#( self para tag )

[maddakai]

Thank you for the tag @parasafterdark 💙

RULES: Post 5 songs associated with your OC, followed by 3 outfits they would wear

Going with Tanner since he doesn’t really get attention on here.. I’ve been burnt out so I haven’t posted much

★Songs↓

Heat Waves by Glass Animals

Covet by Basement

Teeth By WesGhost

The Painted Bird by Billy Vicente

Everybody Wants To Rule The World by Tears For Fears

★Outfits↓

Tagging: @starffisher @shiftingdandelion @vyliie @fallingmaddlyinlove @girlofhoneyandglass

#don’t feel pressured to do this if I tagged you🖤 #for shifters and madders !! #no gatekeeping here! #paraobsession🎲🕸️ #maladaptive daydreaming #oc #maladaptive daydreaming things #shifter #shift #desired self #reality shifters #maladaptive daydreamer #paracosm #madd paras

[ariaboughton]

a week-ish after the dock meeting.

Pretending life is just as normal as it's always been was proving a bit more of a chore than she expected. Every small sound, she jumps at. Every sudden movement out of the corner of her eye and she's on edge.

It'd been days, and she'd only slept a few hours at a time. It was different than her usual insomnia - paired with the need to make a deadline, with knowing that she had to produce results by a certain time. This was an ever-present dread. A stone in her stomach, heavy, sinking further.

In an attempt to try and get back into a regular schedule, she'd spent the day tidying up her apartment. It wasn't great. There were dirty clothes strewn about, left exactly where she'd discarded them. There were piles of paper and print-outs and books around the couch, which she'd claimed as her new bed.

The only pristine bit in the place was the bedroom - gone untouched since the moment she'd stepped over the threshold after trying to erase Sam's smile from her mind. In any other situation, she would have seen that smile as comforting, disarming. Now, it brings a sense of dread with it. And her mind won't let go.

-

She's chopping potatoes. For the regular schedule plan. There are green beans already set aside and prepared to toss in with some garlic. She's cubing the potatoes, and dumping them into a large bowl filled with water. There's too much food here for her, but the repetitive motion of chopping and cooking and plopping is relaxing.

Except the faucet is dripping. Huge drops of water beading against the metal rim. Gravity takes it and sends it down into the basin. Drip. Drip. Drip. The sound of the water - and the plop of the potatoes - reminds her of the sound of the Hudson. It's a passing thought that should be nothing but that. Instead, every drip reminds her of it.

Every plop brings the image of the water lapping up against the dock. She sets the knife down and takes a deep breath, looking down at the finished vegetables. She busies her hands with throwing the beans into the pan, but the whole time she narrates the actions in her mind in an attempt to not think about the water.

Pick up the green beans. Put them into the pan. Oil. Salt. Pepper. Garlic. Onions..? Pad of butter. Stir. There's footsteps outside of your door.

She freezes right in the middle of it, listening to the clunk-clunk-clunk of boots against wood. The thoughts in her mind are quiet just for a moment as she's still in her worry. And once the sound is gone, she imagines one of them in the hallway, waiting. She imagines someone in a nice suit leaning against a dark car, smoking a cigarette. Cliche. She imagines a knife, nicking against her skin. She imagines the blood pooling in her kitchen floor. She imagines what it might be like to bleed out with no one around but her killer.

Her phone beeps and she jumps, with her hand still on the pan, throwing it off the stove and all of the food within it onto the floor. In her panic, she forgets the food and runs to the phone - simply to make sure it's not the burner she'd been handed. Simply to make sure that she wouldn't miss the time limit.

It's just her mother.

She drops the phone on the couch and paces around the mess in her living room, one of her hands moving to her face to pick at a spot on her cheek. She pulls at the skin - unblemished - in an attempt to self-soothe. Her heart races. She's sweating, cheeks flushed, but her stomach is cold.

-

The food was thrown out.

Stepping foot into the kitchen had made her start to ruminate again - analyzing everything she'd said and done within the last twenty four hours, thinking about the sounds above and below her, thinking about the large knife sitting on her cutting board and imagining what it would feel like between her ribs.

She'd ordered pizza.

It goes untouched, sitting on her coffee table. Aria sits on the couch and stares at the box, wondering if the delivery guy had been a part of it. If the way he'd looked at her was a little too knowing, if his smile was a little too cocky. Everything that she could trust was turned on its head with one simple truth.

She pulls her knees to her chest, hands shaking and breathing uneven.

Eventually she passes out, and wakes up to the sound of her phone chirping once more. She jumps for both of them to check which one had gone off - the time glaring up at her to tell her that she'd only been asleep for around an hour. Not enough time for rest.

Her gaze shifts to the pizza box, then to the door. She stands up to check the lock. Unlocks it, locks it again. Pulls at the door. Walks to the couch, reaches for the pizza. Pause. Stand. Check lock. Unlock, re-lock. Pull. Couch - door - couch -

She stops the cycle after the third time by slamming the heel of her hand into her forehead. "Stop it, idiot. Oh my god, it's not that fucking serious." Hit, hit, hit. Not hard enough to hurt longer than a few minutes.

-

She manages to eat one slice. Picks at a second. She manages by pressing her knuckles deep into the meat of her thigh and focusing on the discomfort and the pain. When she gets used to it, she shifts or brings her fist down hard. There will be a bruise the next morning. But it provides some grounding, allows her mind to be pulled away from overbearing, cycling, death spiral of obsession.

#self para #just a glimpse of aria's uh.. ocd issues lol #mental health tw / #blood tw / #self harm tw / #its super brief but just in case #lmk if i missed any tags!

[heyymikki]

did i grow up according to plan?

LOCATION: Mikayla Beaumont's home MENTIONED: @elliottortegax @nikodimopoulos @hernando-valdez

It had been weeks since the news of Hernando's connection to Los Santos had gone public and the man in question had gone dark. There wasn't a day that had passed since then where she hadn't worried about him, but she had work and class to think about and couldn't completely abandon her responsibilities. In between those, though, she found herself spending more time with Niko, finding solace in his comforting presence and reassurances that Nando would be alright. Penny had spent more time at the B&B and if Mikayla hadn't known better, she would've thought her mother was avoiding her.

Saturday came and Mikayla finally pulled herself away from Niko's apartment, heading home just before lunchtime so she could get a few things done before work later that night. She hadn't expected her mother to be in the kitchen with a serious look on her face, and dread settled into the young woman's stomach.

"What is it?" she asked. "Have you heard from tio?"

Penelope shook her head, lips turning down in a frown. "Not yet, but I need to talk to you about something."

Mikayla took in her mother's face for a few silent moments, trying to judge what emotions she should expect, but it was a mask with no discernible feeling on display. She pulled out one of the stools at the kitchen island and took a seat, steeling herself.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room, the weight of everything left unsaid over decades bearing down on Penny's shoulders. This was a conversation she knew she'd have to have some day, but she had always feared her daughter's response to it. There had been opportunities over the years, times when Mikayla would ask questions about who her father was or how Penny had met him, but she'd always revealed the bare minimum in an effort to spare herself from reliving the trauma of finding out she'd been pregnant -- of being torn away from everything and nearly everyone she knew and loved -- but doing that wasn't fair to Mikayla or Elliott, something he'd so graciously reminded her of when she'd given him the news.

"Before we start," she said, voice barely above a whisper, "I need to ask for your forgiveness."

"Forgiveness?" Mikayla repeated, brows knitted in confusion. "Why would you need that?"

"Because I've been keeping something from you." Penny pulled her gaze away from the counter and looked at her daughter. "It's about your father."

Mikayla sat up straighter in her seat, curiosity piqued. A part of her had wondered if the woman had never revealed her paternity to her because the nature of her conception wasn't born out of a loving relationship, but she respected her mother too much to go behind her back to investigate on her own. She nodded once, a silent plea for Penny to continue.

Her mother took in a deep breath and let it out slowly before continuing. "Elliott and I were best friends as kids. We did everything together, with your uncle Devon and our friend Nellie. Basically inseparable. But something changed when we got to high school... and we began to see each other without our parents knowing. Mine didn't approve of him or his family, so I had to keep the relationship a secret, which was easy enough until... until I found out I was pregnant with you." She shook her head some. "I was so scared, I didn't know what to do. Before I had a chance to tell anyone, they found the test in the trash. They were furious, especially when they found out who the father was, and before I knew it, we were moving across the country. I had no way to reach out to him once we were there. They monitored all of my phone time, and I couldn't send him a letter or anything. At one point, it became easier to forget instead of break my heart over and over again with the hope we'd be reunited someday."

The longer she spoke, the more tension fused into Mikayla's bones. "You've... known who he was this whole time?"

Penny nodded slowly, the fear of Mikayla's reaction growing alongside her daughter's emotions.

"Did he know about me?"

Penny nodded again, but added on quickly, "I left him a note before we left to tell him I was pregnant, but it was the only information I could give to him. If he ever discovered who you are outside of that, I don't know."

Mikayla took in a few deep breaths, trying to keep herself calm. "Why are you telling me now?"

"Because he's here. In Tonopah," she said. "And he wants to meet you."

In that moment, Mikayla's world flipped upside down. Not only had Penny kept his identity a secret from her throughout her entire life, but she had also failed to mention that he was somewhere in the town Mikayla had called home for the past three years. Had she seen him around town? Had they occupied the same space and had no idea that they were extensions of each other?

"How long has he been here?" Mikayla's voice was quiet, and Penny had to strain to hear her question, the one she'd been the most afraid of answering.

"He... he never left." She swallowed around a lump in her throat. "He's always lived here."

She was quiet. "Did you know that when I said I was coming here?"

"No, conejita," she responded quickly, walking around the island to wrap her daughter in a reassuring embrace, but Mikayla pulled away before she could, standing from her seat. "I swear I had no idea he never left. He ran a chain of hotels around the country, so I assumed h--"

"So you must've looked into him at some point if you know that. Did you ever try to reach out?" she asked, her voice rising with every new question.

Penny, trying not to show the hurt on her face, shook her head once more.

"He could have helped us, mami. When you got sick. H-he could have-- do you have any idea what I've done for yo--" Mikayla stopped herself, hand covering her mouth as the rush of hot tears that had been rising to the surface finally bubbled over and raced down her cheeks. She turned away from Penny, inhaling a shaking breath and forcing herself to be steady.

Penny had never put the responsibility of her care onto Mikayla's shoulders and never would have asked her to go to the extremes that she had done in order for her to receive the best care possible. She should have seen the signs, though: the long hours of 'studying' at a friend's house and coming home in the wee hours of the morning, the night terrors that kept her awake at night for fear she'd never be able to escape the next one, the sheer amount of money a barely legal teenager was bringing home at the end of every week. It would break her mother's heart to learn the truth about where all the money had come from, and Mikayla knew in her mind it wasn't fair to hold the choices she had made against her, but she mourned the life she could've had if Penny had just picked up the phone to call him and ask for help. She was the mother; she was supposed to be the one protecting Mikayla, not the other way around.

"M'ija," Penelope pleaded, placing her hand onto Mikayla's shoulder. Mikayla shrugged it off.

"Don't," she choked out, sniffling. "You should have told me sooner." She turned towards Penny, a harsh glare hidden amongst the pain in her eyes. "I gave up my childhood and put my life on hold for over a decade because you let your pride get in the way of asking for help. I don't know if I can forgive you for that."

Mikayla had never seen this look on her mother's face before, but it was unmistakable: heartbreak.

Any other time, for any other grievance she may have carried, she would have wrapped her mother up in her arms and apologized in that moment, but there was no way for her to moved past that feeling of betrayal that came with the knowledge she never would have had to go through everything she had if her father had just been allowed to be a part of her life.

"I don't want to be near you right now, so I'm going to stay with a friend for a few days." She walked past her mother towards the stairs. Thankfully, she didn't follow.

#it took me longer to write this than I wanted but here we are #self para. #threads. #idk if I had a tag for these so shrug emoji #t: penny

[justcallmecal]

Last Stardust

Quietly with the receding rainfall The night wind, it suddenly withdrawals With my broken heart I stand alone Only silence at my side

TW: death, (response to Luke's death)

Cal slowly walked into the library closing the door behind him, he'd radioed the other librarians to let them know the library would be closed for the day. As well as had put up a sign, with whatever that video had been he didn't trust the computers not to get overwhelmed by people wanting to watch it.

If he was honest though he hardly cared about that, he could hear whines when he walked fully in. He wasn't sure how he'd known she'd be here, but he knew Luke. No foul play. The words echoed in his head as he walked towards his office. He'd swing by the police station tell them that was accurate, because why else would Lady be here?

When he opens the door she bowls him over, barely managing to keep her in his lap. Behind her he can see her things laid out, a bed, along with food and water. Swallowing he presses his face against the side of Lady's neck, she'd been likely to bolt until she seemed to sense the overwhelming anxiety that was creeping on him.

"So my brother decided to stay home instead of coming with, kind of wish he had cause this road is creepy as fuck."

He can feel his shoulders trembling, Mallory's video playing in his head. The fear she'd felt when those things had come for her, she'd called out for him and he hadn't been there. Had Luke felt that same fear? They had dinner together and he hadn't realized how much he'd really been hurting.

He's not sure how long he sits there, just clinging onto Lady. Getting up he grabs her things into a bag, his apartment isn't big enough for a dog really. Maybe Celia would let him stay until they could find something for him and her. Clipping her leash on he walked back out of the library with her bag over his shoulder. Let's her lead him, isn't surprise when she leads him back to Luke's. It's already been cleared out for the most part.

Unclipping her from her leash he let's her go inside before sitting down in front of the house. He'll get her eventually, suddenly understanding more what Luke had meant that it doesn't feel real. Nothing feels real. Pressing his hands against his eyes he feels his shoulders shaking again, swallows back a sob, "Tell Lincoln we said hi," he mumbles to himself.

#dog walks: luke #//yea im tagging you asshole #//through my tears #//now my ass gets to be in mourning #self para

[yungimmortals]

car trouble | a short story

Summary: It was incredible — no, it was unbelievable! Faust had lost a race for the first time in ages. She'd lost more than that, unable to resist making a cocky gamble. This simply wouldn't do. She'd get her baby back and then leave these losers in her dust!

(x)

#self para #short story #i dont know what to tag this with anymore #m: faust #m: reid #m: graves #it was a lot of fun to write

[fcurleaves]

THE RESCUE

"Don't shoot!"

Lucky's hands were in the air as she approached the group of swiveling flashlights ahead, and in one swift movement they all pointed in her direction. It was blinding and she squinted, trying to make out the bearers' shadowy forms; how many guns were trained on her in that moment? She shoved the thought from her mind and took another tentative step forward.

"Stop. Don't move."

The voice was not one she recognized. It spoke with authority, but it wasn't Nick's, and in an instant all but one flashlight redirected their beams. A tall, bearded man moved toward her, his steps careful and his arms crossed in front of him, one hand holding a flashlight while the other held a pistol. "You from the UC?"

"Yeah," Lucky replied, and the man blinked, put off by her honesty. "But I got out."

"What the fuck does that mean?" he growled, and behind him Lucky watched the rest of the camp hovering nearby, likely straining to hear their conversation over the rain.

"It means I got out. Dipped. Nick here?"

"Who's asking?"

"Lucky." Shit, should she have used a fake name? Too late now. "If he's not here, you've got radios, right? Tell him I'm ready to come over."

The man moved closer, the pistol's barrel just inches from Lucky's face. "Why would you do that? And now, after we've snagged one of your own? Seems pretty fucking suspicious to me."

"You think they'd send me to get him back? Just me? I heard you were camped nearby and it seemed as good a time as any."

Lucky's pulse roared in her ears, and she had to bite down on her tongue to keep from flinching when a crack of thunder pierced the night. The pistol didn't move from her face; she stared directly down the barrel, fighting the urge to glance anywhere else. The last thing she wanted to do was give away the fact that she wasn't alone.

Just then, however, it was given away for her. A gunshot rang out from the far side of the clearing, and the man in front of her glanced back at it. This was her shot. During his split-second of inattention Lucky swung at his hands, and while he didn't drop the flashlight or the gun, she certainly caught him off-guard. There wasn't enough time to unsheathe her knife - instead she lunged forward and grabbed at the pistol. A bullet whistled through the fabric of the man's flannel, missing his flesh - the UC snipers - but it seemed he and Lucky were too mobile for them to do any real damage. More gunshots, shouts, and screams erupted around them. He was bigger than Lucky in every way, but he slipped in the mud and she was able to knock the pistol out of his grasp. It was too dark for either of them to locate it, which was just as well; Lucky slid her knife from its holster, but no sooner had she done so than she was knocked to the ground. She felt like she'd been hit by a truck. The oversized hood of her raincoat drooped over her eyes and she struggled to brush it back. The man in the flannel was on top of her, and everything that happened next was a blur.

Lightning filling the clearing with white light. The flash of a hunting knife not unlike hers. Both hands sliced as she tried to deflect it. The punch of the blade plunging deep into her side. A scream slipping from her mouth. The whistle of one bullet, and then another. Searing pain in her left thigh, but a pause from her assailant.

Adrenaline coursed through her veins, masking the pain. Lucky's vision was blurry, unsteady, but it didn't seem to matter; she lurched upward with another scream and knocked her attacker off balance. She couldn't recall ever emitting the sounds she was making now, panting and snarling like a wild animal. Her heart imbued her with another pulse of white-hot adrenaline and she drove the blade of her knife into the man's neck. And then again. And again.

He gurgled. Lucky's hands were warm and sticky, and with another flash of lightning she saw them coated in crimson. With every shuddering breath her side twinged, and when she tried to rise her knees buckled.

Mud and blood. Blood and mud.

#; self-para #event: the one with the rescue #tw: firearms #tw: guns #tw: weapons #tw: violence #tw: blood #tw: gore #tw: death #tw: injuries #[i tagged everything i could think of] #[also there is no tl;dr because i worked really fucking hard on this] #[baby's first murder]

[pierce-walker]

self-para  \  the sand runs out. men’s bathroom, rhee’s bar and grill. approximately 11:20 pm.

trigger warnings: knives, blood, murder, death.

i’m falling through the hourglass and i don’t think i’ll ever make it back so i throw stones at walls i’ll never climb, victim to the sands of time i’m falling through the hourglass, the hourglass.

Pierce would be lying if he said he hadn’t been distracted lately. His father had grown increasingly pushy in the last few months, begging and pleading for money. It was honestly pathetic, but the constant harassment was starting to wear him down. It was getting to the point where he felt he had only two options: either give him the change or cut him off. In addition to that, self-publishing his music had turned out to be a lot more complicated than he was expecting. But he was tired of keeping it to himself, tired of only showing his craft to Kahlan, to Emi, to Adee. It was beyond time for him to finally take the leap.

His phone buzzed again, and he jolted, his leg crashing into the surface before him. The glass of beer resting untouched on the table tumbled, spilling amber liquid all over him. He sighed, staring at the mess for a moment. The beer slowly rolled across the table like a wave, dripping over the side when it reached it, directly onto his jeans—just his luck.

Before cleaning it up, he tugged his phone out of his pocket. The number he’d expected flashed on-screen and he rolled his eyes, setting it on the other side of the table, away from the beer puddle. Slowly, Pierce got to his feet, moving towards the bathrooms as quickly as he could. Hopefully, no one was in there, and he could clean up before anybody noticed he was gone…or saw the mess on the table.

The bathroom was indeed deserted, and he sighed in relief as he moved toward the paper towel dispenser, grabbing a couple to begin the hopeless task of cleaning the alcohol off of his jeans. He patted off his pockets, feeling something stiff below the fabric.

Quickly, he dug out a small, folded-up piece of paper. Unfolding it, he realized it was an old draft of one of his songs. With a small laugh, he dumped it and the paper towels into the trash can. He didn’t need that draft anymore—the final was sitting on his kitchen table, waiting for him to finally deal with it tomorrow.

Grabbing a couple of extra paper towels, he moved to the sink, running the water to wash his hands. He also splashed some on the denim, hoping it would help rid the already-forming stain. As he did, he heard the door click open behind him. 

“Sorry,” he said instinctively, not looking up, “I’ll just be a sec. Those tables are super easy to jiggle, eh?” Pierce chuckled. Whoever it was didn’t deign to give him a reply.

Eyebrows knitting together momentarily, he turned off the sink faucet, dabbing the last of the water from his jeans. Perhaps the recent events in the town just had him on edge, but something about the idea of being alone with someone in an enclosed area didn’t sit quite right with him. Pierce took a deep breath, stepping to the left to throw away the towels in his hand.

He never got the chance to step back.

Shooting pain drilled through the back of his abdomen, harsh enough for him to stumble forward, catching himself on the sink. His eyes darted down, red viscosity already mixing into the beer stain on his jeans. He should've trusted his instincts more.

Mouth open in a wordless O, he looked back in horror at his assailant. The masked figure was standing across from him in silence, silence as sharp as their blade; still in their hand, blood dripping from its point. Pierce could already feel the burn in his side, his arm snaking around to press a hand over the gaping hole. The knife hadn't come out cleanly, leaving a ragged tear in his shirt—the edges were already stained dark brown with blood. 

Suddenly, urgency ripped through him. If he didn't move, he was going to die in this bathroom. Jerking into motion, Pierce clumsily whipped backward, using his momentum to stagger into the killer—because that's who they were, he was certain. They didn't seem to expect it, stumbling up against the wall. Immediately, he pushed towards the door, trying to put as much distance between himself and the other person as possible.

Foot slipping on the tile quickly slickening with his blood, he fell against the door, banging on the bottom. Somehow, it had been locked—the wood barely moved under his fist. A muffled cheer went up from outside. No one could hear him, and Pierce's heart sank at the realization.

Sharp pain tore a cry out of him as his assailant caught him messily on the leg once more. He blinked, trying to see through tears of pain. He could feel his heart thumping weakly against his chest, his breath coming in shallow gasps, and all he could think was this is it. I'm going to die here.

Pangs of regret began to numb the pain from his wounds, closing like a fist around his heart as he lay panting on the tile floor of the bathroom. Regret that he’d never be able to publish a song, and regret that he’d been selfish enough to keep them to himself. Regret that he’d never told Finley he still loved her, and regret that he’d never moved on. Regret that he’d never looked into his birth family, and regret that he’d never cut them off—too much regret for too little time.

The world was already flickering, and he screamed as another jolt of pain ran through his leg, though no noise came out. Through his dim and blurry vision, he could just barely make out the figure in front of him, pulling his leg towards them. They were trying to get him away from the door. He reached out an arm helplessly, every muscle shuddering before it dropped to the ground, the sheer strength needed to lift it already gone. 

There was nothing he could do.

#self para #// a bunch of long stupid tags coming up #// i need you all to know i wrote this at the same time as the dae and sita event thread #// going from kissing to stabbing: 0/10 would not recommend #// i already miss my boi. :’) #// please don’t ask how much i cried it’s actually embarrassing #// how many references to past trauma can sen pack into one self-para? place your bets now! #// pls ignore the fact that the gif is a video...i had way too many issues with that thing. never again. #// just realized uh...happy...april fools????

[liamxalvarcz]

From the start Liam would say there wasn't anything unusual about this particular Quidditch game. Sure, it was raining and had been constantly doing so since that morning, but he had learned since moving back to the UK that the rain was just something to expect most of the time and he had adapted his playing skills to accommodate the wet weather. But everything else had been normal, the snitch had been released and him and the seeker from the opposite team were in a battle to be the one to catch it first. He suddenly felt like he had an advantage, some of his teammates having blocked the opposing seeker meaning that they had lost sight of the golden target, he hadn't though. He felt like he was on it's tail, could feel the adrenaline coursing through his body as he leaned forward, shifting his weight to the front of his broom, arm outstretched, just about to take it in his hand and win the game for them. That was until he felt something collide with the back of his broom, a rogue bludger that had found him. Normally he'd be able to right his position, take a hold of his broom and carry on with the game. But not this time. To him it felt like it was happening in slow motion, but in reality he knew the next series of events would have happened in a matter of seconds. His broom had been taken out from under him, swept off to the side by the bludger like it was nothing which mean there was nothing keeping him in the air anymore. He couldn't make out the words of the commentators, or the commotion from the crowd as he fell, didn't realise just how high up he had been when he had been trying to catch the snitch, or how close to the stands he was. There was a blunt hit to his head, an instant throbbing causing his eyes to go blurry before they became heavy, drawing him into unconsciousness. He wondered if it was a blessing that he was out cold before he hit the floor, that way he didn't feel how hard he hit it. How several of his bones had broken from the impact or that his head had taken yet another hit. The aftermath fuss and healers coming in to rush him to St. Mungos would be something he'd never recall, it'd only be stories to him from those who witnessed it. Another part of his memories that'd be missing, but unlike the other parts of his past, he knew this would be something that he'd be more than happy to forget.

#sdhqmisc #self para #[[ idk how to tag this ngl ]] #tw injury #[[ also super surprised there was a relevant gif to go along with it ]]

[lencra]

( SELF PARA ) : THE ESCAPE FROM KING'S LANDING AND THE JOURNEY TO STORM'S END... ― ft. @garrick-cargyll with mentions of @jaehaerysiitargaryen, @jaehaeraxtargaryen, @leolefford, @calla-lefford, @cerissalefford, @leanderlefford, @casterlygldcs, @withsilvereyes and @fromspringandfire.

DAYS INTO THE ESCAPE FROM KING'S LANDING

lenora had been spared being witness to violence for most of her life. one of the only times she saw a man die in a brutal manner, it was her own husband that lost his life. she had been adamant about witnessing his execution. it was also the first time she discovered how deep her apathy could be. she felt nothing when her late husband lost his life. no joy, no pain. there was more blood than she had expected, but that was all nora could really remember thinking. but now she had witnessed more brutality, a different kind. ser garrick and his men had fought to ensure their escape from king's landing. and while the princess consort had not been blind to the danger she had been in while there, it suddenly became crystal clear when queen daenerys attempted to stop them from leaving. she supposed the queen realised that if they left the city, she would have no hostages to use against jaehaerys.

she was slightly dazed as they travelled along the kingsroad towards storm's end. how had her life come to this? she had been at golden tooth and drawing plans for the gardens only moons ago. now she bore a targaryen heir, awaiting the return of her husband, all while fleeing from a queen who would have gladly kept her prisoner. most days were the same. they got on the road as soon as dawn provided light, they travelled all day with only small breaks. they made camp at dusk and ate before sleeping until dawn.

after days had passed, she sat quietly one evening while she ate the meal prepared for them. it was yet another stew. she had been nauseous all day, so she ate slowly as she glanced around the camp. they all treated her well and with respect, but she was still an outsider and she really felt it. garrick and jaehaera were always close. she had very quickly understood that there existed a strong bond between them. and while she would only claim that it made her happy to see, it also made her feel even lonelier. it was strange for her to feel lonely. normally she enjoyed being left to her own devices, but it felt different this time. perhaps there was a difference in choosing to be alone and being left alone. surprisingly, lenora had even started missing jaehaerys. while they did not love each other, there was at least some connection between them thanks to vows spoken in front of the gods and shared nights spent in the same bed. lenora thought of a warm body beside her, of intimate touches. she decided that she really must be lonely to sit and fantasise about nights with a husband she had not even wanted. lenora put the half-eaten bowl of stew down beside her, too nauseous to eat more of it.

"are you not going to finish your portion, your highness?"

lenora practically jumped out of her skin when one of the few servants they had brought with them was suddenly behind her. she was still jumpy from her time in king's landing. "no, i am not hungry. you can take it away." she raised an eyebrow as it looked like the servant was about to argue with her. however, she was soon distracted as she felt a painful twinge in her stomach at that moment. the pain was visible on her face as she put her hand on the barely noticeable bump of her pregnant belly. the servant quickly scurried away with the unfinished bowl of stew after that.

as the hour passed, she grew more uncomfortable by the minute. the pain had not ceased and her head had begun hurting too. lenora excused herself as she decided to rest in the carriage before it was time to sleep. she noticed how weak she felt when she stood up. thinking that the exhaustion of travelling, or perhaps an illness, was to blame, she started the short trek to the carriage. but with every step she took, she felt weaker and weaker. when she got to the carriage, the princess had to support herself by clinging to the side of it. she started dragging herself to the door of the carriage. despite not being able to think clearly, she knew something strange was happening as her body seemed to refuse to do what she wanted.

the noises of the camp faded into a buzz in the background. lenora did not hear when one of the guards asked if she was alright nor she did hear when he called out for ser garrick. all she focused on was getting into the carriage. she told herself that everything would be alright after she had the chance to rest on a padded seat for a few minutes. but as she managed to get up onto the step of the carriage by using the last of her strength, she found herself stumbling backwards as her knees buckled under her. she was caught by the guard who had been watching her for the past minute, clearly unsure what to do. she had no strength to try and get back up despite wanting to. she could do nothing but lay still as he lowered her to the ground. she could feel the commotion around her, how there was a sudden flurry of activity with people crowding around her, but she could not focus her gaze on anything. with her vision growing blurry, the last thing lenora truly saw was the maester crouching down and looking at her with a terrified look in his eyes. then she closed her eyes and did not properly wake again for many hours.

FOUR DAYS LATER

"we will be there soon."

lenora said nothing even though she knew the maester lied as he had said the same thing for days. they were still leagues away from storm's end. the carriage did not have enough space to fully lay down, so she was half slumped against the side of the carriage, trying to get some rest as every little bump in the road felt like agony. her stomach had been cramping since last night. she had been scared of falling ill again, of deteriorating, but the maester said it was likely hunger pains since she had refused most food, except a few cups of soup, since collapsing after being poisoned. but not even escaping the pain could entice her to eat. all she wanted was to sleep in a featherbed, to rest and heal, to feel properly safe again. lenora had been on edge in king's landing. she had always been flanked by guards, always watched closely by ser garrick. she was not naive. she understood the danger she had been in. but when they finally left king's landing after garrick and his men cleared the path, she was sure then that the worst threat had passed. but she had been wrong. they had all let down their guard and she had nearly died as a result. it was another tough lesson for the princess consort to learn. and whoever had wished to kill her had gotten away with it as the servant responsible for lacing her food with poison had fled.

they had been travelling for several hours and the sun was high in the sky when suddenly lenora felt it. the wetness between her legs. it had happened several times since her collapse. whatever dignity she had tried to preserve around the maester and her handmaiden was long gone. they had seen too much the last few days. shit, piss, vomit. it had been humiliating to feel so helpless, to be so vulnerable. she was thankful for them both as they tried to be as discreet as possible, to shield her from the rest of the party.

"we need to stop. i need clean clothes."

when the carriage stopped, she allowed the maester to help her up by holding on to one of her arms. but the moment he lifted her from her seat, she heard a loud gasp from the traumatised handmaiden who had already seen far too much. lenora wondered what could possibly elicit such a reaction considering the events of the last few days. had the poor woman not already seen everything? the princess consort looked down at the cushioned seat. she had expected to see a pool of urine as she had struggled to hold it since collapsing. a passing struggle according to the maester. but instead of urine, she saw a large blood stain. lenora immediately twisted the skirt of her dress around her in order to see the back of it. the dress was saturated with red too. the blood undoubtedly came from her. her heart sank to her stomach. she knew what it meant. somehow all women knew despite how rarely it was discussed. the assassin had not succeeded in taking her life, but they had taken the life of the babe that only a few knew about. she felt numb as she heard the maester mutter a prayer for the child, numb when her handmaiden tentatively took her hand and numb when the entire party was frantically called to a halt once more because of her.

the next hours were agony and lenora pretended to be somewhere else, anywhere else than where she was. she dealt with the pain but focussed on nothing else that went on. it was messy, bloody, painful and traumatising. she was given all the privacy possible, but they were out in the open and the others were able to hear what was going on. after it was all done and the last bloodied rag was taken away, she lay in her makeshift bed, staring at the campfire, when she heard the maester speak with ser garrick. "i have examined the babe and i believe it was a boy. there can be no doubt that he died from the poison." she stopped listening after that. lenora desperately wished that the maester would not have told anyone it was a boy. she wished that she did not know either as it only made the loss greater. a healthy son would have been her way to freedom, a security she did not yet possess, but now he would only be ash. when she was later asked if she wished to name him, she did not know what to say. she had no name for a child that would never open its eyes, a babe that was barely a babe judging by how small the wrapped bundle of his body was.

"it does not feel right to name the child without my husband present."

and so what would have been the little prince was burned without a name before the party of the two royal households continued onwards to storm's end.

TWO DAYS LATER AFTER THE ARRIVAL AT STORM'S END

the moment her head hit the pillow, she slept for almost an entire day. nothing stirred her until she woke up desperately thirsty. when lenora finally felt somewhat human again later in the day, she asked for paper and pen. she sat in bed and began writing letter after letter. one for jaehaerys, one for tyland, one for katherine, one for leo, one for leander, one for calla, one for cerissa, one for gwen. she even wrote a letter to laena. the letters were all short, some shorter than others, and they all contained facts instead of emotions. she informed them of the escape from king's landing, of the attempt on her life and the loss of her child. and that she believed that she was safe now despite everything. lenora knew there was no point in trying to hide it. there had been too many witnesses, too many eyes and ears around. whispers would reach her family sooner or later. at least by admitting to the miscarriage herself, she could control the narrative ― and all of them would know that the blame was to be placed on queen daenerys and her supporters.

the letters were collected by a servant with instructions to prioritise the letters written for jaehaerys, tyland and leo. after doing her duty of informing those who needed to know, her handmaiden found her tools for drawing. the princess sat in bed with her notebook in her lap and charcoal pencils in reach. but lenora only stared at the blank page with tired eyes as her hand kept still. it was rare for her to have a creative block. the last time it happened was after the death of her mother. she had not drawn anything for two moons after that. and it had been agony because drawing was her escape, it was her sanctuary. but once again, it seemed like she was unable to flee from reality when she needed it the most.

lenora started thumbing through the pages of her little book of drawings in hopes of inspiration. she stopped when she got to a drawing of a rose. she remembered drawing it in highgarden, and how proud she had been of the detailing. she recalled showing it to leo before attempting to talk to him about calla. her siblings not reconciling had been her biggest worry then. oh, how she wished that could still be her biggest worry. her fingers ran over the petals of the flower, the charcoal slightly staining the tips of her fingers. she hardly noticed when the first tear fell and smudged the charcoal drawing. despite everything that had happened since they left king's landing, she had not wept even once, but now there was no holding back the sobs that started to rock her body. the numbness she had felt left her. soon she felt the entire weight of all the sorrow and anger that she had held back for many moons.

no longer in control of her emotions, lenora started furiously ripping out page after page of the sketchbook as every drawing suddenly felt like a painful reminder of the life she had been forced to leave behind. she crumpled up the pages and dragged herself out of bed before making her way over to the lit hearth. she fell to her knees, still weak after her ordeals, as she started to throw each crumpled-up drawing into the flames, one after the other, and watched the fire consume the paper. she watched with wet eyes as the flames burned away the remnants of her former life, burning the reminders of the joy she had felt when drawing each illustration. strangely, she felt a wave of relief mixed with sadness and fury. lenora had desperately clung to who she was before marrying jaehaerys. she had pretended that she could carry on being the polite but slightly aloof lefford daughter, the lady who cared little for politics and wanted to be left alone to draw. and being exactly that had gotten her mother and son killed, it had nearly cost lenora her own life. it had even created friction with her husband only days into their marriage. watching her art burn felt like watching her old self burn away. she wondered if this was how her husband felt when he burned the lands during the war. the feeling of burning something until it became nothing, until it held no power over you anymore, until it became a clean slate.

when there was nothing but flame and ash left in the fireplace, her eyes had dried and lenora shakily rose to her feet again. she looked at the decimated sketchbook on her bed and the charcoal pens in the glass jar. after hesitating for only a moment, she threw the sketchbook into the fire too along with the pens. she had no need of them anymore. the fire roared as she placed the now empty jar on the desk. lenora cleaned up the mess that she had made, doing her best to wipe charcoal stains from the white linen, before she crawled back into bed. the unpleasant smell of burning leather filled the room. after she was sure there was nothing left to see in the hearth, she called on her handmaiden to extinguish the fire and open a window. as she laid down, pulling the covers up her shoulders and closing her eyes, lenora knew things would be different tomorrow when she woke again. she could no longer merely be a spectator to her own life unfolding before her. she had always done what she was told to do but rarely anything more. but she had to be more, she wanted to be more.

#( self para. ) #( plot: the crownless shall again be king. ) #tw: miscarriage #tw: blood #tw: death #under read more bc it's very long and full of triggers #and i've tagged everyone who would have received a personal letter from nora

[dxilymxsings]

from right to left ✒︎ p.ambrosio

it was no surprise to anyone that graduating had hit piper hard. the girl was all about her comfort zone, and suddenly having to put herself out there all over again had her completely and utterly terrified.

her final years at lrsoa were spent focusing on finishing her internships, networking – more than she could handle – and making the most of her time as a free student. it wasn’t going to last forever. this meant enjoying the time she got with her friends; she’ll never forget the trips she took with aphrodite or the late-night midnight snacking she’d lured matthew into or the comforting cuddles after a long day that she shared with logan.

it wasn’t a complete week at lrsoa without lola and piper getting into trouble of some kind, and she couldn’t shake that she missed people who were long gone – deep into adult life by now. people like dominic, who though she was still in contact with, not having him on capus felt foreign and as though something was constantly missing. honestly speaking there wouldn’t come a day when she would let her precious out of her life but as she watched her friends move on with their lives, seeing kai gett married all those years ago cemented the fact that they were all moving on with their lives. and their lives wouldn’t always be connected.

reflecting on her time, she knew it hadn’t all been fun and games. she’d lost a close friend in jess due to some simple misunderstandings not that she would undo them – they had brought a very special person into her life. she was heartbroken by an old childhood flame in elam or an unrequited friend-with-benefits situation with bruce. but even still these events were simple timestamps of the things she had grown through and life lessons she had been taught by life through the pain.

piper looked back on her experiences at the university with such reverence. after all, it has shaped her into who she is right now. she still has a long way to go as she navigates through her future. now in her late twenties, it was time to establish herself as more than just a well-respected intern at firms she’s been trying to get her foot in the door of. through all the friendships and the laughs and tears and pain she had to go through to become who she wanted to be. this was only just the beginning of it all.

in the final years leading to her graduation, she had started an online journal (let’s be honest with ourselves, it was just a blog, but piper thought calling it a journal would bring the personal touch she was looking for when starting it). she shared anecdotes about her internships, her life and explorations. a little about the woes and trials of having a relationship as a twenty-something-year-old: something piper was still trying to wrap her head around; she wasn’t quite good with that yet.

a certain greek tragedy reminded her of that.

one man she hadn’t forgotten even though a small part of her wishes she had was art – her art. if you had told the woman that she’d still have a space for him in her heart after walking away, she wouldn’t believe you. their relationship had turned rather tumultuous towards her final year. she felt he was constantly pulling away from her, and she couldn’t connect with him the seamless way she once did. he slowly pulled her heart out of her chest, thread by thread and acted as though he didn’t realise what he was doing or simply did not care. she wasn’t even quite sure why she cared; he had made it abundantly clear when they first met that all their relationship would get to was friendly flirtation – nothing more. and it never was anything more, apart from the odd kiss here and there but even they could be chalked up to dares and the head of the moment.

to make matters worse, she had become beloved by a certain member of his family. the writer spent much time with diane layland and eventually spent many holidays with their mother – the two got along cordially enough. it certainly didn’t help that his memory was tainted all over her online journal. he was responsible for most of the images she had plastered over the site. at the time they were first posted, she was incredibly proud of them. in fact, she was still very proud of him and his art – she’d probably never stop being his biggest cheerleader. and yet they still, left a bitter taste in her mouth, similar to the one he would leave on those rare evenings when they were both swimming in the light-headedness of that night’s chosen vintage.

despite it all, the woman had mellowed out since university. a lot about lrsoa while it helped her become her own – being around everyone seemingly brought out the absolute worst in her (retrospectively, we can blame it on the gossip blog). considering she wasn’t receiving the help she needed, she rarely disclosed her feelings to her friends until they exploded out of her in a burst of dramatics at very inopportune times. it wasn’t healthy or fair to her fellow peers and she wasn’t proud of it.

piper knew leaving london wasn’t for her. she had grown to love the city despite the fact that the genral busyness of the capital overwhelmed her it had been home for near a decade. she didn’t know how to exist elsewhere. but moving off campus most definitely was for her. she had done so during her fourth year and had never looked back. she had taken graduation as the final tie to the school she needed to cut, so roaming the halls again was something she never thought she’d be doing.

the letter had arrived nearly two months ago, inviting her back to campus to speak to some current journalism and other literature students. piper had made a name for herself even before she left the school. still, being able to dedicate all her time to her craft has shot her into circles she could only ever dream of before. the opportunities that lie in wait of a response in her inbox were some journalists would dream their whole careers for. the invitation detailed that they wanted her to ‘impart wisdom’ and ‘advise the new generation’  about everything she does even though she probably roamed these very hallways with most of them. she wanted nothing to do with it, but her manager had noted the good publicity it would give the firm and her.

so here she was with the sound of her heels were hitting the stone flooring that she had not missed since leaving as she crossed the courtyard towards the literature building. her movements were being dictated purely through muscle memory. this was a familiar walk for her. the principal, who had been there to greet her when she arrived, spoke and pointed out certain new or completed features of the school that had been put in since she had left. it was surprising the amount of changes that had been made in the few years since she had thrown that mortar board into the air. the academic head’s words were flying straight over her head. her breathing was growing shallow, and her fingers were dancing over the many rings that donned her fingers. her inner voice was counting down from ten in a loop – trying to gain control of her anxieties, hoping she didn’t have a breakdown and turn, run, and hide in the gardens like she used to.

it scared her how a place she had once considered her safe space, home and most importantly, the one place she belonged for once, no longer felt comforting in any way. if anything, it was the most unsettling place she had been to in a while. her eyes constantly scanned her surroundings, noting the different events being broadcast on posters as they passed them. she could almost see the ghosts of her past in the hallways and the songs of chatter from her university days echoing before fading away.

the main journalism lecture theatre was empty when they arrived. to allow them the time needed to set up and set up the presentation. and to her manager it was just like a piper to ask for a few moments to prepare and calm herself. once the door had shut, she turned to face the screen where a brightly lit photo of her likeness was being projected. the words that lingered around her smiling face were full of pride and excitement. yet, piper could barely feel proud or excited about her achievements. she almost felt as if she should be sitting back in her self-appointed seat near enough to the exit to make a quick getaway, waiting to hear the words shared by journalists who had come before her whom she had admired and wanted to be like 

and yet, she had to shake herself out of her insecurities. she grabbed one of the chilled bottles of water on the desk – momentarily letting the chill seep into her fingers and cool her down before opening it quickly and quenching the thirst she wasn’t even aware she had built up. she gave her hands a shake in the air, almost as if to physically shake away the anxieties eating away at her. the brunette woman pulled her index cards from the tote bag she had placed on the chair at the front of the room just as distant but growing in volume chatter made itself known outside. a false but convincing, confident smile made its way on her lips as she turned towards the door just in time to watch it creak open and allow in the bright-eyed upcoming literature majors to make their way into the room and settle into their seats.

the wind had shifted the day she moved her tassel from right to left, but that didn’t mean her kind heart had changed. there was a spark she’d been missing for so long that she saw shining brightly in these young adults – maybe this was her opportunity to regain it.

#( nothing but writing on a page | esprit ) #( it has been a while since I've written a self para - just wanted to update everyone on what pipers been doing ) #( I wrote and edited this when I couldn't sleep :( ) #indie oc rp #multimuse rp #( i'm popping this in the tags because i'm looking for new people. to interact with )

[ollieinoue]

Ollie is good at mazes. The types on paper, as well as the types you go through. There weren't many opportunities for him to go through those fun giant corn mazes, but there were a few times, so this shouldn't be too hard. He reached his right hand out, placing his finger on the wall, dragging it along the smooth surfaces. The slick mirrors along the walls, and the slightly distorted clear plastic that showed nothing of the outside the farther you got into the maze, until it let up into a new turn that took him somewhere else.

He kept his hand sliding along the wall despite how cramped the corridors began to get. He wasn't a claustraphobic person, but fuck. The farther he got in the more same the images of him got - not that he didn't love looking at himself - but it was a little off putting. Until something caught the corner of his eye.

Maybe it was just a trick of the light, the maze playing mind games on them.  But as Ollie made their way through the maze, out of the corner of their eye, there was a swish of blonde hair, disappearing into the never-ending reflections. It didn’t matter, if they tried to follow whoever it was, because the only thing they’d find was a chilling laugh echoing at their efforts. Chilling…because it was familiar.

Ollie's hand curled into a fist, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. The sick feeling of deja vu curling through his stomach.

Fuck this.

#ogdenevent #yes I have to be extra and write a (semi???) self para okay #icb that was already a tag (yes I can) #greer keeps gaslighting ollie

[oracleisonline-a]

snowglobe

The wind outside was absolutely howling, the shitty single-paneled windows rattling in a way that had Barbara concerned about the damned glass blowing straight in. It was day two of one of the angriest winter storms Barbara had ever witnessed, no end in sight, and she was just counting her lucky stars that the power in her apartment building had managed to stay on…and ever-thankful for her tendencies towards being prepared that had her apartment well-stocked in necessities (cereal, vodka, coffee and ice cream mostly; other groceries as well, even if she planned on living off of the cereal until it ran out) since there was absolutely no going out when the weather was like this. An upside, considering the police and satellite scanners ever-running in the background had been silent: crime and everything else had paused, the general consensus evidently being it was too damn cold and snowy for any of the usual nonsense.

A downside being that the wi-fi had certainly slowed down to a rate that was infuriating by Barbara’s standards, outright unacceptable by Oracle’s, and the programs and servers that Barbara needed for her current projects were moving slower than the drip of frozen molasses. Green eyes were squinted in a glare at the two monitors she was working from, an exaggerated sigh leaving her nose as she tried to run and test the program she’d been working from, the error message and corresponding noise that followed forcing a frustrated noise from the back of her throat. She imitated the noise right back at the computer, resisting the urge to slam her keyboard against the desk out of frustration.

A particular loud, outright ghoulish, gust of wind caught her attention and her gaze drifted upward towards one of those rickety windows instead. The snow outside was an absolute blur of white, visibility reduced to nothing as the snow blew sideways in the dull yellow light of the flickering street lamp outside. It reminded her of the snowglobes she’d collected as a child, lining the many shelves of her childhood bedroom - ones brought back from trips they’d taken as a family, sent by family members as presents to see her light up with excitement in her eyes on Christmases and birthdays. The snow was constant, swirling and falling in a way that mimicked a snowglobe being shaken and spun upside down.

Gotham would always be Gotham, though the concrete toilet she called home always felt more peaceful under a solid layer of snow. The snow here was arguably much more pretty (and ferocious, with another reminding whoooosh of wind rattling her windows), though the sense of nostalgia that settled warm in her stomach was undeniable. Her favorite nights were ones spent on Gotham rooftops as Batgirl with Robin, red-cheeked with her breath blowing in front of her, footsteps and laughter quiet in the snow-filled air. Driving through the city, looking at snow packed roofs and lights when they were given a reprieve from the near-constant crap Gotham slung their way. Quiet days spent in the library of Wayne Manor or in her bedroom, snow quietly falling outside the window with their noses buried in books, sharing favorite passages and quotes as they came up.

A quiet grave, fresh with frozen-over flowers and snow on the headstone. So cold. Too cold.

A second chance, an impossible chance, an unusual snowfall in March with the windows of her Burnside apartment left open to let in the snow-smell. A soft “pause” pulled from kiss-swollen lips despite the urges to do anything but that, labored vodka-tainted breath and messy hair and want coursing through her veins, hot like fire with the cold wind from outside becoming welcome. Pause because this meant more than a vodka-fueled, desire driven moment. Pause because he was important, he was Jason, and she wanted to remember this.

A third chance, someway, somehow, so many years later: still air, quiet snow outside a nearly comical contradiction to the scurry and shuffle her apartment had seen, lips pressed hard against a sweat-slicked forehead, a staggered breath exhaled before she made the jump to press a desperate kiss against his mouth. “I don’t know what I’d do if I’d lose you,” quiet enough to nearly get lost in the too-quiet sound of snowfall outside and an otherwise silent apartment. Because she’d already lost him once, twice, and now he was here and there was no time for fourth chances or waiting around when life was so fucking short.

Like the few snowglobes lining her shelves now - ones of the New Jersey beaches with the boardwalks depicted, of Gotham’s towering skyscrapers that looked quiet and peaceful in stark divergence from its reality. Shake shake, swish swish.

The wi-fi may be unstable, the windows were absolutely questionable and the lights may be making her a little nervous with the flickering they did every once in a while…but things could be worse, especially considering her company, and Barbara would be a bold-faced liar if she didn’t admit that curling up next to him on the couch underneath a pile of throw blankets sounded far more appealing than continuing to struggle with the wi-fi. A different sort of pause, maybe a more specific unpause five years in the making, no more wasting time when there wasn’t time to waste.

Their own snow globe - undisturbed, quiet except for the blowing snow outside. Arguably her favorite one.

#do i not have a self para tag #shit #self para tag tba

[reclusiveharry]

You and John traveled everywhere together. What happened to change that? Why did he leave you?

"Who the hell do you think you are to ask that? Why don’t you take your bloody curiosity and shove it?"

...

John had gone on this type of self righteous speech before hundreds, if not thousands of times. Harry stared ahead, expecting the words to wash over her as did the other spats and barbs they shared every day. By now their squabbles had the pacing of a well practised script.

(What about this then? Isn't this just a beaut of a specimen? What genus do you think, Harry? (Does the genus even matter?) Come now Harry think of it as a- (Philosophical experiment, yeah but who gives a shit?) You just don't want to admit you've forgotten your Liliums, Harry. (And you wanted an excuse to show off, John.)) 

But there was something nasty in the air that day, a hunger of too few berries and mushrooms and tubers, a scrawny rat with enough meat to whet their appetites without satisfying it. The air was humid and cloying, clawing at Harry's throat, a twin attack pairing with every word cut from John's teeth. He kept talking, and talking, his words prickling her ears like a growing fire; 

"-I've never expected you to love anyone, Harry. I knew that it wasn't something you are partial to. And I guess this is enough for you, like mum taking care of uncle, refusing to go to the dance with Mr Tyrell even though everyone knew he was mad about her. But… Harry, I loved Maria, and I don't expect you to understand that, but I miss that kind of love! I miss people, I miss new arguments, arguments we haven't hashed out a hundred times…” John raised his hands up into the air and then brought them down, palms slapping loudly against this thighs. “Can’t you do this, for me?” 

Harry let John's bled out words pool for a moment, let them sink into the leaf litter and fertilise the trees around them. "Right," she said, tight, the word sneaking out of the corner of her mouth with a long repressed anger. "You want a new argument?"

"I want to meet and know and love new people.” He was talking with the drama of a fucking poet, all wide arm movements and puppy dog eyes. “I loved Maria, but it's been a lifetime since we left her, and I'm ready to find love like that again. I know you aren't a fan of Matthew's mob on the beach, but there are good people there, like Sisco and-"

Harry barked out a sharp, bitter  excuse of a laugh. "For you… You say I don't know what love is-"

"Harriet, you're deliberately misinterpreting my words now. I didn’t say that-" He always called her by her full name when he thought he was in the right.

"No, that's what you said. I don't understand love." Harry turned her ice cold eyes to John then, gesturing about them with savage disdain. "What's this then? What's anything I've ever done?" It had always been for him.

John's face collapsed into a frustrated annoyance, pinched eyebrows, eyes dark and beady. "Harry that's not-"

"That's not what you meant, right. It's not enough that I worked the farm so you could go to uni-"

"Harry we both know that was hardly a sacrifice on your-"

"It's not enough that I read every textbook, that I practised your exams with you, read every essay, edited your damn research proposals, typed out all our notes-"

"Harry-"

"No! You let me speak, John. I don't know love!" Harry's voice broke on that word, jagged and raw. "You don't know love! You didn't even know Maria-"

John scoffed, and she couldn’t stand to look at him. "She was my fiancé Harry-" 

"You knew her for three months before you got arrested and sent to the conchie camp! You hadn't even picked a ring before you went to that stupid demonstration-"

"Maria never wanted a ring-"

Harry didn't let John's interruptions phase her, she was an earthquake, the earth's place juttering out of place with catastrophic anger. "I didn't even like her, she was your fiance, but I was the one who stayed with her, I was the one who had to forge a life with her and find a way to survive when word got out where you were and no one would speak to us. We had no one but each other and..." For a moment Harry's deluge stopped, but she locked eyes with John, and his confused, hurt look drove her to twist the knife in deeper. "You weren't there. I was." 

"What are you saying, Harry?"

"I... loved her." The word was uncomfortable in Harry's mouth, it didn't fit right, it wasn't the right word for what they had. A slow companionship, that changed into something more. Maria climbing into Harry's bed late at night, them both finding comfort in each other, ending with Maria leaving before morning. Was that love? Feeling so small and worthless in the face of her heart pattering whenever Maria laughed because of her, but liking it? Love would have to do, it was a best word Harry had to describe their relationship, and it was a word that brought John the most pain to hear. "As you should have done, if you weren't in prison-"

"Harry, what do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," Harry sneered, too far gone now, the cat out of the bag.  A weightlessness to her, giddiness. Years she held onto this, bit back the bitter venom at the back of her throat. A secret, given wings and claws to and a sharp beak. “As a man should know his future wife.” The words hissed out of her mouth, serpentine savagery. 

John sat himself down on a felled tree-trunk, the noise of the jungle around them suddenly unbearable. A screaming choir of crickets, grunting frogs, screeching parrots. Harry panted, the air rushing from her lungs as she saw John collapse on himself, his face gaunt and hollow. 

His eyes swivelled to Harry, and all the bitterness leeched out of Harry. How could she hate him? John, who filled her first memory, leading him crying back home after he skinned his knee on the gravel. John, who was always by Harry's side, even when she was sour and misanthropic, her cruel words occasionally lashing out at him. John, who looked at her now as if she were a stranger. 

"Were you ever going to tell me?" he asked her, and Harry wanted to stop his pain, pain she had caused moments ago. The instant regret after childishly starting a fight with her brother, only to  immediately beg forgiveness. Where’s the cut John? That’s not too bad, come on, a cut like that deserves no tears, Johnny.

Harry bit her tongue, jaw jutted forward but eyebrows hinged in sadness. John knew her too well. They didn’t need words for him to understand her guilty confirmation. A secret she would have kept to the grave, except in this damned place that wasn’t guaranteed. They’d been stuck, frozen, and the secret had been buried inside Harry, turning her organs to rot. There was no way back now, not to the blissful ignorance of before this had come to light. 

“You… You let me believe... all these years? A lifetime, without saying anything?” John, coming back home suddenly over the university break, crawling into Harry’s bed and sobbing about his first heartbreak, finding comfort in Harry’s steely resolve. Now he was repulsed by the hard glint to her eyes, the sharpness with which she held herself. 

“And still I loved you more,” Harry continued, tears welling in her eyes, blurring John in her sight. “Maria asked me to break you out, and I did. I did it.” She had done it knowing that whatever she had with Maria would end, that she would have to watch she and John reunite, that she would swallow down whatever discomfort that brought her, because it was for John. “I did it for the both of you.” Don’t you dare lecture me about what I understand about love, John. What I should do for your sake.

“That… that isn’t love, Harry.” John stood up, looking pale, peaky. He shifted his pack on his shoulders, that dense, calculating look come to his eyes. He’d made a decision, one Harry wouldn’t like. 

“John,” Harry said, as he turned his back on her, wordlessly marching through the jungle. “John!” she repeated, his gaze steadfastly fixed ahead. Look at me, she silently begged, grasping for his hands, which he snatched away from her. 

“No, Harry!” John raged, whipping back to her. “Christ, I can’t even look at you… I need some time, Harry. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?” He laughed sardonically, arms out wide to the jungle around them. “To be left alone?” 

“John-” Not like this, she silently pleaded. 

“I’m going to the beach. I need a fresh start,” John spat, the implication clear in his clean use of singular ‘I’. Away from Harry, the troublesome older sister. 

(Years and years on, nothing sticks out to Harry more than this sentence, a moment dissected and interrogated endlessly. An outright lie? A truth, prevented outside of John’s control? In all of her returns to the northern beach, there hadn’t been a single sighting of him.)

“John… I’m-”

“You’re not sorry, Harry,” John shook his head, backing into the jungle. “You’ve never looked so bloody satisfied in your life.” 

And those were the last words they shared. 

#harry answers #harry self para #aaand i'm going to also tag this as #stranded task 5 #the betrayal task because #well you'll see #stranded tasks #incredibly self indulgent self para #if anyone is good at fcs i am very open to john fc suggestions js

[petalstorm]

HAILKISSED / TSUKURE     >     PETALSTORM

Grand return maybe? Will be revamping this account into a single muse account but I’d love to write with some of those I’ve written with before or even new people! If you’re interested, like this post or send me a DM! The account should be done by tomorrow at least. 

#Also using this as tag dump! #&&. j : inbox #&&. j : answered #&&. j : visual #&&. j : musings #&&. j : headcanons #&&. j : wanted plots #&&. j : threads #&&. j : started #&&. j : open starter #&&. j : self para #&&. j : writer #&&. j : prompts

[catmillers]

so far away – self-para – cat&eugene

tw: gore, disassociation/ptsd, death, drugs

"Dad?"

She had been in Eugene's arms seconds earlier and then there was a loud shot but she hadn't been hit. Cat couldn't hear anything; all she knew is there was blood – rushing in her ears, on her hands, coating her face. Her eyes flicked down to Eugene on the ground in a clump, more of that red seemed to ooze out from around him.

"Daddy?"

And then there were Peacekeepers on each of her arms, pulling her toward the stage and away from Eugene. Cat couldn't hear anything as she was dragged away from Eugene, but she knew she was screaming, thrashing, tearing her throat raw as she fought to get back to the only family she had left on this Earth. Twenty was too young to be alone, she hadn't learned everything from him yet.

"Eugene get up," She pleaded, only recognizing the fact she was crying from the salt taste that hit her mouth. She only called him Eugene when she couldn't get his attention, "Eugene fuckin' get up."

But he didn't move – Eugene was still. The hole the Peacekeepers had put in his head assured that Eugene Williams would never move again.

Cat couldn't breathe, she had turned Twenty only a handful of weeks ago – how was she supposed to do this alone? She couldn't survive the Games if no one at home and –

"What are you doin', kiddo?"

Cat whipped her head up, feeling caught she immediately defended herself, "Nothin', swear." Her hands shrank away from the duffle bag that sat next to her on the bed.

"Oh, yeah," Eugene drawled out coming to sit next to the teenager. He gestured to the bag that she had been packing mere moments earlier, and set it on his lap, "Big ol' queen a' nothin'?"

"I –"

"Why are you runnin'?" He cut her off.

Cat swallowed, wracking her brain to answer her guardian. "I don't wanna go to the Reaping again – what if they pick me?"

"They ain't gonna pick you," Eugene assured, handing it back to the teenager, "This your second one?"

Cat nodded taking the bag back and tucking it under her arms. "How do you know?" She asked looking anywhere but

"Just know," Eugene said with certainty, ruffling at the kid's hair, "Even if y'ain't gettin' Reaped you still gotta go, they'll be worlds angrier if you're not there, kiddo."

"You're gonna be there?" Cat asked softly, "Right?"

He laughed and nodded at how sheepish Cat was and promised, putting a hand over his heart, "'Course, Cat." He gave a sideways smile and patted her on the back, "We'll go together." Eugene creaked onto his feet and held a hand toward Cat. "You comin'?"

Cat hesitated, unsure if she could trust him on this, and she –

– placed the tab under her tongue with her eyes closed. She didn't know a soul at this party, and she didn't know what she was taking but that didn't matter. What mattered was she had just won the 127th Hunger Games so everyone knew her. And what did she have to show for it? Free drugs, the two small lightning-like burns that ran from her temples and branched out onto her cheeks? She guessed they just marked that she had lived; the electrodes from the virtual reality simulation had zapped at her skin – a part of her wondered how fried her brain was or if it was just how the Game itself had altered her brain chemistry. At this point maybe it was the drugs, too.

The tab finished dissolving and she sighed as her bones began to feel like liquid and she sank into a nearby couch. She watched as the world around her began to haze over, and the dark room of the party began to almost shimmer. A stupid laugh fell from the back of her throat as she felt it all kick in and she scanned the rather packed party. She'd won, she'd won, which made her a prize, made her something people wanted to win. She'd spent the better part of her evening playing dumb and demure to advances made upon her.

Maybe she was a prize, prizes didn't have to think for themselves or feel too much of anything other than good. A wandering hand on her shoulder caught her attention. She caught sight of the person who she decided had just won her for the evening, another Victor from a Game she couldn't remember. The identity didn't matter, what mattered was feeling anything other than alone. Can't think about Eugene if – 

"You got six more years if we're countin' this one."

Cat groaned, the heels of her palms digging into her eyes as they walked toward the Reaping for the sixteenth time together, "Doesn't make it less bullshit."

"Bullshit or not, we're just gettin' it over with," Eugene reminded, taking a turn into the main square of the town, "Odds a' you gettin' picked is low. Jus' keep your head down, kiddo."

"Keep my head down anymore I'm gonna disappear," Cat said, trying to joke her way around the very real fear coiling in her gut.

Eugene huffed out a laugh as they joined the crowd, "You'd like that wouldn't you?"

"Maybe," Cat shrugged. She was breathing a little easier – Eugene was right, this was just a biannual nuisance and Cat would never be picked. Odds were too low, "I'll see you after, okay, old man?"

"You know it."

They separated and the whole pageant that was the Reaping began. Some overdone speech about the importance of the Games and then the escort's hand went into the bowl. She pulled out a thin paper slip and read the name off:

"Catarina Miller."

Cat's brain didn't know how to reconcile hearing her name. She was only ever Catarina when she was in trouble and she knew she was certainly in trouble. Her legs moved clumsily as she wove through the crowd, trying to locate Eugene, trying to run to safety. Then a pair of arms were around her and she began to struggle as her ears tuned in –

"It's me, it's me," Eugene said, trying to soothe the panicked girl.

Cat looked up at him helplessly and shook her head, "I can't, I can't do it, I can't."

Then there was a struggle. Peacekeepers descended on the pair and began to pull them apart. Cat's fingers dug into the fabric of Eugene's coat, desperate to stay. Eugene was stronger, though, and clung to Cat desperately as he pleaded, "Pick someone else, not her, not my girl."

Then there was a gunshot and Cat's ears rang. "Dad?" She croaked out looking down at her blood-stained hands and –

Cat sat up stock straight in her bed, a sound halfway between a scream and sob echoed around the room. Her breath caught in her chest, only being able to move in and out in stuttered gasps. The air felt heavy as she looked around, her eyes were wild as she attempted to locate where she was.

A shaky hand pressed to Cat's chest, right over her heart as she attempted to soothe the palpitations. She couldn't right her breathing, but she knew where she was – she was in the Tower. In her bedroom. Safe. Cat was safe – no one could get her in there. But that still meant Eugene was gone.

She closed her eyes for a second, her brain greeting her with visions of blood and brains, and – Cat's eyes snapped back open and she propelled herself out of bed. Even with her eyes open she still felt like she was back in Six, watching her father die. The air smelled too much like ozone and her hand shook as she fumbled with her bedside table. Eventually, her hands took hold of a pack of cigarettes and her lighter. She shoved them into her pajama pants and beelined for the elevator. It wasn't a surefire way to snap herself out of it but it was the only solution her trauma-addled brain could offer. It was worth a shot, even if it reminded her she was alone.

#man idk i was possessed by the devil to write this #self-para #tw: drugs #tw: gore #tw: disassociation #tw: death #tw: ptsd #lmk if y'all need other tags #eugene –