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emilykaldwen · 1 month

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The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Sixteen

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

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Author's Note: And we're back! Thank you all for being so patient with me as I took some time away. I'm honestly glad I did. TL;DR (or read the update in the previous chapter) I lost my job, things were rough. I'm feeling a lot better now and here we are with the final Aegon birthday chapter! As I stated as well, we'll be moving to something closer to a three week posting schedule for the last few chapters of this fic and continue on that posting schedule for the sequel.

PLEASE PLEASE subscribe to the series page or my author page so you get updates when we start the next story! You're not going to want to miss it. (And follow @emkald-fic on tumblr if you read here!)

All my eternal love to @vampire-exgirlfriend, whose been my rock. I love you. Please go join her as she finishes up her Aemond fic, They Say I Killed You (Haunt Me Then)!

Warnings: Larys Strong Jumpscare, and MURDER!

CHAPTER SIXTEEN - Flew Like a Moth to You

Aegon's birthday hunt includes some fantastic girl action and some murder! OH! And Some Jacelaena biting. You love to see it.

Floris Baratheon could not sit still, clutching her bow and quiver, peering out the carriage window as they approached the Kingswood. “A-hunting we shall go, a-hunting we shall go-”

“Hi-Ho the derry-o, a-hunting we shall go,” Abby sang in turn, the song a familiar one from childhood. The Baratheon girl had been quite annoyed that she could not ride a horse the way the other men did, but with the promise that she would not have to sit with her sister in a carriage, she had been content enough.

Abby sat beside Lythene Ryger, who had been quite speechless at the invite to the carriage. Wylla would have normally been with them, but with her soon to be good-sister, Alys Bracken, coming along, she was off playing chaperone and overly curious and mischievous younger sister to Alys and Harrion. Abby was glad she had the opportunity to do so, for her dear friend was giving up much to stay in the south as her Mistress of Keys instead of returning home to the Karhold.

On the other side of Helaena, Margaery Crane of Red Lake sat. Her lush, light brown hair was braided in a crown around her head, and her face was square with large, unnervingly green eyes. Her head was bent towards Helaena’s, threads of evergreen and butter yellow woven in her fingers as she taught the princess how to finger knit. It was an easier pastime during the long carriage ride to the camp than Helaena’s embroidery. Her twin sister, Desmara, sat on Abby’s other side. The only difference between the pair was her dark, chestnut hair and the scar across her full mouth.

“I’m sure if you ask Daeron when he goes out with the party, he’ll retrieve the stag antlers for you,” Helaena said, her eyes focused on the thread between her fingers. “He’ll love the opportunity to prove himself.” Floris rolled her eyes in only the way a girl of one and ten could, her black braid wrapped around her head with stubborn tendrils escaping. She tugged on the ties of her raven black cloak.

“Nay, Your Grace,” she said primly. “I would show my own mettle, and face the stag myself.” Her cheeks were pink all the same. Abby bit her lip to hold back her chuckle, not wanting to tease the girl. She caught Desmara’s own amused look, the scar across her mouth pulling at her own smile.

“Well, I don’t think they’ll let you go hunting the stag, Lady Floris,” she said. Floris looked pleased at the kind address from the elder girl. “But we’ll be going hawking and the spoils are certainly yours. That’s how I obtained the rabbit fur for my gloves.”

“That’s true,” Abby chimed in. “And you are a child of Nightsong, are you not? I’m sure falconry is in your blood.” Floris’ mother was a Caron, with a lineage of fierce warriors nestled in the Dornish Marches. Lady Ellyn Caron had songs sung of her, and how she, in part with other lords of the Stormlands, defeated the Vulture King. It was exactly the kind of family lineage Abby could see Floris idolizing.

Floris nodded seriously, running her fingers along her bow. “This is true. I suppose I should practice.”

“Practice until you come back dragging the stag behind you,” Helaena continued. “My elder sister is said to have taken down a boar with her own hands, only a dagger as a weapon. I think you have that same mettle in you.”

Floris preened, leaning into Helaena’s side to watch the magical weaving of the yarn. Abby’s heart ached with fondness for the girl, pleased that she had been taken on as Helaena’s ward. The girl was not meant to be stuck behind her three eldest sisters. The Smallest Storm would blossom, she hoped, beneath Helaena’s care and attention. It did not go past Abby’s notice of Cassandra’s harsh attentions to her sister. It reminded her of her own sister’s lack of understanding; always critical, always focused on some perception that her behavior would reflect poorly upon her. Floris was exuberant and curious, but she was not into reckless mischief or excessive rudeness.

She’d be good for Helaena. More importantly, had been good for Helaena, who had taken on Margaery Crane as one of her new ladies, and Abby would take Desmara. The Crane twins had endeared themselves quickly, Margaery introducing herself by way of teaching Helaena a new fiber art, and Desmara had gifted Abby a book on Asshai, a knowing wink in her verdant green eyes.

As the carriage pulled into the camp, cheers had already started from the other gathered lords and ladies. “With all that noise, they’re sure to scare away all their quarry,” Abby laughed, peering out the window to look on ahead.

The boys had ridden on horseback, Aegon in the lead on Kostōba, Aemond, Daeron, and Jace on their own horses beside him, with their own small retinue. Their cousin, Lyonel Hightower, was with them, as were a few other lordlings that Abby was unfamiliar with. She spied Alyn Hull’s silver braids from where he was on his own horse, smiling at the sight of the brash young man there within Aegon’s retinue. He had been a true friend to the prince over the years and it was good to see him brought into the fold officially.

Alyn would serve as steward when they departed for Harrenhal, taking on the household duties from Uncle Simon and learning under him. Aegon had been pleased that he’d agreed to the offer, brushing off his mother’s gape mouthed indignation about it. “He’s the reason I still live, Mother,” Aegon had said, unusually mild in the face of Alicent Hightower’s anger that morning as they broke their fast. He’d brushed a kiss against her forehead, and Abby wondered if he had found strength in the security they were building between them, that not even his mother could shake.

Seeing Aegon’s confidence was intoxicating, so rarely did he come off so sure of himself, and she craved to see more of it. Her teeth scraped her lower lip, belly rolling with heat.

“Good tidings to Prince Aegon, second of his name!” came the booming voice of his Uncle Hobart, leading the call of cheers. “Good tidings to him on his nameday!”

“Good tidings!” came the call of the gathered crowd. “Prince Aegon!”

As Abby settled back in her seat to wait for the footmen, she caught Helaena’s gaze. Anxiety crackled between them, mixed with the joy and love there for Aegon’s nameday. After the hunt, Abby was certain Helaena would cocoon in her chambers, barring the door should anyone try to get her into another crowd. Abby didn’t blame her, and in fact, might even join her for a bit.

The cheers had begun to die down by the time Daeron’s smiling face helped them out of the carriage. Windswept, dark blonde hair fell across his forehead as he bowed. “Allow me, my sister, ladies.”

As he helped Floris from the carriage, their eyes met, both faces going pink at the cheeks, and Abby saw her future good-brother’s hand tighten slightly around the girl’s fingers for the briefest of moments before her feet met the ground and she pulled away, her eyes on her shoes. It was not often that Floris fell quiet and blushed so red, and it did not appear that anyone else had noticed. Daeron clenched his hands to himself and his eyes met hers, his own flush deepening before he quickly hurried away.

The king had stayed behind in the Keep, as did several lords and their families. Lord Grover’s health had also kept him behind. Lord Otto had stayed to facilitate court, leaving the festivities that day in Aegon and the queen’s hands.

Her hands, Abby knew, as young ladies of the noble houses began to approach her and the princess, a few mothers in tow.

“Baela’s a Targaryen too,” Helaena muttered. “Why can’t they flock to her?”

The lady in question had rode on horseback, her red leather jerkin fitted against her lithe form over a gray tunic and black breeches tucked into black polished boots. The rings in her hair glinted in the late morning sun, sparkling as she turned her head with a laugh and dismounted her mare by Jace. Abby shook her head.

“Because they’re afraid she’ll be a bad influence, I’m sure. How are they supposed to get husbands if they dress comfortably?” Abby posited, smoothing her hands over her riding jacket. It was a warm evergreen color, deep azure and crimson soutache snaking over her shoulders like the red and blue forks of the riverlands. The crimson lined wool jacket fell just past her knees, and she wore a pair of warm trousers tucked into polished black boots. Helaena was dressed similarly, her jacket the same shade of deep azure as Abby’s decoration, embroidered with silver dragons with black beaded buttons carved in the shape of dragon head clasps running down the front.

“Hasn’t Mother decided that you should remain here to entertain all those ladies?” Helaena asked, their arms linked as they headed to the main tent. Ahead of them, Alicent Hightower was resplendent in a warm cloak of the deepest verdant green lined in black fur, her gown not one for riding or hunting, but far more comfortable for the outdoors. It lacked excessive ornamentation, the black and green skirts swirling around the tops of her own boots. Her hair was much like Helaena’s, wound in a braided crown about her head. Lady Fossoway was a half step behind her with Ser Criston as they always were, with the rest of the ladies trailing after like a gaggle of geese.

“We’re doing the receiving line,” Abby said, the fingers of her free hand fidgeting against the fall of her jacket. “Aegon’s receiving his gifts and then we’ll have congratulations on the betrothal.” She flexed her fingers, the soft leather of her gloves creaking slightly with the movement. They were lined with soft fur, luxurious, indulgent, and while she was certainly never dressed in rags before, it was rare to accept and let herself have new things when they often felt so unnecessary.

It was a new feeling to be excited about the new clothes that she had, more sumptuous than what would normally be allowed at her station.

Wylla joined them as they passed into the pavilion, warm from the braziers placed strategically about the place, each guarded by a cage of decorative wrought iron to prevent unfortunate accidents. On one end of the great tent, a small dias with a simple, dark wood throne, crested with a dragon, wings spread in welcome.

It was the King’s chair, but the king was not here.

“Are we to accompany you while you receive them?” Wylla asked. Her long hair was bound tightly back and wrapped in a coiling knot along the back of her head. Her padded black jerkin clung to her over a long tunic of gray, black riding trousers tucked into a pair of matching boots. Like Baela, she was dressed for a day in the wilderness without the cumbersome dealing with skirts.

“You look nice,” Abby told her with a small smile. “Not quite the Wildling I heard rumor of,” she teased and Wylla snorted.

“It’s a hunt and the opportunity to ride and get the fresh air. We’ll be going hawking while the men go to shove their pricky things into…” She trailed off with a twist of her mouth, the small scar along her top lip pulling at it. “Men waving around their big pointy things.”

“In a far more acceptable manner than what it implies,” Abby added on, giggling at the silly implications of it all. “And yes, I think you should. We’re receiving gifts, so you best take Desmara and Lythene with you to Lady Fossoway for instruction.”

“And then we’ll go hawking,” Wylla said with a nod.

“I have to stay here,” Abby corrected with a shake of her head. “It is my duty to entertain with her Grace.”

The northerner’s brow furrowed and both of them looked in the direction of the queen, her cloak handed off to a servant while she spoke with Lady Johanna. Wylla shifted beside her and Abby could feel the questions and arguments flitting beneath her friend’s skin. She rested a gloved hand on her shoulder, giving her a squeeze. “As I told Aegon, these are some of our new duties, no matter how dull they seem to be. Hopefully there’ll be time for me to go exploring later.” Hopefully. Abby loved exploring the Kingswood, and she’d been looking forward to going hawking, even if she did not particularly hawk herself. However, fun and indulgence could not be had in favor of duty and responsibility.

No matter how much she craved the freedom of it.

Wylla gave her a long look, teeth biting at her lip before she nodded and getured for Lythene and Desmara to follow her. Helaena had already left with Margaery and Floris and Abby was left standing alone, for the moment, amidst the steady flow of nobility pouring in for refreshment and talk. Alone, Abby was relatively unnoticed. Just a small girl in the midst of a crowd, no crown on her head to shout out who she was.

“Abrogail.”

Larys was taller than most people realized, for he did everything he could to make himself small. Few knew that Larys was as tall as Harwin had been, for her elder brother preferred to have such a small cane, to shrink himself into spaces where he could slip in. It was strange, Abby realized, that she had never noticed that it was a trait she shared with him. No desire to be the center of attention, no desire to be noticed, both for their own reasons.

The smile he gave her was an awkward twitch, but Abby noticed that it did reach his eyes, which was a rare thing, and she found herself returning it. Small and shy, perhaps, as if she were still the somewhat muddy little girl she’d been who he’d look at curiously across the breakfast table in the family solar.

He was subdued in a quilted doublet of the same deep azure and brown leather, his cloak a dark green-blue to match, clasped at the shoulder with a firefly broach. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow of his free arm, languidly walking toward a clutch of plump seating not far from the currently empty dais. The smell of cooking food caught on the woodsmoke in the air, and Abby’s stomach rumbled with hunger. They’d only had some fresh bread and cheese on the ride over, and the idea of warm, spiced pumpkin soup and a turkey leg the size of her own face was rather appealing.

“You’ve conducted yourself quite admirably under all the attention as of late, little sister,” Larys complimented, taking a seat on one of the padded benches. She perched beside him, smiling her thanks at the servant who came by with mugs of hot, mulled wine. She inhaled the scent of orange and lemon, the warmth of cinnamon before taking a sip. “Even with your, shall I say, antics at the tourney, they were quite well received.”

“Antics?” she asked lightly, feeling the curl of heat spread across her chest. There was no way for Larys to know what sort of other antics they’d gotten up to. The bite Aegon had left along her shoulder had turned bruised and tender, the imprint of his teeth still deep in her soft flesh. That mark was quite well hidden beneath her jacket and shirt beneath.

Larys only hummed and took a sip of his drink. “The other lords have expressed concern at my choice of husband for you, but I have assured them there is no reason to fret. I simply wanted my sister to be cared for and happy.” He gave her a sidelong look, placid expression barely shifting, his dark eyes large and innocent in his expression. “And everyone can clearly see how happy you two make one another. The queen…” he trailed off with a sigh, “has not quite been pleased but…”

Abby looked down at the deep purple-red wine swirling in the silver goblet. Anxiety prickled through her, confusion at her brother’s attempt, it seemed, to try to bond with her on something more personal. “Her Grace has been very indulgent,” she said softly, mouth twitching into an awkward smile that her brother returned. He inclined his head towards her only just.

“We both understand how passionate the queen’s frustrations can run, little sister,” he said softly, the scent of him cold and clean, like a tomb. Abby blinked, the awkward smile falling from her face. Her throat bobbed, the sting of bile in the back of her throat was almost painful. Had the queen told him what had occurred? Or had Larys, with his strange talents, found out what happened himself. “You will not be her ward for much longer. I imagine, like any mother, she is feeling the maternal ache over the loss of her son to his wife, and the loss of you, who is like a daughter to her.”

“Perhaps,” she allowed, busying herself with another sip of wine so she might find the words. They were receiving glances from the bustling court as they found their places, platters and great soup tureens being set out along the tables. Her stomach growled again. “She was quite concerned about… the dishonor I would bring upon the royal family.” Her voice was little more than a shamed whisper and the insinuation was as painful as the day she’d been accused when coupled with Ser Edmund’s harsh words in the gardens. She straightened her shoulders, trying to push past the hurt and shame that lingered still, tilting her chin up, refusing to be cowed. “Apparently some of the other lords are quite concerned about your heir marrying into House Targaryen.” She smiled at the passing servant, plucking a small apple tart off the platter he held. “I have made my own assurances that our children will be raised in the customs of our people, that regardless of dragon blood, we are the Riverlands.” Whether or not Edmund Vance believed her, if he mocked her to those he could find for such statements, well, she could do nothing about that. She could only mind herself.

“It will be a hard road, Abrogail, given that they do not see you as one of them. Lo, they barely see me as one of them, what with all my work here,” Larys said with a nod, looking at the cake he’d plucked for himself. “What matters is that you greatly impressed Lord Tully, and his son has been amenable and welcoming-”

“I may not have grown up in the Riverlands but even I know there’s only so much influence they have,” Abby cut in, chewing her lip after the words tumbled from her, her voice a soft, biting thing. Larys said nothing to that while he chewed on a bite of cake, and she shifted slightly in her seat and took another sip of wine. “It will not be a smooth transition, not for all. A prince? Becoming vassal to a mere lord?”

“Prince Daemon was Lord of Runestone through the dear, late Lady Rhea,” he reminded her after swallowing. “I don’t recall any such problems between him and the Lady Arryn.”

“Jeyne Arryn was kin to his goodsister,” she retorted. She had spent countless hours in the library with Aemond, taking meticulous notes of the lessons the boys had that her and Helaena did not. Part of that involved wiling away a week of stormy, frigid weather, tracing out the family trees of the Great Houses. The Targaryens rarely married out, even before King Jaehaerys, but there had been Aemon and Daella to houses Baratheon and Arryn, and Queen Aemma’s siblings and half-siblings. She’d even traced her own tree: Harwin’s mother, Lysa, had been Lord Elmo’s sister. Larys and Corynna’s mother had been a Frey. Abby’s mother had been a Westerlander, already outside, already suspicious of the clannish houses of her homeland. “And if all the mutterings and murmurings are true, he cared as little and less for them as they did for him.”

She’d heard the rumors of Daemon being responsible for his first wife’s death, and the occasional muttering that he was responsible for Laena Velaryon as well, but in the past few days being with the mercurial Baela, she did not think that was the case. Abby looked back at her brother again, briefly, before smiling in greeting as Lady Redwyne and her sister settled nearby. The queen had sat on the opposite end of the circle of seating, the corral of it split evenly between the pair of them. Her shoulders slumped minutely and she kept her genial smile as the older women settled in.

Laughter caught her attention, Helaena and Baela both with shaking shoulders near the pavilion entrance as other girls joined them. They would be going hawking soon. The sun caught upon Helaena and Baela’s silver heads, giving them a golden shine. A sigh caught in her throat. How nice it would be to join them, to frolic in the lack of responsibility.

Larys shifted, still sitting at her right hand as the rest of the guests filtered in, and her attention drew back to him. “Ah, yes, the princesses and the other ladies are going hawking. Did your grandfather not gift you a new hawk for your engagement?”

Lord Rodrik had indeed. Abby had hawked some when she was a little girl at one of the hunts for Princess Rhaenyra’s nameday, but had never had a one of her own. But Lord Rodrik and her Reyne family were prodigious hawkers and the beautiful Peregrine she’d named Caelus was a little wonder. He’d been trained by her cousin, Emrik, who had fancied himself a falconer, and had sent a kind letter that she was quick to return. Letters had been rare over the years, but there’d always been well wishes and tidings on her nameday.

“He did, and I know we brought him. The queen…” Abby trailed off, her eyes darting to the other side of the tent where Queen Alicent was smiling at the younger Lady Redwyne. “She said that it was our duty to host while Aegon goes hunting. That it’s my duty. To make friends, to comport myself as the future princess.”

“Oh, did she?” Larys asked mildly, cocking his head to the side and leaning on his cane. “Yes, I can see what she would want that. It was, after all, what has been expected of her when she was your age, already with two children. She had far more in common with the matrons of the court at that point. You are here when others who should be are not.”

Rhaenyra should be here. She was the King’s eldest, his heir. Discomfort prickled along Abby’s spine, a latent spike of anger at the woman who had put her family in danger, hurt at how quickly Rhaenyra had moved to Daemon Targaryen after what happened to Harwin. Her fingers curled against her knees before she forced them to relax and stretch. The Crown Princess had always been kind to her, but could Abby even trust that? After what happened at Driftmark, and what happened to her family?

Alone now, save for Larys.

‘Not alone anymore’, she immediately reminded herself, because Aegon was with her now; Helaena and Aemond cared for her too. They too were her family. Not alone, for she had her grandfather and he loved her truly. Yet, she had felt this loneliness for so long. Rhaenyra was not responsible for her loneliness, but in many ways she felt it keenly. It felt as if everything changed because of her.

This marriage, Alicent’s desire for control, Lord Otto’s keen and watchful eye were because of Rhaenyra. Aegon’s pain was because of Rhaenyra.

Her father and brother were dead and gone because of Rhaenyra.

“I am here when others are not,” she said softly, eyes watching those who watched her, her smile flashing as she murmured her greetings as the ladies began to gossip. Larys was murmuring his own greetings to Lord Piper’s wife, complimenting her on the recent betrothal for her son. Abby’s gaze darted towards the front of the tent, where the girls were still gathered as they prepared to go off for their own little adventures.

Alicent Hightower made sure she was there. She made sure that people saw her as queen, someone to be trusted and counted on, someone that could be reached. She was here, as Abby was here.

“If the Targaryens mean to exercise power in our realm, they will be in for a rude awakening.”

Abby was not queen. She wasn’t certain what that future held, but she did know, with certainty, that she was the future Lady of Harrenhal, and that Lythene Ryger, Melony Piper, even Sarra Frey who was lingering nervously with a goblet in hand, they too would be future ladies of houses that she needed to be friends with. Abby could not just rely on the fact that she held the title, not when she did not grow up in her home, not when people like Edmund Vance were so eager to tell her that it didn’t matter, they would see what they wished.

“Lady Sarra,” Abby called, rising with a smile and handing over her goblet. She could feel Alicent’s eyes on her, and that over the other ladies. “I did not have the opportunity to speak with you at the feast last night. Pray, will you join me and the others out hawking?”

Sarra Frey was a tall girl, broad shouldered with high cheekbones and dark hair bound in a twist of three braids down her back. She wore a simple but lovely jacket of deep blue and silver, the colors of her house. At being addressed, she straightened up, green eyes wide with surprise at being noticed. They narrowed slightly, mouth parting before closing. A flush crept across her cheeks.

“I don’t have a hawk with me, Lady Abrogail,” she said softly. At her full height, she was as tall as Aemond, more softly spoken than her severe expression might have said. Abby smiled.

“That is quite fine, there are plenty to go around.” Sarra nodded, handing off her goblet to one of the passing servants and Abby looped her arms through hers and tugged her towards the others. “My legs are exhausted from that carriage ride, shall we go?”

Even Baela’s mask of judgment faded as they walked towards the edge of camp where the Master of the Mews was minding the hawks and preparing to move out further from camp. She was stuck between Helaena and Wylla, the princess’ silver head shining beneath the sun. Lythene was laughing with the Crane twins and even Sarra was pulled into conversation with Zara Celitgar, who was eyeing the tall Frey girl appreciatively.

“Are we not taking a carriage?” Margaery Crane asked as Helaena led the way past the line of them set aside for their later return.

“It is not a far walk,” Abby assured her. “And it’s nice to stretch our legs after all that sitting.” She nodded towards the Master of the Mews and his apprentices carting the hawks ahead of them. Margaery hummed in agreement, confusion placated, and Abby was set to continue onto another subject when there was a commotion from behind them. She looked over her shoulder to see Cassandra Baratheon striding behind them.

“You all left so quickly!” she announced, censure and jovial all rolled into her crisp tone. A slight smirk crossed her sharp features as they approached. Among the three ladies that accompanied her, Lady Elinor kept close at her side. Cassandra’s dark eyes swept over Abby as they drew closer, and she felt picked apart by the gaze, something sharp stabbing between her ribs at the continued haughtiness of the eldest Storm. Abby straightened, offering her own wan smile. Like hell would Cassandra set foot into Harrenhal, but this?

This she needed to be easy with; this she could allow.

“Of course, Lady Cassandra,” she said. “We would be happy to have you.” Helaena made a soft sound that Abby ignored but felt deeply. Her eyes flitted to Lady Elinor at Cassandra’s shoulder, giving her a warmer look. It was her family’s strawberry wine that had been highly spoken about over the course of the festivities, and Elinor’s responding smile was kinder.

“Congratulations are in order, Lady Abrogail,” Lady Elinor murmured. Cassandra’s eyes tightened, her smile frozen on her face.

“Yes, congratulations on your coming nuptials,” she parroted, smoothing her kidskin gloves over the fall of her woolen hunting jacket. “How comforting it must be to wed one’s childhood playmate. No surprises or excitement to worry about.”

The words were harmless enough, but the barb beneath them was clear. Abby tilted her head slightly, her own smile still on her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was Baela who spoke, angling her head between Wylla and Helaena to peer at her cousin.

“Not to mention wedding a childhood playmate means there’s no barrier to intimacy, and no secrets kept,” she said, then bit into the apple she had in hand. “Now let’s fucking move before I start hunting with my bare hands.”

Helaena was meant to be in bed but sleep eluded her. She waved away the maids and headed out into the night toward the great bonfire in the center of camp. There was no danger here, much like there was no need to fear in the Holdfast. Her slippers grew wet after only moments, the night dew soaking into the soft fabric and chilling her toes.

She wanted to dance around the fire, stare into the flames like she heard the Red Priestesses did, and wonder to herself if her dreams would make more sense then. Aemond said she was touched as Daenys was, a gift precious to their Targaryen line. It helped ease the fearful strangeness to know that her strange dreams were not simply the ‘odd workings of an overactive imagination.’ That they did mean something, but what? Helaena was never certain. Sometimes she never knew the outcome, other times they became starkly clear.

‘He’ll have to lose an eye’.

“Would you care for some company?” came a low, curious voice, a slight crack on the last word. She looked over to see Jace lingering at the edge of the firelight, his jerkin long discarded with just his gray linen shirt and trousers, a dark blue cape wrapped around him. The bright flames danced in his lavender eyes, giving them a shade of deep purple-red she found curious indeed. Did her own look the same?

“You’re not gallivanting with the boys?” Helaena asked, not meaning anything by it until the words hung in the air, and Jace’s gaze glanced to what he held in his hands. The only ‘boys’ for him to gallivant with were her brothers. Of course there were other lordlings about, but given that Jace was lingering around the bonfire caused her to wonder if he too liked the quiet.

Or if he were lonely.

“I didn’t want to…” Jace trailed off, rubbing his thumb over whatever he held in his hand. The motion of it reminded her so strongly of Abby, Helaena didn’t know how she was supposed to process it. The curl of unease and her mother’s frustration and anger coated her insides. Her own frustrations, deeply buried but still there, like the ever smoking fires of the Dragonmont, bubbled and burbled in response. The king who loved Jace more, loved him like he loved Rhaenyra more. The blind man who ignored Aemond’s nameday even though it had just happened, who only thought of Aegon’s day because of everything that happened.

The dead look in Mother’s eyes that was more and more frequent, when she stared out the window of her solar, her hands twisted and knotted into her skirts. The things that Sire-Father had done to her for no reason except his own dragon feelings, Helaena thought. His need for more and more, consuming him the way the anger would consume Aemond, and the drink would consume Aegon.

All of them pinned to boards in the king’s Freehold miniature; all of them frozen and set on display in his own gallery, for him to take down from time to time to play with.

The burst of a log in the fire startled her and Helaena realized, uncomfortably, that she’d been staring, vacantly, at Jacaerys, who was watching her, still as water, quiet as an orb weaver. He watched her, the fire throwing orange and red across his fine features, catching at the warm red in his dark, dark hair. His right eye was a sheen of red from the fire, his left cast in shadow. Half fire.

Her right side was chilled, when her left was so warm, mirrors of each other.

Half fire.

Jace held out his hand, palm open, offering to her the smooth stone that he had been fiddling with. The ridges of the sea creature who died in it caught upon the light, throwing its own little shadow as it was unable to in life, living in the sea as it did. Only now, in his hand, had this creature found warmth and light.

Helaena reached for it, her hot fingers scraping against his as she took it, feeling his own hot skin beneath her touch.

Half fire.

‘But I am full flame,’’ Heleane thought, for she was dragonflame and lighthouse flame. Lighting the way with fire in her wake. Jace was fire, yes, but he was river water, the way it rippled through him. Still and steady, but crashing and flooding with the ferocity of a dragon’s power. ‘Would this be what her nieces and nephews be?’ Is this what a union of fire and water entailed? Deadly and quiet, steady when they were full of heat and flame.

She rubbed her thumb over the fossilized creature and it felt pleasant against her skin. Soothing, tactile. Grounding. “Thank you,” she said softly and Jace smiled at her. “Pity it’s not another marchpane tentacle.” He laughed, a soft sound that sounded like water over stones and they came to sit on the bench. She shoved her feet closer to the flame and watched the steam rise from the fabric from how hot it was. There was a few inches between them, the warmth emanating, and they sat together, no words spoken. These were her favorite moments, ones she missed. It scraped at her insides, like pushing dirt away from the stone so she could find the worms beneath. They were the memories of the gardens in childhood, Jace beside her, mud and damp soaked into his knees, helping her push the rock up to find the pill bugs and the beetles and the centipedes in the dark, damp earth.

“It was nice to dance with you at the feast,” he ventured, and Helaena looked at him, the shadow along his jaw where he’d wake up fuzzy and prickly in the morning. She reached up to rub the back of her fingers against his jaw, looking at the slight pout of his mouth, the dark fan of his eyelashes. Freckles faint against his skin.

“You're a good dancer. I should know, I’m a good dancer myself.” She smiled at him and he shook his head, a flush on his face and she felt her own spread across her cheeks. He scraped the toe of his boot in the dirt and she nudged her foot against his. He was familiar, in the way Aemond was, but he was new in the way Warren had been. Someone she knew, but didn’t. He wasn’t angry, and he wasn’t pushing and probing at her, looking for a bruise to elicit feelings from, or the thrill of a princess. He didn’t look at her like she was odd, or startle at her staring, her distant sight.

Jace was simply patient, and he waited, and did not seek to chatter. It was new, it was old, it was like pressing against the ground and the dirt giving way, a little tunnel inside that one didn’t know was there, and Jace peered in and made his way inside. A dragon roosting in a cave.

His knee bumped against hers and she looked at him, their matching lavender eyes meeting. It was nice, Helaena thought, that they had this piece to share. Like two different butterflies, different colors and different patterns, but the markings were the same. The wings were the same. Simply… different.

“The mint winds and chokes like ivy,” she said, instead of what she meant to say, which was asking him if he would come looking for stag beetles with her the next day. “The children can’t breathe, it’s bursting from their mouths.” She blinked, startled, but the words that she had not known, had not meant to utter, remained heavy between them. “I-.”

He blinked back at her, brow furrowed. “Helaena, are you-”

A horrible scream ripped through camp and for the briefest moment, Helaena thought it might have been a fox shriek. But this was too loud, too close. Another scream, this time two high pitched ones and then a guttural yell. Jace’s hand gripped hers, pulling her to her feet and away from the fire. She tugged at his hold to move towards the commotion, but he tugged her back. “I’m taking you back to your tent, Helaena,” he said firmly. “We don’t know what’s- Ow!”

She had lifted their hands, sinking her teeth into the plump flesh at the back of his thumb so he’d let go and hurried towards the tents without a second glance, knowing that he’d be following her. She gripped her skirts, grateful for the warmth of Jace’s cloak around her shoulders and her heart sank, panic seizing her chest when she realized it was Abrogail’s tent that was the source of the screaming.

Three of the Kingsguard, including Ser Criston, were already there, as were the gold cloaks that had been patrolling around the outskirts of camp. Their cloaks reminded her of Sunfyre’s scales in all the torchlight, and half-dressed nobility coming out of their tents, bleary eyed in confusion.

On the ground lay a servant with a blade in his chest, blood burbling from his mouth. Helaena looked at him, wide-eyed, Jace trying to get her to look away, and her gaze went up to Wylla Karstark. The northerner was shaking, gray eyes wide as dinner plates, her hair bound for bed, her dressing gown haphazard and sprayed with blood from where the man must have coughed it at her.

“He-he came in. He was on Abby so quickly-”

“I don’t know where he came from!” Abby’s trembling frame was right behind her, clutching one of the pokers from the tent brazier in her hands, still ready to strike. Her curls were twisted and wrapped around the crown of her head, shivering in the night air in just her own nightgown, sleep mussed and clearly straight from bed. “I don’t…” She gulped. “I don’t think he meant Wylla to b-be there.” Her free hand was gripping the back of Wylla’s dressing gown, and Ser Criston laid a hand on Abby’s shoulder.

“Give me the poker, Lady Abrogail,” he was saying in a calm, steady voice like he did when Helaena was younger, cowering in a corner and unable to flee the commotion. “There’s a girl.”

Harrion Karstark was shouting his sister’s name, just as Uncle Gwayne was calling hers. Helaena turned her head to see him coming up, half dressed with his sword belt slung over his shoulder. He reached for her shoulder, tugging her back. “What is the meaning of this?” he shouted, and Helaena stumbled back into Jace as the crowd parted.

Then, Aegon’s shout of, “Abby!” came crashing over the gathering crowd, pushing his way through with Aemond at his back. She caught her younger brother’s frantic look, seeing the worry ease somewhat at the sight of her before going over to the girls. Abby surrendered the brazier poker as Aegon reached her, frantic over the state of her, pulling his cloak off to wrap around her, fear and fury warring on his flushed features. “What happened?”

The man on the ground was rasping, wheezing, but it was hard to tell if he was alive or not, or if this was how his body signaled death.

“This man came to attack Lady Abrogail, Your Grace,” Ser Erryk said. “Lady Wylla got him good.” His twin nudged the attacker with the tip of his boot as Aemond looked at the man, then at Wylla. His face was carved in hard lines, but his gaze was softened.

“Did you throw it?” he asked. “Or did you pounce on him?”

Wylla blinked, her brother’s broad hands holding her shoulders. “I stabbed him.” Her voice was faint and she took the blade handle, clutching it to her. “He… I was putting away our dresses and there was a commotion… I thought…” Wylla’s brow furrowed, shaking her head. “He came in through the flap beside the bed and crawled o-on top of her. Abby screamed and I just…”

Harrion’s hands tightened on his sister’s shoulders and the girl fell silent with a soft squeak. Aemond’s mouth pursed and he knelt beside the man. His hair fell in a curtain, the band of his eye-patch not holding it back from the vantage that Helaena had. He reached down, and twisted the blade, a wet crack sounding in the sudden hushed anticipation. The wheezing sounds the man was making tapered off as Aemond pulled the blade from his body.

It squelched, a gout of blood spraying, and a strange, hissing sound like wind through a crack sounded. Aemond jerked back as some of the blood caught on the ends of his hair and he rose slowly, wiping the blade of the dagger. “Well he’s dead now, Lady Wylla. Your bravery and quick thinking is to be commended. House Karstark should be proud to have such a brave daughter.” He handed her the dagger, hilt towards her. “Keep this close, since you can be well trusted to use it.”

Wylla’s brother held her tightly as the gold cloaks hoisted the dead man between the pair of them, dragging him somewhere.

“I was half asleep,” Abby said. Aegon clutched her to his chest as his gaze swept darkly around, hands rubbing her arms. “At first I th-thought it was Wylla…” Helaena watched Abby’s hand clutch Aegon’s arm tighter, her voice falling silent. Her other hand reached towards Wylla again, the girls clinging tightly to one another.

“How the fuck did that bastard manage to sneak into my lady’s tent?” Aegon demanded, his voice not a shout like Uncle Gwayne’s had been, but more of a warning growl, like Sunfyre. “Where were the patrols, Ser Criston?”

Their mother’s protector - and Helaena realized that Mother was not there and that Ser Criston must have commanded her to stay in her own tent - shifted only slightly. “The patrols largely keep around the outside of camp to keep people from getting in, my Prince. The patrol that was walking through the tents had not made it back around yet.”

Aegon’s jaw ticked, assessing what Ser Criston had said and knowing it to be true. Helaena knew that Aegon and the others had been lingering in Aegon and Aemond’s tent for whatever gossip and giggling boys got up to in the middle of the night.

“Lady Abrogail and Lady Wylla will share my tent,” Helaena broke in, for she was the princess, and her mother was not here. “And we will have extra guards stationed around our tents, so that our Kingsguard are not stretched thin.” She straightened her shoulders and closed the distance between her and the girls. “This is enough horrible commotion for this night, and you should all be ashamed of yourselves for staring so,” she said, frowning at the crowd that had gathered. “These ladies have been terrorized, and you gawk at them. To bed, everyone! Let us gather your things and get you cleaned up.” The last was said to Wylla, who needed a fresh gown and the blood cleaned from her face.

And like the princess she was, she did not wait to be obeyed, reaching for Abby’s hand to pull her toward her tent.

Thank you for being here! If you loved this chapter, please give a reblog and I would adore hearing what you thought about the chapter! What did you think about the Larys and Abby convo? Baela Targaryen continues to be a force to be reckoned with. I for one love the ladies that Helaena and Abby have been gathering around them. Man what was UP with that attack at the end? And also, Jace clearly doesn't mind Helaena biting him. Good.

Next Chapter

#hotd fic #hotd oc #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x oc #aegon ii targaryen fic #house of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fandom #house targaryen fanfic #jacelaena #my fics #oc: abrogail strong #otp: do not go far from me #aegon x abby #abrogon

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ambrossart · 2 years

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MASTERLIST

BOWERS GANG | IT (2017)

PAPER MEN

SUMMARY: All Evelyn Tozier wanted to do was make Derry High School a safer place for her kid brother. Well, somewhere between kissing Patrick Hockstetter and telling the principal to go f*** himself, things got a little off track. Now she's stuck in the middle of a bizarre love triangle with two of Derry's most troubled teens while her little brother and his friends hunt down a creepy, child-eating circus clown. This year, summer can't come fast enough. PAIRINGS: Henry Bowers x Tozier!Sister; Patrick Hockstetter x Tozier!Sister WARNINGS: violence, profanity, sexual content (not smut), bullying, physical abuse, sexual abuse, emotional abuse, all kinds of abuse, trauma, mental illness, implied/referenced self-harm, child death, angst, lots of angst, recreational drug use, underage drinking, love triangles, unrequited love, toxic relationships, slow burn, slow build CHAPTERS: 31/? UPDATES: Slow (Usually Monthly) WORD COUNT: 184k

EDDIE MUNSON | STRANGER THINGS

DANCING WITH MYSELF

SUMMARY: Eddie crashes senior prom hoping to steal a dance with his dream girl, Chrissy Cunningham. Instead, he spends the night stuck in the women’s restroom with you—her snarky, insecure best friend. PAIRING: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader WARNINGS: no season 4 spoilers, some coarse language, body image issues, allusions to eating disorders, typical teenage insecurities, angst, jealousy, anxiety, secret crushes, childhood memories, references to rec drug use, happy ending, lots of 80s music CHAPTERS: 10/10 *Bonus Content Available* WORD COUNT: 43,565

#masterlist #fanfiction #bowers gang #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #henry bowers #patrick hockstetter #victor criss #belch huggins #it 2017 #paper men #dancing with myself #ambrossart

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reddie-ao3feed · 1 month

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Safe is You

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/2H3DGQb by fuhcoff “Can you maybe tough it out tonight, Ed’s? I’m not sure this is a good time…” Richie quickly said in a surge of panic. Sounding like he just got caught in bed with a girl or something. Ha, wouldn’t that be priceless. Even though he doesn’t mind the feeling of being squished close to the wall of his bed, with Eddie making himself right at home in his bedsheets. Huddling in his blankets with the regular pinch of his nose Richie is used to seeing. Eddie always has some sort of silly facial expression of discomfort or disgust whenever he’s with Richie. Making it much too easy for Richie to make a jab at it. “I don’t feel safe in my room, Rich.” He muttered. The almost sad tone of his voice not matching his facial expression at all. “I had the dream again, just a little different this time.” This caught him off guard and Richie frowned, wondering if this is a good time to crack a joke about Eddie’s mom or not. Probably not. “Why do you feel safer in my room more than your own?” ___ This takes place a few years after they defeated Pennywise, when they’re 16, and it skips through the years up until they’re about 22. And eventually until they’re older later in life. Words: 64, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: IT - Stephen King, IT (2017) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier, Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough, Stanley Uris, Ben Hanscom, Mike Hanlon, Pennywise (IT) Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier Additional Tags: Derry (Stephen King), Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Mutual Pining, Time Skips, First Time, Gay, Gay Panic, Gay Richie Tozier, Confused Eddie Kaspbrak, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Domestic Bliss, Night Terrors, Trauma, Sexual Content, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier Through the Years read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/2H3DGQb

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it 2017 #it 2019 #fic rec #reddie fic red #stephen king it

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into-crazy · 1 year

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Derry’s Secret Pt. 2

Pennywise x Female Reader series

Warnings- mature language, stalking, violence, dark themes, consumption of alcohol, ages 18+

Other parts can be found RIGHT HERE and through the "Derry's Secret" tag🎈

You live in a little corner house on the end of a quiet street. Using the term quiet because that's how it usually was. The neighbors kept to themselves mostly, which you didn't mind. Much preferring the seclusion anyways, as you have always been a bit more reserved.

The house you reside in has a time-worn appearance on the outside. Exactly like many of the other homes in the area, only yours is smaller. Even the interior is dated, from the tiled floors to the walls. Strangely, you appreciated the look and feel of it though. Plus the previous appliances seemed to have been properly replaced right before you'd moved in, so there were no issues there. Sure, they weren’t brand spanking new, but they were fully functional.

Your landlord was a sweet old woman. She rented the house to you monthly for a great price. The rent was low, almost too low that it was questionable. And rather suspicious. You had curiously asked her the reason for such a discounted amount. To which she simply replied, "The house is old, I wouldn't feel comfortable renting it for so much. And you seem like a sweet girl." You weren't entirely sure what she meant with that last statement, however you happily took it as a compliment.

Approaching the porch steps, your phone starts to vibrate in your pocket. You take it out, checking the notification. It's a text from Gabby that read- 'On my way. Be there in a few.'

You head inside, kicking your shoes off at the entryway before tossing the bags onto the couch. Satisfied to finally be in the familiar comfort of your own residence. You bring the grocery tote into the kitchen and put the contents away. It was only a few, non-perishable food items. Done with that, you connect your phone to the charger and set it atop the counter.

After today's events, you wanted nothing more than to lay around, have a drink, and relax with your friend.

Deciding to change, you remove your clothes while heading into the bedroom. You grab an oversized tee from the drawer and head towards the hamper at the end of the hallway. Having thrown your sweaty, asphalt dusted garments in, you exhale putting the fresh tee on.

"Much better." You whisper, pulling on a clean pair of shorts.

Since Gabby texted that she was almost here, you'll just sit and wait for her to arrive. Having purposely left the door unlocked so she could come right on in.

Walking back into the living room, you instantly spot something tall standing in the corner. Startled, you dare not to take another step. Instead choosing to fearfully eye the strange figure in your home.

There, stood a clown in a white puffy costume. Well over six feet tall, with elongated limbs. A large head that's twice, maybe three times the size of an average person's head. Its hair is orange and styled to curve upwards. Complete with makeup- a pale white face, thin highly arched eyebrows, and red lips with two lines curving up, ending in points directly above its big blue eyes.

Your legs are locked tight, you wouldn't be able to move even if you wanted to. Acknowledging this, the clown grinned, flashing a buck toothed smile.

"Hiya," its high pitched greet came out.

Despite its eyes shifting slightly away from each other, you could feel it staring dead at you. Swallowing hard, it doesn't take you long to figure whom the looming figure might be. "You're the t-thing from the drain," you faintly shudder out.

It lets out a delighted chuckle in response. "Ahh, you remember."

There's something about the deep husk in its voice that gives off the impression that it might be a male.

"Who are you?" You ask, finally able to take a step back.

It mimics your action, but taking one closer to you. The scent of burnt popcorn fills your nostrils. It's not something you would have expect this thing to smell like. Not this terrifying creature.

"I am Pennywise the Dancing Clown!" He jingles, giving a graceful bow upon introducing himself. "Or Very wise," he rises, "as you might know from what the little offspring told you." He laughs mockingly at the previous mention.

This is when you realize that he never fled. He followed you when you went to drop off the young child and now he's followed you home! At this point, you really start to regret not locking the door on your way in.

"What- well what do you want?" The question is caught in your throat. Your heart starts beating faster when his smile suddenly becomes darker. That can't be good, there is nothing about that smile that reads anything good. Instead it flashes signals of danger. Screeching at you to turn around and run. Get out as fast as you can before something terrible happens to you.

A huge glob of drool drips down from his mouth and onto the floor as he mutters, "to feast."

"Um, feast?" You swallow thickly, his response is difficult to comprehend.

"Well, you see," he inches closer, "I would've had a nice filling earlier. But then you seemed to have interfered, allowing my food to escape."

Oh no, his food.. was he was going to eat the young child?

"Now since I can't eat her.." his eyes flash into a ravenous fiery orange. Before you have time to react, he leaps forward. Wrapping a large gloved hand around your neck and lifting you off your feet. "You will have to suffice!" It growls, rows of razor sharp teeth filling its gaping mouth.

Gasping for air, you desperately kick and paw at the thing towering above you. Trying to get it to release its hold, but it's no use. "F-fuck, no-" you choke out.

It brings you closer, running its nose from your collarbone up your neck. Following the rapid pace of your pulse pumping through the artery under your delicate skin. Deeply inhaling your scent, its eyes roll back. Two clicking sounds gargle up from somewhere within its chest as it shudders slightly. Seemingly liking what it finds.

That is not normal! What the hell is this thing doing?

"Sweet, sweet, fear." Its voice vibrates along your skin, teeth grazing along your flushed flesh. Ready to pierce.. maim and eat.

You thought you were done for.

This is it, this is where I die. Is this really how I go out?

Suddenly it snaps its face to the side, then releases you. Dropping you onto the ground before disappearing completely in the blink of an eye. It’s gone before you can even react.

You shuffle back, harshly coughing as you try to catch your breath. Not even two seconds later, you hear the jiggling of the doorknob on the front door.

"Yo!" The door swings open and Gabby steps inside with her hands full. "I'm here- what the hell!" Finding you in a distressed state on the floor, she throws her stuff down and rushes to you. "Y/n, hey girl! Are you okay, what happened?" She frantically looks around the room.

"I, I.." you finally get your breathing back.

"What happened?" She repeats concerned, kneeling down.

You didn't want to worry her with the assault that just occured. It was bad enough this entity was already after you, so you don't want to get anyone else involved and put into harm's way. Especially Gabby.

Coming up with a quick excuse, you tell her, "it's nothing.. I um, I fainted and I scared myself."

"You fainted?" She examines your state, "you sure about that? You're all shaken up, it looks like you were attacked!"

"No really, I'm fine," you wheeze, "I fell so hard that I couldn't breathe and it scared me. I was alone and I just panicked because that's never happened to me before." Ain't that the truth!

"Well are you alright? Did you hurt anything?"

"I don't think so," you shake your head. "No, I'm alright."

She sighs in relief. "Oh, good. Here, I'll get you some water."

You slowly stand as she gets you a glass. Rubbing the spot behind your upper thigh, you can already feel the bruise coming from where you fell.

"And just so you know, I call bullshit on the whole it 'never happened before' claim." She comes back, offering you the glass.

"I meant on the part that I was alone, and I also don't know why I fainted." You reply after chugging from the cup. Of course you've fainted before. Hell, she's actually witnessed it herself.

She tries thinking of a reason for your false faint claim. "Hm, well have you ate?"

"Not really. I had a pastry at the shop earlier, but that was it. Plus the drink."

"Well then that's it, your blood sugar is most likely low. Then especially with all that walking around this morning with very little food in your system." She walks over to the stuff she brought over.

"Yeah, that's probably what it was," you chuckle. Content in the fact she wasn't suspicious anymore, you felt a great sigh of relief. Hey, you wanted something scary tonight. Well you got it, alright. Having been two seconds away from becoming a human entrée, you're just glad that Gabby had shown up when she did. Despite that though, you truly are grateful for her and appreciate everything that she does for you. She's just looking out for you. And no doubt for her, you'd do the same.

"You need to eat," she brings over a pizza box. "Good thing I made a quick stop on my way over here."

"Ah you're the best!" You acknowledge, lifting the cardboard lid to take a slice out. The hunger's really hitting you now at the scent of food. She sets the box on the table in front of the couch.

"So, about the movie choice for tonight," she digs through her bag, "you said something scary.."

"Mhm," you mumble with a mouth full of cheese.

"We're gonna watch Paranormal Activity." She gleefully states earning a groan from you.

"Seriously, you know I can't stand those boring movies."

She bursts out with a laugh, "got ya! I'm kidding, I brought The Conjuring." Leave it to Gabby to know your taste in horror films. Putting it in the player console, she takes a couple whiffs of the air. "Did you burn the popcorn?"

Damn, it left its scent.

"Uh, no. I haven't made the popcorn yet. I'll make it now." You point out standing up. "Wine?"

"Like you have to ask," she snickers grabbing her own pizza slice.

During the movie, all you could think about was the clown. And the young girl. Hoping that she was safe. You wondered if it still might go after her.

It.. using that term because you aren't quite sure what it is, exactly. Even if it had a name. It was very similar to an animal in the way it stalked and growled, but also supernatural with how it completely vanished in thin air. You need answers.

Gabby had already fallen asleep by the time the movie ended. It was only after eleven, but she knocked out pretty quickly. While she slept, you used the time to do a little internet search on Derry. You poured yourself another glass of wine and sat with your laptop on your legs, typing away. Searching for 'Weird sightings in Derry' and 'Strange Derry reports' and even 'Pennywise.'

But nothing came up on the matter concerning the clown. Although you did come across an article with tragic events that had happened in Derry. You learned something about the town and its bad history before, but haven't gone further into the details until now. The websites provided brief amounts of information on them, from tragic incidents like the Ironworks Factory explosion and the burn down of the black spot. But what really got you was the reports of missing kids. Bingo. There was far too many more than adults. Some of the dates were recent, but you couldn't go back much further for the older dates. Those must not have been documented electronically.

Gab's loud snore pulled you out of your screen trance. Yawning, you figure that an internet search wasn't going to cut it. So you sat there in silence, pondering. Maybe the library? Yeah, the library. They should have history books that provide more details on the events. Hopefully they'll even have some old, written archives you could take a look at.

The time on the laptop read 1:09 am, had you seriously been up this long? It didn't feel like you had. You close the laptop before setting it on the table. I'll go by there tomorrow, you thought as you shifted to lay down comfortably on the couch.

It was a good thing Gabby stayed the night. She's always amazing company. But especially more right now. You also decided not to tell her about the incident from earlier, with the little girl and the drain. Figuring it's best that she doesn't know about it. But at least having her here with you, you hoped that Pennywise wouldn't show up again. You really hoped that he wouldn't. That was all that ran through your mind as you slowly drifted off to sleep.

It's the only thing which you would've allowed, because you had a deep secret. A secret pushed so far in the depths of your soul that would soon come into play. But of course, you didn't know that yet.

End of Part 2.

#Derry's Secret #pennywise #pennywise fanfiction #pennywise imagine #pennywise x reader #pennywise x you #pennywise x female reader #penny posted

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artemisresources · 8 months

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dylan llewellyn in derry girls s3 gif pack

by clicking following the links, you will find #580 gifs of dylan llewellyn as james maguire in derry girls s3.

trigger warnings: cops, stage lights, flashing lights, lightly hit with a van, candle flame, kissing, threatened violence, makeup black eye, clowns, drinking birth year: 1992 ethnicity: english links: eps 1-3 / eps 4-7 / zip file

Do: use in roleplay use in edits/fanvids/oc content use in edits/fanvids about the celeb tag or credit me (optional) Don't: use in taboo or celebrity roleplay

#dylan llewellyn gif pack #dylan llewellyn gif hunt #gif society #fcxdirectory #supportcontentcreators #userdevon #james maguire #derry girls #dylan llewellyn #gif pack #gif hunt #my gif packs

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faggotwalkwithme · 1 year

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hi, i'm theta, mars and basil! > he/him > gay + aroace > 17 :3

i love horror movies and i make them all transgender

my neocities (huge wip) (flashing warning)

my current interests areee > evil dead (+ other bruce campbell and/or sam raimi stuff) > twin peaks > jeffrey combs stuff (esp. reani, the phantom empire, dead man walking & love and a 45)

other stuff i'll definitely still be posting about: -> doctor who -> alternative subcultures (mostly goth and punk) -> fiction podcasts (specifically tma, w.bg and malevolent)

also, i'm in a band! we're @knees-mean-nothing, give us a follow :)

byf; i post a lot of fake gore/blood (like, A LOT of blood!), syringes, i'm a twin peaks fan (so also a lot of topics on sexual assault, incest and all that fun stuff..[/sarc] i'll try to tag this but i'll pribably mess up sometimes) i swear a lot and i use caps lock a lot. just bware if thats not ur jam

also exclusionists and TERFs go fuck yourself! and plz, if u ship minors and adults, block me

extra stuff below the cut :3

i literally just made this section because i like lists and i need an excuse.

my tagz: #shut up mars: original text posts | #faggotwalkwithme irl: my face | #friends tag: posts pertaining to. my friends | #friend's art!!!!: art that. is by my friends | #goofyfibula stan account: tag dedicated to my wonderful husbandbf (gender neutral), el | #ptrmoc: posts that remind me of characters | #<3: my favourite posts | #me: posts that r me irl | #gender: posts that give me gender envy

also umm some microlabels: quasiromantic, orientated aroace, genderfaun, xenogenders (im considering making like a blog or something where i document them all :3), aegosexual, grayromantic

my birthday is on february 24th :3 i'm from australia and indonesia!!! i'm an avatar of the lonely lets fucking go

#pinned post

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thegayclownbook · 2 months

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I wrote a little video essay on beverly marsh‘s adaptation into film but i probably wont turn it into a video essay so here it is.(yes i‘m obsessed with beverly let me live):

The Bob that never happend - Beverly Marsh

Content warning! @buse, s3x, ch1ldr3n are involved in said things

It by Stephen King first takes place in Maine, 1958. As we meet the loser Club one person stands out in their own way, they all do but she has something about her, doesn’t she?

1958 is an important year for the following content, it adds a odd feeling to the story as an observer that was born in the 2000s. Most people of gen z understandably only know the story of derry, the loser club and most notably Pennywise from Finn Wolfhard and the killer clown craze in 2017 and again in 2019. The Movie follows the basic plot, the adventure and obviously the iconic characters. But let’s look at how Beverly Marsh got adapted into film and compare the two so let’s start out with book Beverly in 1958.

Young Beverly Marsh is first introduced from Ben Hascoms point of view, she is described as pretty, kind and warm but also as lifeless with a Bruise on her cheek and in clothes from salvation army. The first time we really get her point of view is in the blood scene. Said scene is quite memorable, it follows beverly in a normal situation just at the bathroom sink. But it obviously doesn’t stay like that and the reader is confronted with what beverly fealt and experienced. The sink talks or rather what’s inside the sink talks, the voices belong to children who have been murderd by It, children who Beverly knew. The scene shows us how Beverly is confronted by It without actually being harmed but hearing the dead children talking to her stops her from ignoring what’s going on in derry. But Voices are not enough to frighten Bev and It knows that, so a fountain of blood pours out of the drain. It covers the sink, mirror and walls. Beverly understandably runs out of the bathroom just to be confronted by her other Vice, her father.

Al Marsh is described as having given her her red hair but he is the main person who has made Beverly to what we know her as, and not in a positive way.

The Scene introduced us to the world of what we are about to experience with the kids, adults not seeing the blood, the others helping beverly clean up and the horror these kids will be confronted with. But before the scene gets resolved by beverly and some of the losers cleaning up the bathroom, Al Marsh tells Beverly

how he’s worried about her and abuses her mentally. The perspective of beverly being the pretty girl ben had a crush on gets switched, as her father insults her and tells her she is acting crazy. After that Al Marsh goes into the Bathroom and washes his hands, Beverly sees how his pants get stained from the blood and is terrified the blood will touch his skin.

But now we get a scene with four losers bonding, cleaning up the bathroom and going to the laundromat. As the blood is wiped away by Eddie, Ben, Stan and obviously Beverly we see how the loser can work against It.

So this was a little Digression about the first real young beverly scene. Now we will talk about Beverly herself. Beverly is iconic for her auburn red hair and freckles. Besides her dad Book Beverly also has a loving Mother that works long hours in a restaurant and even asked her indirectly if

her father abused her sexually before.

Beverly has great aim with a slingshot witch gets us to a iconic thing from the book. When the club first decides to fight It they make silver ammunition for bills slingshot because all they know is that in horror movies they always fight monsters with silver and they see It as just a monster at this point. But instead of bill or any of the boys being the one with the responsibility of shooting It, it’s beverly who manages to shoot 9 out of 10 cans in their test runs. So when all the losers fight It in the house on the neiboll street Beverlh shoots both bullets but only succeeds the first time. All the losers accept that since they knew they couldn’t have done better. Everyone in the book accepts that she was the Best for that role no matter how scared she was or if she fully succeeded, I think that every observer should think so too Beverly holds power and is great at what she does.

But now let‘s talk about the most controversial scene of the 1500+ page book because Beverly is the fundamental source of what happened. Some may know what i am about to cover but before we have to know what happens on the same day with beverly not catching a break. When beverly gets home from playing in the barrens she immediately gets physically abused by her father as he asks her questions about what shes been doing with those boys and playing in that part of town. He talks about all the things beverly didn’t want him to find about or what she’s insecure about. Smoking, hanging out with boys, not even being 12 yet and doing that, and during that he tells her how pretty she is and how much he worries about her. Beverly runs and Al chases her trough the whole city, people stare at them, she crawls under a truck to get forward and burns her back on a pipe, she is full of it’s oil and is really thirsty. Reading how much this little girl has to endure simply because of her father hurts but as she hides from him and finally leaves him behind we get confronted with another danger. Henry, Victor and Belch follow her silently but gradually Beverly feels she’s being followed and as she turns around Victor is already holding his knife. Beverly is shocked but as she tries to run away her long hair, her femininity is what Victor grabs and uses against her. Another chase of horror starts but I think that the point that Beverly definitely had a horrible day comes through. In the events of the hunt she managed to end up in the underground clubhouse with ben, in the dark with Belch sitting right on top of them on the ground. Well i’m going to summarise the following events because their not a priority for this video, right now i want to focus on what happens after and i am giving a content warning again, there will be children interacting s3xually. So these 7 kids are lost in the sewers after just massively hurting this otherworldly monster, they are dirty from the sewers, tired and really close to having an absolut mental breakdown so Beverly says she has an idea. I’m not going into the depts of what is about to happen but Beverly knew that her father thought she had intercourse with all these boys and that that was his pure nightmare. All she knows about intercourse the basics and that it connects people. So something disturbing happens, but when you have read 1400+ pages of this book there isn’t a lot left that can disturb you. Beverly undresses and has intercourse with each of the boys. I don’t think that word fits but i’ll use it for lack of a better one, it’s not s3x, an 0rgy or anything of that kind. It’s just another part of the horror of this book but this time it probably just hits to close to home for most, the scene just describes how Beverly reconnects with each one of her friends and regains power against her father. But the physical nature is something that children simply shouldn’t do, wich makes the scene to what it is, I don’t know how it could have been executed better but I also think that it’s bad and when a scene stirs up conflict like that i don’t know how bad it really is.

I think those were the most important scenes of young book Beverly and I hope everyone can feel a similar connection to her as me. I’m a woman and felt connected to all of the losers while reading the book but Beverly is different, I will explore the character further but her story is about so much that only women can experience in the way she does. She is so important for the loser club no matter her portrayal so let’s talk about young movie Beverly.

In the 2017 and 2019 movies young Beverly is portrayed by Sophia Lillis and I think that she was a great choice. But I do have some minor complaints. First off she is older in the movie where she looks about 14 years old and not 11 but that didn’t really ruin the themes of childhood and makes her smoking look more coherent with the fact that they changed the first movie from setting in the 1950s to the 1980s. I don’t like that change but the adaptation is fundamentally different anyways and this video is just about Beverly. Another minor thing is her hair being a little lighter than described and Sophia having more freckles.

Now we’ll discuss the blood scene again but this time in the 2017 movie. this time beverly is chilling in the bathtub (not bathing tho) and reading the poem over and over again as she hears voices from the sink. The voices are really similar to the book but then beverly does something she does later in the book to check if the sink is still doing what it was doing. She gets a ruler and sticks it down the drain and as she pulls it out she sees that its covered in blood but then something unknown for bookreades happens. The ruler grows tentikals for lack of a better word and they grab beverlys arm and then her whole body and try to pull her head first into the drain. Only when as shes right above the drain the fountain of blood erupts covering the whole bathroom in blood not leaving a spot that isn’t red. The bathroom is completely flooded and Al marsh burst into the door because of her screams and talks to her telling her how much he worries about her. Considering how i previously stated how this scene happens in the book every one in their right mind can see how overdramatised this is and how it’s way more gory. The movie tries it’s hardest to be a scary scary horror movie but the book simple doesn’t do that it’s more of a tragedy than a thriller or horror book. But when criticising this scene i have to talk about how great Sophias acting was even though she was only 14 when filming, she perfectly portrayed Beverly’s pure fear. There isn’t much more to add to that, the scene is simply gory.

I would love to talk about the other book scenes in covered and how they got adapted into film but i can’t do that because both got cut. But the cutting of the last one was totally necessary and obvious lol i definitely won’t complain about that. The other scene was also understandably cut simply because the movies story goes totally different than in the book but that’s not the topic of this video. I would have covered the scenes uniquely about beverly in the movie now but the only thing comparing to the ones from the book is beverly seeing the dead lights. To that i will only say that i didn’t get it, i watched both movies and simply didn’t understand what they were trying to do with that it simply didn’t make sense and had no connection to the dead lights from the book so i wont cover that monstrosity. But I will cover one more scene from the movie and that will be the namesake of this video. It starts with her father Al Marsh just being weird to her like know her and obsessing over her still being “his little girl” while stroking and touching her hair. At this point i’d like to mention that the casting of Al is great but let’s continue in the scene. Beverly stands at her sink woth scissors, crying and sobbing. She starts gradually cutting her hair and insulting herself and giving herself the blame for how her father treats her. And as the strands of hair go down the sink a bob happens that never happened.

Now we are getting into the depts of why i choose this scene to represent this whole video. So let’s start with why I think they made this change for the movie wich is first of the change in timeline because maybe book beverly would have done this if she lived in the 80s as a child but she simply didn’t. Also i think it was because they tried to make Beverly a strong feminist character who kinda rejects femininity and only hangs out with boys because they’re funnier or more relatable. But that couldn’t be further from how Beverly is actually like, in the book she styles her hair in braids and wears dresses, of course she also does boyish things but she fundamentally likes being a girl. Sh mainly only hangs out with the other losers wich are boys because they know they belong together to fight It and because girls don’t like her because of her looks and poor upbringing. Beverly can be a strong character while also swinging her hair around, the bob ruined that. But let’s continue with why i think they did that and i think a reason for it was limited time. You can’t make a ten hour movie but you can make a 1500+ page book. Beverly’s character is complex and her rejecting her fathers doing and fighting like she wants to would have been hard to bring across in a movie especially with an audience that wants to see a horror movie and be scared and can’t bring themselves to read a long ass book.

But eneugh about the hair Beverlys character survived the adaptation process as much as she could considering all the changes that were made. But she is simply different maybe i shouldn’t even made this video as the could be interpreted as incomparable but here we are. Thanks for listening, comment what you think.

sorry for typos and language mistakes english isn’t my first language and i read the book in my language.

#it book #beverly marsh #it fandom #it movie

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blanketforcas · 5 months

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(re: OFMD cancelled) I literally have nothing to watch (or even look forward to watching) now. :( I might have to.. go outside. Bleugh.

outside?? don't be daft, there's still so much to watch and read!

in all seriousness pls do go outside ofc but also if you haven't seen it yet, i recommend watching fellow travelers and one night (but heed the content warnings)

other recs you didn't ask for but i absolutely adore:

my mad fat diary

derry girls

in the flesh

pushing daisies

as for things to look forward to this year, there's a new season of Queer Eye coming very soon (january 24th!!), there's doctor who with the one and only ncuti gatwa, there's wwdits, heartstopper and young royals if that's your cup of tea! (also yellowjackets which i've heard is really good but i still haven't watched it cause scary) and probably lots of cool series and films i'm forgetting/haven't heard of

#just some imdb links cause i'm sure you'll figure out how to watch them

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wutheringmights · 1 year

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May I ask what genres you like in media? And are there any books/movies/manga etc. you'd recommend?

I like all kinds of genres, but I typically am drawn to stories that are character driven and some realm of fantastical, whether it be fantasy or mythology.

The only things I avoid are mystery novels (the bad ones are really bad) and horror movies (I'm a scardy cat). I also don't listen to many podcasts or audio dramas.

It's hard to recommend things to others without knowing their tastes. I'll take a wild guess that you're here for my writing, so I'll try to recommend a few things based on what I think you might enjoy based on that alone.

*please view content warnings before exploring any of the below*

Manga/Anime/Manhwa

Berserk

Vinland Saga

Full Metal Alchemist: Brotherhood

Code Geass: Lelouch of the Rebellion

Mob Psycho 100

Inuyasha

Lady Devil

Marriage of Convenience

TV/Movies

Derry Girls

Ben Hurr

Little Women (2019)

The Great Escape

The Pacific

1917

The Prince of Egypt

Books

The Poppy War by RF Kuang

Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson

Frakenstein by Mary Shelley

All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque

The Fifth Season by NK Jemisen

Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov

Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens

Kindred by Octavia Butler

The Tortall Series by Tamora Pierce (special shout out to the Song of the Lioness and the Protector of the Small)

The Odyssey by Homer (trans. Emily Wilson)

Beowulf by ????

#I never said my taste in shit is good but it is what it is #also i am not joking about making sure you check content warnings like look at any of these at your own risk #me rambling #weirdly enough no virginia woolf novels made the cut despite the fact that i was in a seminar class about her back when i first started ctb #and is definitely the source of my idea for having the dual plotlines/past-present structure for the narrative #ask #anonymous

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justawhimm · 1 year

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you’re real

fandom: cyb//erp//unk 2077 summary: it's the first time he's really been alone with derry since she's been born. being the extrovert he is, though, he's losing his mind a little with the lack of people around to talk to. at least derry's a pretty good listener. this series explores the births of his four children and some moments of his parenting style toward each of them.

chapters: 2/8

content warnings: mention of alcohol use, mention of initial resentment toward an unborn children, mention familial issues

notes: Just a reminder that Derry isn't my creation! She's from the Cyb/erpu/nk TTRPG sourcebook known as Cyb//erGen//erat//ions, but has since been deemed noncanon. But! I liked the idea of her, so I'm writing about her.

Current Year: Early 2007 Kerry's Age: 19

cross posted on ao3

Being forced into a vacation wasn't necessarily how he was expecting the end of the tour to look like. … Ok, that sounded stupid as soon as he thought it out completely. Of course he would've had to have a break, regardless of whether he was still pregnant by the end of tour or not. Kinda inevitable and all of that. The part Kerry really hated and didn't expect to be an issue was the fact that he had to miss Nancy's wedding because he was fresh off giving birth and the idea of taking the baby on a plane sounded like a special kind of torture.

Nancy assured him it was fine. There wasn't much they could do about it. She insisted someone would record the ceremony, so he'd be able to watch it all with the rest of the band once everyone got back.

So, that left him. Alone. With his new daughter.

Derry Eur/ody/ne's birth had been all over the screamsheets for a while, unsurprisingly. What did surprise him was the fact that he'd actually decided to keep her. How? Well… fuck, he still wasn't totally sure yet. Just about a month postpartum, he was still struggling to figure out the details. There was a lot to think about. But honestly, he couldn't stand the idea of giving her to anyone else anymore. She was his. His tiny, insufferable virus.

That sentiment had changed a lot over the weeks, though. He thought he was going to hate her from the moment he set eyes on her, but that was far from the truth of the matter. No, no… fuck, it really wasn't difficult to realize within just a few hours that he adored her. And much to the dismay of Johnny, he actually liked her name, too.

What was so bad about it, after all? Sure, it was unconventional, but he thought it fit her pretty damn well. If she hated it, then whatever. She could change it when she got older. He didn't give a fuck. It was her life.

Back to the matter at hand.

For the first time since the day she was born, Kerry was alone with his daughter.

His bandmates and best friends were gone, off at the wedding. Probably getting drunk. God, he wished that was him. Kerry didn't really have contact with his parents anymore. Yeah, that was… mostly on him (Long story. He wouldn't dwell on it in his mind for long). That left him without anyone to rely on but himself.

It wasn't really like he was swimming in eddies, either. So hiring a nanny or something just wasn't an option. Hell, even getting any help from Johnny when he was home was almost impossible to attain. His kid, his problem, apparently. Guess he got that, yeah, but fuck. He would've hoped that maybe Johnny would have a single compassionate bone in his whole damn body. Sometimes that was just asking way too much out of him.

Derry's little gurgles pulled Kerry out from letting his mind wander. Brown eyes trailed down to look at the baby girl on his chest, smiling at her slightly. That was one thing that kept him from getting too pissy with the idea of being a dad: the fact that she was so fuckin' cute.

"You sure sound like you're havin' a hell of a time," He remarked, pecking the top of her head. "Bet you're about as bored as I am, lil' Derry-Berry. All you've got ta do is eat, sleep, and shit. Can't even play with the toys your Aunt Denny got ya yet. Poor baby. Just… stuck with your dear ol' dad." Kerry sighed. He was beginning to feel ridiculous, talking to her like this. What was the point? Or maybe he was just so lonely and bored that he didn't give much of a shit.

"Ain't it pathetic, kid?" Kerry adjusted how he sat, his hold on her. He held her in a way where she was practically sitting at the end of his torso, his hands keeping her up and his fingers supporting her neck and head. It was hard not to smile at her, seeing her peer at him with those big eyes. "Dad's just… talkin' to you, but you don't really talk back. And I never really know what the fuck I'm doin'. Not like that's too much of a surprise, though. Don't think I ever know what I'm doin' in life. Your lolo and lola would probably already hate how I'm raisin' you, but… I'm doing my best."

Derry blinked at him, making a little "o" briefly with her mouth. She was so fuckin' cute, Kerry could hardly stand it. Bringing her closer, he'd press his lips to her cheek to make it squish against her face slightly. With that, he'd adjust how he held her again. He would let her lie back down in his arms, sitting himself up properly so he could look down at her.

"I don't think I'll do too bad… Doubt I'd be the worst dad in the world. Not by a long shot. I don't know who you're gonna be yet, but hopefully I'll instill a little bit of patience in that cute baby face of yours! 'Cause trust me, you'll need it when it comes to me. I'll get it eventually. You just might need to sit my ass down and tell me how it is sometimes. Yeah. Yeah… Just have some faith in me, Derry. I know I was a piece of shit while you were doing all your growing shit, but I wanna do right by you. I might still act like an asshole sometimes, but I promise I love you."

But that wasn't enough, and Kerry knew that. As much as he knew his parents loved him, they didn't give a shit about what he wanted. It was out of caring, out of love, but it'd caused more damage than anything else. Kerry never wanted that with Derry.

"I wanna listen to you. I want you to love me, too."

#mayternity #implied mpreg #implied tmpreg #emmi writes

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fightingdragonswithwho · 2 years

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ABOUT ME:

- Ana, 29 years old. she/her. bisexual. portuguese. multifandom blog.

- twitter // spotify

- i work in subtitling and i might ramble about whetever i'm working on at the time

- random things i love and that you might see on this blog: a league of their own, criminal minds, daisy jones and the six, taylor swift, stranger things, succession, severance, fleabag, the bear, shameless us, euphoria, gilmore girls, phoebe bridgers, derry girls, sally rooney, taylor jenkins reid, hacks, random musicals, little women, the social network, literally any coming of age movie ever made.

TAGS I USE:

- not cm: any post not cm related since this started as a criminal minds blog <3

- ana! talks taylor (taylor swift content)

- ana! replies - asks/ mutuals posts <3

- ana! shut up/ personal: for any personal stuff of general ramblings

- ana! go to sleep: self explanitory

- lovely people - mutuals tag

- i tag content warnings with either 'tw:' or 'cw’, but please feel free to let me know if i ever miss anything! :)

- my posts are mostly SFW, but i do reblog fics with NSFW content - those will always be tagged accordingly (either not sfw, smut or +18.)

and if you've read this far, welcome to my blog and i'm wishing you a lovely day <3

#housekeeping #look at me organizing myself #ill have to change my age in like a week and i'll 100% forget so this is my reminder

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jameszmaguire · 6 months

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hi! its your gifmaking secret santa here. i wanted to ask you if there were shows, blorbos, celebs or similar who you love who perhaps dont have a lot of content on tumblr? and also somehow youve never giffed for whatever reason? i am here to grant your gifmaking wishes. <3

hello!! you make yourself sound like a lovely gifmaking fairy godmother/father/person, it's nice to meet you :D

There is this movie that struck an immense chord with me when I watched it and that I hold very dear to my heart that I have not published gifs of. It's the 2016 movie Swiss Army Man, the first movie by the guys who made Everything Everywhere All At Once (which I also love deeply, but it is not under-giffed, in my opinion). Those two movies are in dialogue with each other and I love love LOVE them both, but Swiss Army Man honestly deserves to be appreciated more. I will warn you however that it's definitely not everyone's cup of tea (my beloved mutual @cate-dunlap can attest to that, it got a resounding 'what the fuck did I just watch'-reaction out of her, love you Michelle), so I totally understand not wanting to gif it.

The character that's been on my list to gif for a good two years and I still haven't gotten around to is Saira from the show We Are Lady Parts. Even if you don't end up giffing her, I would like to warmly recommend the show, it's incredible and funny and heart-warming and also just six episodes currently. It's in the same vein as Derry Girls, which is also a personal favourite of mine, but it follows five Muslim women in a punk band, and it's just super fun. Another character that I should start giffing is Joy Wang from the previously mentioned Everything Everywhere All At Once, love her.

Other eternal flames of media I love: - Sherlock and Joan from the show Elementary - the characters of Lupe García, Jo De Luca, Max Chapman, Esti Gonzalez, Jess McCready and Clance Morgan from the show A League of Their Own - the miniseries Why Didn't They Ask Evans?

Those are the ones I can think of in the 'I should gif this more'-category, I feel like I will click post on this and immediately remember ten other shows and movies I love. But I hope this answers your ask, feel free to come back and ask follow-up questions :) real life is currently kicking my ass though, so I might take a moment to reply!

#Replies #Anonymous #i saw this ask and immediately forgot anything and everything i've ever liked #i'm also currently back in my musical theatre phase but i'm not putting that on you dear anon

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ambrossart · 8 months

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PAPER MEN

—CHAPTER 30

PAIRINGS: Henry Bowers x Tozier!Sister; Patrick Hockstetter x Tozier!Sister WARNINGS: violence, profanity, sexual content, bullying, sexual assault, physical abuse, emotional abuse, all kinds of abuse, trauma, mental illness, implied/referenced self-harm, child death, angst, lots of angst, recreational drug use, underage drinking, underage sex, love triangles, toxic relationships, slow burn, slow build

WORD COUNT: 5,446

MASTERPOST

MASTERLIST

Evelyn couldn’t remember the last time her mother picked her up from school.

This dawned on her while she was sitting outside on the wooden bench, her overstuffed backpack beside her and tipped onto its side, her hands bundled snugly inside the sleeves of her much-too-big coat. Sitting like this, Evelyn couldn’t help but feel like a little kid again. Goofing around on the playground after school. Dirt under her nails. Grass stains on her knees. Her coat and backpack unneeded, discarded in a pile off to the side. Back then, time was an equally unnecessary burden, and so it too was cast aside and forgotten. Free of it, Evelyn would run and jump and laugh and play… until there was no one left to play with, until Evelyn waved her last goodbye, looked around the empty playground, and realized she was all alone. Then she would pick up her coat and backpack, sit down on the bench, and wait patiently for her mother to arrive. She would have happily waited forever.

Maggie Tozier’s lateness rarely went unnoticed by the Derry Elementary School faculty and staff. At some point, Evelyn’s teacher would come out, stoop down beside her, and say, “Honey, is someone coming to pick you up?”

“Yeah,” Evelyn would answer placidly, “she’s just running late.”

“Your mommy’s late a lot, isn’t she?”

“No… only sometimes.”

And her teacher would smile that sad, pitying smile and think, She really is a sweet kid. It’s a shame she has such a scatterbrain for a mother.

Of course, Maggie Tozier would arrive eventually—in her usual chaotic fashion. They’d see her old, beat-up station wagon chugging down Jackson Street. See it swerve erratically and screech to a stop in front of the curb. Then Maggie would scramble out of the driver’s seat—sometimes dressed in her nursing scrubs, sometimes dressed in old house clothes splattered with baby food—and come sprinting across the lawn with embarrassed, apologetic urgency.

“Sorry, I’m late,” Maggie would always say. By then, Evelyn would be buckled safely in her booster seat and singing merrily along to the radio, unaware of the adult conversation happening outside. “I got off work and laid down for a quick nap and—I dunno, I must’ve slept through my alarm or something. I’m really sorry, I promise it won’t happen again.”

“It already has happened again, Maggie. This is the third time this week.”

“Right,” Maggie would answer, swallowing the lump in her throat. Then she would look back at her young daughter, see her wave and wave back, feel that old, familiar sting of shame, and revert back to her ten-year-old self. A hopeless little girl getting scolded by her teacher. Now go stand outside in the hall, Maggie, and think hard about what you’ve done. And Maggie Tozier, an overworked mother of two lovely, energetic children, would bend her head, look down at her loafers… no, sneakers; Maggie hadn’t worn loafers since grade school… and say in a small voice, “Look, I’m doing my best here.”

“I know you are, Maggie, but maybe it’s time to get some help. You seem to have a lot on your plate right now. It’d be a shame for your children to suffer because of it.”

“Right… Yeah, okay.”

Humiliated, Maggie would slink back to her car, slump into her seat, and drive home while listening to her daughter describe every delightful detail of her day. Evelyn used to look back on these car rides fondly, but now… for some reason now… all she could see was her mother’s teary-eyed expression in the rearview mirror. She must have felt like such a failure when Evelyn, at only six years old, told her she no longer wanted rides to school.

Maggie confronted her about it one afternoon, while Evelyn was sitting at the kitchen table and drawing with her crayons. Maggie sat down across from her and said, “Sweetie, why do you wanna walk to school?”

“Because…”

“Is it because Mommy’s late all the time? Does it make you feel sad to see all your friends getting picked up and you have to wait?”

“No… I don’t mind waiting.��

“Well, then why do you wanna walk to school?”

Evelyn put down her green crayon and gave her mother a very grown-up look that said, Oh Mother, isn’t it obvious? “Because Victor walks to school.”

Maggie’s eyes lit up with sudden awareness. “Oh, Victor walks to school… You wanna walk with Victor.” Of course it was that simple, and now Maggie felt silly for thinking otherwise. This wasn’t a case of bad parenting (the jury was still out on that charge). This was a case of puppy love—bright-eyed, bushy-tailed puppy love—and her six-year-old daughter had it bad. Maggie laid her cheek on her palm and smiled at her lovestruck child. “Victor’s a very nice boy, huh?”

“Yeah,” Evelyn said, utterly smitten, “and he’s real smart, too. He knows everything.”

“Everything, huh?”

“Well… not everything, but he knows a lot.”

“Is that a picture of you two?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you smiling and holding hands?”

“Yeah…” Evelyn pressed her tiny hands to her rosy cheeks and began to giggle at seemingly nothing at all. Then she picked up her green crayon and finished coloring the grass at the bottom of the paper. “I’m gonna give this to him tomorrow.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll love that,” Maggie said, and promptly bit her tongue. No, Victor Criss would not be glad to receive that drawing, just like he wasn’t glad to receive any of the other drawings her daughter had given him, but Evelyn didn’t need to hear that. “Sweetie, why does Victor wanna walk to school? Did he tell you?”

“Yeah… He said he doesn’t like riding with his mom anymore. He said all her talking makes his head hurt real bad.”

Maggie winced, heartbroken for her friend. Oh, poor Tabby. I bet she’s crying her eyes out right now.

Her assumption wasn’t wrong. Tabitha Criss was, indeed, crying her eyes out. In fact, she had been inconsolable for the better part of the afternoon—ever since those gut-wrenching words came out of her darling son’s mouth.

You talk too much, Mom. It’s annoying.

“That’s it,” Tabitha declared to her husband in his study, “my son officially hates me!”

Her husband replied in a calm, clinical voice: “He doesn’t hate you, Tabby.”

David Criss was sitting behind his desk, his glasses perched neatly upon the bridge of his nose, head bent studiously over a small stone meteorite fragment he held in his gloved hand. David was performing his monthly inspection, see, and that was serious business—far more serious than whatever problem his wife had recently dreamt up. David had a moderately impressive collection of iron meteorites, chondrites, achondrites, and pallasites. The one in his hand was likely an ordinary chondrite, but David had yet to get it professionally evaluated. Next week, perhaps. The rest were housed in the wooden display cabinet behind him, each sample carefully backlit and labeled according to its classification. Nobody was allowed to open that cabinet… although David suspected somebody had. There were little fingerprints all over the outside of the glass.

“No, I think he does,” Tabitha was saying now. “In fact, I’m sure he does. All I did was ask about his day, David, and do you know what he said to me? He said, ‘Mom, I’m really not in the mood to talk to you right now.’ It was like a knife to my heart! My own son doesn’t wanna talk to me. He never wants to talk to me. He thinks I’m annoying. My son—my pride and joy—thinks I’m annoying, and now he doesn’t even want me driving him to school anymore.”

“So?” David said. “It’s perfectly natural for children to desire independence.” There was, however, nothing natural about this discoloration. Was it rusting already? No, impossible. David held the fragment under his desk light to get a better look.

“He’s six, David. Six-year-old boys are supposed to want their mothers.” Tabitha threw up her hands helplessly, wishing she knew how to make her husband understand. David, meanwhile, reached across his desk for a Q-tip. “You know, I thought I had a few more years before he wanted nothing to do with me, but no… he came out of the womb preseasoned with hatred like a Thanksgiving turkey.”

“Turkey?” David repeated with baffling interest. He craned over his shoulder and glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s getting late. When are we having dinner?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t even started it yet.”

“But it’s almost six-thirty.”

“Yes, I know what time it is.”

“We always eat at six-thirty.”

“Well, tonight we’ll be eating a little later,” Tabitha said, exasperated. “Can you listen, please? This is important.”

Frowning, David temporarily set his meteorite fragment aside. “So, what, you’re not letting him walk to school now?”

“No, I will.” As if she had any other choice. “But I’m not letting him walk alone. Victor’s way too young for that.” The elementary school was only three blocks away from the house, but still… a lot could happen to him in those three blocks. He could get hit by a car while crossing the street or worse, kidnapped and killed. “I was talking to Maggie earlier today. She said Evelyn wants to walk to school now too, so…”

David sighed. “Tabby, don’t.”

“What?”

“Stop forcing that girl onto our son.”

“That girl? What’s wrong with Evelyn?”

“Nothing’s wrong with her. I’m sure she’s a perfectly normal child.” And like all perfectly normal children, Evelyn Tozier was—frankly—incredibly annoying. Always showing up at the house unannounced. Harassing their son. Vandalizing their driveway with ghastly chalk drawings of rainbows, smiley faces, flowers, and unicorns. David stepped outside one morning and there was Evelyn, doodling away under the bright summer sun. Any requests? she said with a proud smile. David, needing to get to his car, answered: Yes, kindly move. “I just don’t think it’s right to force our son to socialize with someone he doesn’t like.”

“Well that’s life, David. Sometimes you have to get along with people you don’t like.” Under her breath, she said, “Just like I’m not particularly fond of you right now.”

David took out a small cloth and began cleaning his glasses. “You’re being emotional.”

“And you’re being hypercritical of a six-year-old.”

“She broke into my study.”

“What?”

“She broke into my study. Her fingerprints are all over the place.”

“Oh, she did not break in, David. For God’s sake, listen to yourself. The door was unlocked. You, in all your wisdom, left it unlocked. She wandered in because she was curious, because she wanted to see all the sparkly rocks behind the glass.”

“You let her in,” David said begrudgingly. “You always let her in. One of these days she’s gonna break something.”

Oh, I hope she does, Tabitha wanted to say, but she held her tongue. There was no point in arguing with her husband. David’s opinion was like concrete. Once it was set, there was no changing it. “I’m gonna go make dinner.”

“Good,” David said. “It’s already six thirty-five.”

“I know what time it is,” Tabitha snapped and walked out, slamming the door.

You’re being too emotional, Tabby. Her husband might not have said it, but she knew that’s what he was thinking. She didn’t care. She went upstairs to her son’s room, knocked on the door, and opened it once he answered. “Hey…”

To her private terror, Victor was lying on the floor with a children’s book about asteroids, comets, and meteors. Did David give that to him? Or did Victor seek it out all on his own? The two were so dreadfully similar: quiet, intelligent, candid in a way that was sometimes charming, sometimes cruel. It made her worry for her son’s future. She didn’t want him to end up like David: absorbed in his work, in his hobbies, apathetic to his wife’s feelings, unaware of her growing resentment toward him. Tabitha didn’t want that life for her son... or for the poor girl who tried to love him.

“Okay, you win,” she said. “You can walk to school.”

Victor nodded once, satisfied, then returned to his book.

“But,” Tabitha went on, trying to reclaim his attention. It didn’t come easily, though; things with Victor rarely did. “I’m not gonna let you walk by yourself, okay? You’re still a little too young for that. So Evelyn’s gonna walk to school with you. All right?”

Victor’s back stiffened with precognizant dread. “I changed my mind. I wanna ride with you.”

“Ha, nice try,” Tabitha said. “You made your bed and now you get to lie in it. If you wanna be a big boy and walk to school, that’s fine with me, but there are rules, okay?” Victor rolled his eyes and turned away from her. Tabitha’s jaw dropped. “Hey, excuse me, I’m still talking. Don’t go back to reading your book, Victor. That’s very, very rude.” Victor huffed and looked directly at her, or tried to anyway. That was another thing that didn’t come easily with him. “I want you to walk to school with Evelyn, okay? Straight to school and straight home. I want you to stay on the sidewalk, look both ways before crossing the street, and hold hands when you do.”

“What?” Victor cried, grimacing. “But she’s gonna make it weird.”

“What do you mean she’s gonna make it weird?”

“She’s gonna smile at me all funny. It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Well, sweetie, sometimes we have to do things that make us a little uncomfortable. It’s all part of growing up. And who knows,” Tabitha said as she went out, “one day you might actually want her smiling at you.”

Victor scowled, doubtful. “No, I won’t.”

For Evelyn, those were the happiest years. Sunny day followed sunny day, and she lived with a kaleidoscope of butterflies constantly flittering in her stomach. Victor didn’t like it nearly so well (for the first year, his mother had to drag him down the street and then give him a little nudge to get him going), but that was okay. Evelyn didn’t mind that he never talked to her or that he sometimes walked so fast she had to run to keep up. None of that mattered. The sky was blue, the sun was shining, and Evelyn was walking to school with Victor Criss, who was so tall and smart. In class, he never raised his hand, but he often mumbled the answers under his breath. Evelyn was the only one who saw him doing it. It was like finding buried treasure. A precious secret that only she knew. That day, the first butterfly hatched and took wing. Evelyn knew instantly that she was in love.

But that was a long time ago. Victor was a different person back then, and so was she.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Evelyn wasn’t supposed to be sitting on this bench, in this stolen coat, wiping her tears away. No, she was supposed to be at the library with Jimmy and helping him come up with ideas for his next big anti-bullying campaign. That’s where she was supposed to be—by his side, supporting him. Eventually, Vic would wander in, act like he didn’t want to be there, but hang out at the table anyway: doing his homework, criticizing all of Evelyn’s suggestions, stealing little glimpses of her face while she wrote in her notebook. Only Jimmy would catch him doing it. He’d shoot his best friend a playful, knowing smile and think, How long are you gonna keep this up, Vic? Another year? Two? She’s not gonna wait forever. Then they would all go home together, Jimmy in front and Vic a few steps behind, yelling for Evelyn to hurry up and quit lollygagging. You guys walk too fast… No, you just walk too slow. They’d walk together, laugh together, and right before they crossed the street Vic would immediately, instinctively, reach for Evelyn’s hand.

That’s how it was supposed to be, but that’s not how it was. After that summer in ’85, everything changed. Now Vic was in detention, Jimmy was at another school, and Evelyn was sitting on the bench with a ripped skirt and a stolen coat, waiting for her mom to pick her up.

I wish you were still here, Evelyn thought, grief-stricken. I know you’re not dead, Jimmy, but sometimes it feels like you are… I can’t do this without you. I know you said I could, but I can’t. My ideas aren’t good enough. I’m not good enough. Everyone thinks I’m annoying and they’re right! The only way I can win an election is if someone hands it to me. You handed it to me. Christie Gibson handed it to me. You gave me some really big shoes to fill, Jimmy, and so far I’m not doing a very good job.

Evelyn put her hands over her face, stifling the sound of her sobs.

I keep getting distracted by stupid things… Patrick… Henry… We used to stand up against people like them, and now… now I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.

She was sitting on a bench, in a stolen coat.

I don’t even know whose this is, Evelyn thought suddenly, mortified. I just took some poor kid’s coat without even hesitating. What’s wrong with me? What if this is a precious family heirloom, a grand coat passed down from generation to generation, and I just singlehandedly killed the line of succession? She couldn’t have that on her conscience. Evelyn wasn’t a coat thief. She was just a girl without options, desperate to get home with her dignity intact—what little remained of it, anyway.

Yes, Evelyn would return the coat

(the coat)

(she would focus on the coat)

(and memories of Martin)

(Are you open for business now?)

(of the cut on her lip, the tear in her skirt)

(of Henry’s terrible black eyes)

(She’s not worth it)

(would slip further and further away)

(away)

(she pushed them far away)

just as soon as she figured out whose it was. Maybe the owner had written their initials on the tag. People still did that, right? Evelyn’s mother used to do that to her coats when she was in elementary school. Maybe someone had done that to this coat, too. Yeah, maybe. Maybe. But likely not. High school students didn’t need to write their initials on their coats (Evelyn still did, of course, out of habit). They didn’t throw them into a giant pile on the playground, forget them, then accidentally take home the wrong one. High school students loved their coats. They lived for their coats. They were both functional and fashionable. Bomber jackets. Ski jackets. Triple F.A.T. Goose jackets. A few of the senior boys had Members Only jackets. In the fall, they would lean against their cars with their hands in their… pockets.

Remembering this, Evelyn curiously slid her hands into the front pockets of her stolen coat. In the left pocket, she found some loose, sticky change, a nearly empty tube of shimmering pink lip gloss (Steph Price once had a tube of this exact shade, Evelyn remembered; she was constantly slathering it on her lips during class), a ticket stub to some obscure horror movie, gum wrappers, a broken pencil, a few paperclips bent into indefinable shapes, and—most curious of all—a tiny piece of translucent plastic that was faceted on one end like a diamond.

What is this? Evelyn wondered, lifting it into the light to examine it. It almost looked like a piece of jewelry. An earring, perhaps. A tiny earring for a tiny ear.

Her other hand, meanwhile, dove deeper into the right pocket and closed around something cold, hard, and smooth. Metal. A lighter. A brushed chrome Zippo lighter.

Evelyn’s eyes widened, a gasp rose in her chest, and her whole body straightened with surprise. Her right grip tightened. Her left grip loosened. She pulled the lighter out of her pocket and held it in the middle of her palm. It shimmered hypnotically in the sunlight, rendering all her other findings worthless. The strange piece of plastic fell, forgotten, bounced off Evelyn’s knee and tumbled into the grass. She would never think of it again.

This isn’t a stolen coat, she realized. This is Patrick’s coat. Patrick gave me his coat.

And now Evelyn was thinking back to the morning Patrick returned from suspension. She dropped the clipboard and he picked it up for her. Why did he do that? Why did he follow her to her locker after class and ask with such genuine curiosity, Where have I seen you? Why did he return the shirts Henry had stolen? Why did he give Evelyn that postcard that she cherished so much?

(And why did I frame it?)

Why did he let her into his house and introduce her to his mother? Patrick didn’t want her there, but he let her in anyway. Why? Why did he break into the Denbrough house while she was babysitting? Why did he taunt her, terrorize her, then purposefully push his hand into the knife?

(He did. I know he did.)

Why did Patrick stare at her face and call her colorful? Of all the adjectives in the English language, he chose that word specifically. Why? Why?

Confounded, Evelyn whipped the lighter open, flicked the wheel, and sparked a flame.

Why did you give me your coat, Patrick? Do you even know?

Sighing, Evelyn flipped the lid closed and saw her mother’s car coming down Pasture Road. This wasn’t the beat-up station wagon from Evelyn’s childhood. No, her mother had sold that car back in ’86 and bought herself a Plymouth Voyager, a three-door minivan big enough to fit the entire family. They ran errands in that van. Went on family road trips in that van. Two weeks ago, Maggie had driven Evelyn to her first high school party in that van. It ended up being a horrible night in the end, but that moment was perfect. They sat parked in front of Liz Mueller’s house, awestruck by its grandness, while Evelyn's stomach flipped and fluttered with excitement. Her mother had embarrassed her with a very crude lecture about boys and unprotected sex. What? I’m a nurse, not a nun. It began with Evelyn cringing and ended with her laughing, as most talks with her mother did.

Yes, it had been a wonderful night. Evelyn felt so grown up.

Now she felt guilty. She didn’t want this moment to overshadow all those amazing memories. She didn’t want this to be the one moment her mother remembered forever. Evelyn wanted her mother to remember her arguing with Richie in the backseat. Carrying in armfuls of plaques and trophies from the school awards banquet. Spilling her milkshake. Dropping her fries. Freaking out because there was a bee in the backseat. Stop swatting at it, Richie, you’re just gonna make it mad! Falling asleep on the way home from the amusement park, her brother’s head resting on her shoulder. Sitting in front of Liz Mueller’s house, nervous, smiling, laughing, getting out of the car and waving goodbye from the top of the driveway. Those were the memories Evelyn wanted her mother to hold on to. Not this. Not this.

Sniffling, Evelyn dried her eyes on the sleeve of Patrick’s coat and stood up from the bench. As soon as she turned to leave, an ominous feeling swept over her, as if carried by the wind. Evelyn looked back at the school and thought: The next time I walk through those doors, everything’s gonna be different, isn’t it? Somehow, she just knew that to be true.

Steeling herself, Evelyn put the school behind her, pulled her backpack over her right shoulder, and walked on.

“Well, that’s certainly a look,” Maggie Tozier said, observing her daughter’s choice of outerwear with a bemused smile. “Where did you get that…?”

Without saying a word, Evelyn climbed into the passenger seat and closed the door. She burst into hysterical tears while trying to buckle her seat belt.

The next three minutes passed in a tumultuous blur of panicked shrieks and anguished sobs. Evelyn cowering in the passenger seat, shoulders trembling, chest heaving, fingers splayed across her face. The seat belt, partially retracted, clinging to her right shoulder. Maggie’s distressed voice piercing through the air: “What happened?” Evelyn’s response, strangled and desperate: “Just go! Please, Mom, please, just go!” The school doors opening and closing. Victor Criss emerging with Belch Huggins, stopping on the steps, spotting Maggie’s van, leaning forward and squinting fiercely in the sunlight. Evelyn sinking into her seat and shrinking against the door. “Please, Mom, please, I just wanna go home!” Maggie nodding frantically, not understanding, saying, “Okay, okay, we’ll go, we’ll go!” Slamming her foot on the gas pedal. Turning the wheel. Taking off and gunning down Pasture Road. The outside world flying by, golden and serene. Maggie gripping the steering wheel tightly. Her heart pounding. Head spinning with questions. Evelyn beside her, collapsing into herself, into that coat. Where did she get that coat? Maggie glancing at her, back at the road, running through a stop sign, cursing under her breath, and saying, “Evelyn? Evelyn, you need to talk to me, sweetie. I don’t know what’s going on.”

And finally, she told her; with tears streaming down her face, she told her.

And all Maggie could think about was Cheryl Lamonica—fourteen and pregnant—shaking and screaming in her mother’s arms.

Please, don’t tell Daddy! Please, Momma, please don’t tell Daddy!

Now the van was parked on the shoulder of Center Street. Maggie, who had been paralyzed with grief, reached across the seat and pulled her daughter into her arms, holding her close to her breast while she rocked her gently and soothed her with nonsensical words of comfort, something Maggie never had to do before, not even when Evelyn was a baby.

She was always such a happy child, never crying, never fussing. Maggie and Went thought they were the luckiest parents in the world. Perhaps this is the universe’s cruel way of balancing the scales. Maggie thought this and held her daughter even tighter, stroking the top of her head while she continued to weep savagely against her chest. Maggie’s own tears fell silently and dried on her face. She didn’t know what to do. She never thought this would happen, not to her daughter, not to her family, not to her.

“He ripped my dress, Mom!” Evelyn cried suddenly, her voice muffled by Maggie’s cable knit sweater. “Mrs. Criss’s dress—her beautiful dress—Martin ripped, he ripped it—he ruined it! How am I supposed to return it to her now?”

Maggie’s chest ached at those words. “Sweetie,” she said, pulling away and looking at her, “I don’t think Tabby’s gonna care about her dress.”

Evelyn nodded weakly, sniffling. Maggie cradled her face and dried some of the wetness from her cheeks.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah…” Evelyn answered huskily, while a single tear clung stubbornly to her bottom lashes. She blinked it away. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

She settled back into her seat and stared despondently out the window, her eyes glazed and distant. They were parked beside the public library. From where Evelyn was sitting, she could see the slab of red brick where Henry Bowers had pushed her against the wall and pressed his lips against hers. The memory used to leave her breathless. Now it made her want to cry.

Maggie took the wheel again, her hands clammy and tense. “Okay, Evelyn,” she began uneasily while her eyes darted from street sign to street sign, “where am I going, sweetie? Do we need to go to the police station? To the… hospital? Tell me where you want me to go, honey.”

“I just wanna go home,” Evelyn told her. “Is that okay?”

Maggie’s heart clenched painfully. “Of course,” she said. “Of course that’s okay. We’ll go wherever you want.”

Evelyn smiled—a sad, grateful smile. Then she sat back, burrowed herself deep inside that strange black coat,

(Where did she get that coat?)

and went back to staring out the window.

Maggie watched her daughter for a moment and felt her heart swell with so much love she thought it might burst. Went and I got lucky. God knows we did.

She started the car.

Halfway down Main Street, Evelyn turned toward her mother and asked in a soft, childlike voice, “Are you disappointed with me?”

Maggie’s heart shattered completely. “What?” she said. “Why would I be disappointed with you?”

“Because I am,” Evelyn blurted out and immediately burst into tears again.

Once more, Maggie eased off the gas pedal and prepared to pull over, but it wasn’t necessary this time. Evelyn stopped crying all on her own.

Hugging herself, she said in a low voice: “I always thought I’d be stronger, you know? I told myself I’d be stronger, but…”

The thought of walking into that police station, of walking up to the desk and seeing him there. Having to sit in that chair while he sits across from her, his arms folded over his chest, his cold eyes bearing down on her. Crumbling beneath those eyes. Seeing them slowly darken from bright blue—the same bright blue as Henry’s—to such a terrible, hateful black. Having to relieve everything. Tell him everything. While he glares at her, at her torn yellow skirt, and thinks to himself: She was asking for it, wearing a skimpy little skirt like that. Girl should be glad she wasn’t raped.

(Lucky you. Right?)

No, Evelyn couldn’t do that. She would have rather died than do that.

Besides, nothing would come of it anyway. Evelyn learned that lesson a long time ago… when she dared to tell her teacher about a bruise she’d discovered on her classmate’s neck.

“Henry was there,” she rasped. It pained her to say it, but she did.

At once, Maggie looked at her. All the color had drained from her face. “What?”

“He was there, Mom. He was there and he didn’t do anything.”

Saying these words out loud made Evelyn’s heart throb with unbearable pain, but she didn’t cry; somehow, she didn’t cry. Maybe she had finally run out of tears for him.

“You know he’s done a lot of messed up things to me over the years, but… I dunno, I guess I always thought that… that when it mattered, that when I really needed him…” Her lips twisted into a wry smile. “I guess I’m pretty stupid, huh?”

“No,” Maggie said. “No, honey, you’re not stupid. And if you are, then so am I… I never thought he would do something like that.”

Or rather she hoped he wouldn’t.

At the next red light, Maggie said in a tired voice, “This has to stop now, Evelyn. I’m sorry, but it has to stop. I’ve tried to be patient, I’ve tried to be understanding, but I just can’t deal with this anymore. I can’t and I won’t. Okay? It’s too much. It’s too much. I tried to let you handle it, but you didn’t so now I’m going to. This is done, Evelyn. It’s done. I don’t want Henry coming to the house anymore. I don’t want him calling you anymore. Yeah, I know he’s the one always calling here, Evelyn, and it’s done now, okay? It’s done. I don’t want him sneaking into the house at night. I don’t want you sneaking off to go see him. I don’t care if he needs you, I don’t care if he loves you. It’s done, Evelyn. All of this is done. If I ever see him around the house again, I’m calling his father and—”

Evelyn jumped in her seat as if struck. Terror closed around her throat.

(??WHAT??)

(!!BUT YOU CAN’T!!)

“—and yes, Evelyn, yes, I know EXACTLY what that means for him!”

Evelyn flinched back, startled. The strength of her mother’s voice left her shaken. It’s done now… it’s done… done… is it really done? Tears flooded her eyes and blurred her vision, but still she nodded. She nodded and she understood.

“It’s enough now, Evelyn,” Maggie said, but there was no triumph in her voice, none at all.

A somber silence fell over the cabin then. The van pulled forward, made a left turn onto Summer Street, and continued down the road. Evelyn already knew what was waiting for her at the end of this road. She knew and she was ready for it.

She would have to face Henry sooner or later.

_____________________

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