#venable imagine

[iamnotoriginalphil]

Your Mina (Wilhemina Venable x f!Reader)

Synopsis: The world has ended and not just due to the missiles. Your Mina is gone, the cold Ms Venable left in her place. If only you didn't still want her.

Words: 6.3k

Warnings: degradation kink, humiliation kink, mentions of possessiveness, mentions of exhibition, swearing, thigh riding, chocking, jealousy, BDSM themes, objectification

The end of the world hadn’t been what you were expecting. It hadn’t been a slow build to something, climate change not the cause. Missiles, as the news announced, felt so stark and impersonal in the face of the death they wrought. You hadn’t even had the chance to feel the fear or the loss or the anxiety before hands had clasped around your arms and you were being escorted into a massive SUV.

Kicking and screaming brought blank stares, no one bothering to step in. Tears were running down your face but you were hardly the only one. The missiles were on the way and you were just another person facing this overwhelming truth. The world was ending and you were being kidnapped.

You would never get the chance to kiss your girlfriend goodbye.

You were bundled underground, into some kind of bunker built for the rich and powerful. You tried, over and over again, to tell them that they had the wrong person. You weren’t rich. You weren’t powerful. You were nothing and no one.

In a room, questions unanswered, you were left to stew. Firelight licked up the walls, shadows dancing, putting you on edge. You saw no one else, alone, the silence uncaring as you screamed at them to let you go. When the screaming ran out, tears fell down your cheeks. It was beginning to sink in just how alone you truly were. There must be other people in whatever place it was, but your family was gone, your girlfriend, your friends, everyone you’d ever known. They were all gone and you remained.

It was a cruel mistake.

You sunk into a chair eventually, curling up in it. Time was moving but you couldn’t feel it, the numb feeling growing in your chest. Your life had changed and you weren’t sure you wanted it. You wanted your life back or to have perished with everyone you loved. Not whatever this was.

The tears stopped. The numb feeling grew. You stared into the fire, wondering when it would consume your body. At some point, you knew, it would.

You ignored the sound of approaching footsteps. Your chin rested on your knees, arms curled around bent legs, staring at the flames until they were all you could see. No one could make it better. Of that you were sure.

A sharp tap of a cane on the floor had you stiffening. Their cruelty knew no bounds. You squeezed your eyes shut, refusing to let any more tears fall. They weren’t going to break you, no matter what this torture was. Maybe you had died and this was hell.

Another sharp tap of the cane so much closer and you half turned your head towards the sound. Your eyes scanned up from shoes hidden under a long dress, a dark cane held in pale hands. Your heart gave a small flutter. The further up, the more familiar the figure standing in the doorway was becoming.

Dark eyes were staring at you from a mask like face. Hair you’d once run your fingers through was pinned up. Lips you knew the taste of were pressed into a thin line. Your mouth grew dry.

“Mina,” you breathed, rising from your seat.

You couldn’t believe it. She was standing there, right in front of you, looking none the worse for wear. She was perfect. Your heart was thudding in your chest, loud in your ears, and she was right there. You could touch her, if you just reached out, because she. Was. Right. There.

“You will call me Ms Venable.” Her voice was so cold.

“But-“

Her hand shot out, open palm striking your skin. You gaped at her, the sting bringing tears to your eyes. She was staring at you, daring you to argue and you didn’t know what was happening. This wasn’t your Mina. Your hand trembled as you raised it, lightly touching the skin that bore her handprint.

“Yes Ms Venable,” you whispered, not even aware you were doing it.

Your eyes focused on your feet, your breathing shallow, the sting of her slap still echoing through your body. The end of the world had taken her from you, but not through death, through transformation. Pushing the tears back once again, you caught your lower lip between your teeth, biting down until the coppery tang of blood bloomed on your tongue.

“Welcome to Outpost Three,” Ms Venable said, and her voice was so familiar it hurt.

“Thank you,” you said.

“As a Purple you’ll be supplied a furnished suite,” she said.

Your eyes flashed up, purple meaning something more than whatever she was suggesting.

“Purple?” you asked.

“One of the elite.” Her voice practically purred and your entire body felt like a live wire, “come.”

You moved on shuffling feet, following behind her as she walked with such confidence. You had no idea when she’d been shown this place. She’d never spoken of it, never even hinted at something like it. All those years together and not once had this ever entered into your life. Until the end of the world.

The end of the world she knew about?

She explained the rules to you, your arms slowly tightening around your body. None of it felt real. None of it was reasonable. You’d stepped into a world where nothing made sense and nothing was okay. Your Mina was gone and yet was also standing right there.

Standing there but different. Your Mina would never wear black, purple the colour she wore at all times. You didn’t like it. She never wore her hair so pinned up, so severe. While you could appreciate how it showed off the long line of her neck and the cut of her jaw, the sway of her hair had been a constant in your life. At least the scent of lavender seemed to cling to her, not quite hidden. Yours gaze slid over her body, finding her more a stranger than was comfortable.

You stepped through the door she indicated into your suite, should brushing against hers. That familiar scent of lavender lingered in the air of the room. You breathed in deeply, eyes slipping closed for a moment, letting yourself imagine for a moment that the world hadn’t changed so drastically. You turned, looking at her, eyes sweeping over someone that once had been as familiar to you as your own reflection.

“I don’t understand,” you said.

“Which part?” Cruelty was the flavour of her voice.

“All of it. I mean, I know about the missiles but why am I here? I’m not anyone,” you asked.

For the first time, something in her eyes seemed to break apart and hastily be put back together again.

“You must have been important to someone in power,” she said, “if you find yourself so inconsequential.”

You looked at her, really looked at her. You’d woken that morning to her already having left the house. There was a vague memory of lips pressed to your forehead before rolling over. There’d been no note, not indication anything was going to be different. You’d slept last night with her warmth beside you, arms around you, breathing in time with one another. Now… now she was so far from the bed you’d once shared and you had no idea how to get back to it.

“I suppose so,” you replied, voice soft, letting her have the out she was looking for, “thank you, Ms Venable.”

She gave you a short nod before turning on her heels and walking away, the tap of her cane lingering long after she was gone.

The closing door was quiet and so was the sigh that passed over your lips. You didn’t know what to do with yourself. The world had ended but Mina was still there with you. But different. Not your Mina. Ms Venable. Not the woman who would come home at the end of the day and slip into the bath with you, but something new. Someone you’d never known before.

You wandered through the suite. It was plush, expensive, nicer than the home you’d shared with Mina. You didn’t know what to do with it. The world had ended and you were living in luxury. You couldn’t wrap your mind around it.

In the large closet, purple stared back at you from every corner. You ran your fingers of the materials, finding that each item was beautiful. Each one was perfect. Someone had put a lot of thought into curating the wardrobe you were to have in the end days. You shook your head, not sure what to do with that information. None of it was making any sense to you.

You were slow to dress and by the time you found your way to the dining room, it looked as if you were the last to join them. Mina was sitting at the head of the table. You couldn’t look at her, not without a wound in your chest opening up again. You felt the weight of the other gazes on you, not looking up from the hands clasped in your lap.

One weighed heavier than the others.

You’d dressed carefully, in the dress you thought shed’d like the most on you. It was soft, delicate, almost romantic. You couldn’t bare facing her only to be met with disdain. It had been a message that you would do what she wished to please her.

You’d keep to whatever role she was placing you in. Just sharing the same space as her would have to be enough in your new reality. You could be perfect for her, if that’s what she needed from you. Even now, when she wasn’t your Mina, you’d still do whatever you could for her.

Thank god your therapist hadn’t survived the end of the world or she’d have a lot to say about that.

You kept your interactions with the other Purples to a minimum. You found them insipid at the best of times, and you craved the attention of only one person in the entire Outpost. Instead, you watched the way she terrorised them. She stalked the halls, doling out discipline as she saw fit, lurking in the shadows just to catch them breaking the rules. The joy she seemed to get from it seemed so different from the woman you’d known on the outside, and yet you’d seen glimmers of it sometimes. On her worst days, mostly.

You didn’t find it any less intriguing, though. You might have been willing to play along with her facade of being nothing but strangers, but you still noticed that left you with less of her attention than the others. It might have been bad attention, but at least it was attention. You craved it, like it was the air you breathed. Where once the weight of her gaze ws comforting and familiar, now it felt exciting in its scarceness.

And then there was Ms Mead. Her right hand, her confidant, her trusted advisor. A kernel of jealousy curled behind your ribs, hissing in your ears that you’d been replaced. That she didn’t need you anymore. That she didn’t want you.

So you decided to do something drastic if only to prove to yourself that you were still burrowed in her heart.

It was slow, not wanting her to catch on before you were ready. You took your time, inching towards the group of Purples day by day until you were sitting with their group, listening to them talk. No one questioned it, no one pointed out you’d spent months ignoring them, now seeking them out.

Gallant was the first to notice your sarcastic comments, muttered under your breath. Catching your eye whenever Coco said something, a shared smile, the sting of friendship was surprisingly painful after months kept to yourself. He would sit beside you, the two of you sharing barbs.

If Mina noticed the change, she didn’t show it.

So you amped it up. You whispered with Mallory in dark corners, you complimented Coco loudly, you shared smiles with Dinah. In short, you did all you could to show her she no longer had your attention either. That you’d moved on. That if she didn’t want you then you weren’t going to sit around waiting for her forever.

Her eyes began to trail you throughout the twisting halls of the outpost.

One more turn of the cog. Standing in your wardrobe, the handpicked clothes for you by the woman who knew you better than anyone, you considered each one with a critical eye. Yes, the one in the far corner, tucked away as if she hadn’t wanted you to find it. That was the one.

The lavender slip dress was silk, so soft against your skin. Clinging to your figure, a cowl neckline and slit up to your thigh, it was sexier than anything else you’d worn, nothing like the Victorian inspired fashion you’d grown used to. But she had left it for you and it felt like a challenge.

You pinned your hair up, not as sever as her, softer, more romantic. You looked in the mirror, doing your best to effect the wide eyed look of innocence you knew you’d need to sell the whole ideal. Give her something to ruin.

You waited, just long enough to know you would be the last to sit down to dinner. Not late, but on the cusp. Stepping into the dining room, it was like a slow wave, faces turning to you, only one looking less than pleased.

You took your usual seat beside Gallant, ignoring the one woman you were trying so hard for. Some eyes were still lingering on you, Coco to be exact, and she looked put out at your appearance.

“Nice dress,” Gallant said, leaning towards you but in the quiet room his voice carried.

“Thank you,” you said, smoothing one hand over your thighs, “I found it in my room and thought why not? No point wasting something so pretty.”

Your eyes looked past him, finding Ms Venable watching you. There was fire in her eyes and you didn’t fail to notice the way her fingers clenched on the head of her cane. With a small smile you turned your face away, looking down at the gelatinous cube on your plate. Hardly your favourite meal but given it was the only one in existence you’d take it.

Your dragged your eyes up again, Coco looking at you with a cocked head. You offered her a wink, smirking at her. It wasn’t so much a feeling as a shift in the atmosphere. A tap of the cane on the ground, your thighs clenching together.

The meal was as unsatisfying as ever. Well, the food was. The eyes that you kept drawing to yourself were not. Arching your back, your neck, letting your fingers trail over your collarbone, laughing softly in Gallant’s ear, letting your teeth sink into your lower lip. You were using all the tricks that had once worked on her. The tricks that also led to you pinned to the mattress moaning her name.

No one said you had to play fair.

Once the meal was over, you slid your arm through Gallant’s, letting your hips sway, not bothering to offer a parting look to the woman who still owned your heart. He escorted you into the library, the infernal song making you purse your lips.

“So tell me,” he murmured under the cover of Coco’s complaints, “who’s benefit is this little number for?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you replied, smiling at him, letting him know you were lying.

“You do know sex is strictly forbidden,” he said.

“Who said anything about sex?” you laughed, “nothing wrong with being desired.”

“Did you really find this dress in your wardrobe?” he asked.

“Would you believe my answer if I said yes?”

“Not for a moment,” he replied, “but whoever it is, they’re going to find you hard to resist.”

You sat in the corner of the sofa closest to the fire. The light, flickering over your skin, would be temptation in itself. Gallant seated himself beside you, his eyes scanning over the room, most likely trying to ferret out which of the other Purples you were trying to seduce. The woman moving through the room, taking her position with her back to the fire, was ignored by him. You smiled down into your lap before looking up at her. The glare you received in return was nasty.

You only stayed long enough to not raise suspicions. You squeezed Gallant’s shoulder as you left, getting an indulgent smile in return. The air in your room was stale and yet it continued to hold notes of lavender, even so many months later. You sat on your bed, face turned towards the door.

She didn’t leave you waiting long.

The knock on your door was perfunctory. You were slow to rise, wanting her to wait. Pulling the door open you didn’t have the chance to say anything before a hand was curling around your throat and pushing back into the room. Your hand snapped up, fingers curling around the delicate wrist, but you didn’t try to pull it from you. The door closed quietly behind her.

“You have been making a spectacle of yourself,” she said, squeezing.

“And you’ve been enjoying the show,” you shot back, breathless and hoarse.

She snarled, throwing you back. You stumbled, doing your best not to trip over your own feet. She advanced, slow and steady, each tap of the cane making you lose a little more of your breath. Her eyes swept over your body, looking less than impressed with what she found.

“You think too highly of yourself and your little display,” she said.

You took a step into her personal space, feeling her familiar warmth wash over your exposed skin. Her eyes darted down your body again, lingering on your lips for a moment before meeting yours. You pulled those lips up into a smirk, leaning forward.

“And I think you look at me and remember exactly what I sound like when I orgasm on your tongue,” you murmured.

“Insolence,” she growled, “your base desires are nothing of my concern.”

“Once they were only your concern,” you said, stepping back from her, “but I suppose you’re right. Someone else might want that job now.”

“No one will ever have that job,” she hissed.

“Yes yes, I know. No unauthorised sexual intercourse,” you said, rolling your eyes, enjoying the hint of jealousy in her voice.

Your hand slowly skimmed up your body, lingering on one breast. Her eyes zeroed in on it, darkening in a way that felt familiar. You brushed a thumb over a hardening nipple, a little gasp your only response.

“That doesn’t stop me fantasising about you every night with my fingers knuckle deep inside my pussy.”

Her throat bobbled.

“I used to just remember how it was. You, me, our bed or our bath or our kitchen counter,” you said as you pinched your nipple through the silk of your dress, “but then I got creative. Rather than Mina I had Ms Venable. Disciplining me. Tying me up. Bruising me. Choking me. Degrading me. I found I rather liked those fantasies.”

“You disgust me,” she growled.

“Then why are you thinking about using me for your own pleasure?”

Her eyes darkened and you saw her jaw clench. You knew her, better than you knew yourself. She’d never been good at hiding what she wanted from you, especially when what she wanted was you. You made small noise in the back of your throat as you tugged on your nipple, eyes fluttering closed at the shot of pleasure to your core.

A hand curled around your throat again, forcing you backwards until your back hit the wall. You didn’t bother opening your eyes, rolling your nipple, her name a soft exhalation. Lips brushed the shell of your ear and the scent of lavender curled around you.

“You’re nothing but a dirty whore ruled by your own animal instincts,” she growled in your ear.

“Uh huh,” you hummed, her words lighting your blood on fire. She’d never been one for this before, when it was sweet and soft and full of reassurances. You were having fun exploring this side of her.

“Pathetic,” she snarled, “do you really think this will end well for you?”

“I think it’ll end well for you,” you all but gasped, “you know how good I am with my tongue.”

Her fingers tightened around your throat, cutting off your air supply. Your back arched into your own touch, her warmth brushing against your bare skin. Your eyes opened, finding her watching you, teeth biting into her bottom lip. You lent into her hold, eyes focused on that lip, wanting to bite it until you tasted her blood.

“You want me to use you?” she hissed, “would that bring you pleasure?”

You nodded, watching her lips form the words. You could still remember what they felt like against your skin. They curled up into a cruel smirk.

“On your knees, slut.”

With the hand around your neck she forced you down. You looked up at her from under your lashes, tongue dragging along your lower lip. She let you go, stepping back. With careful movements she set her cane aside, sitting on the edge of your bed. She crooked a finger at you.

You crawled across the floor on hands and knees, practically panting at the thought of getting your mouth on her after so many months. She raised her foot, pressing it against your shoulder, holding you back, heel digging in painfully.

“You think you deserve to touch me?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I do,” you said, not even having to think about, “name one person who knows your body better than me. Name someone who can make you feel as good as I can.”

“Whose to say I haven’t found someone here?” she asked. That same jealousy curled in your gut, whispering in your ear, telling you Ms Mead had replaced you. She didn’t need you.

“Let me prove it,” you begged, surprised by how much you needed it.

“And what have you done to earn the honour?” she asked, “you choose to debase yourself in front of me. You flaunt your body as if that will impress me. You associate with degenerates and air heads. You are nothing and you will never amount to more than nothing.”

“Please,” you breathed, “please let me do this for you.”

Her foot dropped from your shoulder. You crawled forward again, unhindered. You stopped between her feet, dragging your eyes up her body. She was staring down at you, those dark eyes unimpressed but so intent on you.

Your hands skimmed up her calves, finding bare skin under your fingers. You pushed her skirt up, admiring the line of her leg. Your brought your lips to her right leg, finally touching her soft skin, tongue darting out to taste her. So familiar and yet so different.

“Hurry this up,” she growled, “I have places to be.”

“Yes, Ms Venable,” you said, lips brushing her skin.

Her legs parted further, giving you room to continue your exploration up her legs. She was still watching you, hands resting on your comforter, eyes darkening as your fingers slid over her knees. Your nose skimmed along her inner thigh before your breath caught.

Mina had always splurged on nice lingerie. It had been one of those things you’d loved. Silk and lace and satin. Always in shades of purple. She seemed to get a kick out of each new one revealed to you, the way your eyes would widen before you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off her. She planned it to perfection, each reveal making your head spin and desire pool between your legs.

If you’d considered the opportunity for lingerie in the Outpost, it was usually drawn from your imagination, your desire of what you’d like to see Mina in. In reality, you expected something functional, perfunctory, much like you’d found in your own wardrobe. Functional over aesthetic. Basic and simple, serving a purpose beyond stoking desire.

What you hadn’t expected was for her to forego underwear altogether.

Right there, easily accessible, her centre was glistening in the firelight. Fingers tangled in your hair, tugging until a sharp pain in your skull caught your attention. You tipped your head back, finding her staring at you.

“Problem?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Her act of indifference might have worked better if you couldn’t see the effect you’d already had on her. Her fingers tightened in your hair again, pulling past the point of pleasure.

“No, Ms Venable,” you replied, lowering your eyes back to her pretty pussy.

The hand on the back of your head forced you forward, headfirst where she wanted you most.

“Then get to work. Prove to me you’re the best slut I have on offer.”

Your tongue darted out, licking through her folds. The fingers in your hair tightened again. You did it again, revelling in her taste. You’d missed it, more than you’d realised. You hummed, eyes closing as you treasured the moment, tongue delving deeper. You wanted her taste on your tongue forever.

When you ghosted over her clit her fingers clenched. You did it again, wanting to feel the pull. The sharp pain was making your legs feel like jelly. You hadn’t thought that would be something you liked, but then you hadn’t thought you’d like this new Mina before you’d met her. But she was fun, opening up a whole new world of exploration for you.

You let your lips wrap around it, slow to suck. She forced your head harder against her, grinding against you. Your tongue flicked out, determined to hear her moan. The sound of it haunted your dreams. You craved it. You yearned for it. It would fulfil your dreams.

She kept silent.

Your arms hooked around her thighs, keeping them open as you pressed closer in. Your tongue lapped at her, circling her bundle of nerves, feeling her hips rise to meet you. You hummed again, tongue thrusting into her. Her legs pressed in, ignoring your hold on them, contracting around your head.

“Fucking whore,” she hissed, “so desperate for me. It’s pitiful. You disgust me.”

You tried to plunge further in, wanting her to feel you. Your nose bumped against her clit. She forced your head forward, grinding against you, uncaring of how you might be feeling. Your tongue was working hard, thrusting into her, setting a pace that you weren’t sure you could keep up. You looked up, watching the way her face contorted in pleasure. Her lips fell open in a silent moan, eyes closing. You stroked at her internal walls.

“I’m sure I’m your favourite taste. You’d stay there on your knees all day if I’d let you lick at me like a desperate little whore. Would you service me whenever I asked?” You knew you would.

You pulled your tongue from within her, wrapping your lips around her clit. You prised your fingers from her thigh, replacing your tongue, pushing them in until you could curl them, finding the place within her you knew so well.

She moaned.

“Maybe I should take you with me to dinner, have you feed under the table, at my feet as you deserve. Or would you rather eat from me instead? Let the rest of them know what a desperate little slut you are.”

You pressed your thighs together. Your fingers were slow as they pumped inside her, stroking and curling, twisting in a way you’d found she’d liked so much so many months before when the world was still the one you knew. You were sucking on her clit, her fingers pressing you harder, grinding hard against your tongue. The thigh you still held was beginning to tremble and her words were becoming breathy.

“Or maybe I should have you laid out on the table, touching yourself through dinner, let everyone see the control I have over you. Debase yourself in front of them. Show your shame to them all. Remind them you’re nothing but a dirty whore who earned her place here with her body, not through worthwhile means.”

You whined. Her laugh was breathless, fingers in your hair tightening. you could feel your own arousal beginning to drip down your thigh, her words only spurring you on. You wanted all of it, everything she was describing. You wanted her claiming you in front of them. You wanted to debase yourself, her words controlling you, begging her for release for everyone to hear. She owned you, body and soul, and it had taken the end of the world for you to realise how true that was.

“Even Coco is more worthy of her spot here. All you have is your body. Nothing but an object for my pleasure.”

You stroked the spot within her you’d always been able to find in conjuncture with a sharp suck to her clit. Her head fell back, hips jumping forward. Her thighs were squeezing your head, hands forcing you against her. It was hard to breathe but it was unimportant to you, her rising pleasure all that mattered.

“Look best on your knees,” she panted, “desperate to please. Willing to debase yourself, making a spectacle of yourself, demeaning yourself. Think you can please me. Think I’ll like seeing you giving into your animalistic urges. So… So… pathetic.”

She groaned as her internal muscles clenched around your fingers. She was keeping you pinned against her pulsing core, riding your face as hard as she could. With your tongue tasting her, you wondered if she’d cum since the end of the world or if this was the first time in all those months.

Her breath was slow to even out. Your fingers slid from her, your tongue dragging over the skin of your palm to clean yourself up, not wanting to miss a drop of her.

She dragged you up, your knees screaming from being pressed against the stone ground for so long. She ignored your whimper, lips crashing against yours. Her tongue was in your mouth, almost lazy as she stole your breath, giving you what you’d been yearning for since entering the Outpost. It was like kissing your Mina again. Her other hand was pulling up your skirt, fingers skimming your skin, making you whine into her mouth.

With probing fingers she discovered you’d also forgone underwear, bare under her touch. She made a noise, drawing back from the kiss, a look of affected disgust crossing over her face. Her finger ghosted through your folds, lingering on your clit. Your breath froze in your lungs, hips stuttering towards her. She guided you down onto her still bare thigh, bare cunt against her skin.

She curled her lip, watching the way your lips sunk into your bottom lip. The feel of her against you was almost too much. Your hips rocked, a tiny movement that would have been unnoticeable if she hadn’t been watching you so intently.

Her hands grasped your hips, tight enough to leave bruises, keeping you still. You whined again, eyes begging her to let you move. You were dripping with need, her thigh already slick from your arousal. The curl of her lip was undercut by the gleam in her eye, self satisfied and interested in you.

“You disgust me,” she said, “nothing but your base urges motivating you.”

“Ms Venable,” you whined, “please.”

It was torture, being held like that, pressure on your clit but held still. Your breathing was erratic, need filling your veins. Her eyes swept over you, considering you, finding you wanting.

“Go on then,” she said, turning her eyes away from you as if she didn’t care, “rut like the animal you are.”

No matter how much disinterest she tried to affect, her hands were the ones guiding you against her thigh, tensing underneath you. Your head fell back, moaning loudly, wanting her to hear how much she still effected you. She was setting a tortuous pace, your clit slowly dragging over her skin. You were whimpering, trying to catch her eye again, wanting her to see how desperate you were.

Your hips rocked faster, harder, grinding down against her. She was slow to turn her gaze back to you, sweeping over your undulating body again. Her name mingled with pleas and thanks was all that fell from your lips. She snarled at you, only flooding you with more heat. You liked how she degraded you, even as she gave you the pleasure you were so desperate for.

Her fingers grasped your chin as your head began to tip back again, forcing you to look down at her. You moaned, staring in her eyes as your hips ground down, seeking out more pleasure. She growled, pressing her thigh up harder. You wanted to bury your fingers in her hair, feel the silky strands against your skin, pull the pins out so they’d tumble down her back. You wanted to kiss her deeply, burying your moans in her mouth. You wanted her to watch you come undone.

You made a small noise in the back of your throat, breathy and throaty, a half whine. Her eyes were watching you, lips pressed together, a flush high on her cheekbones, barely visible in the firelight. You were rocking against her, chasing your high, the spring tightening within you. Your fingers clenched around nothing, not knowing if you could touch her, muscles straining to the point of trembling.

“Aren’t you done yet?” she drawled.

Your breath caught, body tensing above her, your orgasm crashing into you. Wave after wave moved through you, her name sweet nectar on your tongue as you cried it. A smirk settled on her face, eyes practically smouldering, fingers tightening on your hips again. Your head fell forward, seeking out her lips.

She allowed you to kiss her, surprisingly soft. Her tongue stroked against yours and despite the fact your heart was still beating double time from your orgasm, heat stoked in your lower stomach again. You sunk your teeth into her lip, giving in to your impulse. A hand pressed between your shoulder blades, forcing you against her body. Soft supple curves pressed against yours, the rough fabric of her dress scraping your skin.

The kiss softened again, more reminiscent of times long since gone. You sighed into her mouth, hands finally landing on her shoulder, thumb brushing against her pulse point. With strength that had always surprised you, she lifted you from her thigh, laying you back on the bed. Her hands skimmed down your body, featherlight until you were thrumming under her fingers.

“I must admit,” she murmured against your lips, “I have missed you.”

“Really?” you asked, drawing back just far enough to see her properly.

“You are the owner of my heart, little one. Holding back from having you has been torture,” she said, fingers stroking through your hair, pulling leftover pins from it.

“Then why were you?” you asked, wondering how long you’d have your Mina back.

“Maintaining distance was necessary. I could smuggle you in but once here I couldn’t show any such favouritism. Not if I wished to remain in charge, unquestioned and complete,” she said, “and you made it so incredibly difficult, little one. I felt those beautiful eyes watching me, looking so lost and hurt. All I wanted was to take that hurt away.”

“I just didn’t understand how I’d lost you. The end of the world and you were there but you weren’t and I had no one.”

Her fingers were still running through your hair, comforting and soft. Her other arm curled around your waist, rolling until she was lying on the bed, holding you close. You rested your head on her shoulder, pressing yourself to her with a level of neediness you didn’t usually feel around her. After months without, you needed it more than you needed air.

“So now what?” you asked her.

“What do you mean?” she asked, lips brushing your hairline.

“We just had unauthorised sex,” you said, “am I going to be shot?”

“Of course not.” She stiffened and you could hear the horror in her voice, “I authorised it. I am the leader of Outpost Three, after all.”

“Yeah, that whole thing has definitely awoken something in me,” you said.

Her soft chuckle vibrated through her chest, passing into yours. You pressed closer, legs tangling together, uncaring of the arousal that still coated both of your skin. Her lips pressed to your forehead.

“I noticed, little one,” she said, “perhaps next time I’ll tie you up and tease you until you think you’re going mad.”

Your shaky exhalation earned you another kiss, soft and lingering, a promise for you to cash in.

“In public we shall remain as always. The leader and a Purple. Behind closed doors, we shall be us again,” she said, “if that’s agreeable to you?”

“I’ll take whatever I can get of you,” you replied, “you’re my world and I’ve missed you so much.”

Your name was sweet on her tongue, a soft sigh, a small smile. You lent up, kissing her until she was melting beneath your touch. You felt liquid, dreamlike, you hopes coming true right in front of you.

“I love you,” you muttered against her lips.

She rolled you, hovering above you, staring down with those dark eyes. Firelight danced across her skin and she’d never looked so beautiful to you.

“I love you too, little one,” she said, before kissing you once again.

[stayevildarling]

I just found ur account and I wanna say how much I love your stories, especially the Cordelia×Wilhemina×Billie and reader ones ❤️ I wanted to ask if you could write one where both wilhemina and reader have had a bad day, and once they come home to their other girlfriends, wilhemina snaps at reader for something due to the bad day she had and reader snaps back which shocks them all? Maybe abit angsty with fluff at the end 💕

Wilhemina Venable x Cordelia Goode x Billie Dean Howard x Reader- Glimpse of us

tw: angst, cursing

word count: 3.5k

taglist: @lunaticwhittaker, @billiebeanhoward, @lanawinters-ily, @kenzbro, @minaslittleone, @httpfiftyshadesofgay,@whitelotus00, @ninaahs, @vintagepaulson,@isle-of-earle,@paulsonsratched, @stepintomyworld, @grilledcheeseandguavajelly, @lucyintheskywithxanax, @fanfics4world, @mymiraclewitch, @hazard-to-myself, @awritersometime, @ohrwurm26

As you finally enter the familiar walls of your shared home, the weight of the day's troubles seems to hang heavy on your shoulders. Despite your best efforts to shake off the stress from work, it clings to you. Billie and Cordelia are quick to notice the tension, you entering the academy first, Wilhemina following behind with an expression that almost would have scared them, if they didn't know the redhead so well by now.

"Hey there, love," Cordelia greets you softly, her voice infused with concern as she invites you to take a seat.

You manage to nod weakly in response, not trusting your voice to betray your frustration. Billie, ever perceptive shoots you a sympathetic glance, before looking over at Wilhemina, hesitating whether to take a seat or leave to the comfort of her own office.

,,Come on, I made dinner, love'' Cordelia tries gently, somehow convincing the redhead to sit down.

The meal feels dreadful, the awkward tension in the air, not only making you and Wilhemina uncomfortable but evenly your two blonde girlfriends. Cordelia tries for a while, to make conversation and include you and Wilhemina, barely coaxing any words out of either of you two, you not daring to look up at your redhead girlfriend after the events from today.

Sighing in frustration, Billie eventually breaks the silence, not being able to stand the silence ,,Okay, what is going on you two?'' she questions, her gaze flickering between you and the redhead. Wilhemina doesn't look up, she simply continues her meal as if nothing happened and it infuriates you. Cordelia notices your tension, placing a gentle hand on your leg in an attempt to comfort you. Billie's eyes meet yours, pleading with you to fill them in, let them help, fix this palpable tension between you, usually filled with so much warmth, love and adoration.

And then Wilhemina's gaze meets yours, unexpectedly and right there you find yourself back in the events from earlier today, her intense gaze clouding your memory with her sharp words,

,,Why are you always breathing down my neck? Can't you see I'm trying to concentrate?'' Wilhemina snapped, the frustration very clear in her features and laced in her voice.

,,I'm sorry, I just wanted to help you, I thought we are supposed to be a team'' you began, trying to defend your actions.

Her gaze lingered on yours, knuckles turning white as she grips onto her cane hard ,,Well maybe if you actually did your share off the work, instead of constantly distracting me, we wouldn't be in this mess'' she snapped, her voice filled with venom.

You scoffed, trying to swallow your frustration and pain ,,Oh so now it's my fault?'' you spat, your emotions getting ahold of you. ,,Typical, you always find a way to blame me for everything''.

She rubs her temples in frustration then, hating for the way this escalated, not expecting your reaction and too stubborn to fix it now. ,,I'm not blaming you for everything but you're not exactly making things easier right now'' she carried on, her features already softening at this point, voice less filled with anger.

And usually, you would have faltered there, simply accepting she was in a mood and leave her to cool off for a bit. You would have never spoke again after that statement but today had triggered your mood in ways it never has and so with one final statement you end the conversation taking place in the redheads office. ,,Fine, I'll just leave you alone then. Maybe you'll appreciate it more when I'm not around to bother you'' you spat, on the verge of tears but doing your best to hide those.

,,Yeah, maybe I will'' she spat in return. You stood frozen in the spot for a moment, knowing this was your fault as you shouldn't have lowered yourself to her mood, shouldn't have talked back but it hurt. Her statement hurt and you missed the way her features softened as she saw tears sparkling in your beautiful eyes. You simply scoffed, turned around and left.

The two of you didn't speak for the remainder of the day, you did your own things in your office, working hard to ignore and forget about the argument with your girlfriend. You had always doubted whether it was a good idea to work with Wilhemina. She suggested it in the end, explaining how a position needed filling, one where she would be close to you and could keep an eye on you. And undeniably, she did just that. Making sure her bosses aren't anywhere too close to you as they couldn't be trusted. You did an immaculate job and the mishap that day definitely wasn't on you but the redhead couldn't keep her frustration in and when you kept asking and asking her what you could do to help, she snapped, assuming you would take it better, not expecting your reaction as she didn't calculate the fact, that maybe, just maybe you haven't had a good day either.

,,Wilhemina, what did you do?'' Billie snaps, her sharp voice bringing you back into the present. You didn't realise that you must have zoned out for a moment, only now realising your cheeks are wet, Cordelia looking at you with so much concern, so much worry.

,,And what makes you think this has anything to do with me?'' Wilhemina spits, meeting the blondes gazes before bringing another fork, full of food to her mouth.

But the medium was having none of her usual antics, unable to see her babydoll hurting. ,,Because usually Wilhemina, you and Y/N return from work giggling, hands and eyes all over each other'' Billie spits. Your eyes find Cordelia, not being able to stand the tension in the room, not wanting to drag them into the argument as well. The supreme notices how uncomfortable you are, quickly stopping the other two.

,,Enough'' she simply states, meeting their eyes with a silent warning and as Billie notices your shivering form, she complies, stopping but her redhead lover is far from stopping.

As Cordelia gently wipes the tears from your cheeks, you hear her voice ring through the air yet again. ,,Yeah that's right, let them coddle you again, poor girl'' she spits, her words causing for both blonde heads to snap into her direction.

Your chair scraps against the wooden floor, standing up, startling both Billie and Cordelia a little but the redhead enjoyed it, igniting your flames. She balances on her cane standing up, waiting for your next move.

,,You know what? fuck you'' you spit, Cordelia's eyes widening and Billie's jaw dropping, this definitely not like you at all.

,,I'm sick of it, you constantly treating me like shit at work, do you have any idea how much your words hurt me earlier? If you don't want me around to bother you fine- I won't'' you snap, your emotions bubbling out of you.

,,Y/N'' Billie exclaims, both in a scolding manner for raising your voice but equally shocked at your sudden outburst.

With a swift motion, Wilhemina steps forward, her expression a mixture of anger, guilt and pain. You aren't looking at her, keeping eye contact with Billie but out of the corner of your eyes, you see Wilhemina's hand move towards you but before she has the chance, you stop her, taking her wrist.

,,Don't you dare'' you spit, now looking into her eyes. The tension is thick, your words lingering in the air as well as the redheads actions.

A second later you let go of her wrist, and turn around, needing to cool off, a lump forming in your throat. ,,Y/N'' Cordelia tries, but you are long gone, banging the bedroom door shut after you made it upstairs.

The three of them remain frozen in their spots, Billie still sitting at the table, her mouth slightly ajar, not able to believe the scene she just witnessed. Cordelia stands frozen by the table, holding onto it for support, before approaching Wilhemina, who stands frozen in the same spot you had left her in, her arm not having moved since you let go of her grasp.

,,Darling'' Cordelia tries as she approaches her girlfriend, the redhead not being able to look into her eyes as her gaze falls to the floor. ,,I- I had no intention of-'' she begins but the supreme is quick to interrupt her, taking her hand into her own. ,,I know my love, I know'' she reassures, rubbing soothing circles on her lovers hand.

,,I wanted to -'' she tries again but the words get caught in her throat. ,,I know darling, you wanted to calm her down'' she finishes the words for her. ,,I know you didn't mean to hit her but she wasn't looking at you, don't go there please'' Cordelia tries.

Wilhemina falters under the blondes gaze, not daring to look at Billie, not wanting any judgement from the medium. ,,I'll be in my office'' she announces before walking off, her cane hitting the floor hard. And as Cordelia and Billie follow her with their eyes, they see how broken and tired their girlfriend looks, ascending the stairs. The weight of the situation very visible in her features and posture.

,,What the hell was that?'' Billie comments, making sure the redhead's office door bang shut before she begins.

Cordelia meets her gaze before her eyes fall to the floor ,,I don't know'' the supreme mumbles, feeling guilty for not having interjected this before it blew up the way it had. ,,She wasn't going to-'' Billie begins, playing with her acrylic nails in a nervous habit. ,,No'' Cordelia quickly interrupts, her features a little stern for Billie even suggesting that she would have hit you.

,,Should we go talk to them?'' Billie tries, walking over to the supreme and stroking her cheeks, in order to make the concern fade from her beautiful features.

,,I think Mina needs to cool off'' she argues, taking a deep breath. ,,Let's try with our babydoll then, hm?'' the medium replies and is met with an empathetic smile, before she nods in agreement.

----

There aren't a lot of times when you wish you could be a witch but right now was certainly one of those times. All you wanted to do was take the entire bedroom apart, smash things, kick and break things, let your anger out that way. But unfortunately you couldn't fix it all again with a flick of your wrist. And so instead you pace, back and forth, fists clenching and muttering angry words to yourself. You barely hear the door knock and you definitely don't acknowledge it, wanting to be left alone, no matter who was behind that door.

As the two blondes enter, they exchange a glance noticing your pacing, Billie actually finding it quite adorable as you rarely got mad or upset like this. But she remained serious of course, not wanting to upset you further.

,,Sweetheart?'' Cordelia begins gently, as she remains lingering by the door, not wanting to overwhelm you with their presence.

Halting your steps, you simply look at them, their worried glances upsetting you even further because the last thing you wanted was drag them into it.

,,Do you think you can talk to us babydoll?'' Billie tries next, taking a few gentle steps towards you. But you retreat, taking some steps away from her and for a moment Billie gets scared, not being able to handle rejection well.

,,No, this is between me and .. Mina'' you mutter out, sounding more moody than you intend to.

,,Darling, I worry that you two may need a little help sorting this out'' Cordelia tries, knowing for sure Wilhemina was stubborn and by your earlier outburst, she for the first time didn't trust you enough to fix this with the redhead without support.

,,Cordelia I don't need you to coddle me all the -'' you quickly stop yourself, forcing your eyes shut and cursing internally as to why you would let it out on the angels in front of you.

,,Delia I'm so sorry'' you quickly start but as you open your eyes, you already find her in front of you with a gentle smile. ,,I know darling, come here'' she invites as she opens her arms and right there you falter, allowing her to hold you, ignoring the thoughts of how Wilhemina was right about them coddling you and allowing it to happen.

After a little while, she scoops you into her arms, taking you over to the bed where you lay in her lap, Billie following and positioning herself next to you. ,,Can you tell us sweetie, hm?'' the medium tries again, her eyes twinkling with love and encouragement.

And then it spills out of, the horrible day you have had at work as Jeff and Mutt provoked you all day, sending you on all sort of errands and even one of them making you incredibly uncomfortable. Delia makes a mental note there, knowing that bit needed to be adressed at another time. How something in the production went wrong and they made you and Mina fix it. But only Mina really had the skills and despite trying your best you couldn't fix it and all you wanted was to help her. The words that followed after and the argument between you two. How you thought she was going to hit you, despite only seeing something out of the corners of your eyes, how you know she would never hurt you and how horrible you feel for making her feel that way.

By the end of your confession you are sobbing into Cordelia's chest, feeling horrible for being so stubborn and angry. Billie and the supreme simply hold you, drying your tears, whispering words of encouragement into your ears. And when you finally calmed down, Billie hooks your chin, wiping all your tears and giving you a soft smile, followed by a kiss on your forehead.

,,Sweetie that is all very understandable and I'm sure neither you nor Mina meant any of it, it sounds like a big misunderstanding'' she tries and your eyes simply wander to her lips, following her every word.

,,I want to talk to her'' you eventually mutter out, looking up at Cordelia, still holding you close. They exchange a glance, figuring you had calmed down enough by now, despite being a little worried about your other girlfriend and whether she felt the same already. ,,Sweetheart, would you like us or one of us to come with you?'' she tries but you shake your head and slowly climb out of her lap.

,,Thank you both'' you smile, a little shy and they simply give you a big proud smile, as they remain on the bed. However as soon as you shut the door, their worried gazes meet, unsure whether this would end well.

As you make your way to Wilhemina's office, assuming that's the only place where she would be, your heart bangs inside your chest, legs trembling a little as well as your hands. You take a deep breath, close your eyes for a minute, before your shaky hands knock on her door, quiet enough not to startle her but loud enough for her to hear you.

There is no reply and for a second you consider turning around, maybe she isn't ready yet to talk and needs some time to cool off. But then worry lingers on your mind, wanting your Mina to be okay but before you can think it over further you hear a quiet ,,Come in'' and you do instantly.

As you glance around her office, you notice the scattered documents on the floor, her cane on the floor, Mina sitting in her armchair. You assume she threw it across the room, hence the scattered things everywhere. ,,Mina, can we talk please?'' you try gently as you step towards the middle of the room. Before she replies you kneel down in order to pick up some of her things, off the floor, not wanting her to do it in the end and potentially hurt her back.

,,I'm not a child, I don't need you cleaning up my messes'' she snaps, but you ignore her, neatly putting the documents on her desk and reaching for her cane scattered somewhere. As you walk over, you place it next to her, ready to leave her alone again but she suddenly takes your hand. ,,You're bleeding'' she states and as you look at your palm you indeed notice a cut, bleeding down your wrist. ,,It's fine Mina'' you mutter out, realising you must have picked up a piece of glass as you collected the documents, probably from a glass or mug being thrown around.

As you try and withdraw your wrist, she meets your gaze, not letting go. ,,Let me'' she tries and as much as you want to tell her that you aren't a child in return, you simply let her guide you to the bathroom connected to her office. As you lean on the bathtub, inside her bathroom plastered in lilac, you watch as she carefully opens her medicine cabinet, several bottles of different medication neatly placed, before she withdraws the first aid kit. She pulls out a disinfected spray and a bigger bandaid before approaching you.

Her eyes meet yours and you see pain in them, guilt, fear and without thinking about it your non bleeding hand cups her cheek, taking you both by surprise. ,,I'm so sorry'' you whisper as she slightly melts into your touch.

,,This will hurt a bit'' she explains calmly before you extract your hand and watch as she takes care of the cut for you. In awe you watch how gentle her movements are, spraying some disinfectant on the wound, before gently wiping it clean and wrapping it up in a band aid. Her eyes scan your features, looking for any kind of pain or discomfort but there was none. ,,Thank you Mina'' you whisper as she places the first aid kit back into the cabinet.

,,I understand if you don't want to talk to me'' you simply whisper before giving her a thankful smile as you look at your hand. As you step out of the bathroom and towards the door, she stops you. ,,Y/N'' she tries, her features filled with pain, tears beginning to form in her dark brown orbs.

,,I'm so sorry for saying all those things to you'' you apologise, your eyes pleading for her forgiveness.

,,Did you really think I was going to-?'' she begins but you instantly stop her ,,No'' you reassure her, meeting her eyes as you make the statement.

,,I know you would never hurt me Mina and I'm sorry for overreacting'' you begin, explaining how you misread the signs and how you know now that she simply wanted to comfort you.

,,I don't want you to be scared of me'' she whispers, a tear streaming down her cheeks. ,,I'm not Mina'' you quickly reassure as you brush the tear from her perfect features.

A little while later, Cordelia is now the one pacing around the bedroom, Billie's attempts to calm her down failing with each try. ,,I'm sure they are fine'' Billie keeps repeating but the supreme couldn't help but worry. ,,Screw it, I'm going to check'' she states, leaving the room and Billie following after her rushed, her heels clicking on the floor as they walk down the tiled corridor.

As Cordelia opens the door, she finds you curled up in Wilhemina's lap, the two of you sitting in her large purple armchair in the corner. Neither of you are talking, as all the talking had been done, simply enjoying each others company as her fingers take turns from running through your hair and gently caressing the cut on your hand through the bandaid. You listen to her heartbeat, holding onto her for dear life, not wanting to let her go.

The supreme smiles, all the worry leaving her features. ,,Told you Ms Supreme'' Billie teases.

,,Would you like to go to bed, little one?'' Mina whispers gently, tilting her head a little to look at you.

You simply nod and leave her lap, instantly missing to be this close to her. Passing her the cane, she balances before you follow the two blondes to the bedroom. After you get changed, you lay down, Billie and Cordelia to your left and waiting for your Mina.

As she finally approaches the bed, you take in her features, hair down and one of your favourite nightgowns that you had bought for her. ,,Mina?'' you whisper as she comfortably positions herself next to you. ,,Yes my sweet girl?'' she whispers as her gaze meets yours. ,,Can you hold me?'' you ask and the way your question came out, causes for more tears to almost escape. ,,Come here'' she coos as you wrap yourself up in her arms.

,,And little one?'' she whispers softly, still trailing her fingers through your hair. ,,I never want you to leave me alone'' she admits, thinking back to the argument and her earlier statement. ,,I know'' you whisper before holding onto her, again for dear life.

[camillelespanayesbtch]

✨Sarah Paulson Masterlist✨

!!!NO MINORS!!! 18+

Diane Sherman: Eyes boring a way through me Paralyze, controlling completely

Diane Sherman: Co-com-comparison is killing me slowly...And I’m so sick of myself, rather be, rather be. Anyone, anyone else

Diane Sherman, Ally Mayfair: We're Making Reasons To Destroy Our Believing. I See You Looking At Me, and Now I Don't Know Who To Believe

Diane Sherman: Pick Your Poison

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Billie Dean Howard: Strangers to Friends, Friends into Lovers, and Strangers Again P1, P2

Billie Dean Howard: Maybe You'll Start Slipping Slowly And Find Me Again

Wilhemina Venable, Billie Dean Howard: I see darkness in you

Billie Dean Howard, Audrey Tindall: Open hand or closed fist would be fine. The blood is red and sweet as cherry wine

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Wilhemina Venable: You stalker, watcher, psychopath (There's only one Wilhemina Fucking Venable)

Wilhemina Venable: Think About Your Hero, When You’re At Ground Zero

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Cordelia Goode: Baby’s Got Trouble. Don’t Know How To Live. Don’t Want To Die

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Sally McKenna: Hate To See Your Heart Break

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Xandra Terrell: There Is Something About The Way You Are That Makes Me (Sigh)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Audrey Tindall: You're The Next Drew Barry, And I Want More

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Alice Macray: I Pray For Forgiveness You Can't Grant Me.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Mildred Ratched: I Wanna Be Your Bubblegum Bitch

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

More on my AO3: TindallsGal

[thegirlwiththestarbirdtattoo]

The Gift

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem Reader

Summary: As you grow closer to Wilhemina, you decide on making her a very special gift. Will it push her away for good or take your relationship in a direction that you both secretly hope for?

A/N: Welcome to what will most likely be my first and last fic lol. I’m no writer but I’ve had this concept stuck in my brain for over a year and last week decided to actually write it down.

No warnings that I can think of. Turned into a pretty fluffy Christmas fic. Enjoy!

Word count: 5800

To say that Wilhemina Venable was furious would be the understatement of the century. 

The first thing that she’d been informed of this morning was that Jeff and Mutt had decided to hire someone without her knowledge, and for a position that seemed entirely fictitious.

“We need a third brain Ms. Venable!”

Hearing Jeff exclaim that to her almost made her retort with a comment letting him know he’d still need to find two more if that was his goal.

“Yeah,” butted in Mutt, “and you’re busy running all of the behind the scenes stuff around here. We need someone who can come up with ideas with us. Ways that we can use the tech for other things. Like a professional problem solver or creative engineer or something.”

“You shouldn’t be so annoyed with us,” Jeff continued, “this is like the most sane, sober thought we’ve had in months.”

Now that she could agree with.

When she heard that they’d hired a woman for the job she assumed they had just decided they wanted to keep one of their usual girls around more permanently and their attempt at a job description was all for show. She supposed she would find out soon enough. Part of the hiring bombshell that they’d dropped on her this morning was that the new employee would be joining them in a couple of hours for orientation.

When Wilhemina heard footsteps walking down the hallway to her office just over an hour later, she didn’t even bother to look up from her laptop, assuming it was one of the typical delivery people. That was until she heard an unknown voice introducing themselves to her.

…

Jeff and Mutt had instructed you to show up on Monday for orientation with a ‘Ms. Venable’. They also advised you to “just follow the purple”, whatever that meant.

You arrived at Kineros, nervous as ever. Security in the lobby of the building pointed you in the right direction, which is how you found yourself walking down an obscenely long hallway to a woman sitting behind a desk. A stunning woman dressed in head to toe lavender. Ah, so that’s what they meant about the purple.

“Hello,” you started, once reaching the table, “I’m y/n l/n. You must be Ms. Venable, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

When Wilhemina finally decided to look up from her laptop it was to a sight she was not entirely expecting. Stood before her was yes, a beautiful woman, but someone that was definitely not one of Jeff and Mutt’s usual girls. Looks like they were telling the truth.

Wilhemina stood up from her desk to shake your hand before leading you down a hallway to what would become your office.

Wilhemina for her part, couldn’t help but be intrigued by this new addition to the company. She could tell that you were listening intently to her explanations and asked well thought out questions when needed. You seemed respectable enough. A far cry from what she was used to dealing with.

Wilhemina soon realized that your hiring was actually a very good idea. At the very least so that she could have an intelligent conversation with another human being.

She knew that Jeff and Mutt were smart… in their own way. They were masters in their field but were severely lacking in a lot of other areas. Not to mention all of the ways they could grate on her nerves.

You however, were just as intelligent and a million times more professional. She started requesting that you join her for company meetings instead of Jeff and Mutt. Especially ones that involved investors. The boys didn’t care one bit; they were happy to have the extra time to partake in other activities.

Wilhemina insisted to herself that she was so happy with the change because it involved far less babysitting of the imbeciles and not because it meant that she got to see you more.

…

It had been a couple of months since you started working at Kineros Robotics. So far you were really enjoying it. The work was challenging at times but fulfilling, and you’d also had the privilege of getting to know the infamous Ms. Venable a little better.

At the beginning of your time at Kineros you’d kept to yourself as much as possible, which was fine by you. It wasn’t hard - the only people at the company that you had any consistent contact with were Jeff, Mutt and Ms. Venable - who you soon realized was the real reason the company wasn’t in complete disarray.

You hadn’t seen a reason to really leave your office other than for meetings with Jeff and Mutt, and the odd other meeting that Ms. Venable had started requesting your presence at. That included your lunch breaks. 

One day, a couple of weeks in to your time at Kineros, you decided to be a bit more adventurous and actually leave your office for lunch. You found a quiet table on the grounds, far away from where most of the other employees seemed to enjoy hanging around. It was surrounded by trees that provided nice shade and some separation from the rest of the sitting areas. You had been sitting there for no longer than five minutes when a shadow appeared across the table.

“I see you’ve found my usual spot.”

You looked up from your lunch to see none other than Ms. Venable standing before you.

“It’s lovely out here, I can see why you’re so fond of it. My apologies,” and you made to get up from your seat when she held up her hand at you.

“No need to leave. I wouldn’t mind the company today.”

You sat back down in slight shock. It’s not that Ms. Venable scared you - it was more respect and admiration. By the interactions you’d had with her so far, you’d come to see how intimidating she could be. She was fully in control anywhere she went and you’d gotten the impression that she wasn’t a woman who would want to spend more time in anyone’s presence beyond what she absolutely had to. Yet here she was having lunch with you.

Even more shocking to you was how the next day she came to your office asking if you’d join her for lunch again. The same happened the next day, and the next, and soon enough you were meeting up without having to ask one another - although you typically met up at one of your respective offices and walked out together.

Your conversations ranged from just about anything; something fascinating you’d read about online, current books and movies, your thoughts about the universe in general. The topics never got too personal though. One time you’d made some offhand comment about family and she’d tensed up so much it had deterred you from ever coming close to the topic again. 

Sometimes you barely spoke at all, but that suited you both fine. You’d both eased into the routine as if you’d been lifelong friends. She’d permitted you calling her Wilhemina during these moments together as well.

At couple of weeks into your lunches together you’d somehow worked up the courage to inquire about her cane. Although it wasn’t exactly the question Wilhelmina was expecting.

“May I ask you something?”

Wilhelmina stiffened immediately, dreading where this conversation was about to go, especially with you looking over at her with such a contemplative expression. She doesn’t know exactly what possessed her, but she nodded for you to continue regardless.

You opened and closed your mouth, trying to figure out how to word the question that’s been on your mind. Eventually you settled on “How do you not have a purple cane?”

Wilhemina barked out something resembling a laugh, clearly not expecting that to be your question. She was grateful though. She assumed it was going to be something far more personal than that, something more along the lines of the typical “why do you use a cane?” and the far less tactfully worded questions that’d she’d come to expect from anyone that she allowed near her for more than a brief interaction, which was an almost non existent list at this point. Until you came along that is. 

Truthfully she didn’t know how she’d handle such a question coming from you either. Typically she’d tear the person apart for even daring to ask such a thing. But not you. She didn’t know what it was but she couldn’t deny that she felt safe in your presence - something that she wasn’t sure if she’d ever truly experienced with another person.

She wasn’t quite sure how to even handle your current question. She looked back over to you, her expression softening slightly when she saw the look of half terror gracing your face.

“I suppose I’ve just never come across one. It seems that purple canes aren’t in the highest demand, as criminal as that should be.”

You smiled at her comment, relaxing a bit once you realized she wasn’t going to tear your head off for asking your question. Not only that, she was even slightly joking with you.

“It is a shame. What would be your ideal cane design?”

You observe her deep in thought across from you. 

“I don’t know.” She says a moment later. The answer surprises you.

Everything that you’ve seen this woman do has been meticulous. She’s by far the most prepared and put together person you’d ever met and you thought that a question about such an important accessory to her would have an almost immediate answer. It seems like something that she would have already thought about in great detail.

The rest of your lunch together was spent mostly in silence. You glanced up from eating to observe your company still busy within her own mind. You began to worry that your last question had been a mistake.

The next day Wilhemina invited you to join her once again to lunch. Practically the moment you had sat down at your usual spot, she began.

“I’ve been thinking about your question from yesterday. I suppose a deep plum or eggplant colour might look rather striking. With ornate baroque-style filigree starting from the handle and running down along the sides.”

She began to eat as if she’d said nothing. But you were in awe of her. You felt as if she’d just told you one of her deepest secrets. In a way she had by disclosing any information about such a personal item.

From that moment you knew you had to make it your mission to make this come to life for her.

…

A few days after the initial determination had worn off, the realization of what you were setting out to create finally started to sink in. 

It had been a long time since you’d doubted yourself so much. Were you capable of making it? You knew you were good at your job - Jeff and Mutt wouldn’t have sought you out if you weren’t. But were you really the best person to be designing such an important piece? Especially for someone who your admiration for only continued to grow.

You also briefly considered whether giving her such an item would be immediate grounds for your murder in her eyes. You came to the conclusion that you’d die happy as long as she got her purple cane.

And so you began. You sketched out ideas, drew up more finalized designs, threw those out and started from scratch - all in between your other work at Kineros and most importantly without Ms. Venable finding out what you were working on.

When you started to get closer to a design you were happy with, you did decide to fill Jeff and Mutt in on at least a little of your plan. You needed to get their permission to use some of the company’s departments and contacts to manufacture the parts you were designing. They of course wanted all of the details, happy that their dear Ms. Venable had someone else looking out for her.

“You don’t think she’ll kill me because of it?”

They laughed before Jeff continued with “Kill you? Definitely not. Ms. Venable seems rather… attached to you.”

“Dude,” butted in Mutt. “She’s in love with her. When was the last time you’ve seen Venable share so much as a non-hostile glance at anyone. They’ve basically spent every lunch together since we hired y/n.”

“That’s not true,” You corrected Mutt. “I didn’t leave my office for the first couple of weeks.”

“Doesn’t matter!” They both chimed in.

“We, well at least I have seen how she gets all googly eyed every time your name comes up. She’s gone completely soft for you. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

You were incredibly flustered with the direction the conversation had started to go. Ms. Venable in love with you?

You left Jeff and Mutt’s office as fast as you could after that, your mind going non stop. You barely even registered Wilhemina’s concerned calls after you as she watched you practically run past her desk towards your own office. You yelled something back to her along the lines of ‘everything is fine’ and that you ‘just forgot about something’.

Once you’d made it to the safety of your office, you started to come to terms with what Jeff and Mutt seemed so sure about.

You’d known for a while that you were in love with Wilhemina Venable but you never dared to hope that anything would come of it. You were just happy that you got to be in her presence at all, as desperate as that may sound. 

Over your many shared lunch breaks, an unspoken understanding seemed to have formed between you both - that neither of you had come across someone quite like the other, that you weren’t even sure someone like the other person could even exist. Neither one of you ever acknowledged it though, and you assumed that it would remain as such.

But after your conversation with Jeff and Mutt, you couldn’t help but think of all of the interactions you’d had with Wilhemina Venable. You’d seen her as her most intimidating, professional self at numerous shared meetings, and you compared that to the Wilhemina that you’d come to know over your lunch breaks, and more recently, time together outside of work. They hardly seemed like the same person. You wouldn’t call the Wilhemina during your time together ‘warm’ by any stretch of the imagination but Mutt’s observation of her - soft - was slightly more fitting. She seemed more relaxed around you and that gave you hope.

Especially when she started agreeing to accompany you on various weekend trips.

It had started during one of your conversations at lunch; you’d made a comment about wanting to visit a particular exhibit of one of your favourite artists at a local gallery. It surprised you when she said she’d heard about the exhibit as well.

“Are you busy this weekend?” 

Her eyes narrowed slightly, “No. Why?”

“Then why don’t we check out the exhibit together?”

It was clear that your invitation had taken her back. It had also taken the remainder of the week to convince her to go with you.

That day was so special to you. Getting to see her outside of work, being able to admire her as she admired the artwork on the gallery walls - none of which could rival her magnificence.

What you weren’t aware of was just how special the day was for her as well. She had never truly met anyone that she wanted to be in the presence of for prolonged periods of time, not to mention them seeming to want to spend time with her in return. And she’d certainly not had anyone ask her to accompany them on a visit to an art gallery - an activity she had always been fond of. 

The prospect had left her shocked and slightly unsettled. Not because she didn’t want to go with you, but because she’d never been put in the position of such an offer. She had lied awake in her bed multiple nights that week thinking over your invitation; of all the things that could go wrong, of how badly she wanted to go with you. Eventually the hopeful part of herself won out and she accepted. She never once regretted her decision. In fact, she wasn’t sure if she’d ever had such a pleasant day. Which is why the next week she’d suggested that you go to another one of her favourite galleries.

Your art gallery and museum dates - that had never been officially classified as such - continued for weeks. You didn’t think it was possible, but your extra time spent together only added to your admiration for her. She was so smart and witty and beautiful. You were hopelessly in love with her.

That made giving her this gift - that you’d worked so hard on - all the more nerve wracking. You weren’t simply giving a dear colleague - maybe even friend - an off handed gift that you’d just come across and thought they’d enjoy. No. You were trying to give someone who had become one of the most important people in your life, the woman that you were in love with - that might also be slightly in love with you back - a deeply personal item that she’d graciously shared details about during one of your private moments together. If you messed this up it would be devastating.

Which is why weeks later you found yourself with an immaculately wrapped box sitting in your office, unmoving. 

Jeff and Mutt knew that you’d finished your cane project and were growing impatient with your lack of action. They’d even started to threaten spoiling your surprise to Wilhemina herself if you didn’t give it to her soon.

The winter break was fast approaching - not that you’d planned it out this way. Truthfully you had hoped to have this project finished earlier but you’d spent ages perfecting things down to the smallest details. Now it looked like this was going to end up becoming a slightly early Christmas gift.

It was almost the final work day before the break, and before the ability to see Wilhemina for over two weeks was guaranteed. It was now or never.

She’d been in a good mood at lunch - not too stressed, as most of the operations were winding down for the year. You were hopeful that the day would continue on a good note, so you swung by her desk an hour before the end of the workday.

“How are things going?”

“Alright,” she replied. “The imbeciles have miraculously left me alone for the afternoon so I have significantly less of a headache compared to normal.”

You chuckled at her typical humour, “So you would be ok if I interrupted you for a moment to give you something?”

“Give me something?” She looked up from her laptop at you, confusion written on her face.

“Yes. I have something for you in my office and I wondered if I could bring it to you.”

She continued to stare at you for a moment, seeming to try and work out your intentions before she gave you a small nod.

“Just give me a couple of minutes.” 

You walked back to your office, your anxiety increasing with each step. You couldn’t quite believe that the time had come to give Wilhemina your gift. You only hoped that this didn’t ruin whatever it was that you’d been building together over the last few months.

You reached the supplies closet in your office where you’d carefully hidden the box. It had had to be custom made as well to fit the cane inside and you’d insisted it be manufactured in a deep purple. You had also added a large velvet ribbon in a lighter violet colour around the box.

With your prized creation in hand, you started to make your way back to Wilhemina’s office. Just before you made it into her line of sight, it dawned on you just how conspicuous the box was. Ideally you’d be able to place it in front of her without giving her the chance to formulate an idea as to what might be inside - which only left you one choice.

“Mina,” you called out. “Can you close your eyes for a sec?”

You heard her sputter slightly before replying, “What kind of childish antics are you trying to rope me into!?”

“I just wanted to surprise you. I can’t get the box to you without you seeing it and I only want to put it down on your desk.”

A moment later you heard an exasperated sigh before a less than enthusiastic “Fine.”

You poked your head out to see if she’d actually done what you’d asked. Seeing her sat in her office chair, eyes shut, with a slight frown on her face, you continued on your way back to her.

As she heard your steps approaching she began muttering to herself. You couldn’t make out everything but you caught enough to get the general idea. “- I can’t believe,” “- would expect such behaviour from those imbeciles, not you,” 

You couldn’t help but smile at her antics, grateful as they temporarily distracted you from your ever increasing nerves.

Standing across the table from her, you carefully moved her laptop over to the side before gently placing the box directly in front of her on the desk.

“Okay, open.”

As she opened her eyes she looked directly at you before slowly lowering her gaze. You knew the exact moment her eyes reached the box, the surprise was clear on her face.

Wilhemina had no idea what to expect when you said you had something you wanted to give to her. She was not used to any sort of acts of kindness. 

The sight of the box alone almost made her cry. It was clear that you’d put great thought into whatever it was by making sure it was wrapped in her favourite colour. She glanced back up at you in question, unsure as to what she’d done to deserve such an item.

“I wasn’t planning on this being a Christmas gift,” you started. “But it took me until now to get it ready for you and I wanted to make sure you had it before the holiday break.”

She looked back down at the box in front of her, gently grazing her fingers along the edge of the lavender bow.

You could feel her hesitation. “It’s okay, you can open it.”

She reluctantly began pulling on the ends of the ribbon, unraveling the beautiful bow. She pulled the ribbon completely off before running her palm along the top of the box. You motioned towards the edge facing her where she discovered a flap being magnetically held down to secure the box shut. She detached the flap from the magnets before slowly lifting the lid of the box. Inside, surrounded by plush velvet padding, she discovered the cane that she had described to you all those months ago. The sight immediately brought tears to her eyes.

She’d never told you that after your initial conversation about the purple cane she had decided to go searching for one again. She was pleasantly surprised to see a few options online, but nothing that she’d be caught dead using. The lack of success at finding something suitable had sent her down a dark spiral of self loathing and thinking about why she even needed the cane in the first place. She’d cried herself to sleep that night. The next morning she decided to banish such frivolous thoughts of ever finding something from her mind and vowed to never try it again.

But here in front of her, somehow, was the cane that she’d always hoped for. She didn’t even know where to begin with processing this.

“- How?” she choked out, returning her tearful gaze towards you.

“After you told me about it I knew I had to try to figure out a way to bring it to life for you.”

“But… why?”

You shrugged, “Because you’re my favourite person. I’m just glad I was able to figure out how to make it.”

“You made this!?” She alternated her gaze between you and the cane in the box in disbelief, the tears that had gathered in her eyes rolling down her cheeks.

You looked on - still incredibly nervous - as she delicately ran her fingers along the body of the cane. 

As she reached the handle, she noticed some sort of engraving along the end. She gently rotated the cane so that she could make out what it was. To her complete shock, she discovered her initials W.V. beautifully engraved into the handle. She stared at it for a moment before completely breaking down, overwhelmed by the entire situation.

You stood there in shock. You’d never seen Wilhemina Venable’s eyes so much as water until a moment ago and now here she was sobbing over your present. You still weren’t sure whether that was a good or bad reaction but you certainly weren’t going to leave her there to cry on her own. At this point she’d turned her chair to the side, facing away from her desk, burying her head in her hands. You quickly but gently moved to the other side of the table before kneeling down in front of her and carefully wrapping your arms around her, at a loss for what else to do. You had no idea how she’d react to the physical contact but you were pleasantly surprised when a moment later she wrapped her arms around your upper body in a crushing embrace.

Wilhemina’s thoughts were going a million miles an hour. She was completely overwhelmed with your gift and now she felt that she was making a complete fool of herself by crying in front of you. All of a sudden she was surrounded by warmth. Some part of her registered that she was being embraced. But by you? Surely you should be laughing at her obvious display of weakness. No. That wasn’t something you’d ever do.

Wilhemina had become well aware over the years of the looks she received from others when they saw her using a cane. Good, bad, didn’t matter. She was always perceived by others as different. 

Not once had she seen you look at her differently. It was one of the first things that had made her warm up to you and the reason she decided to ask you to join her for lunch that first day.

From there her admiration for you only grew. Your conversations during lunch were always fascinating. She enjoyed hearing you speak passionately about whatever the day’s topic was. She also found herself enjoying speaking to you in return; you always listened to her and never judged or dismissed her opinions.

There had been one night in particular where you were both working late trying to finalize a deal with a massive client. It had been almost midnight when you’d finished, but neither of you seemed too keen on going home quite yet. You’d offered to go get you both ice cream and you sat out on the main office balcony eating it as you gazed up at the sky, laughing and talking about life. It had been the most peaceful and carefree she’d ever felt.

Soon enough Wilhemina Venable realized she was in love with you. The realization sent her into full panic mode. Love was an emotion that only lead to the deepest hurt, or so she tried to tell herself. Then her mind would inadvertently begin to wander to you and the way you looked at her, treated her, and she realized she didn’t actually mind being in love with you at all. 

You had no idea how long you’d been wrapped up in each other’s arms; you would have happily stayed there with her forever is she wanted you to. 

You gradually felt the sobs wracking her body calm. At some point she’d nuzzled her face into the crook of your neck; you could feel her breathing had almost returned to normal but with the occasional sniffle.

“Thank you,” you heard her softly say a while later, her face still buried in your neck. 

“Anytime,” you replied, unsure of what it was exactly that she was thanking you for. “Was the cane a bad idea?”

She pulled away from you at that, but not too far - still keeping her hands around your shoulders.

“-what, no! It’s so beautiful. I- no one has ever done anything like that for me before.” she averted her eyes downward with her final admission.

“Well they should have,” you replied, gently cupping her cheeks with your hands, wiping away the tear tracks with your thumbs that hadn’t quite dried.

“-but it must have been so much work. How- why would you do something like that for me?” She’d returned her gaze back to you in question. 

You weren’t immediately sure how to respond to her question. Didn’t she realize how special she was? How important she was to you?

“Why wouldn’t I? Wilhemina, you are wonderful and the time that we’ve spent together has meant so much to me.”

“When you said that you’d never really been able to find the perfect cane, I knew I had to try to do something about it. You deserve only the best. I don’t know if what I did is exactly as you imagined, we can fix anything that isn’t perfect-“

Wilhemina could never have predicted in a million years the turn that this day was taking. Her favourite person had just gifted her her dream cane, had held her in her arms as she sobbed about said cane - without making her feel weak or pathetic - and now the same person was kneeling in front of her, hands delicately holding her face, as she explained how she thought she was wonderful?

Her brain was definitely not processing all of this. All she could think about was the warmth of your hands on her face, how beautiful you looked, how in love she was with you at this moment and every other. She didn’t know how to possibly begin to put what she was feeling into words, so her body decided to do the only thing that it could think of and cut you off with a kiss.

At first you couldn’t grasp why all of a sudden you were unable to speak. Then you registered the plush warmth on your lips and a deliciously spicy sent you’d recognize anywhere. Mina. 

You still didn’t quite know what was going on but you’d dreamt about this moment for so long that you didn’t want to think too hard about it. So instead you returned her kiss.

When Wilhemina’s brain caught up with her body, she panicked. But then she realized you were kissing her back? Surely this couldn’t actually be happening. Far too soon you were pulling away from her mouth, resting your foreheads together. She kept her eyes shut but she could feel your slightly laboured breathing against her face, the pads of your thumbs gently stroking her cheeks. The close proximity to you felt so so wonderful.

“If I knew that’s how you’d react to your present I would have given it to you a lot sooner.”

She chuckled at that, reluctantly pulling away from you to look at your face. 

She always loved the way you looked at her, she’d never felt judged by your beautiful eyes. But now you were looking at her with an expression she’d never seen before. 

There was such pure, unfiltered adoration in your gaze that she could think of nothing else but to pull you back towards her and reconnect your lips.

Gone was the nervous peck of lips born from uncertainty. You both poured everything into the kiss, realizing that at least to some degree, your feelings for each other were reciprocated.

Wilhemina had never felt so free before - everything felt weightless and she would have happily drowned in your warmth forever. That was until a cough from her office doorway interrupted you both.

She wasn’t even the one to realize it and pull away first, that was you. It was almost physically painful to stop kissing her but when you did, you were met with the sight of a very amused looking Jeff and Mutt.

“You own me five hundred bucks and first dibs on girls for the next week!” Mutt excitedly exclaimed to Jeff.

You groaned and hid your face in Wilhemina’s chest. At this point she’d mostly come out of her kissing induced daze, and she was not happy with the turn of events.

“Is there a reason you’re both standing in my doorway?”

“Yes, Ms. Venable,” Jeff quickly replied, recognizing the change in her mood and not wanting to deal with her wrath. “We were just coming by to inform you both that everything has been wrapped up for the year, so no need to come in tomorrow. Enjoy the next few weeks off.”

“Oh, I don’t think they are going to have an issue with that,” Mutt added snickering. “We have a plane to catch but we’ll want full details later ladies.”

With that they left and you were once again left alone together.

“How much do you think they saw?” you asked.

“Enough for them to never let us forget about it.” she replied.

“There’s no threat of that. I could never forget today,” you pulled away from her chest, smiling up at her. She returned your smile. Her eyes were so peaceful, you’d never seen her look so happy.

“Do you have plans for the next couple of weeks?”

She looked down at her lap in shame before shaking her head.

“Well, I think we can do something about that,” she looked up at your response hopefully. “What do you think about starting with dinner tonight? We can get takeout or go out somewhere, whatever you’d prefer.”

She was so so grateful for you. She hoped that by the end of the night she’d be able to find the words to adequately express how much you meant to her. She didn’t know if it would ever be possible though.

She took one of your hands in her own, bringing it up to her face to place a kiss along your knuckles.

“Let’s go out. After all, I have this fancy new cane to show off.”

[blxckchxrrybxby]

FaceTime: No Violets in November [Pt. 1]

summary: Wilhemina despises her birthday. Each year is a reminder of her inadequacies. However, this is the year that she deals with her demons head-on. (The intimate chaos of being in a relationship included).

pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Billie Dean Howard x Cordelia Goode x Reader

warning(s): Cursing, perhaps.

a/n: @abeillesurlalunerose inspired the sweet tea part. Also, reader is she/they. More Mina in the next chapter. This was supposed to be a simple one shot, idk what happened.

wordcount: 3,581

“Ready, Babydoll?” Billie questioned as she sprayed herself in perfume—trying to get rid of the smell of smoke. Her hand delicately grasped yours and held it above your head; guiding you to spin, so the falling fragrance would cover as much of you as possible. You were never the floral type, but you didn’t have much of a choice.

“As ready as I’ll ever be...” You mumbled, trying to focus on not tripping over your own two feet. Billie smirked knowingly, watching your nose scrunch up from the last spritz of perfume. It was clear that you were trying to hold your breath so the overbearing scent wouldn’t choke you.

She let out a chuckle and decided to give your nose a quick peck, “Such a cutie, you are.” Your cheeks burned—causing you to shy away and no longer scrunch your nose. Holding eye contact was by far one of the hardest things to accomplish at the moment. Despite your obvious timidity, Billie absolutely loved when you became flustered. “Babydoll, you have no idea what being shy like this does to me.” She stated in a lower voice, bringing her hand up to caress your warm cheek; instantly igniting a fire in the pit of your belly.

You could feel the warmth radiating from her touch and basked in it. Her thumb grazed across your flushed cheek, gradually moving across textured skin and acne. Naturally, you’d fall insecure, but you knew how much she admired every last bit of you. Her gentle touches no longer frightened you.

“B-Billie…” You whimpered, trying to find your voice.

A wicked grin spread across her plump lips at your demeanor. “My, my... I could just eat you up, kitten. Would you like that?” No matter how much perfume she sprayed, you could still smell a hint of tobacco embedded in her fingertips. Your eyes lifted momentarily; catching the blonde’s gaze as she gently pushed your hips against the nearby wardrobe. Her lips immediately attached themselves to your neck, planting tender kisses along the fragile skin. You let out a whine, trying your best to contain the sounds within you begging for escape. You always figured her favor towards your vulnerability was a power move. Quite similar to Wilhemina’s—

Oh shit. Mina.

You cleared your throat, hoping it would help break you out of the sudden bashful spell. Time was ticking and it did not permit for this—no matter how badly you wanted it. “We should really get going. Delia’s probably waiting.” Billie nodded against your neck in agreeance and took a step back from you, but not before giving you a love bite.

“There. A purple accessory to go with your outfit.”

You rolled your eyes—hiding the fact that you absolutely loved the hickey—before you spoke again, “Oh, wait-” She arched an eyebrow at you as she put the perfume back into her purse. After shuffling through your pockets, you pulled out a pack of gum. Opening it, you slid out a stick and held it out for her, “-here.”

Her expression fell as she stared at you, “Darling, are you trying to tell me my breath stinks?” She frowned, cupping her hand in front of her face to blow into.

You immediately rolled your eyes at her accusation, “No, but if you don’t take it, Mina will.”

“Why would Venny want a stick of gum?” She asked with both eyebrows knitting together.

“Wha- No, Billie, I meant she’ll tell you that your breath stinks!” You giggled, elaborating on your statement.

A soft pink hue graced her cheeks as she caught on. “Ah,” Her manicured nails tapped against the side of her purse as she looked away and hid her face out of embarrassment. The humility made her crave a cigarette, “I suppose that’s more logical.”

Billie knew how much Wilhemina hated the smell of the cancer sticks and didn’t doubt for a second the truth you spoke. The last thing she needed was the redhead scolding her for smelling like a walking pack of Marlboro. With a huff, she took the minty offering from you. The silver-covered stick of gum danced between Billie’s fingers for a moment before she finally unwrapped it and slid the gum into her mouth.

After indulging in a piece yourself, you crumbled the wrapper and held your hand out for Billie’s. She stared at you; absentmindedly folding the wrapper as small as possible before placing it in the palm of your outstretched hand. It was a habit she did with not only gum wrappers, but napkins as well. You always wondered if the tendency to fold was something she had been taught growing up or if it was just one of her silly little quirks.

“Thank you, Kitten.” With a closed-mouth smile, you discarded of the trash and returned back by her side within a minute. She chuckled at your eagerness and walked out of the bedroom, “Come, before we’re late.”

You mentally rolled your eyes, finding it a bit ironic that the woman who was always ‘fashionably late’ to events was rushing you. Nonetheless, you followed her with confusion written all over your face as she led you to Madison’s room.

“Uh, Billie? Why are we in here?” You questioned, walking into the room once she pushed open the door.

Madison walked out of the bathroom and jumped, holding a towel tight against her body, “Fucking knock next time, blondie! What if my tits were out?!”

You smiled apologetically at the witch, “Sorry to barge in like this, Madison. I’m sure Zoe finds them amazing.”

The younger blonde glared as you beamed innocently.

Billie ignored the whole exchange and darted directly to Madison’s bed. “That’s rich.” Placing the palm of her hand on the mattress to aid with kneeling down, she continued, “Besides, Madison, you don’t have much to be worried about if—God forbid—anyone did see.” You held in a laugh and watched as the older woman reached under the bed—admiring the way her ass looked in the lilac dress.

Madison rolled her eyes and watched as you stared at Billie’s ass as if you were in a trance, “Perv.”

You scoffed, now looking at her, “She’s literally my girlfriend.”

She shrugged, grabbing a second towel to dry her hair, “I don’t care. Go be gay somewhere else.”

“I apologize.” You held your hands up in mock defense, “Next time, I’ll be sure to switch the gay off before entering.”

Sliding from under the bed with three presents in her arms, Billie stood up and flipped her hair—handing you one of the presents. “Alright, doll, let’s get going.”

You held the gift and nodded, shuffling out of the room as Billie led.

“You’re welcome!” Madison yelled out as the both of you giggled to yourselves whilst descending the staircase.

-

Approaching the coven’s library, you couldn’t help but ask, “Why were the presents in Madison’s room?”

Billie shrugged, “Delia thought it would be the perfect spot since Venny never goes in there.”

You nodded, “Okay, but why didn’t anyone let me know they were in there?”

She chuckled, “You ask far too many questions.”

“And you don’t answer enough of them.” You stated with a pout.

Billie stepped closer to you, smirking, “Babydoll, we love you, but you couldn’t hold water even if it was frozen.” Noticing the slight furrow of your eyebrows, she figured you didn’t understand what she meant. “Must I elaborate?”

“Hold water?”

“It means to keep a secret.” She paused and snorted, mumbling to herself, “God, am I getting old, or is it a southern thing?”

You shrugged, “I doubt it’s the southern thing. I usually understand about 95% of what you say.”

Her expression went blank, “Did you just call me… old?”

You blinked, taking a moment to process what just happened. Clearing your throat, you smiled innocently, “I think it’s time we go in, but I would like the record to show that I am great at keeping secrets! I haven’t even told anybody that you despise sweet tea-”

“Shh!” Her hand immediately covered your mouth. You ceased talking as she looked around as if someone was listening and whispered, “Don’t you ever say that out loud again.”

You nodded slowly at her dramatics as she removed her hand and adjusted the two gift bags on her arm. Biting your lip nervously, you turned towards the door to the library. Your fingertips fidgeted anxiously with the wrapping paper on the present. Billie winked at you and opened the door; letting you enter first while following close behind. Her right hand found the small of your back, slowly rubbing it to help ground you.

As bookshelf after bookshelf passed, you proceeded to walk toward the fireplace. The closer you got, the more Cordelia came into view. She sat in a chair, tapping away on her laptop.

“Please tell me you’re not still working right now,” Billie stated, unamused by the always-working Supreme.

Cordelia jumped—startled by Billie’s voice—and instantly closed her laptop, “Well, hello to you too.” She displayed a bashful smile, standing up to greet the both of you.

“Has Mina made it yet?” You asked in a hushed tone; in case the other woman was somewhere nearby.

Cordelia chuckled softly, “Not yet.” She removed the gift from your arms and wrapped you into a tight hug, “You look amazing, sweet girl.”

You smiled, feeling your face heat up, “Thank you, Delia.” With your face buried against her neck, you took a moment to bask in the smell of her chamomile shampoo and vanilla perfume before pulling back. “You look stunning by the way.”

She grinned in response—absentmindedly smoothing her hands down the front of her long, flowy skirt. “Really? I was hoping it wouldn’t be too much for Mina.”

Your eyes scanned the entirety of the Supreme, “She will love it. Trust me.”

After setting down the gift bags, Billie greeted Cordelia with a kiss and complimented her on today’s outfit selection, as well. You genuinely found the whole thing funny, considering all three of you were wearing purple. The idea was cute, but the execution was questionable. Honestly, it felt a bit… cultish.

You took a moment to look around; admiring the purple and silver decorations, along with the few drinks and snacks placed on the coffee table beside a bouquet of violets. Cordelia had truly outdone herself. It wasn’t so over the top that it would overwhelm Wilhemina, but it was enough to show effort and that alone would please her.

The only thing missing now, however, was Mina.

“I thought she would be here by now,” Billie muttered, looking at her watch, then at Delia.

“She would have been here if she didn’t request to work today,” Cordelia mumbled, adding her gift to the other three.

You furrowed your eyebrows, moving your gaze to the both of them, “I didn’t know you could request to work on a mandatory day off.”

“You can’t, babydoll.” Billie rolled her eyes while texting on her phone, “Venny is just so stubborn that she thinks she can do whatever she pleases.”

Delia hummed to herself, “And her bosses are a bit too…” She paused, thinking of the right word to use, “…intimidated to tell her otherwise.”

You smirked, “So they’re scared of her? And she’s working for them?”

“It appears so.” Cordelia chuckled.

As if on cue, Delia’s phone began to ring. Billie swiftly picked it up from the coffee table and grinned mischievously, seeing Mina’s picture. She answered it without hesitation.

“Where is she?” Mina growled, rushing through the halls of Kineros, as her cane tapped loudly.

You glanced at Delia with furrowed eyebrows; confused as to why Mina sounded so upset. She shrugged in response with the same expression of concern and confusion.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t our Venny.” Billie stated, not at all phased by the redhead’s unnerved demeanor (and most likely using the camera to fix her curls).

“Billie Dean, I swear if this is one of your pranks-” Mina started, sounding beyond irritated.

“Wilhemina, it’s not ladylike to swear, honey,” Billie said in faux innocence.

“I am not in the mood, Howard.”

“You’re never in the mood, Venable.”

“She’s always in the mood for me.” You mumbled to yourself, picking at your nails.

“Stop it, you three.” Cordelia intruded, rolling her eyes at the bickering and somehow back on her laptop.

A moment of silence went by before Mina responded in a relieved tone, “Hello, little one.”

You bit your lip, looking up at the phone in Billie’s hand. Standing from the chair, you walked over and peeked a glance at your other lover from over Billie’s shoulder, “Hi, Mina. We’ve missed you.”

Delia shook her head, mumbling under her breath, “What am I, chopped liver?”

“At worst, you’re nothing short of a five-star Michelin steak.” Billie chimed in.

“How charming of you, Billie,” Cordelia responded with a chuckle.

“For God’s sake, give Y/N the phone if you’re going to socialize with Cordelia the whole time,” Mina stated in agitation.

“Well, someone needs to show our Supreme how cherished she is since you can’t seem to provide her with a simple hello. Where are your manners-” In the midst of Billie speaking, the call hung up. “Did she just-“

“Still no greeting,” Delia mumbled, typing away. Within a few seconds, a low buzz filled the room. Delia looked down—feeling her thigh vibrate. Seeing your phone light up with Mina’s contact picture, she smirked to herself and answered, “Hello there, Wilhemina.”

A soft chuckle could be heard on the other side of the phone, “Hello, Cordelia.”

“Playing phone tag, I see.”

“Unfortunately. It seems no one has their own phone.”

“Isn’t that a shame?” You chuckled, watching the Supreme pout in faux sorrow, “I assume you’re calling to speak with our sweet girl?”

Wilhemina smirked, “Perhaps it was you I wanted to speak with.”

Cordelia hummed to herself, “You know our communication is better done through action, my love. I’ll pass them the phone, hm?”

“Thank you.”

Billie rolled her eyes as you retrieved your cellular device and walked off to a less chaotic place to hold conversation. Cordelia arched an eyebrow and peered at Billie from above her laptop, “Now, why was she so upset to begin with?”

She shrugged, admiring her nails, “You know how Venny gets-”

“Billie,” Cordelia stated in a warning tone.

The Medium huffed and flipped her hair, “Calm down, Delia. I simply told her that Y/N was missing.”

“What?!”

“It got her attention, didn’t it?”

Cordelia shook her head and went back to typing, “You’ve got a few screws loose, Billie Dean.”

“The better for you to tighten, my dear.”

Cordelia looked at her with furrowed eyebrows, “Excuse me?”

Billie scoffed while grabbing her phone, then mumbled, “Now I know it’s definitely a southern thing.”

-

You sighed softly, leaning against a bookshelf, “So… how’s work?”

Her expression noticeably softened at your words, “I know you’re upset, little one.”

“And why would I be upset?” You asked—knowing full and well that you were seething on the inside from her deciding to go to work and not tell you.

“Are the others-”

“I walked away.”

With a deep inhale, she gathered her excuse, “I apologize, I was needed at work-”

“You were needed at home.” You stated with confidence.

“Y/N-”

“How naïve do you think I am? I expect you home within the next hour, Wilhemina.”

You took a moment to take in her features. Everything about her screamed ‘apathetic business woman’ but all you could see was the child in her. The fearful being that was dreading another year of life and despising the idea of celebrating it even more. You knew this was why she had fled the coven and chose to hide within the confinements of her office. She didn’t need another reminder of her age increasing and health declining. However, last year she had promised you growth, and what better way to bring in her new age, than with the first step of change?

No more running away.

-

“Happy birthday, my love,” Cordelia celebrated softly as she placed a tender kiss against Wilhemina’s cheek; handing her the last present. It was the same present you insisted on covering in violet wrapping paper—much like the others. “Enjoy. This one’s from an anonymous source.”

Wilhemina’s eyebrows furrowed at Delia’s words as her gaze met with the witch’s. What anonymous source could she possibly be referring to? She had already opened a gift from each of her lovers. Delia laid her hand on Mina’s—which happened to be resting on the unopened gift—and gave it a loving squeeze. As if to say, just trust me.

 Every year, Wilhemina made it clear that she preferred to ignore the day the universe cursed her with life—however—with three girlfriends who loved her immensely, it was nearly impossible. Although dreaded by Mina, November 11th was a day worth celebrating.

Cordelia perched herself on the armrest of the La-Z-Boy Billie gifted Mina the year prior and absentmindedly ran her fingers through her lover’s red hair. Wilhemina huffed under her breath and began to unwrap the gift; taking her time with precision.

“One of these years, I’d like to actually receive what I ask for.” The redhead grumbled.

Billie rolled her eyes, “Get over it, Venny. We’re not going a year without celebrating you.” Taking a sip of her cider, she smirked, “Besides, it’s a fun way to torture you.”

Once the gift was uncovered, she placed the paper aside and opened the large, rectangular box; revealing one of the most beautiful canes she had ever seen.

You bit your lip nervously and glanced at Cordelia. You had begged her to give Mina your gift; knowing if she found out her ‘little one’ spent so much money on her, she’d pitch a fit. Cordelia continued to stroke Mina’s hair as her gaze remained fixated on the cane. No words left the woman’s mouth. It was as if she were frozen.

 You knew your bottom lip was bound to become raw from how much you were currently gnawing on it, “Do you like it?”

Your words snapped her out of the flashback she was currently trapped in.

Taking a moment to swallow down the aftertaste of inadequacy with the apple cider Cordelia made, her piercing gaze hesitantly met yours. “Little one. Tell me you didn’t.”

You fidgeted with your blouse anxiously, “What do you mean?”

She sat up the best she could, frowning, “Did you buy-”

“I said it was anonymous, Mina. Leave it at that.” Delia stated as she interrupted. “Now, who wants pie?”

“Me, please.” You stated, ready to change the subject. Glancing over at Mina, her gaze remained fixated on the cane in front of her.

“Leave my slice on the table, won’t you, darling?” Billie asked, standing up, “I need a smoke.”

Delia agreed, but shook her head disapprovingly, “Fine, but you need to ease off the nicotine.”

Looking through her purse for a cigarette, the Medium pointed a finger, “Don’t. Tonight is a good night and we’ve already talked about this.”

Delia frowned, “I know, but I get worried, Billie.” She sat the plates down on the coffee table as Billie walked up to her and pulled her over to the side.

While grasping her waist and pulling her flush against her body, Billie began, “Hey…” She spoke softly, easing a few golden strands behind the Supreme’s ear, “You never have to worry about me.”

“I know, but-”

“But?”

Cordelia took a moment to find her words then replied in a hushed tone, “That’s easier said than done. I practically watch you inhale your fate every time you go out on that balcony.” Billie frowned at her statement, but let her continue, “And don’t think that I don’t know about you sharing those cancer sticks with Y/N.”

Her eyes widened as she bit her bottom lip nervously, “Have you told-”

“No, but if she finds out, you’re dead along with the rest of the coven that knows.”

Billie arched an eyebrow, “Who was it that told you?”

“I’m not telling you that, Billie Dean.”

The Medium peered, adamant about knowing who told her business, “Coco? Queenie?”

“Billie-”

“Madison? Nan?”

Cordelia sighed, “Nan.”

You smiled, walking over to Mina. Kneeling in front of her, you placed both hands atop hers. She jumped slightly, bringing her attention to you. “Are you alright, Mina?”

She inhaled slowly to control her breathing. Something you had noticed she would do if she didn’t want to draw in attention to her emotions, “Of course, Little one.”

You tilted your head, “I know you, Mina. Something is wrong. Do you not like your presents?”

“It’s not that.” Her fingers caressed the palm of your hand to not only ground you, but herself.

“Is it the pie? I thought you detested cake.”

“I do.”

“Then… what’s wrong?”

Her fingers intertwined with yours as a soft smile appeared on her lips. With a gentle squeeze of your hands, she spoke quieter than usual, “Not now.”

You could hear the waver of her voice. A few decibels louder and the dam of emotions would erupt. “I understand.” You accepted her decision and forced a smile. “Would you like some pie?”

Her fingers withdrew from yours and moved through your hair. “I’d much rather prefer you instead.”

[getlostsquidward]

american horror story masterlist

main masterlist | ao3

Billie Dean Howard

wonderland — you and your girlfriend billie steps out into the wider world to reach your dreams. however, will your relationship be able to withstand the pressure it entails?

a palpable phantom (18+) — they say it’s wise to heed the warnings, but if ignoring it leads you to this particular consequence, then warnings be damned.

Cordelia Goode

secrets turn into regrets — you learn that chances are only given to those people who are willing to take the risk.

a forewarning of sorts (18+) — what happens when you find yourself subjected to the sensuous gaze of cordelia?

second chances — you never got to tell her you loved her – lucky for you, a second chance has been given to you.

room for one more — under the influence of booze, you kissed the supreme – and her intimidating redhead girlfriend.

Sally McKenna

no body, no crime — the basement of hotel cortez was the dumping site of corpses. there should be a pile of bodies welcoming sally’s sight, only to find it empty.

Wilhemina Venable

you've got me tied down (18+) — you're more than ms. venable's assistant.

the two times wilhemina denied that she's a cuddler and the one time she's admitted it

room for one more — under the influence of booze, you kissed the supreme – and her intimidating redhead girlfriend.

[cabensonsgirly]

Hey everyone! I know ask accounts are dead, but I'm trying to bring them back! There are three that I know of, linked below 😊

Billie Dean Howard

Diane Sherman

Wilhemina Venable

Anne Gillette

Mildred Ratched

[the-actual-wvenable]

That's great to hear. As for me, I'm better now that I'm chatting with you!

I don’t respond well to such attempts of… flattery. I recommend finding things that bring betterment to your life that don’t always revolve around others.

[eldritchlibertine]

Michael Langdon x Nameless FMC Words: 5,462

The apocalypse has come and gone, and 18 months have passed at Outpost 3. Life is a monotonous, bleak expanse of tedium - until the arrival of Michael Langdon shakes the very foundations of her existence and she realizes how little control of she has over her own life.

They were all gathered in the library, waiting for an ‘announcement’ from Ms. Venable. And she might have been imagining it, but the air in this horrible, underground bunker felt even more still and oppressive than usual. 

Maybe it was the silence. 

While they would usually spend their evenings in the library, spending time before and after dinner reminiscing about the times when the world wasn’t completely fucked, tonight was different.  

Tonight, there was a stranger in Venable’s office and live snakes had crawled out of their dinner bowls, despite being definitely not alive just moments before. No. Tonight was very different.

Even the radio was silent. Maureen McGovern had been singing about a morning after ceaselessly for the last 18 months. She thought back bitterly to those happier times, when they thought the song was a good omen - a sign that perhaps their stint in this terrible purgatory would soon come to an end. But no, as time had dragged on without change, the stupid song had morphed into nothing more than a mocking reminder of their stagnation. 

So this silence should have felt like a blessing - but it didn’t. It felt like a threat.

It loomed over them like a black cloud, heavy with foreboding. The only sounds that punctured the quiet were the soft rustles of clothing as the others shifted uncomfortably, each noise amplified in the unusual stillness that had taken hold.

Finally, Venable arrived, shadowed as always by Ms. Mead, her faithful specter. The rhythmic tap of her cane interrupted the horrible silence, but she didn’t speak once she’d reached her position in front of the fireplace - she just watched them - waiting. The atmosphere of the room seemed to pull taut, like a violin string about to snap. Now, no one was fidgeting. It didn’t even seem like anyone was breathing. Then, cutting through the suspense like a knife, the sound of deliberate footsteps echoed from the passage outside. 

This was obviously who Venable was waiting for; the mysterious visitor that had arrived the day before.

He entered with an unhurried gait, footsteps echoing methodically in the oppressive silence that followed him like a shroud as he took Venable’s place in front of the fire.

Her breath caught in her throat. Maybe it was because his was the first new face she’d seen in what felt like an eternity, but she found her mouth going dry at the sight of him. There was something ethereal about him - captivating, but unsettling. Perfection in the flesh.

His golden hair framed his face like the halo of a fallen angel, and his eyes seemed to flicker with shadows and flames. She found herself wanting to reach out and touch him. 

"Allow me to introduce myself," his voice cut through the thick tension in the room, breaking her from her reverie. "My name is Langdon, and I represent The Cooperative." He spoke with a theatrical flourish, and his lips curled into a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes; a facade of warmth unable to melt the ice there. 

Her mouth was dry again; this time, a primal instinct warning of danger. He exuded power and menace and his voice carried the intangible authority of someone who knows too much, who has seen things no one else has, and who wields that knowledge like a weapon.

He leaned forward slightly, hands clasped behind his back, savoring the moment. “I won’t sugarcoat the situation,” he says, the ghost of a smile hovering around the corner of his lips. “Humanity is on the brink of failure. The three other compounds have been overrun and destroyed.”

Timothy voiced the question that was on all of their minds. “What happened to the people inside?”

"Massacred," Langdon drawled, drawing out the syllables. They rolled off his tongue like he enjoyed the taste of them, and she couldn't help but feel there was a sort of relish behind his words. Her gaze flickered up to meet his, and for a moment she saw it—the glint in his eye that said he was enjoying telling them this. Her heart fluttered, and she told herself it was from fear.

"The same fate that will befall almost all of you. But," he continued with a casualness that belied the significance of his message, "there is a place beyond the reach of this devastation. The Sanctuary." 

A flicker of something indefinable sparked in his eyes as he leaned forward, the dim light catching his gaze and making it dance with something indefinable and sinister. 

“The Sanctuary is unique. It has certain security measures that will prevent overrun.” 

The next questions he fielded with a bland, “that’s classified,” before he said, “All that matters is that the sanctuary will survive, so the people populating it will survive, so humanity will survive.”

"The Cooperative has developed a particular and rigorous questioning technique we like to call Cooperating" he announced, the words dropping like weights into the silence of the room. "I will then use the information gained to find those who are—how shall I put it?—worthy and fit to join us."

The air seemed to thicken around her, charged with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. She watched as his lips curled into what could have been a smile, though there was nothing warm about it. 

"If you belong," he continued, his tone almost teasing, seeming to relish the power he held over them, "you'll be safe within the Sanctuary's embrace."

He seemed to take a sick pleasure in their uncertainty, in the hope he dangled before them like a lifeline that might just as easily turn into a noose.

The air seemed to grow colder, denser, as if every word from Langdon's lips added weight to the already suffocating atmosphere and she questioned silently whether survival was worth enduring more of this.

Her thoughts must have been louder than she realized, because suddenly, Michael's gaze captured hers. His eyes - icy, sharp and discerning - held her own for a moment and a shiver ran down her spine as she wondered whether he could feel her inner turmoil. But just as quickly as their eyes met, his attention swept past her, continuing his survey of the room.

She was so absorbed in her own thoughts that she didn’t even hear Coco’s objection, but she felt the palpable tension settle over the room, as thick as the shadows that played across Michael's face. His eyes fixed on Coco with a disquieting calm.

“You don’t have to sit for questioning,” he said, each word dropping like a stone into the silence that followed Coco's outburst. Coco, her earlier confidence now shattered, shifted uncomfortably under the weight of his gaze. 

"What happens if we choose not to?" Andre asked, his voice scraping against the stillness of the room.

The question hung between them and Langdon’s lips curved with the hint of a smile; one that spoke of malice - a smile that knew too much, that held secrets and the power to unravel them at will.

"Then you stay here and die," he said, that cold smile leaking into his voice.

The declaration sliced through the tension like blade and the finality in his tone made it clear that this was not an idle threat. 

Without breaking eye contact, his hand delved into the pocket of his coat and emerged with a small glass bottle filled with white pills. The rattle of them as he held the vial was unnervingly loud in the quiet room. 

“But all is not lost,” he said. “If the worst should happen and feral cannibals come knocking, down one of these." His eyes seemed to glitter as he continued. "And one minute later, you fall asleep and never wake up."

The offer dangled before them, an alluring escape from the waking nightmare they found themselves trapped within. She could feel the pull of the promise—peaceful oblivion, an end to the fear and uncertainty that had burrowed deep into her bones. Her mind toyed with the idea, desperate for reprieve, Maybe she could skip the interview process altogether and just ask him for one of those pills. Anything had to be better than this.

Around her, the silence swelled, heavy with the unspoken thoughts of her companions, each person wrestling with their own demons, their own temptations. To her, the pills were a siren call, a way out that was both terrifying and tender in its cruelty. To the others, they seemed to be a threat - a warning.

Again, Michael’s eyes seemed to catch hers as her thoughts drifted to the darkness. For a fleeting moment, she felt exposed, vulnerable as if he had peeled back the layers of her resolve to glimpse at the turmoil swirling within. His eyes were sharp, piercing, and she couldn't shake off the sensation that he was sifting through her thoughts and was ill-pleased with what he found there.

"Once again," he said, his voice low and resonant, "I look forward to meeting each and every one of you." The words slithered through the room, wrapping around her like a shroud. His words were a threat, thinly veiled as a courtesy, and they hung in the air, ominous and foreboding.

He swept out of the room then, leaving them all reeling. At least Coco waited until Venable and Mead had also departed before she lay into Gallant for offering to take the first interview. Things snowballed from there, and she slipped out quietly while everyone continued to bicker, her presence dissolving into the shadows as if she had never been there at all.

—

She awoke groggily the next morning, dreading the idea of having to face another day in this interminable limbo. Venable’s rule echoed in her mind—no idle lounging in bedrooms during the ‘daylight’ hours. She scoffed. They hadn’t seen daylight in nearly two years.

The hallways were silent as she made her way through them towards the library - the heart of their little hell and the only place they could really spend their time when they weren’t just wandering the halls like ghosts as she sometimes did when she couldn’t bear another moment of banal chatter or Maureen McGovern. A wry smile touched her lips as she thought of Jane Austen's characters in their finery, forever seeking purposeful activity. "Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to follow my example, and take a turn about the room," she whispered to herself, channeling Miss Bingley's persuasion to break the monotony of inactivity.

Stepping into the library, she was greeted by the sight of the others already gathered, their nervous energy palpable even in their quiet chatter. She shifted from foot to foot, her arms crossed over her chest in a subconscious effort to ward off the discomfort that seeped into her bones. She tried to focus on the lyrics floating through the air, words about hope and moving on, but they felt hollow, an echo of optimism that seemed out of reach.

She couldn’t engage with anyone, though Coco tried to pull her into a conversation. At some point, Gallant drifted in, looking pale and shaken, but she couldn’t even focus on that. The tension coiled tighter within her, a physical presence that made her heart race and her stomach churn. It was like the very air was laden with trepidation, and with each inhale, she drew more of it inside herself.

Finally, the oppressive atmosphere became too much to bear and she had to escape. With a polite smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, she murmured an excuse about needing a moment alone.

The narrow passage was dim, the only light filtering in from the sconces that hung on the dark walls. When they built this horrible bunker underground, they probably should have used some brighter colors so that living there wouldn’t feel so much like living inside a tomb. And before this, it had been a school - she pitied the students who had to live and learn here. 

She walked swiftly, with no particular destination in mind, her thoughts a tangled mess. 

Without warning, her forward motion was abruptly halted and a firm grip encircled her upper arms, steadying her as she collided with a solid chest.

"Careful," Langdon's deep voice rumbled, resonating through the close quarters of the hallway.

She looked up, her breath catching at the intensity of his icy blue eyes. The contact sent a jolt of warmth flooding her cheeks, her skin tingling where his hands made contact. His touch was surprisingly gentle for a man who seemed to be the living, breathing embodiment of menace, and yet it did little to ease the tight coil of anxiety in her stomach.

"I was just coming to find you," he said, his voice low and even. There was something in his gaze that made her heart race.

Nervous energy buzzed through her, and she couldn't help but take a half-step back as he released her, though the echo of his touch lingered like a phantom sensation. The air around him seemed to thrum with intensity, and she swallowed hard against the lump forming in her throat.

As she regained her balance, she thought back to Gallant as he’d stumbled back into the library - his face a picture of unease, his shaky hands as he poured himself a drink. 

Now, standing before Langdon, poised for her own interview, apparently, she understood why.

And as she stood caught in his unwavering stare, she could only nod her acquiescence, motioning for him to lead the way. 

The click of their footsteps was the only sound as they made their way through the dimly lit corridor and she fought the urge to turn and run. Something inside her was screaming. 

A fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the room that played on the walls and as Langdon closed the doors behind them, she felt like she was stepping into another world - one that was intimate and somehow more daunting because of it.

He gestured for her to take a seat in one of the two armchairs positioned before the fireplace, then settled into the other without a word. The silence stretched between them, heavy and laden with an unspoken tension. She found herself acutely aware of the subtle sounds—the soft crackle of the fire, her own breath as it hitched in her throat.

Langdon’s eyes remained fixed on her and she felt exposed—like a specimen pinned under glass. There was something about being in his presence that magnified her every flaw, turned each fidget into a scream of nervousness. She crossed her legs, then uncrossed them, the leather of the chair creaking softly under her shifting weight.

She caught herself running her finger along the armrest, tracing patterns in the soft leather - anything to avoid meeting his gaze. But it was futile; his stare was almost palpable, a force that commanded attention even when she sought desperately to escape it. Her hands began to tremble slightly, betraying her composure, and she clasped them tightly in her lap in an effort to still them.

The twitching of her foot, a slight bounce of her knee; they became her body’s metronome of anxiety, counting down the moments

She could practically hear the snap as her voice broke the silence - like a stone shattering glass. "I don’t even know why I’m here," she blurted. Langdon remained as impassive as the walls, his gaze fixed on her with unsettling intensity. Not a single muscle moved in his face, no twitch, no flicker of emotion. It was as if he had expected her outburst, as if he had scripted this moment in his mind and was now watching it play out exactly as he planned.

"I brought you here," he said simply, the words falling from his lips with an unnerving calmness.

She faltered. 

“I meant here, at the Outpost. Not here in your office. I don’t know why I’m here.” She felt the weight of his eyes, holding her in place more firmly than any physical restraint ever could. “I’m not like the others,” she said, her voice taking on a shrill edge. 

“I didn’t pay my way in like Coco and Evie. I didn’t luck my way in like Gallant. I’m not even here because of something special in my blood, like Timothy and Emily. I don’t belong here.” The last part was almost a shout - a confession that kept bottled up these last long months. She didn’t belong here. She didn’t fit in. 

Her breathing was ragged, and her heart raced in her chest. She felt the weight of her confession, finally acknowledging the confusion that had plagued her since her arrival. 

His stillness was a stark contrast to the storm raging within her. There was something in his look that disarmed her, leaving her defenseless and exposed. "I told you - I brought you here." 

Her breath caught, her mind struggling to parse his meaning, her thoughts ensnared by the gravity of what he was saying.

Suddenly, the fire was no longer warming the room, and she felt a chill seep into her bones as she wrapped her arms around herself, a futile attempt at comfort in the face of his unsettling composure and his wild claim. 

Distantly, she noticed the firelight playing over his features, making him appear both present and distant, a spectral figure in a world that was becoming more surreal by the second.

"What do you mean," she finally asked, her voice steadier than she felt.

He leaned forward then, the motion deliberate - predatory even. "What’s unclear to you?" he asked, his eyes never leaving hers, a smile at the edges of his mouth. 

Her heart continued to hammer against her ribcage, a caged bird frantic for escape from the intensity of his scrutiny - the gravity of this exchange. Her eyes darted to the door for a fleeting moment before she anchored herself back in the room, back to him. 

"Wh-what do you mean you brought me here? Why?" The words tumbled out of her like a handful of coins slipping carelessly through the fingers of a clumsy child, laced with a confusion that was quickly morphing into alarm. She could feel a flush creeping up her neck, painting her skin with visible unease.

He remained still, a statue carved from darkness, his gaze locked onto hers with unnerving precision. "I watched you," he said, each word measured and deliberate, "before the world burned. I liked what I saw." His voice was low, dark and resonant, carrying with it an undeniable assertion of ownership.

She felt her breath hitch, his words settling over her like a funeral shroud. 

"I decided that I wanted you," he continued, the faintest trace of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth, "and I always get what I want." There was a finality in his tone that frightened her - and sent a thrill through a deeper part of her; one that she wasn’t ready to acknowledge. 

In that moment, it was as if she could feel the unseen threads he'd woven around her life, pulling her into an orbit she never would have chosen, and she swallowed hard, trying to steady herself against the dawning realization.

The color rose in her cheeks as his gaze held hers, a playful glint dancing in his eyes. Every nerve ending seemed to spark to life under the weight of his attention, leaving her tongue-tied and adrift in a sea of confusion. 

He leaned back slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. The soft sound of his chuckle sliced through the tension, mocking her inner turmoil.

 It was a sound that stirred something within her, a mixture of irritation and another inexplicable thrill.

Gathering the remnants of her composure, she squared her shoulders, attempting to project an assurance she was far from feeling. "And what if I don't want you?" The words came out steadier than she expected, even as her heart continued to beat a wardrum in her chest. 

The laughter spilled from him again, the silky sound wrapping around her like velvet chains. 

"But you do," he said, his confidence seemingly unshaken.

She clenched her fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms as if the pain could anchor her to her defiance. He was right - of course she was attracted to him - he was beautiful and new and she hadn’t been touched in years. She refused to acknowledge that secret, dark part of herself that thrilled at the thought of the power he must wield to have orchestrated her being here.

No. These last 18 months had been a horror - a slow march towards death, fraught with anxiety and fear. Just last night, she’d very seriously considered asking him for one of those little pills, so that she could finally escape this place. 

While she couldn’t deny that she was attracted to him, wanted him, she'd be damned if she let him see the full extent of his effect on her. 

Swallowing the knot of frustration in her throat, she straightened her spine and met his piercing gaze head-on. His smug assurance was a challenge she refused to lose. He didn’t have to know that behind the façade of indifference, she was like a sapling in a hurricane, bending under the force of his presence.

Her breath hitched again, a silent cue to the tempest brewing within her. With a swift surge of her will, she rose from the cushioned chair and pivoted on the balls of her feet, every muscle tensed for retreat.

But he was a shadow, a whisper of movement more felt than seen. His hand encircled her wrist with the sureness of a man accustomed to getting his way, his touch firm yet devoid of the malice she half-expected. The warmth of his fingers shocked her and her lips parted with a silent gasp.

"Let me go," she managed, her voice a whisper, fighting against the feelings his proximity stirred. Her pulse fluttered beneath his fingertips.

His fingers uncurled from her wrist, only to trace a path upward, reaching the side of her face with a tenderness that belied his assertive words. "No, I don't think I will," he murmured, his voice a low thrum that resonated in the charged air between them.

The brush of his thumb against her cheek was maddeningly soft. It was a caress meant to soothe, to seduce, and she hated the heat that blossomed beneath her skin in response.

"Come now,” he said, “it's silly to fight this. I know you want me." The arrogance in his words sparked a fire behind her eyes, even as an unwanted shiver trailed down her spine.

She did want him - how could she not - and the honesty of that admission clawed at her pride. Her eyelids fluttered shut for a fraction of a second. To lie would be futile; the intensity of his gaze seemed to pierce through all her defenses, laying her soul bare.

A silent battle raged within her, a war between desire she felt and the fear and how suddenly that desire had come. Yet, in that moment, with his hand cupping her face and the world shrinking to the space where their breaths mingled, she knew that resistance was futile. 

She didn’t even have to say anything. He already knew. All she could do was surrender to the warmth of his palm against her skin, fingers expertly weaving through the tresses at the base of her skull. His touch was a paradox—gentle yet commanding—as he pulled lightly, eliciting a shiver that ran down her spine and sent her eyelids fluttering. 

"I should have saved you for last, but I didn't want to wait anymore," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the quiet space between them. 

The admission hung in the air, charged with the electricity of anticipation and the gravity of his desire - a brief intermission in reality, as his lips claimed hers. The kiss was an unexpected storm, fierce and all-consuming. Her breath caught in her throat, heart still pounding. His hand, still entwined in her hair, anchored her to the moment, each gentle tug of the strands sending sparks of awareness cascading through her senses.

The world around them faded into a blur, leaving only the taste of him, the heat of him. With a fluid motion that spoke of a deep-seated need, he released her arm, his own sweeping around her waist possessively, pulling her snugly into him. 

Her trembling fingers curled around his arms - though whether to pull him closer or push him away; she didn’t know. 

The kiss was all-consuming - heated, and fierce and muddling her senses - but she came back to herself, just enough to yank herself backward, away from that burning kiss. 

"I shouldn’t be doing this," she whispered to herself, the words slipping from her in a breathy murmur. 

He only laughed again, his voice was low and smooth and laced with a dark humor. "Of course you should," he said. He leaned in, a mere whisper away, his hot breath fanning over her flushed cheeks. "I want you, you want me, why shouldn't we both take what we want?" 

The weight of his gaze felt tangible. 

"Chaos has won," he murmured, his voice a caress that sent shivers down her spine, her resolve splintering like sugar-glass. 

He seemed to sense the shift within her, and without a word, released her with a deliberate slowness. One step back, then another, he retreated to the leather armchair. She watched him reclaim his seat, the shadows playing over his features, enhancing the sharpness of his jawline and the depth of his stare. A predator at rest, yet every inch of him poised, ready—a coiled spring waiting for the slightest provocation to leap forth.

Chaos has won. 

The silence stretched between them for another moment and his gaze seemed to darken as he continued to watch her. “Take off your dress,” he said finally, relaxing into the chair as though he seemed to sense that all her resistance had finally fled.

But she wavered, muscles tense, heart finally ceasing its incessant hammering as it seemed to still completely. 

“What?”

His voice, still low and even, seemed to fray at the edges as he repeated: “Take. Off. Your dress.” 

Her dress, a relic of some bygone era, was a complex ensemble of layers and fastenings that required grace, patience and usually the assistance of a Gray to remove. But slowly, she began unfastening the tiny pearl buttons at the back, a task made more challenging by the limited reach of her own hands. 

Finally, with the buttons undone, the heavy fabric whispered against the floor as she let the gown slide down her body to pool at her feet, leaving her in only a simple shift. 

Her entire body was flushed, her limbs trembling and her breath coming in ragged gasps and she stood there, naked to his scrutiny despite the covering of her shift. “That too,” he murmured, his voice noticeably rougher. 

She couldn’t look at him as she lifted the shift above her head, leaving her completely exposed, but she heard his low growl as she finally stood completely naked before him.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, almost too low for her to hear, and she flushed again, her heart beating a staccato rhythm against her ribcage. 

Finally, she brought her eyes up to meet his, her whole body burning (with shame? With arousal?) and even in the dim light she could see that his pupils were blown wide, his whole body tense as though he was fighting for control. His eyes burned across her body as he took her in, his own breath seeming to come harder now.

“Come here,” he said, his voice low and commanding, holding out his hand to her. 

Slowly, nervously, she padded her way over to him, his gaze never leaving hers. She slipped her hand into his, a shocked gasp leaving her as she was pulled suddenly into his lap, her legs straddling him.

Then, his hands were all over her - a soft touch at her sides, his fingers caressing the skin of her back; reverrant - as though he was trying to touch all of her all at once. Once again, his fingers tangled in the hair at the back of her head, his fingers threading through the strands, and she was lost in the sensation of him - the heat of him, seeping into her skin in all the places they were touching, his fingers leaving burning trails. 

She didn’t resist when he pulled her in for a demanding kiss, giving back to him all the fervor he was pouring into her. His free hand drifted to her hip, and his fingers turned bruising as they pulled her further into him. His touch was hungry, possessive, and he moved from her lips to leaving a trail of desperate burning kisses along the column of her throat, eventually sinking his teeth into the soft flesh where her neck met her shoulder - almost hard enough to draw blood. The shock of it, the slight pain 

She gasped in earnest then, grinding against him looking for friction, and he let out a guttural sound that was part growl and part moan, and his hand fisted into her hair, pulling her just far enough away for their eyes to lock. His glacial blue eyes were almost black with hunger, his pupils blown wide as his gaze bored into hers. 

“You’re mine,” he growled, his fingers digging even harder into the flesh at her hip, the other hand still tangled in her hair. “Say it.” 

Barely thinking, eyes half glazed with lust, she just nodded, “I’m yours,” she murmured breathlessly.

Suddenly, the world turned on its axis and her back met the warm leather where he had been sitting less than a moment ago. Suddenly, he was kneeling before her, his hands pressed against the armrests and she was completely caged in by his presence, unable to move or escape his grasp. Her body was trembling, every nerve on edge as she whispered, “What are you doing?”

“I told you,” he said, pressing a kiss to her collarbone, his mouth working its way slowly down her body, punctuating each word with a kiss, or a graze of his teeth - “You’re mine, and I take care of what belongs to me.”

In stark contrast to the gentleness of his kisses, he grabbed the backs of her thighs roughly, pulling her down till she was almost flat, spreading her apart.

She held her breath, the anticipation making her heart race as he leaned forward. His lips were soft and warm against her inner thigh, sending shivers of pleasure through her body. 

His tongue traced a path from her knee to her hip, and she let out a gasp as his mouth finally reached her center and his tongue began to explore her.  Her back arched and her hands scrabbled for purchase on the armrests, eventually coming to rest on his shoulders. He growled against her as her hand found his hair.

His touch was like fire, igniting every nerve in her body, and as he continued to lap at her.

With each flick of his tongue, she arched her back and dug her fingers into his scalp. He knew exactly how to drive her wild, taking his time and savoring every inch of her. His lips and tongue worked in tandem, leaving her mewling.

All too quickly, that familiar pressure began to build, heat pooling low in her belly, like she would come apart at any moment. Her fingers like a vice on his shoulder, the other hand in his hair, she ground against his face, ready to drop off that peak into the oblivion of ecstasy.

But before she could, he pulled away, and a strangled moan left her throat as she blinked at him in confusion. He sat back, mouth glistening and eyes dancing with sadistic glee as he watched her, flushed and panting.

He kissed her knee again, his hands stroking her body gently, fingers dancing across her breasts and along her thighs until her body relaxed - and then his mouth was on her again. 

Again, he brought her to the edge, his skillful tongue and roving hands leaving her almost screaming and panting. Over and over again, he toyed with her, only to pull back at the last second. Her body was on fire, yearning for release.

She was frantic, bucking against him as he chuckled at her desperation, his warm breath tickling her skin.

"Go on, beg for it," he commanded in a low growl.

And she did.

[stayevildarling]

could you do a hurt-comfort fic w either:

lou x tammy x reader

orrrrr

wilhemina x regina mills x reader pleaseee

Wilhemina Venable x Regina Mills x Reader- Burying our memories (AU)

A/N: I think this is absolutely not what you expected with this request dear anon. However the first thing I thought of was an AU with dark Mina x the evil Queen so I hope nevertheless you enjoy this <3 For anyone who has watched ouat please ignore how I altered the curse and changed the story

tw: dark mina, evil queen, cursing, degrading, blood, pain, angst, hurt

word count: 7k

taglist:

@lunaticwhittaker, @billiebeanhoward, @lanawinters-ily, @kenzbro, @minaslittleone, @httpfiftyshadesofgay, @whitelotus00, @ninaahs, @vintagepaulson, @isle-of-earle, @paulsonsratched, @stepintomyworld, @grilledcheeseandguavajelly, @lucyintheskywithxanax, @fanfics4world, @mymiraclewitch, @hazard-to-myself, @awritersometime, @ohrwurm26, @wastdstime

The dense greenery of the enchanted forest sways gentle in the cool breeze, casting shifting patterns of shadow and light upon the forest floor. With swift motions, you run through the tangled undergrowths, your breathing coming in ragged gasps as you glance over your shoulders, trying to see if they had gone, if you were safe.

Moments before, your day looked like it usually did, as you found yourself in the heart of the village, your heart heavy with the weight of injustice. The villagers lacking the most basic things including food, water and supplies to survive, due to the Queen's oppressive rules. And somehow over the years, after slowly losing your family and purpose altogether, you turned out to be an aid for the poor lost souls in the forest and village, their silent pleas echoing in the depths of your soul.

Somehow you had turned into your own version of a Robin Hood, wanting to help out, regularly crossing boundaries and stealing from the Queen's garden and palace grounds in order to provide for them, rid them of the poverty and pain they had endured for years now. And somehow, today you had been careless, not caring about the sound of alarms piercing through the stillness of the night. The queen's guards descended upon the village with ruthless efficiency, riding their horses, their gleaming armour announcing their presences further.

And now as you attempt fleeing through the labyrinth of the forest, trying to reach your sanctuary hidden deeply inside the forest, the branches tear at your clothes, the thorns pricking your skin and causing for blood to run down your arms and legs, leaving a crimson reminder of your foolishness before. Fear and desperation mingles in your veins as you push and push forward, occasionally glancing behind your shoulder to reassure that you would manage to lose them again, just like you had done many times. And if you were in a clear state of mind, you would have noticed that you took a wrong turn, ignoring the wanted poster with both your face on it, among other faces, like Snow White, all enemies to the queen who had been on her wanted list for quite some time now.

With a loud thud, you feel yourself losing your balance as you must have bumped into something, feeling a warm sensation before hitting your head on a nearby branch. It takes a little while for your vision to clear, before you find yourself face-to-face with a woman cloaked in darkness, her sharp features illuminated by a flickering lantern. Through a teary vision, due to the pain piercing through your body, you notice dark red hair styled in a sharp quiff, a shade of very dark purple, almost black coating her body. There's a calculating gleam in her eyes, as she finds you pathetically whimpering on the floor, her lips curled into a smirk.

,,Well well'' she remarks, her voice hushed ,,You seem to have gotten yourself into quite a predicament, running from the queens guards I presume?'' she questions and if it wasn't for the pain, you would have noticed the odd sense of familiarity you seem to feel and how you almost would have recognised her. Your heart pounds in your chest, torn between fleeing, the sound of shouting guards and horses still lingering in the air. But there was something about the woman's demeanour that stops you, a sense of intrigue mixed with caution.

Before you can respond, the older woman bends a little to place the lantern on the floor, the bright sensation causing you to close your eyes only momentarily. As you open them again, you watch as she balances on a cane before extending a gloved hand, offering assistance. ,,Come with me'' she offers, her tone surprisingly gentle. ,,I can offer you refuge, but you must trust me''.

Despite the feeling of doom and danger, you see a glimmer of hope in her offer, and so with a silent nod, you accept her outstretched hand, allowing her to lead you deeper into the shadowy depths of the enchanted forest. And it takes several minutes, for the pain to stop throbbing, the blood from your earlier wounds to stop pouring, until you can collect your thoughts. And as you walk behind her, following the sound of her cane and the light source provided by the small lantern she carries, something about the way she walked alarms you. And then it finally dawns on you, finding the familiar trees with carvings on them, where she was leading you, your secret path to the palace that you would often use in order to sneak to the grounds to steal in order to provide for the poor souls of the village.

And then at last it dawns on you who was walking in front of you, who's assistance you agreed upon. You didn't know her name, you had heard it plenty of times but you couldn't recall it, only remembering how she was the assistant to the wicked queen, the people in the village often mentioning her, how she never spoke much but was always by her side. As the forest echos with whispers of secrets, yet to be revealed, panic shoots through your veins, glancing around you to think of a quick escape and as you stop walking, you are quick to turn around, trying pathetically to begin running, however your legs give in as you feel a sharp pain, before everything goes black, having calculated your steps wrong, having put your trust in the wrong hands as the woman never had the intention of helping you, knowing you had been searched and chased for the longest time.

While you battle through unconsciousness, the woman had already alerted the same guards that had chased you before, who carried you inside the palace, the place that you had feared for years. And as the woman returns to the queens chambers in the middle of the night, not disturbing much sleep as her majesty had been awake, pacing back and forth contemplating her next steps and the secret curse she had been planning on casting for years, almost on the verge of completing it, finally having all the necessary ingredients, her peace is interrupted. ,,Busy'' she snarls as she is lost in her pacing, unaware who is standing in front of her.

,,Something demands your attention in the dungeons, your majesty'' the redhead woman announces, causing for the brunette to turn around, as her eyes sparkle with curiosity. And as her curiosity gets ahold of her, she brushes past her most loyal assistant yet, the sound of the queens heels and the other woman's cane echoing through the castle as they pass countless guards. And at last they make it to the dungeons, watching your almost lifeless frame on the floor, in restraints. ,,Well well'' the queen chuckles lowly, glancing at the other woman with a hint of excitement in her brown eyes. ,,Was she caught stealing my apples again?'' she chuckles as she approaches you a little closer.

,,No your majesty, I found her in the woods'' the other woman announces, causing for the queens head to snap in her direction, as she bites her lip in anticipation, almost a hint of lust in her eyes. As you slowly wake up, despite your body screaming in pain, you open your eyes, catching a glimpse of the woman who you had feared for the longest time, accompanied by the woman you had wrongly put your trust into hours before. ,,You lied to me'' you scream, struggling through the restrains as anger flashes in your eyes. The Queen simply chuckles lowly, seeing your pathetic attempts to regain your freedom. ,,My dear, you have no idea who this is do you?'' the queen remarks, causing you to avert your gaze in frustration. ,,This my dear is Wilhemina Venable, my most loyal companion'' she begins, her hand wandering to the redheads cheek, squeezing it a little, her eyes sparkling with pride for how she had managed to capture you after her countless failed attempts in the past.

And despite the circumstances, your eyes betray you as you watch the scene unfold before you, for the first time really getting a glimpse of both women. And you couldn't deny how utterly beautiful they were, at least from the outside, both their hair styled sharply, exposing their faces plastered in dark makeup, the same brown eyes despite the different shades. The queen was wearing one of her usual dresses, black this time, plastered in diamonds and jewels, Wilhemina dressed entirely in a dark shade of purple. While the queen is busy with admiring the other woman, feeling drawn to her for capturing you, you watch as the redheads brown eyes travel towards you, almost a sign of pity in them before she speaks again.

,,What are you planning on doing with her your majesty?'' causing for the queen to chuckle, and you knew what this meant as you had always been running from death, knowing you had deserved it for stealing and running from her for years. Closing your eyes, you wait for what awaits, waiting for her to open the bars, approach and rip out your heart, as you had watched her do it to innocent people many times. However to your surprise she begins pacing a little, thinking about what to do with you. ,,I think we'll keep her'' she announces with a chuckle, and as you open your eyes you notice the confusion in the redheads features.

,,Where she comes from my dear, people bathe in the river and use pinecones for money'' she exclaims, her eyes piercing right through you. ,,I think she can be of great assistance, considering she knows the village and forest so well'' she carries on, Wilhemina simply nodding, trying to avert your eyes. ,,She would make an excellent pet'' is the last thing her majesty says before leaving, leaving behind a very puzzled and confused Wilhemina. She looks at you one more time before following, leaving behind an ever confused you. ,,Pet?'' you think to yourself, trying to pinch yourself to see if this was all just a dream or if maybe you had already died a while ago.

The remainder of the night is spent in the eery dungeons, the restraints keeping you from moving all that much and so the only thing you can do is try and relax as much as the situation allows you, leaning your head against the cold and damp wall behind you, trying to calm the raging storm of thoughts. Eventually sleep finds you, despite it being broken as the castle was considerably loud, even in the night and sometimes you thought you heard screams from the lost souls that had found their ending in the same dungeons you are sitting in. The next morning, you are awoken by one of the guards, as he undoes your restraints, pulling you up by your arms and forcing your shaky legs to follow him as he takes you towards her majesty.

With heavy eyes from the remaining pain lingering on your body and lack of comfortable sleep, you blink a few times as he lets go of you, dropping to your knees in the process. And as you glance around, you notice an unfamiliar room, filled with fancy mirrors, a balcony overlooking the palace grounds, a large dining table and fireplace to the side. And you also notice the same two familiar faces that you had last seen last night, Wilhemina sitting in one of the armchairs by the lit fireplace, her cane resting beside her, the same shade of dark purple but a different outfit. And in front of you, you find her majesty, wearing a red dress, her hair down and despite it all looking beautiful, yet intimidating.

For some reason, you feel the urge to stand up and so with all the strength left you balance and face her as she takes slow and calculated steps around you, walking in a little circle, occasionally glancing at the other woman in the room before speaking. ,,Now now, what are we going to do with you, pet?'' she questions with a little chuckle and it causes you to gulp, wondering just why she hadn't killed you yet, considering all the wanted posters and the hatred you knew she felt towards you for your actions.

The room fills with silence before a low chuckle ripples through it, this time not from the queen but her loyal companion. ,,We can have her for supper can't we dear?''. And again they have you gulping and you could easily try to make an escape, the guards having disappeared now, despite expecting them outside this room. But your curiosity keeps you on your shaky legs, glancing at the older woman who continues circling you like prey. ,,No, no'' she tuts, shaking her head a little ,,We can't waste such a beautiful little thing, now can we?'' her voice sounds almost mocking and you have no idea whether she was being genuine or not.

Silence stretches on, before an idea pops into your mind, knowing what her majesty desired and considering she hadn't killed you yet, maybe you could truly be of assistance to her and her companion, maybe just maybe you could even continue to do what you had been doing, helping out the villagers if you played your cards right. ,,Your majesty?'' you try and her head snaps towards you, eyebrows raised as she never expected one of her prisoners to speak to her like this, adress her in the correct way, other than if she was about to take their life. ,,Yes?'' she questions curiously, her eyebrow remaining raised. You clear your throat before speaking again ,,You are trying to look for Snow White correct?'' you speak carefully, knowing this subject was more than a little touchy to her.

,,Yes, do continue'' she ushers, as her eyes lock with yours. ,,I am not the biggest fan of her either your majesty, perhaps I could be of assistance to help you find her?'' While Wilhemina chuckles, the brunette walks away sighing before she turns to you again, her eyes overtaken by anger. ,,Did she also get the one you loved most in this world killed?'' her voice is filled with venom, though her eyes filled with pain. Wilhemina averts her gaze, knowing Regina for a very long time now and knowing how much that had changed her. ,,No, of course not, I'm sorry your majesty'' you begin speaking again before adding ,,But we have met briefly and I can help you find her'' you try again.

This time the redhead woman stands up, her cane echoing through the room before she halts right in front of you, her dark brown eyes piercing through you. ,,We have our own spies in the village, what makes you think you can find her?'' she spits, almost feeling pitty at your pathetic attempt. ,,Well Ms Venable, you also have tried to find me for years and I know what it's like... to run, you know?''. Her eyebrows raise in the same way the queens had moments before, admiring how polite you are, admiring your manners despite it all and being able to tell that you didn't do any of this to be spared as she is utterly aware you could have tried to make an escape by now or even simply accept your fate.

,,If you don't like that, perhaps I could be of assistance with your gardens your majesty'' you try next, trying to think of anything to make yourself useful to them, while still seeing some of your own gain and advantage. The queen smiles then before turning serious ,,You mean those same gardens you have stolen from many times?'' she scoffs, glancing at Wilhemina who remains in front of you, her presence intimidating. ,,It's just I couldn't help but notice how some of the fruit didn't exactly look too healthy your majesty and your stunning castle, deserves a worthy garden'' you finish your proposal, assuming that she would kill you next or send you back to the dungeons.

,,Guard'' she shouts and as he enters hastily, you close your eyes, awaiting your fate. ,,Get me the gardener now'' she shouts and as he practically runs away, Wilhemina's eyes widen as she turns her head to face the queen, surprised she would listen to you, especially the possibility of agreeing as she knows exactly what is about to happen. A little while later a middle aged man enters the room, almost tripping over his feet, clearly intimidated by the presence. ,,I hear you haven't been taking care of my gardens the way you are meant to'' she tuts, and with a swift motion, before he even gets the chance to explain himself, she has him on the floor, with a flick of her wrist his neck snapped, moments later the guards carrying his lifeless body from the floor a few steps away from you.

All you can do is freeze, feeling terrible that this was the result of your words, not thinking about the consequences your proposal held for the innocent man. And despite feeling like screaming, you stay still, not daring to look up at either of them right now, the realisation slowly sinking in that this wasn't good, that you are trapped by a deranged witch and her odd companion. ,,Fine'' she finally speaks again ,,You can look after the gardens and you may be free to go to the village whenever you please and provide me with information on Snow White'' the queen speaks, before she approaches you. As you look up, you watch as she brushes past Wilhemina before taking your cheeks into her hand and squeezing them ,,But if you think for one second you can escape and not return, you are mistaken'' she warns and as your eyes lock with hers, you can't help and fight the tears beginning to swell in them. ,,Yes your majesty'' you agree with shaky breaths, before she releases you from her tight grasp.

,,Guard'' she shouts again, the same guard entering hastily yet again. ,,Take Y/N to a room, she will be overlooking the gardens and feed us information on snow white'' she explains, before he nods ,,Yes your majesty'' he speaks before he ushers you to follow him. And you do, not once looking back, your feet still shaky from the interaction that had unfolded. The walk feels like it lasts a lifetime, until he finally leads you to a door, opening it and ushering you to go inside. It wasn't nice in the slightest, a lot of dirt, spider webs, barely even a window but there was a little table and chair, a bed even and it connected to what you assume to be a small bathroom. And despite it giving you dungeon vibes all over again, at least you wouldn't be restrained any longer, regaining a small sense of your freedom. He leaves moments later, and you can't help but collapse onto the bed, it really wasn't much of a bed, more of a mattress but nevertheless, you close your eyes as sleep finally washes over your tired body and aching bones.

The next time your eyes force open, it's a few hours later and as you glance around the small room, you find some things that had been left on the small table. As your curiosity gets ahold of you, you find a few sets of clothes, a washcloth and even some papers and pens and despite unsure who had left it there, you appreciate it. Moments later you finally rid your body from the dirt and blood that the last two days had left on you, putting on some of the clothes and leaving your room. It takes you several minutes to find a guard, asking if he could point you in the direction of the gardens and hesitantly he does, leading you to what you assume to be the old gardeners shed as you find all the necessary tools and so without thinking about it, you get to work, watering the bushes, trimming some of them to get them into perfect shape, nurturing some of the fruits and vegetables and correcting any mistakes that the previous gardener had made, for whatever reason taking this task quite seriously.

It's dark as you eventually return inside, quickly having the hang of it by now and finding your room, finding a meal on your table and despite again unsure who had left it, feeling grateful as you hadn't realised until now how much you had been starving. After finishing your meal, you change your clothes again, washing the now dirty ones from working in the gardens all day, before sitting on your bed crossed leg, trying to figure out what to do as beside the day light, you had lost all sense of time a little bit. And so the only thing you can do is reach for the pen and papers, writing down the events from the past few days, sketching a little as well as it always had been your passion, unsure why but it really being the only thing you could do and several hours later passing out on your bed as sleep washes over you.

The next day, you find yourself doing the same things, her gardens were huge and as her majesty overlooks them, finding you working as you kneel on the floor, planting some flowers, she can't help but watch carefully, something about you utterly intriguing. You lose yourself in your task, unaware of who was watching before a presence startles you, causing you to drop your tools clumsily. You watch as Ms Venable circles around you, carefully observing without speaking a single word and it for sure intimidates you, having her observing and careful eyes on you. ,,You seem good at this'' she states, noticing how all the bushes and hedges had the exact same length and a part of her confused as to how you had managed that. ,,Thank you Ms Venable'' you almost whisper, after the last encounter quite terrified of them both and she can tell. ,,Have you managed to gather any information yet?'' she questions curiously and you gulp then before looking up at her as you still kneel on the floor.

,,Not yet, I was wondering whether I may be allowed to leave this afternoon to try and I was wondering whether I would be allowed to collect some seeds?'' you ask, your voice shaky. ,,Seeds?'' she chuckles then, almost mocking your words. ,,Yes Ms to plant some more vegetables and fruit and flowers you see'' you try your best to convince her. ,,I'm sure her majesty doesn't mind, as long as you return in the evening and report back to us'' she almost scolds, her features turning more serious and stern. ,,Of course Ms Venable, thank you'' is all you reply with a small smile, unsure why you had smiled in the first place but it somehow came natural. And before you know it she leaves, her cane echoing with each step before it stops altogether as she reaches the palace again.

Several hours later, you finally make your way to the village, using your secret path through the forest, stopping briefly by your hide out and gathering some of your things, putting them all in a small bag and changing into one of your usual outfits, feeling much more comfortable that way. You opted for one of your beige ones, leather trousers, boots and a vest, a shoulder bag with your belongings. On the way to the village, you had also collected some seeds, hoping if you worked briefly and hard on the gardens, you could still provide the village with food, hoping that you could somehow stuff it in your bags so no one would notice. And as you finally make it to the village, you are met with the usual families, the children greeting you excitedly as they knew you always brought them things but today you unfortunately come empty handed. ,,We haven't seen you for a couple of days'' one of the villagers exclaims, scanning your features and noticing some cuts and bruises on your face. ,,Brief encounter with some guards'' you chuckle, not wanting to go into too much detail. ,,I don't have anything today unfortunately but I should soon'' you exclaim, however you are met with compassion and understanding.

,,Have either of you heard anything about Snow White lately?'' you ask the group of villagers, before most of them shake their head. ,,I believe she has last been seen up north, by the rivers'' one of them exclaims and you simply nod, appreciating their honesty, despite feeling terrible considering what game you are playing. Noticing the beginning dawn, the sun beginning to set, you opt to return to the palace, knowing you would never be able to make the journey up north within the next few hours. And it doesn't take long until you find yourself in front of the familiar back door, some guards already awaiting you. ,,Your majesty wants to see you'' he explains before you gulp and follow him.

He guides you back into the room you had been in before, the two of them sitting by the fireplace, before you stand awkwardly, feeling as if you are interrupting their peace. ,,Tell me, any information?'' the queen questions before she stands up and walks over to you. ,,Yes your majesty, apparently up north by the river'' you explain before she signals to the guard who remained standing there before he leaves at her instructions. ,,I would have checked the information for myself but I know I needed to return tonight'' you explain yourself and she simply furrows her eyebrows before scanning you, noticing the outfit change and the bag. ,,Well well, did our little pet make a stop somewhere?'' she asks, glancing at Wilhemina who simply watches with a chuckle. The brunette is quick to take the bag from you, her eyes glancing through the contents of it, noticing some seed pouches and chuckling as the redhead had filled her in on your earlier request. ,,What is this?'' she questions, holding up your notebook.

,,My notebook your majesty'' you exclaim, averting her gaze as your cheeks grow red a little. She skips through the pages, impressed with the several sketches, some from the villages, some from the forest and even one of her castle. She slides it back into your bag, before walking back over to her armchair, leaving you confused and stranded, unsure what to do next. ,,I feel like some tea, you dear?'' the queen announces and you aren't sure whether to leave them to it or whether they still needed you. ,,Of course'' the redhead begins, reaching for her cane but the queen stops her by waving her hand. ,,No no'' she tuts ,,We have a pet now remember dear'' she instructs and Wilhemina simply chuckles before they both look at you. You glance around the room, unsure where you are supposed to get tea from, however the redhead glances towards a backdoor behind the dining table and you nod gratefully before quickly walking through the door, finding a small tea kitchen there.

And so it doesn't take long before you enter the room again, carrying a little tray, before approaching them, with shaking hands placing it in front of them. ,,Anything else I can get you?'' you ask almost obediently and if you would have looked, you would have noticed the sparkle in Wilhemina's eyes. ,,No pet, but how about you join us considering you did so well today, I heard they have a trail on Snow White'' the queen chuckles and your eyes widen at her offer, but as Wilhemina pats the space next to her, you simply obey, quickly pouring the tea for them, before glancing at the fire, softly crackling, providing you with some warmth, as you feel a little awkward, under their careful gazes. ,,So tell me Y/N, what led you to steal from me in the first place?'' the queen begins, causing you to gulp as the last thing you expected was to find yourself having small talk over tea with them. ,,Yes Y/N'' Wilhemina mockingly carries on ,,We want to hear all about you'' she exclaims, again having you gulping and squirming in your seat.

The next few weeks, carry on the same way they had previously, most of your days are spent with taking care of the gardens, regularly going back to your village, providing them with some of the food that you had grown and nurtured, in secret of course. Your nights mostly looked the same as well, spending them in your room, doing some writing or sketching in your notebooks. However lately, they had often demanded your presence in the evening as well, as you often provided them with tea, the occasional wine, and any information you had on Snow White. And you couldn't help but notice how they seemed a little less strict, they stopped calling you pet and started with your actual name. You are sure by now they know that you have continued providing for your village and they hadn't killed you yet, not even mentioned it. And so, ever so slowly, your life at the palace felt almost normal as you had quite the freedom now, not having to let the guards know where you are going as they and her majesty knew you would always return in the evenings. And so it almost felt like home, appreciating the fact that you don't have to sleep on the wet and cold forest floor anymore but you knew there was something off, you should be terrified, trying to run from them after seeing all the horrible things they had done in the past but something about being around them so much, you started to understand more about the queens pain and the reason for her actions.

,,Where on earth is she?'' she paces around her large chambers, the anger flaring in her eyes as her magic sparks, her emotions bubbling out of the brunette.

Her loyal companion, sits by the fireplace, trying to keep her composure, before balancing on her cane, the sound echoing through the room. ,,I'm sure she just lost track of time'' the redhead tries calming her down, placing a hand on the queens shoulder but she is having none of that, quickly escaping her grasp. ,,She always returns, we were foolish to believe that she wouldn't betray us'' her raised voice rings through the air again, startling the redhead a little.

And Wilhemina wasn't sure whether the queen was actually concerned for your wellbeing, or simply considering whether to kill you, having noticed how Regina had almost gone soft since bringing you to the castle, still plotting her curse that she had worked on for a while but considerably softer with the people in the villages, especially your village. She knew all about you still providing them with food and yet Regina hadn't kill you and so Wilhemina had began wondering whether the brunette may feel the same way about you that Wilhemina had started, despite never talking about it.

The silence is interrupted when a guard enters ,,Your majesty'' he begins but she was having none of it. ,,Not now'' she shouts, waving her hand, getting ready to send him flying out the door. ,,Your majesty, we have finally found her'' he announces, the sound of more guards filling the air before her head snaps towards him. ,,Snow White?'' she questions, despite your best information and efforts lately, they still hadn't managed to capture her. ,,No your majesty'' he begins, before Wilhemina's heart stops in her chest.

They watch as another guard, drags your body inside, your face filled with blood as it pours from your mouth, your clothes stained and bruises beginning to plaster your face. Your eyes are closed as they throw you on the floor, in front of both women, smiling at themselves thinking they had captured you. ,,Are you both out of your minds?'' she shouts and the smiles quickly vanish from the guards faces. ,,Your majesty, Y/N has been searched for years'' he tries to justify his actions. ,,Didn't you two fools get the memo? she hasn't been searched for months, she belongs to this palace'' Wilhemina shouts, usually keeping her composure but unable to in this moment.

,,Pathetic idiots'' the evil queen shouts, in a swift motion making them turn into dust, wiping them from their existence quicker than either of them can take their next breath or justify their pathetic actions. Wilhemina is quick to rid you from the chains, her hand brushing past your cheek, the blood staining her leather gloves. Almost helplessly, Wilhemina turns to Regina, who simply stands frozen, before turning on her heels, abandoning you both as she leaves towards her balcony, trying hard to keep her emotions and rage at bay.

The battle of unconsciousness wins in the end, barely aware of the encounter that took place and so when you wake next, you find yourself in unfamiliar surroundings, a dark room, the only light sources some candles. As you try and force open your eyes, you notice the interior almost entirely a dark shade of lilac and your eyebrows furrow, trying to recollect the events from before. All you remember is trying to make your way back to the castle, stumbling upon some guards who clearly had no idea who you were and how they didn't listen to your pathetic attempts of explaining. How they beat you, hurt you and dragged you back to what you assume to be the castle. The last thing you see before sleep washes over your tired and beaten body is the lilac large sofa you are laying on before everything goes black and quiet.

Meanwhile Wilhemina had returned to the queens chambers, opting between getting you back to your room or a little closer to them and so she decides for one of her rooms in the end, needing the help of a guard to get you there, yet she trusted that same guard, having helped her with some of her secret missions in the past. She watched over you for a while, gently ridding you from the blood and changing your clothes for you, unsure why she was doing it but ignoring the thought for now, wanting to check on Regina. She finds the other woman still standing on her balcony, overlooking the gardens, despite the darkness of the night surrounding them. The cane echoing announces the redheads presence, as she stands beside her majesty, silence surrounding them.

,,How is she?'' the brunette asks, not averting her gaze from the dark night sky for a moment. ,,Fine'' Wilhemina mutters, still unsure how to read Regina's actions so far regarding you. And as the redhead catches a glimpse of the other woman's brown eyes, she can see something unfamiliar in them, something she couldn't read. ,,She's causing me to go soft'' she suddenly speaks, taking Wilhemina by surprise. ,,Is that such a bad thing?'' she questions in return, the queen averting her eyes again at the redheads statement. ,,Where is she?'' Regina asks after a moment of silence before Wilhemina speaks again. ,,She's safe'' and the statement causes for the queens eyebrows to furrow as her eyes draw towards the redheads again. ,,Where is she?'' she speaks again before Wilhemina swallows hard ,,In my room''.

,,Your room?'' her eyebrows raise now, surprised at the statement. ,,You are going soft too my dear'' she chuckles before giving her companion that nod, that nod that indicated she was tired and would retreat to her own chambers for the night. ,,Good night your majesty'' Wilhemina speaks before giving her the space she had silently asked for and retreating to her own room. In her room, she finds you still asleep and a wave of worry washes over her, having seen some of your wounds when changing and washing you before, concerned at the severity of them. ,,Y/N?'' she speaks almost softly, almost lovingly, so unlike the usual stern and intimidating woman. And her soft voice draws you from sleep instantly, as you open your eyes. And then it kinda dawns on you, who's room you are in and you instantly jolt, thinking you didn't belong there, unaware of who had put you there in the first place.

,,I'm so sorry Ms Venable'' you try, your voice still hoarse from sleep. ,,I don't know how I got here'' you apologise, trying to balance on your feet, however a sudden wave of pain washes over your body, causing you to tumble forward but a steady body forces you to remain still, stopping you from falling over. ,,It's okay dear'' she speaks so softly yet again and as you look up, you catch a glimpse of her brown eyes and how they sparkle, how suddenly she seems so much nicer, so much less intimidating and just a person, not the evil queens loyal companion. ,,Come on, let's sit you down'' she tries and you quickly obey, not wanting to cause any discomfort for her, unsure why she used a cane in the first place, but often sensing how uncomfortable she was whenever you caught a glimpse of her.

,,I put you here'' she confesses, causing your eyebrows to furrow in confusion but when the realisation sets in, your cheeks growing red a little, feeling silly for your earlier panic. ,,Is the pain quite bad?'' she asks, her features filled with concern but you quickly shake your bed. ,,No Ms Venable'' you assure, the pain much better now despite the remaining feeling of unbalance whenever standing up. The room fills with silence as you catch a glimpse of what you assume to be her chambers, the large wooden wardrobe in a corner, a large mirror, a desk with several books on them, two armchairs and a fireplace in the corner. As your eyes meet hers again you can't help but notice how she is staring at you, looking at you up and down as your eyebrows furrow in confusion, mirroring her actions to check if there was something wrong with your appearance.

,,You are quite pretty for a peasant'' she speaks quietly and now you are definitely contemplating whether you are awake, whether this was real. ,,Tha- Thank you Ms Venable'' you stumble over your words, unsure what to reply before she speaks again ,,You may call me Wilhemina'' she offers ,,But only when we are alone'' she instructs and you quickly nod your head, feeling a knot form in your stomach. The room fills with silence again, as you feel yourself relaxing in her presence a little, trying to think how you had gotten here in the first place, how being captured after all these years got you to a first name basis with her majesty's most trusted person. ,,What happened to you tonight?'' Wilhemina asks, drawing your thoughts and eyes back to her.

And then without hesitation and the usual composure you have around them, you fill her in on what had happened with the guards, and she listens intently, her jaw stiffening a couple of times when mentioning some of the more violent details. Before she can reply, the door bursts open, and your eyes widen when seeing the queen enter, in a dark nightgown, her hair down, the makeup gone and for the first time feeling like actually seeing Regina. ,,I can't sleep'' she sighs before noticing your presence and tensing her shoulders, not expecting you to still be there as it had been hours since Wilhemina mentioned having you in her room and assuming by now that you had left to your own room again.

,,And what are you still doing here?'' she questions, more to Wilhemina than yourself really. ,,We were just talking'' Wilhemina informs, her features remaining neutral. ,,I'll leave you to it your majesty'' you speak, quickly on your feet and ignoring the pain and dizziness as you brush past her and return to your own room. That night you have a hard time finding sleep, equally to the queen before, as you toss and turn at first, before eventually giving up on the idea of sleep and retreating to the comfort of your words and sketches as the pen flies over the pages of your notebook.

The next morning you return to your usually tasks, going on about your day, finding an odd sense of peace and quiet in the gardens. Unaware who was again looking over you, observing quietly from her balcony. And the next few weeks continue just like that, you going on about your usual tasks, having your evening encounters with both women who stopped tolerating your presence and started appreciating it, as you bring an odd sense of calm around them, some life into their monotone lives. And within those weeks you feel yourself increasingly drawn to both women, especially after they had taken you to your village a few days ago in the queens carriage, how you assumed Regina was going to bring her usual wrath of violence over people but instead her carriage brought food and supplies for your people and you couldn't believe your eyes, just as stunned as the poor people who feared as soon as they heard the queens guards and carriage arrive.

And you wondered whether maybe, just maybe the queen was going soft, unaware of the events that had taken turn behind closed doors, of how the queen had casted her spell and how it was slowly brewing, unaware of what it would bring, chaos, forgetting and what she had always desired most- her own version of a happy ending. And so tonight, you were unaware that the upcoming day would bring just that, unaware that tonight was your last with them. You had been confused about the queens unusual cheerful mood, how she had invited you to join them for supper, how Wilhemina could barely stand your gaze. How silently Wilhemina had pleaded for the queen to stop her curse but she couldn't stop it as it had been brewing silently for months and how nothing could stop it now, despite her beginning to silently regret it, despite her never admitting that to no one, not even herself really.

You find yourself sitting beside Wilhemina by the fireplace, how her eyes linger on the dancing flames, not having said much all night. ,,Wilhemina, is everything okay?'' you question silently and as her eyes meet yours, you see the pain, the doubts in them and so many unspoken words. However, your peace is interrupted when the queen enters, the door banging shut in the process and your heart stopping in your chest as you notice what she was carrying in her hands. Your notebook slaps against the table as she throws it on it, leaving behind a very confused and startled Wilhemina.

,,What is this?'' the redhead questions, her eyes meeting the angry queens eyes.

,,Ask her'' Regina spits, her angry eyes meeting yours. Wilhemina's eyebrows furrow in confusion as she looks at you. You can't do anything but stand, taking a step towards her majesty, knowing if she had read it, you would be beyond screwed.

,,I can explain your majesty'' you pathetically try but before you get the chance to, she takes a step closer, the echoing of her heels matching her inner turmoil as her eyes shoot daggers towards you, before you gasp as a hand extracts your heart, watching in shock as she holds it in her hands, the sound of it beating steadily filling the room.

,,Regina-'' Wilhemina shouts, quickly on her feet and her eyes travelling from you to the brunette.

,,I have had a feeling this carried your secrets'' she speaks, her eyes wandering towards your notebook. ,,And I wasn't surprised to read all your little confessions, find all your little sketches'' she speak almost mockingly, her eyes filled with both rage and pain.

,,Regina- what is it?'' Wilhemina tries again, her heart beating fast, her hands trembling with fear.

,,She loves us dear, both of us, the pages are filled with it'' she informs her companion, who simply stands there with a shocked expression as the room begins spinning a little.

,,Regina stop'' Wilhemina demands, her eyes pleading with the queen, her cane banging on the floor twice.

Regina's grip on your heart tightens, her gaze cold as she holds it in her hands, causing you to gasp for air. ,,Stop?'' she repeats, her tone dripping with disdain. ,,Why would I stop? when I have finally uncovered the truth about our little pet?''

Fear courses through your veins as you watch the scene unfold before you. Wilhemina's eyes widen in shock, her features mixed with disbelief and anguish. ,,Regina please'' she pleads again, her voice barely above a whisper ,,This isn't necessary''

,,You know that she loves us, you have known for a while now, we both have'' she pleads again as she steps forward, her voice filled with desperation.

Regina's eyes flicker with anger but Wilhemina continues, her words gaining strength. ,,Love should triumph over revenge'' she argues, her gaze never leaving Regina's.

The Queen's expression softens slightly at Wilhemina's words, a flicker of doubt crossing her features. For a moment it seems as though she might relent, before she senses that her curse almost reached you, knowing it was too late, that she couldn't fix this, before her eyes harden once more, her resolve returning.

"Love is a weakness, Wilhemina," she retorts, her voice cold and unforgiving. "It blinds us, makes us vulnerable. We cannot afford such weakness in our world."

Before Wilhemina can respond, having heard those same words fall many times from the queens lips, Regina reaches out and places your heart back in your chest. The pain is intense, causing you to drop to the floor, and as Regina leaves the room, Wilhemina rushes to your side, abandoning her cane, pulling you into her arms as she braces for whatever comes next.

As she glances towards the door where Regina stands, a thick cloud of purple and green already surrounding her, the dark curse finally having reached you, she is quick to press a tender kiss to your lips, causing your eyes to open. ,,I love you Y/N'' she murmurs against your mouth, her voice filled with emotion. ,,No matter what happens, remember that''

Then, as the room fills with smoke and darkness, Wilhemina shields you with her body, trying to protect you from the curse's effects. As the world fades around you, you cling to her, unaware of what is happening, unaware that in a matter of seconds you would forget everything, forget them, forget your life and the woman still trying desperately to hold you close, despite it being useless.

[camillelespanayesbtch]

hello🩶

could I request some angst with cordelia or wilhemina or both?

don‘t really have any specific plot requests <3

I brought you daffodils in a pretty string, but they won't flower like they did last spring.

Wilhemina Venable x Cordelia Goode

Content warning: Character death, child abuse, angst, no happy ending.

Word Count: 2360

Wilhemina watches the flames dance in the fireplace, their tongues licking the air outside of their confinement before being sucked back in, dependent on the coals that burn beneath them yet tempted by the freedom they see outside. Were she in the mindset of the first night she spent here, her hand would be moving closer to the flames, seeing how close she could get before their forked tongues would sear a reminder in her skin that in beauty there is pain. She pulls her hand back, staring at the line around her finger, a dull pang in her chest before she looks away, wrapping her fingers around the stone of her cane.

Isolation had become her new normal, it was safer that way- she didn’t have to pretend to be interested in the petty superficial drama of the survivors, how awful it was not being able to get a weekly manicure or eyelashes put in, or they wished there was some UberEats available because they were craving something equally as disgusting. How pathetic. Of all the things in which they could be concerned about, it is only ever to do with themselves. No talk of loved ones, friends, acquaintances, pets. Just me, me, me. If she were of the mindset, she’d have snipped their tongues out so she wouldn’t hear any of their driveling, but alas, she could tolerate it- it kept her mind off things she didn’t wish to dwell on any further. Even now, that pang in her chest was starting to bloom and she couldn’t will it away. She takes a breath and reaches for the book beside her chair, thumbing through the pages until she finds where she left off, and holds it up into the light so she could start to read.

Wilhemina had always been a voracious reader, anything she could consume, she would: Newspapers be it digital or print, novels, short stories, graphic novels, and- No, she could no longer read the poems that had once warmed her heart, it was too much of a reminder of- She turns the page, her eyes scanning the words from left to right, a happy rhythm, routine, that she was happy to have. Everything had its place here, the brush on her vanity was four inches in from the side, four from the back, perfectly aligned- the pins in her hair, even number, four hundred and forty-four, keeping every strand of hair stuck tight, the hairspray gluing any imperfection down tighter than Fort Knox. Any sign of imperfection was a direct attack on her, on everything she had perfectly curated so things would go smoothly- she prided herself on that.

She had long stopped wondering about what she was doing, it was too painful, the dull ache in her chest was enough of a reminder without the icy tears stinging her cheeks. She had spent her whole life wondering about her, dreaming, believing, listening- anything involving her she drowned herself in. She could no longer do that. She, if the night was particularly long, found herself bringing her necklace to her lips, closing her eyes and casting herself to times gone by. A whispering in her mind, “My moon, my love, why are you doing this to yourself? A love like ours will last lifetimes, transcend worlds. Don’t do this to yourself, my moon. Every time I look up into the night sky and see the stars dancing with the moon, I’m reminded of us. Don’t you remember?”

Wilhemina is quick to wipe the tears before they even deign to kiss her cheek, letting the necklace fall against her chest with the weight of an anchor, pressing down, almost piercing through her tender skin and carving its way through her bone to strike her heart. That was the issue, she couldn’t stop remembering. She couldn’t forget the way her heart soared as soon as she held her hand, the way her smile would illuminate the room and stave off the darkness she’d carried since birth, nor could she forget the way her lips felt upon her own, the way they kissed away every worry or doubt. She couldn’t forget, and she wi- She doesn’t. She can’t say that because what if it came true? What if she forgot her? Then what? “Oh my sun,” she whispers, squeezing her eyes shut tighter so the tears would stay contained, “My sun…”

The following morning, Wilhemina gets up and starts to prepare the necessary things for the Halloween party. She fills each apple with a syringe full of poison, their glistening red outside would be tempting enough for the brainless occupants to bite into without questioning their sudden appearance. She makes sure they were perfectly placed in the common area along with the rest of the decorations, it would be a massacre, and she would enjoy it greatly- why should they get to live a lavish life of excess when she was without her love? They paid for their spots, she worked for hers, she deserved to be here more than they did.

Once the setup is complete, she returns to her room to get ready as well- the others would already be filing into the room, lured by the temptation of excess and unable to resist its charm. She turns her head slightly when she hears her assistant come in, Ms. Mead, “Have any bodies dropped yet? I would imagine they wouldn’t be able to wait until I have given them permission to do so.”

“Of course. It’s going just like how you planed it to, Ms. Venable. There’s only one issue though,” Mead replies, waiting for the red head to turn and face her. “I have word that its to be a complete reset, and as it would be, that includes you.”

Wilhemina frowns, she understood what the woman was saying, but surely she couldn’t mean it, right? “A- No, that isn’t right. It was just supposed to be them, not me also. No, that’s not correct. You follow my orders, nobody else’s. Don’t do this.” She wouldn’t beg for her life, she wouldn’t plead, she was above that. She watches as her once devoted assistant reveals a gun and fires it at her just as the sirens in the bunker activate. The bullet pierces her skin, lodging itself in her heart that had once only beaten for her wife. She gasps in shock, raising her hand to her chest before crumpling to the ground, coughing and sputtering as darkness clouds her vision. In the distance she hears a familiar cry-

“You shall never see that little blonde girl again, do you understand me, Wilhemina Venable? Never. If I found out that you have, you won’t be let in. I’ll lock the door and toss your belongings out the window.” Her mother screams at her, a sharp finger pointed in Wilhemina’s direction, the vitriol her mother had for this little girl was unmatched- Wilhemina would spend her nights, curling up as much as her damaged spine would allow, and sobbing quietly into the thin sheets that covered her. She would reach into the nook she had carved into the foam mattress and pull out the little bracelet her beau had crafted for her, holding it close to her chest as she continued to cry. She tried to keep her beau in mind, the beautiful locks of golden hair that looked like they were created by Midas himself, her pools of chocolate eyes she wanted to drown in, and her smile that was brilliantly radiant. Oh, how she loved her, even as a child growing up with a mother who hated her very existence, this girl showed her what love is and made sure she felt it. This girl whose own mother tormented her ceaselessly, was capable of loving her, a young girl full of imperfections yet she saw no faults. She swore one day they would run away together, just the two of them and their backpacks heading out on one grand adventure.

She pulls herself out of bed, ignoring the searing pain that shoots through her body from the sudden movement and over to the window when she hears little pings against the panes, a teary smile spreading across her face when she sees her beau standing in the moonlight, beckoning her down. Wilhemina makes her way carefully down the stairs, avoiding the spots that creaked under her weight before slipping quietly out the back door. If she could, she would have thrown her cane to the side and run into her arms, but that would surely leave her hobbled, so, instead, she slowly makes her way over to the young girl twelve years of age, “You still came- My mother- She- I don’t want to lose you, my sun. She’s already made me move schools. I don’t-“

Her sun reaches out to gently wipe the tears from her pale cheeks, “Of course I still came, my moon. I would risk it all for you.” She moves them into the shadows, away from prying eyes and spying mothers, her hands careful to not touch her darling girl’s spine in fear of accidently inflicting pain upon her, “We just have to survive four more years, okay? Then we can get emancipated. I did some reading in the library about it, we have a good case for it, my moon.”

They carefully sit underneath the old willow tree by the flowing stream that had their initials carved into the bark, watching the stars surfing upon the rippling water, “Do you think we will make it that far?” She asks fearfully, her fingers lacing with the other girl’s, “What if- What if she moves me further away? To another city? Then what? Our letters will be checked, and our phone calls listened in on- It is prison already, my sun. That distance will be hell.”

“I think we will, Mina,” she replies confidently, she was always the more daring one of the two, “Of course we will. We have made it this far, haven’t we? What’s four more years?” She picks one of the blue moonflowers that came out at night, gently tucking it over Mina’s ear and into her hair, the blue a beautiful contrast to the vibrant red-hair she had, “If it is hell, my moon, I will walk through it if it meant seeing you.”

They had both prolifically read poetry and romance stories, further developing their own language of love between them- the other students would tease them, mock them, but it was nothing compared to the abuse they faced at the hands of their own mothers. The very people who were supposed to love them unconditionally were the ones to inflict a lifetime of suffering on them daily. They swore that were they ever to have their own children, they would never continue the cycle their parents started. “Oh my sun,” Wilhemina whispers, resting her head against the blonde’s shoulders despite the pain it caused, “I wish I had your confidence.”

The blonde giggles, “It is the only good thing my mother has given me, my moon. That and-“ She waves her hand, making flowers bloom all around them, their color brilliant in the pure white light of the moon, “This. Flowers just for you, Mina. My beautiful Mina.”

Mina lets out an uncharacteristic giggle, although whenever she was with her sun, she found herself letting the sound of joy out far more frequently, “Oh my sun,” her cheeks flush a deep red as she watches the flowers come to life. Violets, lavender, aster, and allium, all beautiful shades of purple, her favorite color. “They’re beautiful.”

The following four years were treacherously long, but they survived. No matter how much Wilhemina had wanted to become cold and cruel in the face of what she went through, her sun always reminded her of the good that was in the world- and her sun was a reminder of that, of how good life can be, how full of love it can be. One of their teacher’s helped them file for emancipation, both of them getting it before they found a safe place to stay while they finished their studies- It turned out her sun had an aunt who would help them move and stay with her for as long as they needed, so, by the end of that month they had moved across the country and were starting a new life in a new school, in a home where the doors weren’t removed, their baths were wanted, and voices were soft.

“Auntie Myrtle?” Mina asks, making her way to where the elder red-head would be, “I- I bought something for her and I want your opinion if it’s too much or not.” She brings out the little jewelry box and hands it to the woman, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, “It’s a promise ring, of a sun- I’ve been putting the money from the job you’ve given me to the side to save up for it. Do you think it’s too much?”

Myrtle looks at the ring, admiring it in the sun streaming in through the window- It was a beautiful ring, elegant, a tasteful stone set in metal that was shaped like the sun, “Oh Minny,” she says softly, a smile tugging at her lips, “It’s perfect. She’ll love it, truly.” She hands the box back to Wilhemina, gently rubbing her arm, “I know it’s hard, dear, but do try to have more faith in yourself, in the love that you have for her. You wouldn’t have made it this far if your bond wasn’t strong.”

You wouldn’t have made it this far if your bond wasn’t strong.

“No!” Cordelia cries when she feels the spirit of her wife starting to leave this earth. She storms through the bunker, following the little trace energy that she could feel before coming across her wife laying still on the floor, “No. No- I can’t be too late,” she whispers, tears spilling onto her cheeks as her hands gently cradle Wilhemina’s face, “No, my moon- My moon, come back to me. Come back to me-“

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Five Times John Wanted to See a Movie, and One Time Kayne Made it Suck - a Malevolent Podcast Oneshot

In which Arthur struggles with right and wrong, bemoans the Hays Code, tries (and fails) to define love, and gets a second chance.

Spoilers up to Malevolent ep. 31.

AO3

----------

In January, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.

“Damn it, John… fine. You know what? Fine! We’ll go sit in the dark and be perfect targets for someone! Is that what you want?”

He gives in, though.

Arthur can be stubborn. He can be foolish in refusal, often saying no just to say it. 

But to this?

To an innocent request, almost childlike in its intensity, and in its expectation of reply?

Arthur can’t hold out for that long.

Not when it seems to bring John such uncomplicated joy.

#

The movie is called Dancing Lady, and Arthur already knows nothing will ever be made like it again once the Hays Code has its way.

It’s a ridiculous love triangle, a “tarnished” woman (a concept Arthur finds absurd) torn between a rich sponsor and a poor lover, both of whom, at least, see her talent for what it is.

There are some scenes in this one. At one point, Clark Gable massages Joan Crawford’s leg, raising it above his shoulder, only hinting at the things that must surely be on display from Gable’s point of view.

Yowza.

It’s hard not to imagine Joan Crawford making the kinds of faces John describes, and Arthur can’t help a little bit of distracting response.

He focuses on his popcorn instead of anything else prone to explode.

“Those guys are a lot of silk hats and silk socks with nothing between,” says Clark Gable on screen, and Arthur laughs.

John huffs. Why are they being so particular about this?

“Particular about what?” says Arthur.

Tod, Patch, Janie. Why the fuck doesn’t she just lie with both of them? Why do they give a fuck?

Arthur is completely taken aback. “Well, it… I mean… she can’t do that.”

Why not?

Arthur has never in his life considered this question.

It’s about offspring, John decides.

“Ah… no, it’s not really—”

They demand monogamy so there can be no question of inheritance.

“She’s a dancing girl. She has nothing to inherit.”

Sure, but Tod does.

“Yes, but… that isn’t it, John.”

Then what is?

Arthur’s really not sure how to answer. What’s he going to say? That it isn’t the Christian thing to do? “I… it just isn’t done that way. Generally.”

Though in his musician days, he witnessed some truly unique romantic configurations.

It’s a lot to think about.

Stupid, pronounces John with fiendish delight, and continues to tell Arthur everything that’s happening on screen even though Arthur does not reply.

#

In February, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.

Arthur sighs. “John. I’ve been fucking stabbed.”

Only a little, says John. The three stitches are fine. You’re fine.

He is fine, honestly. It wasn’t that bad, and in the end, they took out the giant bug-thing that poked him.

He’s pretty sure he isn’t poisoned. Maybe that alone deserves celebration.

Arthur sighs. “Well. I suppose an evening of distraction isn’t such a terrible idea.”

Of course it’s not a terrible idea. It’s mine.

Arthur rolls his useless eyes, but can’t help a little smile. 

#

This movie, though. This movie hits different.

Death Takes a Holiday is about Death himself, who is tired of being misunderstood, and decides to go slumming among humans for a few days to see if he can figure out why.

And he falls in love. 

With a human.

Which can’t end well for that poor lady.

Arthur forgets his popcorn.

The drama is absolutely contrived and thoroughly effective. The struggles of the inhuman to understand the human—

The choice of the human to understand the strange—

“And tonight, I must go back to my distant kingdom,” says Fredric March, whose portrayal of Death is passionate, quiet-spoken, and rife with tortured drama.

“Will you take me with you?” says Evelyn Venable, who plays Grazia, the love interest, and whose name means grace.

“Take you?” says Death, who is pretending to be something he is not, who is carrying on a wild con with the goal of… enlightenment? “Take you? I should be so unhappy alone. Take you? Oh, no, no… don’t tempt me. But Grazia, give me one hour of you—let me hold you once, and feel your life.”

Holy shit, Arthur thinks, because he’s pretty sure he knows how Grazia feels.

Sort of. He’s no damsel, and whatever he and John are isn’t romantic, but still?

“Now you see me as I am,” says Death, at last revealed as shadow, as monster, as darkly divine.

“But I've always seen you like that! You haven't changed,” says Grazia.

She chooses him, knowing what he is.

She chooses him, knowing what it will cost.

The music swells, and Arthur finds himself tearing up. “Then there is a love which casts out fear, and I have found it! And love is greater than illusion… and as strong as death!” Death declares.

John cheers. She goes with him! She went with him! Yes, Arthur!

Does John see the parallels, too?

Arthur isn’t brave enough to ask.

He wipes his eyes, amazed, moved. Almost envious of that stupid made-up girl.

Yeah. This one hit different. 

He can’t help wondering, silly as it is, if this movie was based on something that really happened.

Death and Grazia, reaching across the gap.

It’s not him and John.

But then, who can say just what they are?

#

In March, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.

Arthur is tired. “Really? Now?”

Why not? We owe ourselves a little treat.

They do, but after Death’s little romance, Arthur’s not sure he’s ready.

He has decided “friend” is the word for them, but only because he doesn’t have a better one.

Its problem is, it’s not strong enough. It’s nowhere near strong enough.

Arthur is well aware that facing off against the damned pallid mask cult again is the reason for his mood, but what he needs to remember is they failed. 

He’s alive. 

John is still here.

John did not take his exit, his gilt and crafted fire escape, much to the cult’s confusion.

When Arthur destroyed their framework of magic and bone, John cheered him on.

John doesn’t seem to miss them, or regret Arthur’s success.

That means a lot.

Friend? Sure. In lieu of a better word.

Arthur sighs. “What do you want to see?”

#

Jimmy the Gent is bonkers.

Arthur half wonders if it pushes the bar so hard because the Hays Code is breathing down Hollywood’s collective neck, threatening to end artistic freedom forever.

He also wonders if anyone but James Cagney and Bette Davis could have pulled this plotline off.

Cagney plays an unscrupulous man who seeks out wealthy folks who died without a will, then produces heirs to rake in the moolah—heirs who aren’t even real.

The main conflict is his girlfriend balking at his techniques, bailing to join a competitor, and coming back again when the eponymous Jimmy shows himself to be slightly less wicked than the other guy.

There isn’t actually a hero. It’s not black and white; it may be comedy, but it’s comedy gray.

“The only thing he's got that I want is you, and he took you away from me,” says Jimmy.

Oof. Those are some words to hear, and Arthur struggles not to apply them.

“He's got ethics,” says Davis, the dame Joan.

“I don't care if he has carbuncles. The only difference between him and me is he's got a smoother line,” says Cagney as the eponymous Jimmy.

Haha… ah. Wow.

“You can't make yourself clean by making him dirty,” says Joan, and Arthur’s stomach twists.

Arthur slowly exhales. This is a poor allegory for the King in Yellow and him, isn’t it?

But it maybe isn’t so bad for him and Larson.

He’s a little bit better than Larson. Just a little. Is that enough to make him good?

John, funny enough, doesn’t wrestle with morality at all in this, but has a blast with the humor, and praises the cleverness of the characters. He particularly appreciates the way Jimmy puts on airs to win back his lady love. Goal achieved, intimacy earned, all for the price of a barrel of determination and a pinch of deceit.

Arthur is uncomfortable as fuck, and eats all the popcorn at the film, too much popcorn, and gives himself a stomachache.

Somehow, he feels it is deserved.

#

In May, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.

They end up picking one all about deceit, romance, and false identity.

The Thirty Day Princess is a heck of a ride.

Are you trying to tell me something? Arthur thinks at a god he doesn’t believe in, thinks at the King in Yellow who is and is not John.

“She Reminds Me of You,” croons Bing Crosby as the hero dances with the princess-under-false-pretenses, who’s filling in for her sick counterpart for a total of thirty days.

Who looks exactly like the ill royal, but most definitely is not her.

I'm standing all alone I've got nothing to live for She reminds me of you And she reminds me of you And it breaks my heart in two

Dear fucking gods.

John is not the King in Yellow.

Except that he is.

Arthur hasn’t processed this. Hasn’t figured it out.

I am the King in Yellow, sounds John’s voice in Arthur’s memory, and Arthur ends up physically ill at the end of the film.

John is quite concerned, but Arthur doesn’t know what to tell him when he asks what’s wrong, and leaves all his questions unanswered like unraveling thread.

#

In September, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.

Enough time has passed that Arthur’s resistance has worn down.

He refused two months in a row. He rejoiced (in silence) that the madness with the Order of the Falling Star prevented any such frivolity through August.

But now that’s done, and Kayne has another poorly defined deal that began with an entire group of cultists violently dead, and Percy has Arthur’s blood in a jar for some reason and a promise of future contact, and it’s done.

For better or worse, it’s done.

And it’s quiet.

And John wants to see a movie.

“You know what?” says Arthur, who could use the distraction. "There’s one I want to see, too. Do you know the poets Elizabeth Barret and Robert Browning? Well… Elizabeth wrote some of the most wonderful verse about love and longing that anyone ever has, and apparently, there’s a movie about it, so let’s go see.”

#

The Barretts of Wimpole Street turns out to be completely not what Arthur expected.

Love disallowed by a sex-repulsed parent, physical illness barring the freedom afforded any ordinary adult, a stressful and creepy scene with incestuous undertones, and a decision to kill a beloved pet dog (which fortunately did not pan out) leave Arthur feeling absolutely weird about the whole thing.

The movie tiptoes a lot about morality, about right and wrong, about societal norms and familial expectations.

At least some of it reminded him of arguments with Daniel, after Bella had come down pregnant.

At least some of it reminded him of arguments with James, the day Faroe was born.

All of it reminded him of whatever he has with John, and he doesn’t know how to interpret that.

Norma Shearer as Elizabeth asking, “Robert, have you ever thought that my strength may break down on the journey?”

Frederick March as Robert answering: “It had occurred to me, yes.”

Arthur feels so very mortal, these days.

“Supposing I were to die in your hands?” she says.

“Are you afraid?”

Yes, thinks Arthur. I’m very afraid.

And then comes the line that hits hardest. “Yes,” says Robert Browning. “I am prepared to risk your life, much more my own, to get you out of that dreadful house and into the sun and to have you for my wife.”

Was that an okay thing to say?

Arthur doesn’t know.

He feels like he and John have each made that decision for each other, more than once.

But nobody’s a wife. 

Or something.

He’s not really sure what he’s internally protesting.

“I'm sick of fighting alone. I need a comrade in arms to fight beside me,” Robert says.

“But not one already wounded in battle,” Elizabeth says, who feels lesser, who feels so weak.

“Wounded but undaunted, unbeaten, unbroken. What finer comrade could a man ask for?”

Undefeated.

Arthur swallows hard. Maybe this one was pointed at him, after all.

That was kind of depressing, John pronounces with great cheer as they leave, having enjoyed every moment, and described it all to Arthur in an effort to help him enjoy it, too. I can’t believe he wanted to kill the dog! 

“Well,” says Arthur. “Some people are… cruel… when they lose.”

Someone should kill him instead, John says, and he is joking.

Probably joking.

It feels like John’s moral compass is more reliable than Arthur’s own, these days, so Arthur decides to just let that one go.

#

In October, Arthur says, “John—I want to see a movie.”

Really? You do? You want to hear one, you mean? says John, who’s being clever.

Arthur is able to laugh. “Yes, you whacko.”

John’s pleased. Arthur can feel it. I know you are, but what am I?

Arthur laughs again.

The back-and-forth is ridiculous, but feels so damn good in spite of that. Easy; effortless. Affectionate, knives long stashed.

Three whole weeks have passed since the Rancid Ruby case, and their successful retrieval of the jewel (and the minister’s daughter, whom they hadn’t even known was missing) has brought them enough business and enough income that Arthur has begun to believe John is right: they’re going to be okay.

It’s also put the final nail in the dismissal of their murder case. The minister stood as a character witness, and finally swayed the judge. Who knew?

Parker and Eddie’s deaths have been officially attributed to a burglary gone wrong—backed by Arthur’s wrecked car, miles from the scene; by hospital proof that Arthur, unidentified, had been in a coma; and by Arthur’s indisputable claim of amnesia, causing his disappearance for many months. 

Larson is MIA, having been carried off by the monstrous thing he summoned.

The Butcher is retired, having philosophized himself into a monastery, eager for hypocritical redemption and literal flagellation.

Kayne hasn’t called his favor, but right now, it’s hard to look toward that with horror.

Even this latest case worked out, with a wild showdown in Central Park, loads of witnesses, and the Jade MacGuffin returned to its owner.

It’s all coming up roses. Arthur is almost able to hope.

So what did you want to see? says John.

“Well, they’re saying this will be one of the last great movies—the Hays Code, and all,” says Arthur, who has tried to explain it, and shared John’s frustration at the enforcement of false human experience and morality on screen. “It’s about the great Egyptian queen Cleopatra—a tragic love story, and one that’s inspired all manner of art, music, poetry, and more for centuries.”

Sure. Sounds good. The theater on 15th has popcorn, you know.

That’s all Arthur needs to hear.

#

And it isn’t pointed, it really is not. But it sort of fits how he’s feeling, anyway.

“Together, we could conquer the world,” Cleopatra says, Elizabeth Taylor making every word so sensual that Arthur could drown in any one of them for a week.

“Nice of you to include me,” Warren William’s Julius Caesar replies, and Arthur chuckles, and John says, Hahaha! You can do better! and it’s such a beautiful, perfect shared moment.

And of course, she can do better—in the form of Marc Antony, played by Henry Wilcoxon.

Arthur loses himself in it all, even though he can’t see. The cast is huge. The effects (via John) are jaw-dropping. The music score is moving and expertly done.

When Taylor says, "On. Your. Knees,” Arthur feels some things he really doesn’t know what to do with, but the moment passes quickly.

Cleopatra is everything Arthur wanted in an evening of self-indulgent escape, and John’s continued enthusiasm only makes it more sweet.

Arthur sniffles at the tragic ending, even though he knew it was coming, which Taylor plays to the hilt.

It definitely doesn’t feel pointed like the other movies did. Arthur figures out why when it’s done, while he’s waiting for everyone else to file out so he can leave the theater unhindered.

A lack of communication and irreconcilable core values led to the tragedy on screen.

That’s not him and John. Well, it used to be; but Arthur is certain it’s not anymore.

John says, I think I understand her.

“Her? Cleopatra? How so?”

And with that unnervingly good memory John sometimes demonstrates, he quotes: ‘So Rome would forgive and take you back? And all they demand is for us to part. Why don't they ask the sun to fall right out of the sky?’

Arthur swallows.

That’s how I feel about you, says John, who has never said he loves Arthur, but has shown it, repeatedly and without hesitation.

Arthur has some thoughts on that. "I feel the same,” he says, who has never said those words to John, even though the King in Yellow called him on it months ago.

But Arthur’s fairly sure he’s shown it, too.

He's been thinking a lot about love, of late.

About what it really is, and how it is expressed.

About how the movies usually portray two kinds: romantic, and familial.

This love is neither. It’s different, loaded with unknown spice, broken free from a mold Arthur cannot name.

But it is absolutely real, and Arthur has come to a conclusion that shakes him to his core: he was already willing to die for John, many months ago, yes. But now?

Now, he’s willing to live for him.

Even if Kayne decided to offer me a body, I’m not going anywhere, John says out of nowhere.

“A body?” Arthur isn’t sure where that idea came from. “I doubt he’d do that.”

John says nothing.

Arthur tries to bridge whatever unexpected gap this is, squirming with things in the dark. “It shouldn’t be too difficult to obtain papers for you, if that happened. Make you all legitimate.”

Really. Is that so?

Arthur has to poke. “I’ll say you’re from Montana. That should explain away any obvious social gaffes.”

Gaffes! I’ll have you know I’m far better at handling people than you.

“Well, I suppose we’ll see, won’t we? In this theoretical future that probably won’t happen.”

There’s another slight pause. Arthur frowns.

I want my name on the business, John suddenly says.

Arthur snorts.

Arthur! I’m serious!

“Yes, yes. I don’t see why not.” Arthur is more concerned he might not get his sight back than that John’s name is painted on frosted glass. “Lester and Doe, Private Investigators For Hire.”

Doe and Lester.

“Excuse you. I was in it first.”

But I’m clearly the smarter partner.

Arthur laughs. “You dork.”

And will probably be better-looking, too.

“Now, that’s going too far,” says Arthur, chuckling. 

You’ll see. I’ll draw everyone’s attention with my glorious form, and that’ll give you time to riffle their drawers.

��That’s… not a horrible idea, honestly, though there are a few problems with that—namely, you have no body, and even if you did, I’d still be blind.”

Well, I… well, we…

“Gotcha,” says Arthur, smug, because it’s easier to laugh at this possible future than actually deal with any of it, though even the shadow it casts hurts.

You did not. That’s not even a point. Half a point, maybe.

“Lester and Doe, it is,” Arthur says, because it’s fun to poke the bear.

Instead of answering, John gasps.

Arthur knows John. Knows him well. And immediately stops walking.

“You know, just when I think you two can’t get any cuter, you go and wrap a bow on your dicks and call it Christmas,” says Kayne so close that Arthur can feel breath on his lips.

Arthur staggers back a few steps, then stops himself. Running won’t help. “What do you want?”

Kayne must have kept pace with him, because he speaks just as close, an inch away. “It’s your lucky day! Oh, did you tell him, snippet? Did you? I assume you would have by now, I mean, it’s not like you had half a year or something to figure out how to broach the topic.”

Oh, no. What?

It’s like the ground under Arthur’s feet is shaking, ground he’d thought was solid, but hides a deep and jagged fault line. “What is he talking about?”

Arthur, I—

“Too late now!” says Kayne, and there is a whoosh of air.

Arthur staggers. He didn’t move, but he did, and the sounds and smells tell him he’s no longer on the sidewalk, but in an alley.

And then comes a voice he hates.

A drawl, casual and arrogant, and it doesn’t even matter that it’s coming from waist-height, because his immediate urge is to attack it at once like a bird in a mirror.

“Well, this isn’t what I expected,” says Wallace Larson.

Arthur takes a step.

John reaches across his chest and grabs his arm, hard, like a physical restraint.

“Oh, the webs we weave when we practice to deceive,” says Larson, who sounds fine and dandy, if a little shorter than before.

Arthur, says John, evenly. He’s not alone. He’s strapped to a weird, short table, barely fitting into the alley, and his legs are jammed against the wall. And he’s not alone.

And because this wasn’t fraught enough, the next voice is identical.

Identical. But it isn’t John.

You! Murderer!

“Yellow?” says Arthur, shock stealing sound and sense from this moment, tingling through his body so his face feels numb.

Kayne bounces something light off the side of his head.

“What?” Arthur startles.

“Sorry, thought you’d open your mouth for it, like a baby bird. Popcorn?” Another one hits right under his eye.

“Stop it! What are you doing?”

It’s time for justice! Yellow declares.

Oh, shut the fuck up, John snarls.

Traitor! bellows Yellow.

And Larson starts to sing. Insultingly, it is a hymn.

“Bury my body,” Larson croons in a surprisingly pleasing baritone. “Lord, I don't care where they bury my body. Lord, I don't care where they bury my body, ‘cause my soul is gonna live with God.”

Arthur is going to kill him. The rest of this can sort itself out. He takes another step.

“Hold on there, boyo,” says Kayne in the Butcher’s accent, and takes Arthur’s hand. “You’ll need this.”

That is the handle of a knife. A knife, pressed into his right palm, which means Kayne wants him to do this, and that pours cold water all over the whole operation.

The handle burns, but Arthur ignores that.

Go ahead, says Yellow. You’re already a killer. I see it in your eyes. I know you, Arthur Lester!

This can’t be happening.

“It is, though,” whispers Kayne in his ear. “Looks like Little John didn’t tell you anything, did he? That’s a real foundation for trust.”

“What?” says Arthur, who feels stuck like a skipping record.

You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, says John.

I do. He confessed. He murdered that man and fucking ATE HIM.

He did that because of you! John roars at Yellow. You’re the one who put him in the pit! You’re the one who sent him the gods-damned cannibal! What did you want him to do, just sit back and be eaten?

“What?” says Arthur, weakly.

Because for Yellow to have done that means—

I did? says Yellow, sounding as confused as if he’d been thocked on his phantasmal head.

“Oh, oh, oh yeah,” sings Larson. 

Arthur needs a moment.

“I’m not leaving,” he snaps before anybody can yell at him, and turns to stand at the entrance to the alley, just breathing.

He’s very, very glad he had no alcohol with dinner tonight.

“I dunno, pal, it might’ve helped you out,” Kayne says.

“What is this?” says Arthur.

“Isn’t it clear? No, I suppose it’s not—guess good old Liz (or maybe Henry) redirected the blood from your brain to elsewhere. You’re here to kill your enemy, my boy! End the torment. Flip the switch. Bring that hammer down.”

Arthur swallows. He’s tasting metal again—a thing he’s noticed only happens when he’s on the verge of panic.

Which he is. He doesn’t know what’s going on.

Arthur, I can explain.

“Shhh,” says Kayne, and touches Arthur’s lips.

Arthur tries for him with the knife. 

Of course, it only hits brick, jarring his hand. “Ow,” he mutters. “Damn it!”

“He’ll get to explain it all after. For now, however, you, being the key in this situation, being fully entangled with him, and thus, his representative with a physical form, have a job to do.”

“What job? I haven’t agreed to—is this my favor? For killing those cultists?”

Kayne laughs. “No, you sweet thing. It’s his.”

“His?” Arthur’s voice is small.

I… Arthur, I…

Get back here! Coward! Yellow calls from the alleyway.

“I have questions,” says Arthur, but he honestly can’t think of one.

Kayne tsks at him. “I can see you’re in shock, you tender soul, you, so let’s make this simple. Do this, or John’s gone.”

“Gone?” Arthur’s voice cracks.

“Removed. Incised. Purged, if you will. It’s what he agreed to.”

“John?” says Arthur.

This is what you wanted him in New York for? John says, sounding incredulous.

Arthur’s brain has skipped parts of this conversation like it touched an electrical fault, and he blurts, “Yellow is the King in Yellow, isn’t he?”

Kayne laughs. “Wow, are you behind! They’re both the King in Yellow, my darling rose. Snippet, what have you been teaching him? What, nothing? Well, this is on you, then.”

Get back here! howls Yellow. We’re not finished!

“I said all right,” Larson starts singing again. “You know it's alright. It's alright, c'mon.”

And it calms Yellow. It calms the piece of the King in Yellow, the copy of John that Arthur betrayed, that Arthur ruined so badly that he’s refused to think about it because there’s no fixing what went wrong.

“You are correct on that one,” Kayne confirms. “This is fun, and all, but boys… you’re losing my patience. It’s time.”

Arthur finds himself walking back into the alley.

It’s easy to follow Larson’s voice. 

To follow the sweet-syrup sound of that most hated man, who is awfully damn calm about this, and that is the one thought that surfaces. “You’re awfully damn calm about this, Larson,” Arthur snarls.

“Of course I am, my boy. I’m about to enter immortality. Little hard not to face that with some sorta joy, given all I paid for it.”

“Paid for it!” Arthur’s voice breaks. “You didn't pay for it! Your daughter did!”

“So did yours,” says Larson, who shouldn’t know that, who must have been told by Kayne. “We both got to where we are through that most unfortunate necessity, didn't we?”

Murderer! Yellow declares.

Six months ago, that would have been it.

Arthur would have lost it. Gone feral, melted into violent goo, stabbed and tore and shouted until he was covered in gore, until Larson was unrecognizable, until the form could compete with Uncle for mess and mayhem and pulp in bad places.

Today, he pauses.

It’s not the same, says John, calm, because this is only for Arthur. You know it’s not. We’ve been over this.

He killed his daughter! says Yellow.

He made a mistake and she died—and what the fuck are you crowing about? Your guy sacrificed his on purpose! One’s an accident and the other isn't! Fuck, how stupid are you? Did I get all the intelligence, is that it?

What? says Yellow, again taken aback, again stuttered to a halt in the middle of rage.

Arthur realizes with a little gut-twist that Yellow is weirdly naive.

Gullible. That’s the word. He just accepts what anybody says in the moment, then applies that black and white, childish morality.

Yellow would not understand half the movies they’d seen of late.

Why? Why was this?

“Because he didn’t get to spend a month all alone, silly,” says Kayne. “Isn’t that neat? It’s all about godhood and nature versus nurture and all that kind of thing. If you’d been awake the whole time, your John would be even screwier than he is. It’s almost like your bad luck scratches the itch of some eager, chaotic observers. Anyway! What’s the hold up? That’s the guy who hurt you, Arty. That’s the guy who made your teeth loose. You really gonna hesitate now?”

That’s the guy means Yellow, not Larson, and this just got more complicated. “What happens to Yellow if I do this?” says Arthur, because he never asked that before, and he should have, and it’s probably too late, but that’s just how his life goes.

“Hm? Oh, he’ll die,” says Kayne.

John gasps.

Shit. “And what happens to John, then?” says Arthur.

“Heck if I know. This is all new territory, which is why I’m being so patient. Don’t want to miss a thing.”

“Lead me, Jesus, lead me,” sings Larson. “Why don't you lead me in the middle of the air, and if my wings should fail me, won't you provide me with another pair?”

“So you’re crackers,” says Arthur. “Barmy. Lost your damned mind. This isn’t Jesus. This is Kayne. He’s not going to do anything good for you.”

Kayne gasps. “Such ingratitude!” And he laughs. “Next, you’re going to say you don’t want your office filled with music boxes.”

Okay, that—

Okay.

Arthur needs another moment.

“You don’t get one,” Kayne whispers in his ear. “It’s time. John didn’t tell you, and I’m glad he didn’t, because you are fucking glorious this upset, but it’s time. Kill him.”

“Why?” whispers Arthur, and means so many things.

Kayne doesn’t bother to reply.

I… Arthur, I….

“Will you be all right, John?”

I don’t know.

Arthur grips the knife. Its burning leather handle creaks, and Arthur accepts the pain in his palm, because something this messy should not be easy.

Yellow gasps. You’re going to do it in cold blood?

“I’m sorry, Yellow,” says Arthur, because Yellow is not really the King in Yellow, any more than John is. “It seems I fucked up for you all over the place.”

You’re a killer. I don’t expect anything better from you.

He’s human, says John. He’s made mistakes, and stayed alive. Your guy’s no better.

Yellow seems stunned again. He’s not?

Larson laughs. “Little guy, it’s all right. This is where it was always going. Why do you think I had to get you to New York? You’re my final step. My sacrifice. Your death’ll elevate me, son. Mister Lester, I’m fully ready. Do the deed. Let’s get this over with. Then, when I’m ascended, and I’m a god, I’ll be sure to stop by and say hi.”

Arthur’s throat is tight. “He can’t be serious.”

“His deals aren’t for you to know,” says Kayne. “Also, you’re out of time.”

“Wait,” says Arthur.

“Say goodbye to John in three,” says Kayne.

“Wait!” says Arthur, who has an idea, who suddenly thinks—

“Two,” says Kayne. 

With a choked, miserable sound, Arthur cuts Larson’s throat.

But not with the knife Kayne gave him.

“Oh, foul!” Kayne cries. “Oh! Oh! Cheater!”

Andrew! says Yellow, sounding distraught. Andrew! No! No!

What did you do? says John.

“Improvised?” says Arthur, who has no idea what he’s done, except he had to save John, except the knife Kayne gave him was maybe special, except this complete guess was the only hope he had, and he’d only had time to stuff Kayne’s knife away and grab his own instead.

Larson gargles. He sounds like he’s trying to laugh.

Andrew! Yellow sobs it. Andrew! He doesn’t seem to be dying.

So it worked?

So Larson doesn’t get godhood?

Arthur’s hand is warm with blood. He doesn’t know what to do. He tries to clean that knife inside his jacket, where he hopes it won’t show.

Kayne sighs. Paces. 

Kayne punches the wall.

It’s a bad sound, cracking, crumbling. Something inside the building crashes down, and there are screams.

Arthur shakes.

“You know,” says Kayne. “I’ll give you this one. I’ll hand it to you. Didn’t predict it. That’s awful rare. So I’m really pissed at you, and you’ll feel that soon enough—but I can appreciate a good scam.”

“I didn’t pull a scam,” Arthur says, quieter, because Yellow has begun to sob.

It is an ugly sound, wretched, utterly unselfconscious.

He’s doing that because Larson is dead.

It doesn’t feel good. None of this does. Arthur isn’t the same as he was in Addison. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Yellow doesn’t stop crying long enough to answer.

Kayne shoves him suddenly, bruisingly, against the wall. “I am… really… mad at you. I won’t get to pull an experiment like this again for who knows how the fuck long. But… that was the deal. You did the deed. Technically, you’re off the hook. But you, Arthur—you still owe me a favor.”

“I won’t kill Yellow,” Arthur says.

Arthur!

Arthur takes Kayne’s knife back out of his pocket and throws it down, and the clang it makes in the alley is weird, wrong, otherworldly. “I won’t. I’ve done enough to him! Fuck you, I—”

He chokes.

There is a fist is in his throat, impossibly swelling, knuckles distending, expanding, distorting, threatening to tear him from the inside. Can’t swallow around it. Can’t—

It stops. 

Arthur gasps, ragged.

“Better idea,” says Kayne, and suddenly, Yellow’s sobbing is inside his head.

“John!” Arthur manages, gagging, terrified John was swapped into the dead man’s body.

I’m here! I—what the fuck?

Leave me alone! Yellow howls.

They’re both in there, equally loud, equally growly, and it’s too much, there is a weight to the fulness of an eldritch god in his brain, and his own soul feels pinched and battered and stepped on, and he can’t breathe, and—

“This should be fun,” he hears Kayne say, and then he passes out.

#

The arguing is what wakes him.

That doesn’t matter. I don’t care.

Then you’re a hypocrite of the highest order, John snarls.

What does that make you?

Look, you moron, just calling me things doesn’t make it—Arthur! The change in tone is remarkable. Arthur—are you all right? Talk to me, Arthur.

The sharp concern in John’s voice—tenderness mixed with violence, crafted for him.

Arthur recalls Yellow weeping over Larson, and he aches for him, and wonders if his own inner compass has gotten even more broken over the last day. “I’m… I’m here. Fuck, I sound strangled.”

He does. Haggard, raspy. 

Larson could out-sing him at this very moment, and he won’t be able to sing to calm Yellow for a while, and that is such an odd thought to have that Arthur’s face burns, and he rolls over to press it into the cool pillow.

Wait. Pillow?

Lucky, says Yellow, low and bitter. Yours woke up.

I told you he would. He’s remarkable.

Andrew was remarkable.

Wallace Larson was a motherfucking cheat who traded children and people’s lives all the time to seem interesting. Arthur does it all on his own.

Arthur feels not all on his own a little too much, right now. “Yellow.”

What? says the new voice, and the tone is fearful, and challenging, and tight.

Is he doing this?

He’s doing this.

Arthur already decided he’s doing this, and he may be many things, but he doesn’t easily change his mind. “I’m sorry.”

Both the voices in his head are still for a moment.

What? they say together.

“I’m sorry. I met you when I was… I was at the worst of myself. I lied to you, and tried to control you, because I was so afraid of losing you again. Losing… John again. Kayne told me you were him, and I thought… you know, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I fucked up, Yellow. I’m sorry.” It feels weak. “That’s all.”

There is a trembling inside, a non-corporeal shaking that feels like maybe the fault line has been transplanted into him.

How dare you? Yellow says.

I told you so, says John.

How dare you lie to me! You just murdered my… you killed him!

Arthur sighs. “I did. I wasn’t letting John get taken. No matter what shape I’m in, that’s… just how it’s going to be.”

That trembling again.

Larson was ready to sacrifice you, like I said—but you’re safe now, says John to Yellow, which Arthur did not expect. You’re me. He won’t hurt you.

That’s more faith in Arthur than Arthur has for himself.

I’m not you. We can’t even merge, Yellow says.

“You can’t?” says Arthur, who’d forgotten that was a thing until this moment.

No. We… we’ve both changed too much. We can’t.

There is sorrow in John’s voice, deep and aching, a finality that communicates loss Arthur can’t fully comprehend.

It’s a farewell to a thing Arthur cannot even imagine needing.

He has no idea how to engage with it, so he goes for familiar ground. Not a poem, but the movie they just saw—a way to say, I love you, without saying those words. “‘You choose me, Cleopatra, against the world,’” he says.

John practically surges to respond. ‘Then we'll meet it! We'll smash it to pieces, put it together again and call it ours!’

Yellow is, understandably, confused. You’re going to smash the world?

“No, we… no. It’s a movie.”

What’s a movie?

John scoffs. Your asshole of a guy didn’t even take you to see a movie? We’ve seen six in just a few months!

But what is one? I want to see one! What is it?

Arthur is not going to see a movie right now. He feels like his head weighs a thousand pounds. “How did I get to a bed? Did Kayne bring me here?”

There is a distinctly guilty pause. So, says John. When you’re fully unconscious, uh. We. Um.

We have control of your hideous form, Yellow informs him. You’re in your hotel room.

“What? Wait, what?” Arthur sits up. He feels the same. Blind, left hand and foot numb. Head too heavy, but—“What?”

When you’re unconscious, repeats John, we have control. So we got you out of there, because there’s a dead body, and we don’t need to face the police again.

Cowards, both of you, says Yellow.

Maybe he should take Yellow to see some morality plays before the movies, or something. “Where’s the knife? It had my fingerprints.”

Fucking Kayne took it back. It was weird, Arthur. I’m glad you couldn’t see it. Even with me looking through your eyes, they bled.

Arthur stiffens and reaches up. Sure enough, there are dried tracks of blood from his eyes down his neck. “Fuck. Can you see?”

Yes. You seem all right. Just… that knife was bad.

Why—Yellow stops.

“Why what?”

Why didn’t you use it?

Arthur’s not sure he’s in any shape to verbalize this. “What I did to you before wasn’t right. What Larson was doing to you now wasn’t right. It’s time someone didn’t do the wrong thing by you, is all.”

Silence in response.

Whatever that means.

Arthur stands, shaky as a newborn lamb, and feels his way to the bathroom. He strips as he goes, dropping clothing in a trail.

Is it time for a rite? says Yellow, oddly hopeful.

Rite?

He’s naked.

So?

This is too weird, and Arthur does not engage. He turns on the shower. 

But… humans get naked for rites.

John scoffs. He told you that? What the fuck?

They don’t get naked for rites? Yellow sounds lost again.

“So what you’re telling me is fucking Larson never washed his arse,” Arthur mutters, and John laughs.

Don’t you know anything about humans? says John then, disgusted.

Of course I do! More than you!

They are clearly going to be at this for a while.

Arthur lets them, hoping they tire themselves out.

He’s scraped from the bricks in the alley. Bruised from Kayne’s manhandling, and, he thinks, inside his throat. His right hand, disturbingly, seems to have been slightly burned where he held that weird knife. He can’t be sure, but he thinks he’s lost his fingerprints.

But he’s okay. He made it.

He always makes it.

And for the first time in his life, weirdly, he feels like he might have a second chance at something he truly fucked up.

They’re still fighting about naked humans. It’s obviously a cleansing rite!

You’re a moron!

“Yellow,” says Arthur. “I’m sorry you lost your person. He was a monster, but… I get it, and I’m sorry. Good, bad—they don’t matter when there’s grief.”

Another trembling pause as the steam rises, and Arthur washes away the blood, the sweat, the dubious stickiness he finds where Kayne grabbed him through his suit jacket.

I… didn’t like it, says Yellow, soft.

“I know. I think we’ve all… we’ve all gone through some loss here, through no fault of our own.”

Don’t tell me you feel bad for taking that fucker out, says John. You’ve been wanting him dead for months.

Arthur knows clarification is needed, and it is the hardest thing to do, but he has to make this second chance count. “Since I learned he sacrificed his daughter for power, yes. It made me think of losing my little girl, and though that was… that was an accident, I couldn’t… imagine someone doing it on purpose. I went a little insane.”

A little? scoffs John.

“A lot insane, then. Still. Yellow wouldn’t have landed in him at all if I hadn’t been such an ass.”

Actually, says John. About that.

Arthur has been thinking. “You made a deal with Kayne.”

I… yes.

Why? says Yellow.

To get back to Arthur.

Why? Yellow says.

He’s mine, says John.

“And, what? It was just about getting me to New York?”

Yes. He said if I did that, I could stay in you. He even hinted he might give me a body, if I paid his debt right, though it wasn’t… worded clearly. If I failed, and couldn’t get you to New York, I’d… I’d go back to the Dark World. But then we were here, and nothing happened, and I… I sort of hoped he’d forgotten.

“You could’ve told me.” It hurts a little. More than a little.

I’m sorry.

Arthur sighs. “I forgive you. We made it through. Just tell me anything else like that, all right?”

I will. I promise.

Yellow is quiet. 

Arthur has no idea how this conversation might stack up against whatever else Yellow has heard.

He dries off and limps back to the bed, where he falls face-first into the pillow. “No joyrides while I’m out. I need rest.”

You adapted to that news pretty quickly, says John, suspicious.

“I have not adapted at all. I’m simply too damn tired to engage with it right now. Tomorrow, I’ll have a proper panic over it, but for the next few hours, I mean it. No joyrides.”

Fine. No joyrides.

But what if we—

We promised. No joyrides.

I didn’t promise, Yellow grouses.

I did, and we are both the King in Yellow, and that’s our word. Shut up.

They are never going to stop.

Weirdly… it’s not that hard to tune them out.

It reminds Arthur of the strangest thing: those noisy, chaotic, wonderful days when Faroe’s “friends”—really just toddlers her age, in the neighborhood—came over, and everybody was yelling and squealing and laughing and demanding, and all the other parents (mothers, they were all mothers, and Arthur never fit in) clustered like chortling geese to add to the ruckus.

And it shouldn’t have been peaceful, but it was.

It shouldn’t have been the kind of noise he could sink into, but it was.

Why this is like that, Arthur doesn’t know.

Maybe he doesn’t need to know.

For some reason, John is now telling Yellow the plot of The Thirty-Day Princess. And then the Baron said, ‘We are on a wild goose egg!’

Yellow laughs.

Is it safe, to leave them unmonitored like this?

Then again, maybe they need it.

Arthur certainly needs it.

He has no idea what to do with this. He has no idea if he can keep them both in there. His skull feels oddly… strained.

But now, right now, he needs sleep.

John promised no joyrides. (Arthur will deal with that horror tomorrow.)

John’s promise, in spite of today’s unpleasant surprise, is good enough.

Yellow’s grief is real. That’s going to take time to navigate. Arthur feels he owes that much.

So… is everyone safe now? At least until Kayne returns?

Maybe.

Arthur doesn’t know how this works, and he’s no longer arrogant enough to assume he ever will.

Maybe he doesn’t have to know.

Maybe it’s enough to survive, and listen, and forgive, and try to make up for mistakes.

To take his chance to make up for one, and hold it with all his heart.

Arthur drifts off to the sound of John’s attempt at a Ruritanian accent.

Maybe it really is coming up roses, after all.

--------

NOTES

Of course, I had to do ridiculous research for this so it would all be accurate.

It's part of my self-indulgence. Hush.

Dancing Lady on Wikipedia, and you get to see the scene that made poor Arthur hot and bothered right here on YouTube.

Death Takes a Holiday is on YouTube in terrible resolution here, BUT if you skip to 1:04:44, you get to see where Grazia chooses to go with Death.

The romp that is Jimmy the Gent. The quip about ethics and carbunkles is right here, at 1:25.

The Thirty Day Princess was hard to track down, but I found a solid review of it, a clip of the Ruritanian accent, and of course, Bing Crosby's She Reminds Me of You.

The Barretts of Wimpole Street, including that DEEPLY uncomfortable clip where the father seems to think all sex is evil, then gets weirdly handsy with his daughter. Yowza.

Oh, Cleopatra... they don't make movies like this anymore. On. Your. Knees.

As for Yellow... well, I saw how he responded to Larson at the end of 28. He just... accepted whatever Larson said - weirdly innocent about it, which made Larson even creepier to me. I sort of figured without a chance to reset and think (like John had during the coma), he wouldn't be able to grow the same way.

The hymn Larson was singing, My Soul is Gonna Live With God. In your dreams, asshole.

[blxckchxrrybxby]

Unresolved Light

summary: Reader needs to vent.

pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Cordelia Goode x Billie Dean Howard x Reader

warning(s): mentions religion, blood, self harm

a/n: I’m beginning to think there’s no cure for the agony of living & there’s no love for those who need it most.

“Sometimes, I believe the purpose of life is to realize it is a form of hell in itself…” your fists unclenched, wiping away sweaty palms against the ragged denim beneath them, “And everyone shoves the idea of a greater, gentler being in your mind. They tell you He’s love and He’s what the world is not,” your eyebrows furrowed—voice breaking, “but what kind of merciful God would hurl His creations into a dying world and expect them to be the light when all influence leads to darkness?” The silver cross embedded with cubic zirconia sparkled against your neck; dangling daintily as you hunched over in despair. “How sadistic of Him to push me into nothingness, hoping I’d grasp at His glory just to catch a breath while drowning.” A scoff pushed past trembling lips. Pulsating veins spread through your forehead, making their presence noticeable. Your fists clenched once more, pounding at the ground. Tears fell and bodies moved closer to you.

They were not fond of fragile things shattering. They preferred to think of you as strong. And how could you blame them? It would be more convenient for them to believe that, than to witness your world fall apart, and your mind follow suit.

No one wants to pick up your pieces.

Yet, your fists kept slamming, and slamming, and slamming, and slamming—Oh, and now she was crying for you to stop… but how could you when this blood on the floor was the most color you’d seen lately?

Cordelia pulled you into her chest—where your fists continued to beat. Her heart would not suffice when you craved a rhythm of your own. Her eyes fell shut; chin laying atop your frazzled mind.

And your fists kept slamming.

Her white blouse was now painted red. Your weary heart shadowing Franko in Mendieta form. This was a cleanse.

And now your forehead found a home against her collarbones. Billie’s delicate fingertips traced at your spine; grounding you. Forcing you to accept anything but brutality. There was nothing worse than losing all faith in faith itself.

No matter their beliefs, this was yours. And upon an unforgiving life, it was now lost to you—the hope for something greater was foolish. As your fists settled—now aching—your gaze readjusted. From the left of her dirty blouse, you could make out Mina.

Eyes dark and heavy against the many flames. You were sure her tears could extinguish them.

“Come, little one.”

You listened, pushing away from the witch and medium. Crawling across the floor and past surrounding candles, you lay on her lap—staring at the red handprints smeared and left behind.

Her fingers moved down to play with the necklace; twirling the cross gently.

“No sense in running towards destruction when we can take our time.”

[lucyintheskywithxanax]

See I Knew About The Ending, What Happens To The Heart

Requested by @malsorie​ (I think??) 10 years ago, I decided to ignore my brain’s going on strike because I love your art ❤️  (if it wasn’t you who requested this then I’m sorry and it’s embarassing so let’s ignore it)

Venable proposal fic 💍

tense agreement may be weird because I’m not used to writing in the present tense

Title is from Happens to The Heart by Leonard Cohen, a song I adore, and which was my main inspiration for this fic (no it is not fluffy)

Word count : ≃ 5 900

You think, with a great sense of overwhelming sadness, that in another life you did not meet Wilhemina and are still spending your evenings on your own. Immediately after this thought rises another one – born, you are ashamed to say, of panic rather than love – of a permanent way to secure her presence by your side. There is only one way you know of, and that is marriage.

Now, you scold yourself after a minute or two, fear is not a good reason to marry. And besides, marriages can be ended and are, after all, but another promise, and in your experience promises are only made to be broken. And really, you think, standing up to set your empty mug on the table, fear isn’t a good reason to marry. It has to come from a sudden burst of love in a poppy field, or gazing at a sunset on a beach, or standing in the subway at rush hour staring down at a man’s black shoe with a pointed toe. But surely not as excessive and unreasonable possessiveness on a quiet Saturday afternoon while sipping tea.

There had been so many people you had failed to marry and who had consequently vanished from your life. Friends mostly, a lover or two, here one minute gone the next, like the rose bush in your garden when a draft slams the backdoor shut. Imagine Wilhemina standing in place of the rose bush – her loss would be unbearable. There would be no remedy this time of that you are certain. So marriage, you think – and nervously you wedge a stool in front of the backdoor so no draft would slam it shut. Wilhemina would be sitting back in the armchair, the one by the window – no, no. She would be walking barefoot on the beach right by the edge of the water where the sand is more compact, quietly, a furrow between her brows, careful not to cut the delicate soles of her feet against the sharp edge of a broken seashell. The sun is shining red and orange and purple low on the horizon, about to kiss the sea, and Wilhemina suddenly exhales, stops, turns over with her toes the white semi circle of a shell – but the inside disappoints her, and she goes on her way. You’re crushing her shadow with your feet, but lovingly so. You’re thinking about how love sometimes is all about crushing, and molding back into a new shape, when suddenly the dark shadow arm lifts away from you, pointing towards the sea, and is caught by a wave. You look up; she’s pointing at a small sailboat, but look! Here she comes.

You hear her cane first, as always. And then she appears in the doorway, frowning, clearly annoyed. “Do you know where the matches are?” is what she says.

You grin at her. She frowns, a little annoyed at you for grinning instead of answering her, didn’t she ask you a question?

She’s looking for the matches. You watch her as she inspects the tabletop, lifts an open book to peek under it (nothing), looks behind the ficus. At this point she hits the tip of her cane against the floor irritatingly.

“I swear I left them in the kitchen but I can’t find them there.” Saying so, she walks back into the kitchen and you listen to the sounds of her searching, louder as her irritation grows, until she reappears and, defeated – “Don’t you stand there like an idiot!” – makes a last, desperate, irrational dash for the bookcase and – here they are! on the top shelf! She glares at you as if it is your fault they landed there.

She lights the candles. The last one she sets on the mantelpiece in front of the looking-glass so the little flame dances in delight at the sight of a friend. The looking-glass – no, she avoids the looking-glass. Her eyes dart down. You hum and cross to her, and wrap your arms around her waist, and rest your chin on her shoulder as you stare at your reflections in the mirror.

The clock ticks. Then she looks up, and meets your eyes, and again you smile at her. The little flame burns on, unaware of the battle it lights up. Wilhemina’s eyes meet their reflection, hard and cold and unforgiving, not a flaw ignored, beauty disfigured into something horrible, even the lips you adore and the nose and the cheeks and the brow and – for this is the truth of the matter, love has failed, love hasn’t saved her or at least not entirely. It lost the war no matter what is written in books and poems, but certainly, you think, it has changed some things, softened some edges; made, at the very least, life easier. She no longer reads alone at night. And see, for instance, if you press a kiss to her temple, like so, her eyes look at you and she ignores the hatred for a second, and even she smiles a little – and you know if you kiss her on the lips she will forget it altogether.

She turns in your arms and smiles, and you’re not quite sure if this smile is because of the kiss, or because she has turned her back to the bothering reflection.

“It is lovely weather,” she says, “for a walk in the forest.”

Now the forest, painted in the colours of the fall – that would do for a marriage proposal. And your parents, you think, as you press your nose in the crook of her shoulder (freshly washed blouse, smelling of laundry) would be proud and most of all they would be relieved, for you are so late in life. There were things you had glimpsed at in your girlhood, love, honest friendships, a house, a career, a spouse, children, and you had beamed at them and rejoiced as you waited for your turn. Time. Your sister got married. Cards were dealt. Nothing for me! you exclaimed, a little revoltingly. And yet there had been – thankfully – warm bread, the comfort of the quilt, the black cat.

It lingers inside you, this thought of marrying her. You’re not sure you like it. It doesn’t matter. The idea grows fast and confident and will not be uprooted.

“Well,” you say.

You’re taking a huge risk here, and you know it. And so there should be nothing big. No brass band and no fireworks and not even a knee touching the floor. But rather something quiet and soft, tenderly placed in her hand.

“Will you marry me?”

Wilhemina snorts.

“I’m serious.”

Her eyes meet yours, slight alarm in them. “What do you mean, you’re serious?”

“Just that. Marry me?”

You lean closer to her, a shiver of excitement running through your body, and she, like a rebelling reflection, leans away.

“No,” she says.

Her eyes are wide with surprise and disbelief and fear. She shakes her head.

You reach for her free hand but she pulls it away before your fingers can brush hers, and presses it in a closed fist – her weapon, her shield and knife – against her chest. And you, wrap one hand around this fist, and bring it to your mouth to drop on it a kiss. “Why not?”

Wilhemina’s voice comes out sharp and cold. “Do you know what it means, tying yourself to me? You cannot be serious.”

“I am,” you say without a trace of a doubt.

“You’re cursing yourself.”

“I love you.”

“This isn’t love. This is… blind stupidity of the kind I didn’t know was possible.”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “Trust me.”

“Stop it!”

She frees herself from you then, turns away to scowl at the distance, her closed fist pressed hard against her chest.

You watch her.

“I know it will get worse, your disability. Marry me?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

“Are you sure this is your definitive answer?”

“I am.”

“And you won’t regret it?”

“Stop it,” she says again. She pauses to collect herself. “You have no idea what it will be like. You’re a child. You’ve never had to deal with anything hard in your life and yet you claim, all smiles, that you are ready to sacrifice the next few decades of your life.”

Your smile falters a little at that.

“You have no idea how tedious it will be, and you have no idea how you will react to that tediousness. You cannot, truthfully, tell me you know you’ll have enough strength to face it and stay.”

And so, of course, she is saying no to marriage. You knew it. She’s eyeing you now, pretending to be unbothered. You can guess what she’s thinking, that marriage isn’t a promise of forever but a promise of heartbreak, the underlying secret, the biggest of lies, marriage is just a comforting story that human beings have made up to bear their loneliness, like God. This is what she is thinking. That’s all very well, you want to say, but a little faith – a little faith could do us well.

“I have been through hard times,” you mutter.

She meets your eyes, and you watch her. What you see is different from what she saw in the mirror a few minutes ago. She is beautiful, and you think, as you have thought before, that the sadness spilling out of her eyes makes her look younger. Perhaps the heart inside her that has been frozen by sadness will never grow old and this eternity will keep showing in her eyes as the skin around them inevitably suffers from the passing of time.

She won’t answer to that. She’s mad at you now, for proposing to her knowing what her answer would be, what it had to be. Were she able to trust her voice, she would tell you how she resents you for making her suffer uselessly.

She turns now, and says she has work to do. You watch her leave the room and then stand there on your own, as the candles she has lit flicker. You feel heavy.

**

At first glance people would say, She is pretty, but – without really knowing what should come next. Something is wrong but they don’t know what yet. They would ask others about her and the evident hatred in their voice would awe them but mostly it would spike their curiosity. Then after a few minutes’ conversation with her, or maybe they would pass her alone in a corridor and the coldness of her, the harshness, would make them instinctively tremble, like a prey watching a predator pass from the uncertain safety of a bush, the curiosity would be subdued by fear and that fear would demand mockery, and gossip, to be alleviated.

The first time you saw her you said, She is pretty, and – like the beginning of a story.

Wilhemina’s hands are trembling as she scrubs the bathroom sink. She doesn’t want to feel like this, so angry she cannot focus on anything, she is raging, so incredibly mad at you for taunting her with what you know she cannot have. The anger makes her hands shake and her vision blurry. And the worst is, the worst is she saw that you meant it – that look on your face that she cannot tolerate for it promises love, and tenderness, and care.

If she were to describe it, that feeling – but she wouldn’t even call it a feeling, for it doesn’t seem to come from within her. It is more of an outer force that suddenly crashes into her and soars. But if she were to describe it – not that it would ever, ever happen for she would rather die than confess – she would say that it fills her with the overwhelming need to destroy herself. To sharpen her nails and to tear off her skin and to rip apart her own flesh with her teeth and then to crush every organ between her palms, but to spare her heart so she would be able to feel the pain. This is the feeling that first comes to her when she thinks about being loved.

She will never say this.

Then if she succeeds in looking behind it what she sees is fear. And then what she sees behind the fear is hope. But it is so small, it is so faraway she can only catch a glimpse of it, and even then she isn’t exactly sure it is here at all. Maybe she invented it because she knows it is what she is supposed to feel. Before the hatred and the fear, what she should feel is hope.

“There is something wrong,” she growls, “with you.”

She hears your footsteps and barely has time to close her eyes before you burst into the room.

“Look,” you say, too loud and too breathless, “I know it might seem impulsive but I have really thought about it and –”

“Please stop.” She forces the words past her teeth. Her jaw is clenched tight in an effort not to cry.

You stand next to her, your body vibrant as if you had run through a storm.

“I too suffered.” She can feel you staring at her. “You do not have the monopoly on pain, Wilhemina.”

The stupidity of this makes her laugh against her will. You see the hurt and confusion on her face and relent a little.

“Sorry. What I meant is, I am confident I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“How heroic of you.”

“I am no hero. My reasons for wanting to marry you are utterly selfish. I won’t leave you because I need you so.”

She swallows hard, eyes still desperately closed against her tears. She doesn’t want to feel like this, like something is devouring her from the inside out. She shouldn’t feel like this.

She feels a warm hand cupping her cheek, the soft, delicate pad of a thumb stroking just below her right eye. She refuses to look.

“What if, contrary to what you believe, I end up staying?” She can feel your breath on her lips. “Does that terrify you?”

There is no point, she thinks, no point at all in asking this. She wants to scream it, throw the words at you like solid things that hurt.

“Please leave,” she forces out.

You sigh. The hand on her cheek pulls away. This is what breaks her.

She feels herself losing, disappearing. There should be no trace of her left on Earth but a faint, terrible memory, like the silence just after the angry grumble of thunder, when the air is still shivering.

She inhales sharply, wet and hot, and opens her eyes to see you still here, sitting on the floor with one elbow on your knee and your hand in your hair. The cold, bright artificial light shines white on your skin. And certainly you can feel her gaze on you, because you look up, fingers covering your mouth, cheeks wet and eyes begging.

“I must say this wasn’t what I was hoping for,” you laugh sadly.

A sob pushes past Wilhemina’s lips, and with it, somehow, a smile. She shakes her head and sits down next to you on the cold floor. You sniff and touch your arm to her. Her head rests on your shoulder.

The familiar warmth and scent of her make you relax, give you hope. Your take her hand in yours and lace your fingers together.

One morning shortly after, you wake up to an empty bed and an utterly quiet house. Dread fills you. This is it, you think, body frozen in terror. This is it. You have gone too far and scared her away. Shakily you get out of bed, throat closed tight, heart beating madly – empty! the living-room. The kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom – you look out the window into the garden, at the rose bush, at the emptiness all around it.

“Shit.”

Again you check all the rooms, as if maybe she’s hiding somewhere, playing hide and seek behind the couch or under the bed. “Shit shit shit.” The rose bush the garden empty. Tears stream down your face. Eventually you feel yourself growing numb. You sit down on the couch and stare at the emptiness.

You’re still sitting there when she comes back, in the middle of the afternoon. You look at her and for a moment you do not recognise her. There’s horror in her eyes, at the sight of you in such a state. She hesitates for a second, then worry appears on her face and she sits down next to you and takes your hand.

She had left you a note on the bedside table, to let you know she had had to go to work earlier.

“I didn’t see it,” you sob, loud and ugly. “I thought you’d left.”

She makes a small annoyed sound, as if she thinks you’re being too dramatic – then she remembers. There have been ghosts before her. So she guides your head to her chest and gently pets your hair.

“It’s okay,” she says.

She doesn’t say she won’t ever leave. She too knows better than that. You’re grateful for it.

You refuse to let go of her that night. She puts up with your clinginess politely, and when you go to bed and wrap your body around hers, with your arms around her waist holding her tight, and her legs trapped between yours so she can’t escape, she merely sighs and pets your hair again. A year or two ago, she would have been scared and pushed you away.

“You know,” she says, “I was thinking…”

You can hear her heartbeat picking up.

“Do you think we can try?” she says eventually. “Like a rehearsal?”

It takes you a few moments to understand, but when you do, your eyes snap open.

You let go of her just enough to look at her in the eyes.

“Try to be married?” you ask, voice squeaking.

She nods.

“How do you think we could do that?” you ask.

“Well…” She frowns. “I don’t really know.”

You stare at each other in the dark.

“I mean,” you say, “we could wear a ring –“

“The ring is the least important thing in marriage,” Wilhemina retorts.

“You’re right.”

“I guess,” she says eventually, “it would imply trying… believing we will both stay.”

You almost gap at her in terror. “You can’t ask me to believe that!!”

“Well then, what did you have in mind when you asked me to marry you?”

Her heart is still beating fast, and so is yours by now. In the dark her eyes shine eerily. She almost looks like an alien creature fallen onto your bed, into your arms, that you try to hold on to.

“You seem to have given more thoughts to marriage than I have,” you say, with a small embarrassed laugh.

“What a surprise.”

“Don’t be like that.”

You poke her cheek, and then bury your face into the crook of her neck. You feel her drop a kiss on your hair. Her hand comes up to press against your back, fingers caressing down your spine.

“You will have to let me stay,” you whisper against her skin. “When you’re older. You’ll have to let me see you and take care of you.”

Wilhemina’s body grows stiff against yours. Victoriously you pull away and look at her again.

“See!” you exclaim. “How can I believe you will stay when you react like this to the very idea of me being with you always?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Wilhemina retorts. Her voice carries anger.

You frown at her. She scowls at you for a minute, and then her gaze softens. With a sigh, she guides your head back into the crook of her neck, and gently runs her fingers through your hair.

“I never thought I would ever hear those words,” she whispers, a secret. “I never thought anyone would love me, let alone propose to me.”

You press a kiss to the skin of her neck. “I never thought I would propose to anyone either,” you say.

“I had not planned it,” she says, softer still. “You’ve given me too much.”

You remember how weird it had felt, when you first started dating her. You had never even thought about conjugating your future in the first person plural form and now here you were, making plans with her, coming back home to her, having to fit her in all the places that had been occupied by emptiness and loneliness. You had given up, you realized then, on the idea of shared happiness. And of course, loneliness had fought back, like an old friend being replaced – it had fought harder and longer than all your old friends, because it had cared more, it said, and stayed longer, and been more faithful.

So, no. This isn’t the life you had planned, either.          

Spring comes. You quit your job, which you hate, and work at the local bakery instead. You like it there. It brings you peace, and helps you focus.

Of course Wilhemina disapproves. She lifts her chin disdainfully and says you deserve better, a real career, a position that pays well. You tell her you like the bakery, but she waves her hand to dismiss it. She says she will find you a job at Kineros Robotics. Here you fold your arms against your chest and say, a little curtly, that this is a terrible idea, you do not want to work for dickheads, and anyway if you and Wilhemina spend every second of every day together, at one point you will start hating each other.

She knows you’re right; but still, your words hurt her. You can see when it happens. Like a door closing. You reach out a hand to her and open your mouth to speak, but she shakes her head and says, You’re right. Do as you please.

You don’t mention getting married again.

Maybe it’s a mistake. Maybe, with small reminders, just a few words here and there at the right moment… – but no. Something inside you tells you it is best to let it go. Pressuring her would not help.

And after all, you think, the day your sister calls you to let you know she’s asked for divorce, after all what is marriage but an archaic contract, taking on a maiden in exchange for an heir?  You spend a few days at your sister’s to help her face the storm. Wilhemina doesn’t say anything, but you see in the line of her mouth what she’s thinking.

“You would be the worst person to get a divorce from,” you tease her on the night you come back to her. She arches an eyebrow. “You would be so mean. I can see it. I wouldn’t even be allowed to keep the bed.”

“Not a single pillow on the bed,” she smirks. She’s naked in your arms, relaxed and a little smug.

Spring comes again. Her doctor retires, and she has to find another, and she has to watch as he flips through her file, thick as a novel, with his lips pursed, and her fingernails sink into her thigh. He asks questions she doesn’t want to answer, and he says, at the end, looking her dead in the eyes, “Do you have anyone willing to aid you?”

She wants to throw something at his face. She’s sure he’s used that verb on purpose to humiliate her. She feels her cheeks redden, and she hates herself for it.

“I do not need help,” she says coldly.

The doctor closes her file with a scoff. “Perhaps not yet, but I really think you should consider –”

She hears clocks ticking, all the time. They are laughing at her.

“If you don’t like him, you can look for another doctor,” you tell her, because she’s been cold and silent and raging all evening.

She doesn’t reply. She doesn’t understand how she hasn’t imploded yet.

She looks at you sleeping that night, and her heart aches. Slowly she sits up. She cannot look at anything else. She’s packed a few things earlier as you showered, just a few essentials. She’s leaving you everything. Maybe it is cruel, maybe it will only serve as a cruel reminder of her later. But she cannot take more from you than she already is.

She is nearly to the front door when she hears you getting up. Her heart freezes. It cannot be. You storm out of the bedroom, and then she meets your eyes, and you seem half crazed. She doesn’t know what woke you, what ghost bent over you to whisper into your ear, but now you’re grabbing her wrist and she drops her bag and you’re screaming at her. “How dare you?!” Just that. Over and over again. Barefoot in your pajamas, breathing hard, your face crumpled with heartbreak.

“You cannot – how dare you?!” you scream.

She wants to say she’s doing this for you, for your own sake, because she loves you, but somehow no sound comes out. You’re crying now, and you let go of her wrist to hug yourself, shaking your head, as if to say, Go, if that is what you want. She feels frozen. She watches you sob, looking so small and so scared and so broken, and something within her stirs. For the first time, she realises she matters.

“Okay,” she hears herself say. Her ears are ringing. She feels herself take a step towards you. “Okay,” she says again. She reaches out to grab your arm, but you shrug her away, and retreat a few steps into the shadows.

“Go,” you croak out. “Just fucking go. Leave. In the middle of the night like a thief, how fucking brave, how fucking grand…”

She’s never seen you like this. She looks down at her hands in shame. She had not known the threat of her absence could break someone like this.

For a long time she stands completely still, staring down at her hands and listening to your cries. She feels frozen. She is not quite sure she understands what is happening. Her bag lies on the floor where she dropped it, in front of your feet, and she watches the hem of your pajamas trousers, ankle-length, dark blue cotton.

Then she peers up. You’re not looking at her. You’re still hugging yourself, eyes riveted on the floor, shoulders shaking with sobs. She tries to think of a way to mend this.

Finally you wipe your eyes and, still ignoring her, you turn and head back to the bedroom. You have the slumped posture of a soldier from a defeated army making its way back to camp. She watches you go, and then listens for the sounds of you climbing back into bed, and then listens to the silence. After a few minute she takes a deep breath and follows you.

You’re lying still under the quilt, facing her side of the bed. She lies down next to you, body stiff with shame. She lies on her back and folds her hands on her belly.

The ceiling is dark and wide. She barely dares to breathe, in case the sound of it bothers you. She doesn’t understand. Her ears ring and she tries and tries to make sense of what just happened. But she cannot – she stares at the ceiling and she imagines herself leaving, and leading the life that she has planned for herself: silent evenings, work as long as she could and then, maybe, a sun chair in her garden behind a hedge where no one would see her, where she will swallow pills and read and then – then it is too scary to think about. An article in a newspaper, a body found dead for weeks. On Christmas Eves she will go to bed early.

She can feel your anger, your despair, like phantoms trying to choke her. But she is too surprised to give them much attention. She lies completely still, her heartbeat drumming in her ears, until the sun comes up, somehow, and it is time for her to get up and go to work. Her body cries out in protest at the thought.

She turns to look at you, and finds you staring at her, eyes red and exhausted. You haven’t moved either. There is sadness in your eyes, and reproaches and resentment. She presses one hand to her chest and feels the heart that she knows now would be missed.

You say: “Would you have left if I hadn’t woken up?”

You already know the answer. You’re only asking because you feel the need to be mean, and you want her to feel ashamed.

Her day goes awful. Her head hurts, and everything seems hazy. She is still half frozen, half numb, still not quite able to grasp the meaning of what happened. When finally six o’clock comes, she sits in her car and her eyes veil. Something within her melts.

“My God!” she exclaims.

She rushes into the house, and finds you at the kitchen table doing nothing at all. You look up, exhausted and defeated, and start saying, “Listen, I’m sorry I overreacted, of course you are free to leave –” But before you have time to finish, she wraps her arms around your shoulders and holds you to her chest. She holds you like you are the most precious being on Earth and she has just found you and you are about to disappear.

You wish, desperately, that you could be mean to her, that you could say something that would hurt her, like I will never trust you ever again, or I think it’s better if you leave. Instead you clutch the back of her shirt and hold on tight to her.

You’ve been thinking about it all afternoon, and you’ve made up your mind. You can think of only one way to go past this.

Reluctantly you pull away, and look at her in the eyes, and cup her face in your hands as you always do when you want her to know that you are being serious.

“I have decided to forgive you and keep on trusting you. Do you understand that?”

Her mouth twists with tears. She nods, eyes wide and terribly sad.

“I think I begin to understand,” she says.

In the next few weeks, the newly-acquired knowledge that she matters grows within her. At first she thinks, it is growing like cancer but later she thinks, cancer doesn’t bloom that way – it doesn’t feel that way, like something good, something to believe in and to hold on to. For months she carries it like a secret, not telling anyone it is there, and once in a while she takes a look and tries to understand it. When she goes outside she feels buoyed up, as if there is air in her chest and she is lighter, and more importantly as if she is exactly where she is supposed to be.

You come back home every evening with a fresh loaf of bread from the bakery and she doesn’t criticize your job anymore. She can see that you like it, and the bread is a nice plus. She likes it especially with a thin layer of butter, and in the winter she dips small pieces of it in her soup and lets it soak up the soup and spoons it up and hums in delight. You always make a face at her when she does that, and laugh that soggy bread is disgusting.

She is happy.

Spring comes again. Your sister calls to let you know that she has been proposed to again, but she doesn’t know, she’s hesitating. You hum into the receiver as she speaks, and you’re watching Wilhemina getting ready for a night out. She looks different, you think, as your sister complains about her beau’s guffaw which drives her crazy. Her face is more peaceful. She’s going out with her hair down tonight. And should one marry a man who guffaws? your sister asks. Really, she doesn’t know. Again you hum.

“I think if you’re unable to look past his guffaw then certainly you shouldn’t marry him,” you say.

Wilhemina laughs at that. She turns to look at you, her lipstick in her hand, her cheeks pink and her hair aflame. You smile at her, and lower the receiver to mouth at her, “You are so beautiful.”

She blushes, fast and deep, and rolls her eyes and pretends she doesn’t care about what you said. You keep on watching her and after you end the call with your sister you cross to her and sit on her lap. Her hands slide up your thighs to rest on your hips. She sinks her nails into the fat there playfully, and grins when you cup her face and drop a soft kiss on her lips.

The day after your dad calls you to let you know one of his neighbours died. “He’s been dead for weeks,” your dad says gloomily. “His landlord found his corpse in the kitchen. She had come to see why he hadn’t been paying his rent and returning her calls.”

“You better call me every two days at least,” says your dad. He is getting old, and he lives alone.

And then one evening in the fall Wilhemina and you sit down to have dinner and you glance at her because she has been very quiet ever since she came back from work. Now she’s toying with her fork, nervously so you think, but her jaw is tight and her mouth is thin and you grow slightly uncomfortable as you stab the peas in your plate.

“Listen,” she says sharply.

Her voice is so harsh you think she is going to accuse you of some terrible crime. You look up at her, frowning and feeling suddenly a little worried.

“I have been thinking.” Here she pauses and scowls at you, as if she were expecting you to guess just what exactly she’s been thinking about.

You raise your eyebrows in encouragement. Her jaw tenses up.

“About what you said the other day.”

Dear Lord! There are so many things she could be referring to. You try to think of something that might have stuck out, something that was particularly clever maybe, or clumsily formulated and she misinterpreted it. Then you change your mind and think it’s more likely you said something very stupid and now she cannot believe she’s dating such an idiot.

After a few moments of tense silence you shake your head and cross your legs nervously under the table.

She seems appalled. You start to think you’ve done something really terrible.

“What?” you ask her, leaning over the table towards her in slight anguish.

“Well,” she says, still as sharply. She lets go of her fork and flattens her hand on the table. “Remember, when I said maybe we could try.”

Just spit it out! you think. You stare at her wide-eyed, but she’s no longer looking at you, but at her hand on the table.

“I have been thinking how stupid a suggestion that was and that maybe we should go for it instead.”

“Go for what?” you ask, leaning closer towards her.

And then you understand.

You sit up in your chair. You’re too surprised to react or feel anything.

Wilhemina’s eyes dart back to you, black and cold.

“Are you serious?” you say finally.

She nods.

Tears spring to your eyes. You can’t help it. You feel terribly scared and terribly happy.

“Alright,” you say, your voice a bit shaky.

You clear your throat and straighten up in your chair. Your heart is beating madly. You think, What a crazy thing it is to be alive.

You clear your throat again and say, “Will you marry me?”

Tag list: @supremeinlilac @pluied-ete @rainbow-hedgehog @pearplate @angelxsarahp @paulawand @peggycarter-steverogers   @saucy-sapphic​  @billiedeansbottom @winslctrg @simpforpaulson @mckennamayfairgoode  @ka-s @lntlmate @talulahmae @msvenablx @goodegrrrl  @venablesdarlin   @honeybeawhore @cordeliass

[beastsovrevelation]

Sarah Paulson has the most beautiful eyes, seriously...

And it gives me some impure Cordelia x Michael thoughts.

Usually, neediness annoys him. Except, when she makes the 🥺 expression. Then, he finds it irressistible.

Weirdly enough, the best reference I can think of is the scene with Venable... Just imagine it's Cordelia, and he does kiss her.

Well, and this

[max-the-d0g]

The Unexpected

Wilhemina Venable x reader

A/n: my Emily x reader fic will be posted after Christmas.

There was a shift on the other side of the bed, followed by an alarm going off. It was Christmas Day and Wilhemina had set an alarm for 7 am, which for her is the normal time to get up. She didn't acknowledge Christmas, she did, however, allow you to decorate the house. As long as nothing was in her way. Hence whilst you were decorating the tree, Wilhemina was typically working.

The pleasant warmth of your girlfriend escaped the bed. And a shadow of heat escaped, rolling on your back you stared aimlessly at the ceiling. Knowing there was no need to get up, she didn't want anything to do with Christmas at all as far as you know.

You rolled over, snuggling against her pillow that still smelled of her intoxicating perfume. You heard the shower turn on. Your eyes started to shut slowly, and before you know it you fell into slumber.

---

There was a shake of your arm, trying to ignore it and fall deeper into sleep. You were on edge of it, you could feel it. However, the shaking got a little harsher. Cracking an eye open, Wilhemina was standing above you with a slight smile on her lips.

"It's 9, get up dear. I've allowed you sleep long enough." She caressed your cheek before walking away. Rolling your eyes, you huff out. You didn't comprehend why you had to get up if there was nothing to do.

You stumbled out of bed, wrapping a robe around your body as the winter air chilled around you. You could smell coffee brewing in the kitchen. Wandering towards the kitchen you stumble back a little surprised to see a range of breakfast meals on the kitchen island. What shocked you more was the Christmas-themed pancakes.

Wilhemina sheepishly looked down to the ground, a small smile gracing her plump lips as a rosy blush covered the apples of her cheeks.

'" I know I've been somewhat of a grinch during December, I know it's one of your favourite holidays.  I thought why not surprise you with breakfast and later on Christmas dinner." She mumbled out, sneaking a glance at you. She watched your gaze, your emotions. You were surprised she had pulled this all off, but even more surprised that she was trying to accommodate you. A smile broke across your lips as you flung yourself towards Wilhelmina.

"It's amazing, I love it. I love you." You mumbled pressing soft kisses across her cheek. You felt her cheek lift against them, knowing a similar smile was there.

"Should we eat ?"

----

You made your way into the living room, the tree lights sparkled purple. Despite your original thought that Wilhemina wanted nothing to do with Christmas you still wanted her presence surrounding the room. Wilhemina wandered into the living room, a gift bag in her hand as she shuffled across the room towards you, she settled next to you. The bag captured your interest, you were beyond intrigued.

" I got you this." Wilhemina offered you the bag. Her glowing cheeks once against dusted pink. A smile graced your lips, gathering the bag from her. You placed it on the coffee table, standing up from your seat you shuffled out of the room, mumbling about getting something.

Shuffling in the guest room's closet for the purple and gold wrapped box, you grasp it before racing back to a confused Wilhemina. She realised a huff as she sighted you and a surprised look graced her face as she spotted the box.

" I know... I thought I knew you weren't a big fan of Christmas so I didn't know if it was appropriate to get a gift. But I saw something so you, and it was the perfect gift." You handed her the box. You shuffled back into your seat, there was a slight red tint across Wilhemina's cheeks.

You carefully unwrapped the tie that was keeping the bag secured, inside the bag was tissue paper covering the gift inside. You were running out of patients, and your genuine curiosity got the better of you as you swiftly moved the paper. A box was at the bottom of the bag, wrapped in the finest wrapping paper. Purple glossy paper, wrapped in a silver ribbon with a median-sized bow sitting on the top. You gently removed the box, inspecting it. Trying to fathom what it could be.

Piece by piece, the wrapping was cautiously removed. A jewellery box was uncovered. Looking up to see Wilhemina's expression. She was sheepishly looking at you, she sipped at her hot beverage to hide her face.

Eagerly opening the box, the most glamorous necklace and earring set was staring right at you in your favourite colour. It took you a moment to release a little laugh. Wilhemina looked alarmed, her eyes widening a fraction.

"If you don't like them, I can take them back." She rushed out, a frown gracing her lovely face. Shaking your head, you gesture for her to open hers.

"No, no Just open yours." You demanded softly. She looked at you questioningly before doing as you said. Her fingers gently unwrapping the paper, her eyes widen slightly at the sight of the exact jewellery box. Her eyes meet yours as you laugh inwardly.

She opened the luxury box, and the exact necklace and earrings were sitting in the box, though the gems were coloured purple. A delighted giggle erupted inside her. Shaking her head in disbelief. However, a living smile graced her rosy lips.

"Merry Christmas, Wilhemina."

Taglist: 

@lucyintheskywithxanax​​​  @winters-witch-bitch​​ @impossibleexpertgianthairdo​ @strawberryshorttcakkee​​ @childxofxthexmoon​​ @loverofallthingssarah​​  @pluied-ete​​ @lololauser​​ @madamevirgo​​​ @paulsonsratched​​ @paulawand​​ @the-yellow-birdy​