was just feeling that…we wouldn’t find our routine or…that I would disturb you, somehow.”

“How do you think you would disturb me?” he posed a genuine question, but his eyes were filled with mirth as though he saw it as some kind of joke.

You might have been offended had you not known him as well as you did, but he thought it was silly only because it was not true; you never could have disturbed him if you tried.

Your lifestyles were different, but that was not a bad thing. No two people could ever be the same, nor would their routines always line up perfectly. It was only when those two people compromised to find middle ground and made sacrifices that they were both comfortable with that they could maintain a healthy, balanced and loving relationship.

You and Arthur both knew what steps you had to take and both of you were more than willing to take those steps side by side. He never would have made fun of you (god forbid he caught wind of anyone ever doing that) – he only wished that you could see that these irrational thoughts were not the reality and your lives were more than just conducive to each other; you and he were meant to be together.

“I know that not every thought that I have is a rational one,” you explained to him, “but it was still a valid fear until I proved to myself that it was only my negative thoughts trying to scare me… and I have taken control of those and learned the proper means of dealing with them.”

Arthur nodded along as he listened to you and it was true. He had seen an improvement in your mental health since you had been discharged from therapy and he was honored to have come with you on this important journey. You were learning about yourself and were not going to let your negative thoughts take control of you the way they might have done in the past. You had the necessary tools to combat them and, if all else failed, then you could talk to Arthur.

You could always come to him and he would set the record straight.

Communication was the most important part of any relationship, romantic or platonic, and yours and Arthur’s ability to communicate effectively was one of the reasons your relationship had remained so strong throughout the years. You talked to him whenever you felt afraid or anxious or stressed and he knew exactly how to handle it. He had been on his own for a long time and had to dig himself out of many troubles, so he knew how to best handle most any situation thrown at him.

He was proud of you for telling him this now, even if you didn’t still believe it. He understood how difficult it was to let anyone in on your most private concerns or fears and he wanted you to know that he would always listen and take to heart everything you said, while also helping you to put it into perspective and gently show you the reality.

“You’re right,” came the gentle reply from him, “it isn’t true…that we don’t mesh, as you put it. I haven’t ever meshed this well with anyone before. You’re the first.”

Something clicked within you at that revelation.

The life that Arthur had dreamed of since he was a boy was finally his and it was all thanks to you.

You were his person, the woman whom he loved with all his heart. You were the connection he longed for yet never thought he would be lucky enough to have. He had cultivated this little domestic life which he shared with you and he looked forward to starting each and every day with you regardless of your different lifestyles.

That very lifestyle which you were so concerned about getting in the way of you and Arthur did not concern him because all he could think about was the woman who was living it, not the lifestyle itself.

It was not about the very different lives you lived, but the people who were living them.

He finally was living the life of his dreams and he hoped that you were, too.

In fact, he knew that you were without you having to tell him. He knew all about you just from a single glance and that was everything.

Your lives were conducive to each other’s because you were meant to live them together, side by side. If getting yourself through the day meant spending your nights nestled in beside him whilst watching old movie reruns on the television or slow dancing to gentle tunes crooned to just your ears and his through the vintage record player in the corner of the room then you could handle anything the world decided to dish out to you. Whether it was unfair, unjust or just plain mean, you had Arthur beside you and there was nothing you could not handle as long as he was there with you.

You and he had moved to the couch after he finished making his tea. You had a mug of coffee in your hands, as you were known for, and you sipped casually as you settled in beside him. He draped a knitted blanket over your laps and his arm fit snugly around your shoulders as you leaned into him. Moments like this one were rare, but on occasion did you both have the very rare and elusive day off where you could spend it just in each other’s company.

And that was exactly what you did.

You and Arthur stayed in that position for some time, letting silence settle all around you. Neither of you needed to talk to fill the empty spaces between you because there weren’t truthfully any empty spaces. Gaps in conversation, perhaps, but nothing ever felt ‘empty’ to the two of you, not when your hearts were so full of each other.

You had not known how to tell him that you were grateful for the chance to be his person. That you would have died for him even if he didn’t ask. There was not much he could ask for that you would not give, however, you declined to comment on whether you’d give up your coffee for him (all in good fun, Arthur knew never to come between you and your coffee.)

Even without words, he still knew, and he knew that he was as much your ‘person’ as you were his.

You see, your lives were meant to be lived together and Arthur did everything within his power to show you. It might have been hard to have proper time together because your lifestyles were different and the days demanded different things from each of you, but that did not mean that you could or should not remain together. The most you could do on any given day for each other was to try and, for you or Arthur, that was more than enough for you both to return to each other every single day.

You kept moving because he put a spring in your step.

You kept reaching for your dreams because he put you on his shoulders so you could reach.

You kept breathing because he was your oxygen.

As much as he was your ‘person’, he also was so much more.

It did not need to be put into words because you could listen to the sounds of love that reverberated through each of your hearts and reached the other through the connection you shared and the bond you had developed over the last four years. The red string of fate tied the two of you together and not even a pair of sharp scissors could cut through it. You were meant for him and him for you and there was nothing you nor anyone else could do to change that.

It pleased you, because heaven help anyone who tried to come between you and your man.

As long as Arthur was there to remind you of this and of the truth that you and he were meant for each other, no matter where your individual lives took you, then you felt that much more confident and certain of yourself when you took steps towards your future. You often had worries like this, even more so before your journey through therapy, but you were made better for it because you had him to remind you of the lessons you learned and you knew now that these worries were not meant to control you.

You could feel these worries and wave to them as they passed by, but you would let them go as quickly as they would arrive.

You were secure in yourself when you were beside Arthur.

The fears which once plagued you could not reach you, here.

You so often would say that you would make Arthur proud…one day.

But he and I (yes, I’m inserting myself here because I agree with this too) would say to you that, no, you already make him proud simply because you exist. You are worthy and deserving of his pride; you did not have to earn it.

‘One day’ is today.

So, even though you lived your life afraid of much, if you were with Arthur, you would continue to pursue your dreams and live your life with the strength you drew from his presence and his love.

And he was proud of you, as am I, every step of the way.

Step, step, step…

An Honorary Munson // Erika x Eddie Munson (romantic) & Uncle Wayne (familial) // Stranger Things

Summary: Spending Christmas morning with Eddie Munson and Uncle Wayne makes you sentimental.

Word Count: 1,067

Your senses were enveloped by the coziness and comfort of the little trailer Eddie and his uncle shared and welcomed you into so often it was a wonder why you did not just move in with them. Neither of the Munsons would have minded since you were practically family.

The smells of the season wafted through the air and into your nostrils: fresh-baked cookies which were slightly burnt around the edges because Eddie swore he set the timer correctly, but he’s never been able to get that damn oven to cook evenly – good thing he doesn’t try to bake too often, but when he does, he tries his best. Brewed coffee, because every time you stopped over Uncle Wayne brewed a fresh pot since he knew it was your favorite and would always do his best to accommodate his nephew’s girl. Artificial garland and a tree that the Munsons had reused for years; the branches are slightly musty from having been kept in storage for a year.

Nothing could have seemed more perfect about Christmas morning in the trailer park when you were surrounded by love and a little family who cared more for each other than any outsiders might have ever guessed or even cared to know.

You knew, however, and that was fine because you were one of them now.

An honorary Munson, Eddie often referred to you as, whether in jest or not were you still uncertain. Although, there had been one time when he mentioned casually that perhaps, one day, you might wish to become an actual Munson, but when your eyes widened as what was said began to sink in, he quickly downplayed and made some silly little joke about how “no girl has yet to take me up on that offer and I can’t blame them, really, but it’s getting real disheartening that I keep ending up in clubs with no women.”

At that time, you laughed with him at his joke, but there was so much he did not know.

You would have followed Eddie to the ends of the earth if he let you and there was nothing he could do to deter you. You were with him now, through thick and thin, whether you were no more than an ‘honorary Munson’ or if, one day, you were lucky enough to take his last name.

This life that you shared with him now was more than you ever could have hoped for, but you were grateful for every second you spent with him.

You snuggled next to him on the old couch, surrounded by love and holiday cheer as you held your mug of coffee in your hands and listened to Eddie joking around with his uncle. The two were more like father and son than anything else and you fit into the mold of their little existence.

Eddie had shaped you, in a way, and shown you that you did not have to conform to the cookie-cutter life that society had laid out for you. In fact, all this time you spent with Eddie made you realize that this was what made life worth living – the differences between you and him were vast, but that was one of the main things that he adored about your relationship.

He did not wish to conform and he appreciated the differences between people, their varied interests and what made them unique. He was a very outspoken young man and he had a lot to say that most could benefit from hearing, if only they would stop and listen.

You had always heard what Eddie was saying, even before he opened his mouth. You had longed for a man like him to come along and whisk you away to safety. For far too long had you been trying to perpetuate the same message but lacked the confidence to stand on a cafeteria tabletop and shout it.

Not Eddie.

This man would scream it if he had to and he did not care who heard him or what was said in response.

He was unapologetic in who he was and that was everything.

He believed that everyone had a place in this society and that he was as deserving of his own existence as much as anyone else, but most importantly, he wanted you to feel that way too, about yourself.

He knew that you did and even on days when life bested you or your confidence faltered and you had difficulty looking yourself in the mirror or picking yourself up after you fell down, Eddie would remind you of your worth. Perhaps a few jokes and a quick kiss to lift your spirits – “Keep your head up, princess,” he quipped, “you’re my metalhead Rapunzel, remember? You gotta keep your head up so everybody can see your pretty hair.”

Your hair was your baby and Eddie knew it was the quickest way to get you to smile.

But, when all else failed and you needed a much firmer reminder, he would tell you to never give up on yourself.

You were one of the brightest, most intelligent, capable, independent, brave and considerate people he had ever had the pleasure of knowing and he might just have to get on another tabletop and shout about that, but that might be for another day.

For now, he was content to sit beside you and enjoy your pleasant company.

Wrapping paper littered the ground at your feet from gifts given with love and extra forethought.

A gentle dusting of snow covered the cold ground outside, however, you were safe and warm inside of the Munson trailer, swapping stories, eating cookies and sweets for breakfast (uncle Wayne allowed this, as Christmas did only come once a year) and soaking up all of the love you were surrounded by.

If heaven was a place on earth, it was inside of this quaint little trailer and you would have given your heart a thousand times over for just an extra lifetime with Eddie Munson.

This was where you belonged and, if it counted for anything, you might have even considered giving up coffee for him.

Though this, you would never tell him because, after all, what good was it to give up all your secrets at once?

Besides, he might have had his suspicions when he noticed you set down your mug to give him a tight, warm hug.

Wife To The Antichrist // Erika x Michael Langdon (romantic) // AHS Apocalypse

Summary: You thought you were talking about hot showers, not marriage. // A little wedding gift for you and your beloved. ❤️

Word Count: 509

Erika Langdon.

You liked the sound of that.

Strange how it happened and even stranger how it would affect you in the days, months, years to come, but for now were you content to just live in the moment and give in to what you had always wanted and never thought you would be.

It had happened the same as most anything you had shared with Michael up to this point.

He rarely ever explained himself and just left you to figure out what he meant in the wake of the aftermath of spoken words and shared sentiments.

One night while you and he were chatting had he finally confessed; you thought you were just discussing hot showers, not marriage.

“It makes sense, you’re married to the antichrist.”

You were flustered when the weight of what he said settled on top of you, coupled with the weight of his body pressing against yours in bed that night. He settled in beside you and went to sleep moments after the words left his lips and you spent that entire night pondering what he meant.

Was he serious?

Were you and he married?

When had this occurred?

Why was it not discussed?

That was the way of it with Michael Langdon and you’d do well to get used to it if you were to be the wife of the antichrist.

Any time that you tried to speak to him about it were you met with a simple smile, the same knowing one he gave you when you would ask him questions that you already knew the answers to.

He never felt the need to explain himself to you, even now that you were married, which was a struggle for you to even comprehend. It was not that you were bothered by it because you loved him enough to want to cup your hands around his heart while it bled in your hands, which was perhaps a metaphor for something biblical if you cared enough about religion to make the connection.

Michael was enigmatic and that was what drew you to him. He never explained himself or watered himself down for those around him. Although, there was an inherent softness to him, hidden beneath the surface, that was perhaps due to his upbringing. He was sharp as a wicked blade and had more edge than a kitchen knife; there was more to him than what met the eye and he felt the same way about you.

He saw in you what no one else could see and he spent hours of his days cultivating it into something you both were proud of. Even if he had an unusual way of showing it, he loved you and understood you enough to want you to be his wife and that was perhaps one of your greatest achievements.

You could now check it off the list: wife to the antichrist.

You are well on your way to becoming the woman you always dreamed of and Michael Langdon was more than pleased to offer his assistance.

And there you have it!! Merry Christmas, darling, I hope you have a nice, relaxing and cozy day and I hope all of these fics touch your heart as much as they touched mine. You are so dear to me and I am honored to get to devote so much time each year to craft fics dedicated to such an amazing woman. I love you and I miss you and I sincerely hope you love what I have created here. ❤️ I cannot believe we've made it through another year already! It's been chaotic, filled with many ups and downs but I am so thankful that I got to share it with you. Take care of yourself, honey, and I hope next year gives you all of the good things you deserve. I love you! 🫂❤️

#my dearest sister erika💗#made with love :: 💛#merry christmas beloved #I love you and am sending you so many hugs and cuddles

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rosesloveletters · 1 year

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merry christmas, beloved💌

a christmas gift package for my best friend and sister @ajokeformur-ray

Merry Christmas, darling! I always look forward to crafting these posts for you around the holidays and it is even more special to me than before because, this year, we were graced with the shining opportunity to meet in person. I cannot thank you enough for traveling over 4,000 miles to spend a couple of weeks with me; if I had it my way, you never would have had to go home. I miss you tremendously and I hope these gifts show you just how special you are to me and how much I love every single thing you’ve done for me over the past couple of years we’ve been friends. I want you to know how deeply you are appreciated and loved and how intensely proud of you I am. You’ve gone through so much this year, with work and with uni and just life in general. I've seen you at your best and at your worst, darling, and I love you for all that you are because you’re you. You’ve been such an amazing friend to me that you’re more like family than anything else. Thank you for being in my life and loving me so wholeheartedly. Take care of yourself and treat yourself this holiday season! Try to stay cozy and I hope you have a lovely Christmas with your loved ones and a happy and healthy start to the New Year. I hope this next year has only positive things in store for you!

On to the gifts!!

To start, here’s another note from me (so much gushing! I know, right?)

Next, I had a couple of my F/Os write you some letters. Technically I only asked Terry to write you one and, well, François insinuated himself into the situation as he often does🙄 Hope you don’t mind...

Now, for the bigger gifts!! I wrote two pieces for you this year: one larger (first) and a second smaller one. I hope you enjoy!! If not, I am happy to make you something else😊

Shadow Play // Edward Hyde and (daughter) Erika // word count: 2,774

‘How would you say we are related to our shadows?’ / ‘If we cast them, are they not always part of us?’

Summary: You never knew why your Papa always made you speak your truth aloud, but he makes his intentions clear the night you begin to question why your family exists in the first place. If the entire household wanted him dead, why is he standing right in front of you? You don’t know how you would cope without him, nor how your Father would go on with his studies or his life, if day had no more night and light touched no darkness.

He put his hand across his face, then started at his own shadow, which the lamp had sent shooting up the wall so the movement of his hand had made a giant dark motion behind him. He laughed softly. ‘When you were a child, Mary,” he said, ‘did you play shadow games?’

‘No, sir,’ I said.

Master looked up at me, a smile still playing around his mouth. ‘Just as well,’ he said. ‘As it turns out, they can be very dangerous.’

‘Please, sir,’ I said. ‘I don’t understand you.’

Master held the lamp up before him and, moving his hand, made the shadow leap up again. He watched the shadow play but spoke to me. ‘How would you say we are related to our shadows, Mary?’ he said. ‘If we cast them, are they not always part of us?’

‘Sir,’ I said. ‘They are only a trick of the light.’

Master put the lamp down on the step and fell to adjusting his cuffs, which was turned back. ‘It may be that weare the trick of the light, Mary,’ he said.

***

The echo of your Father’s words rang in your ears as if they’d been spoken to you instead of to your Mama, who had later recounted them when she was able to allow herself to fully appreciate the depth of them on her own. Henry Jekyll had arrived at a conclusion and perhaps that which he had found was not what either you or Mary had hoped for, though an answer was still an answer nonetheless, even if it wasn’t a desirable one.

It made perfect sense. Shadows were inherent of any three-dimensional object, living or not; it was only safe to assume that those shadows were a part of whatever may have cast them. Your father had made short work of your assumptions in the past and, therefore, you knew better than to rely purely on that. You had a hypothesis, but you needed evidence.

A trick of the light.

That was the ticket. You had to shut your eyes and pretend you were someone else just to push the thoughts away that came unbidden into your mind like floodwaters rising after a great storm.

If your Father truly had believed what your Mama said to him, and if his response was genuine like you had known it to be all this time, then you knew as well as he what that meant: he was the light and you damn well knew who was the dark.

***

You did not put much thought into your actions when you were small as you did now, but you never forgot the way that your Father played shadow games with you. He used his fingers and hands to cast darkness upon the walls of your bedroom in the forms of animals you knew by name and wild creatures which you didn’t. Your Father befriended those creatures before your very eyes and made them dance for you; your Father knew how to manipulate the darkness and played with the shadows as though they were real.

As a young girl, it made no difference to you. You had always struggled to feel safe and comfortable being wrapped in total darkness, but your Father knew the way. He showed you that you did not have to be brave all the time, if you remembered that darkness was alive within everyone, him and yourself included, and that there might still be a proper time and place for it. As you grew older, you had come to the realization that the light which your Father would block to create the shadows was, in fact, himself.

He had inhibited himself in favor of his own shadows, to stifle the light within himself and allowed the darkness to play the same as he’d shown you to do with your hands. In doing so, you had learned from him that you did not have to show no fear to be fearless. After all, he had not been afraid at first and it was not likely that, if he was indeed afraid at all, he would ever show it even if it went against everything he had ever tried to teach you. He wanted for you to be a better version of himself, a grown woman he was proud of beyond all measure...and you were.

You were the striking image of all three of your parents and Henry Jekyll could see that reflected within everything that you did. You worked your fingers to the bone, sometimes denying yourself food, sleep or comfort to complete a task. You were highly intelligent and could understand things far beyond what even he could at times and that impressed him immensely. He wanted your life to be easier than his own and he did all that he could to provide a safe environment for you to grow up in.

It troubled him from time to time when the darkness came.

He resented the opportunities he had passed on to this darker side of him and the access he had given him to you. He did not regret your connection with your Papa, only he worried that he might not have prepared you for some hard truths that would surely never come to pass. Whether he wanted it or not, Edward Hyde was a part of all three of your lives and your Father would come to terms with that. He had created him, after all, out of mere curiosity; it was his burden to bare.

***

Your lips twisted into what you hoped would be considered a genuine smile, while you fought to maintain and strong and determined gaze. It felt convincing enough, you thought, as you gazed into the mirror and frowned suddenly.

He was going to know.

In the back of your mind, you knew you had already lost the battle, though nothing could yet be said of the war currently raging inside of you like a wild animal fighting its confines. Your Papa and your Father both knew the feeling all too well; it stayed with them wherever they went.

Seeing as you knew how intuitive he was, he would read you like one of the books he had “borrowed” from your Father’s personal library, only to scrawl upon the pages out of blatant disrespect for what was written there and, secretly, you relished in it. You longed to be seen and heard without having to alter your emotions; you craved that same freedom.

Your Papa had a gift at reading people because he naturally saw what was laden beneath the surface because he walked amidst the very darkness that hid a person’s greatest secrets. It did not matter whether you might try to pretend. He saw right through the mask anyway.

“I thought I might find you here.”

You had been expecting him, but nevertheless did the interruption in your stream of consciousness make your physical body react and you jumped at the very sound of his voice at your back.

“Papa…” you whispered the endearment with every ounce of meaning behind it. You hoped he understood what you were trying to say without you having to say it, like you often did because sometimes it was just too damn difficult to get the words out. He always knew what it was that you were trying to say but most often than not would he force you to say them aloud because that was his nature and he had a certain way about him…he was a force not to be reckoned with, his rules, or lack thereof, demanded following.

And so, you tried…for him.

“You blame him for it, don’t you?”

It wasn’t what you wanted to say, not even close. Maybe not at all. Perhaps after careful consideration and assessment of all attributes and potential facts and variables all you would come to find was both your greatest fear and worst nightmare: that your Papa had been damned from the start. That he cared for no one, not even you, barely even himself, and that they all hated him for it.

You refused to believe that there was any truth to that sentiment. How could your Father have created your Papa, brought him into this world, taught him what he knew, made him do what he does and then punish him for it? Trying to understand only made your head throb with migraine. Your Papa was a lot of things, but he was not worthless. Long ago had your Father taught you the importance of darkness, to make peace with it, because it was always there. Even when you could not see it, the darkness would lie in wait until it could come creeping back in. You were never rid of it, so might as well befriend it if you could not destroy it.

“You blame Father for how much everyone hates you.”

His lip curled and he let out a snarl, “you’re your Father’s daughter, aren’t you, Erika?”

You ignored the bite that that statement carried, swallowing your nerves, and pressed on, “I’m yours too.”

He gave a snort of laughter, “What aren’t you telling me? Why don’t you say it out loud? Tell me what you want me to know, and I’ll know it.”

Your anger at the request amused him, you could tell, and that was just as well. Your Papa was like that whenever you showed emotion, specifically negative ones. He thrived on it, like drinking down an entire glass of water when one was dying of thirst, he craved that kind of a reaction.

You reached your resolve; everyone was up to something.

The look of impatient boredom on his face was not unknown to you but you never thought it to be directed atyou. Your Papa was invested in this conversation, though he may not look it. Underneath his intense gaze you did not waver. You began to metaphorically put one foot in front of the other and confront years and years of false continuity, accusations and words left unspoken.

‘I can face this…my Mama did.’

Your Mama had not asked him that night, had she? When she had found your Papa lying on the ground in the middle of the night, soaked through with tears and determined that should he lie down in a dirt grave and die on the spot, not a soul would give a damn about it. The notion made you feel sick and you wavered for a moment with blurred vision as though you’d been struck by a great force.

‘This yard is my last prison’ he had said to her then. You could only imagine if it had been. You would not be here if that had been his fate. Did your Papa blame your Father for it? What was worse to think about, did both your Mama and your Father truly hate your Papa? Were you the only one who loved him, wholehearted, for all he was?

It was for this did you feel almost more connected with your Papa than with your other two parents, even though it had no effect on how close you were with them. Your Papa was special to you. You could not imagine a world you would feel safe or comfortable to live in without him and your Mama and Father both knew it.

They did not hate him, did they?

“They had their reasons, Erika,” your Papa’s gentle tone snapped you out of your thoughts; nothing about him was ever gentle and it was disconcerting if he ever was, “there is no blame to pass for how I am perceived. I am who I am and that is all there is to know.”

His words were the seal of approval, desperate words of a cursed man, and you finally released the breath you didn't know you were holding as you simultaneously permitted youtself to be scooped up in one of his hugs. Awkward in theory, unsettling in almost every scenario, it was not too often that he hugged you and it was tight. Had he not been your Papa, never would you allow someone to touch you like this, but he meant you no harm. He was rough by nature, not necessarily by choice. Your Father set him on his path and ever since he had become a source of misery and despair; you did not care what your Papa got up to, so long as he was safedoing it. If that made you equally as horrible, then so be it (you could never be horrible; to think so would be unfathomable.)

“Do you know why I always tell you to say what you mean?” he asked when he let you go, regarding you with the most possibly unreadable expression, but his eyes were black as if they seemed to say, ‘You would not believe a word I say if you knew who was talking to you…’

When you were too overwhelmed to offer a response, he fixed you with another one of his amused expressions and continued, “too many words have been left unsaid. I won’t let that happen again.”

It dawned on you what he meant, what he never said, but instead wrapped his fist around it, thrust it in his pocket and refused to let it go: he was referring to the three of them, your Mama, your Father and himself.

Your Papa always made you say what you wanted to say because the last thing he would ever allow to happen was to repeat the same mistakes that had been made before. It was as if the words had to be said out loudbefore allowing himself the refuge of that sentiment; he was done with emotions being bottled up, words never to be spoken. If your Father or Mama could not put a stop to it, he damn well would.

You reached for his hands and cupped them in yours, a small gesture in the grand scheme of things, but a reciprocation of affection you knew he would appreciate, even if he never said so. You now knew in your heart of hearts what your Papa was trying to say to you. Your Father and your Mama never hated him, only it had taken them some time to learn his ways. It was not proper to act as your Papa did, even if there were positive things about it as well as negative ones. A double-edged sword, as one might call it, or that there were two sides to every coin. Your Father was the light in the darkness, your Papa, the darkness which was illuminated by the light. One could not exist without the other, in metaphor, and in reality.

The subtle signs of your Father’s deterioration had become more and more visible each day and he knew that Mary knew. At first, he had laughed it off when she tried to talk to him, insisting it was nothing; he said he wanted to focus on her instead because that gave him meaning. Whether she had understood what he meant or not remained a mystery, but you were fairly certain that she had, otherwise, they would not have had you.

Your Papa tried to convey it all to you in the only way he knew how; you understood him because, in more ways than one, you were him. You had never been afraid of the dark when your Father had played shadow games with you and showed you how to make ones of your own. It was your turn to befriend that same darkness that followed your Father’s footsteps and you would not disappoint him, for he had taught you that darkness is a part of everyone.

‘How would you say we are related to our shadows?’ he said. ‘If we cast them, are they not always part of us?’

You couldn’t help smiling wistfully whenever your mind conjured his words, unbidden; you loved him for it.

You were forever grateful for him, for your Mama and your Papa, but you knew he was teetering on the edge, and you wanted to be there when he inevitably fell, because it was you who would set him on the right path as you often remembered him doing for you throughout your life. Your Father was there for you at every turn as you now would be for him. Should the words ever be left unspoken, you would speak them, for him and for your entire family.

The truth was, they all loved Edward Hyde, because, after all, he lived in all of them.

A Hint of Magic // Eddie Munson x Erika // word count: 1,037

Summary: A short snippet in the relationship of Erika Reilly and Eddie Munson - two lovers connected and brought together by just a hint of magic.

At last, everything seemed almost too easy. Those warm-hued emotions that cradled your psyche and made you feel like you were floating sent you into an altered state of reality and left you drunk on no more than a feeling, without the dangerous repercussions of hard liquor flooding your system.

You laughed to yourself, struck silly by the way it had all come about, though you could not say why you found the ordeal funny. You had never entertained any idea of what you and Eddie wanted to be, only what you were. It felt strange putting words to it because it had only ever been what it was. Stating more than the obvious was never something you liked to do without certainty that you were not reading more into the situation than was there.

It was one thing to assume, but it was another to put words behind it. The similarities you shared with Eddie were so striking that when presented with them it was enough of a blow to knock the wind from your lungs. You could trust him with this and, if not him, then who? The notion itself made you giddy and you wanted him to repeat those words to you over and over again, reminding you till the end of time that you were his.

"I don’t think ‘boyfriend’ is the right word to call you, Eddie,” you shook your head both to discourage the continued usage of the given title and to clear your addled mind.

He nodded and you could almost detect a sense of pride and appreciation on his face that soon turned to one of mock disbelief and a genuine smile graced his features before his mouth dropped open, “It doesn’t? So, what would you like to call me, then, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know…using the term ‘boyfriend’ makes it sound like we’re still in high school.”

Eddie groaned and shuddered dramatically at the very thought of having to set foot in that cursed building ever again. Even though he had met some of his best friends there, Hawkins high school was the last place he ever wanted to be seen in again for as long as he was alive, “actually, you’re right,” he agreed with you, much to your surprise, “and I don’t think we need a repeat of that.”

"How about we just stick with 'baby'?"

"So, like, I ‘won't let anybody put you in the corner'?

You snorted with laughter, “Eddie Munson, do you secretly watch romance movies?”

“I guess my secret’s out, Eri,” he quipped sarcastically, followed by the most adorable giggle that made his shiny curls bounce.

His fingertips traced patterns on your arm as you lie snuggled next to one another and looked at him as he brushed a few strands of hair away from your eyes. His own pupils were dilated as he looked down upon you with such great affection and love, but you could tell he was waiting for you to continue speaking. There was never a dull moment with Eddie in your life. He had such a vibrant personality, one which you shared so much of a connection that it almost seemed unreal, and you found yourself breathless just from looking at him.

Hearing him refer to himself as your ‘boyfriend’ only solidified this, but the term did not sound right to you. Technically, he was your boyfriend, but you had never thought of him in such simple terms. Eddie was yours, it was true, but all you had ever known him to be was inexplicably and unapologetically himself. That was what initially drew you to him. He did not try to hide what he thought of your peers or of himself, either. He was the sort of person you needed in the past, whether you had realized it in the moment or not. He was also who you needed now and you drew great strength from him.

After a few moments of intense silence, Eddie continued, his tone low and his meaning genuine, "It took meeting you to realize all the things that have been missing from my life."

You laughed again and it carried over to him until you were both rolling around on the bed, effortlessly devolved into childish fits of giggles.

In the midst of your laughter, you heard him say, “I know! Sappy, right?”

Eddie had not profusely confessed his love for you yet, not with words, at least, but with his hands, his eyes, his deeds. He sometimes had no control over those intense, juvenile acts of which almost every young person is familiar but his inherent love language set the precedent for what was sure to follow.

Loud and clear and obvious was Eddie’s way of loving you, like if someone were to shout aloud in a quiet room. A single sentence was more than enough yet also not even close.

How could he tell you the truth when the truth had yet to be written?

You found what he said to be quite funny, because you were laughing harder than you perhaps ever had, but that was because everything seemed so much more intense with Eddie in your life. You felt your emotions with much more vigor and strength, food tasted better, life seemed a bit more vibrant. You understood now that love was much more beautiful when you had someone pure of heart by your side. He was conscious of you, your needs and your goals and he supported you fully every single step of the way.

Eddie fell in love with the way your laugh sounded in his ears. It resonated deep within his heart and a smile grew on his face as a result; you looked so gorgeous whenever you were happy.

For now, Eddie did not need to put any words to what you shared. He knew it in his heart as well as you did that what you had was just a hint of magic and sometimes the lack of an explanation was enough. He never had to fake a persona to appeal to you and vice versa; you were more than enough for each other.

Nothing in life was perfect, but you were damn close.

Next, I have made two aesthetics for you: one with your beloved Arthur/Joker (Because how could I not include him?) and one of us/all the things we did together while you were here🥺 I miss those times so much and I hope this aesthetic captures our time together like a little highlight reel✨

Arthur Fleck/Joker x Erika

Erika and Rose on Holiday

And last but certainly not least, a final note to my darling sister❤️ Merry Christmas, my beloved, and a happy New Year! This year was full of so many chaotic ups and downs, but knowing I exist in the same time and space as you makes life a little more bearable. I love you, darling. Please stay safe and well and take care of yourself - I’m sending so much love your way~

#my dearest sister erika💗#merry christmas my beloved I hope it's a fantastic one!#sending you so many cuddles and lots and lots of love #made with love :: 💛

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