Tonights A Fucking Carnival Blur And The Laughing Doesnt Help Matters. The Room Feels Like Its Staggering

Tonight’s a fucking carnival blur and the laughing doesn’t help matters. The room feels like it’s staggering under the weight of its own manic tension, like a pair of clowns doing a high wire routine. It’s lurid, dangerous, vulgar. Anne shivers and pretends she isn’t on display here, even though she is. Everyone is. (That was the whole fucking point of coming here to find a local friend!)

Anne leans forward as the others flee leave, choosing to take it as a gesture of good will, or least interest, rather than an omen of death. She offers Mary a salute with the bottle as she fakes another shot, weighing her options.

“Fucking stranger,” Anne admits with a shrug. To be friend or foe, she’d have to know him, right? And if it’s the wrong answer…well. She’ll figure it out. “I bribed a doorman at the back t’let me in.” Sort of. She’d sort of just stabbed him and taken her bribe back when he’d tried to press his luck on their deal.

“Ne’er been t’Gotham afore,” she continues, slurring her words a little even as she slides closer in the booth towards Mary’s table. “Thought the thugs here would be scarier-lookin, reputation like they’ve got. My two-bit biker boyfriend knows a two-bit bike gang leader who’s scarier’n anyone in this room, and he’s supposedly a fucking purring kitten compared to some of what I hear this lot’s done! What in the hell’s in the water here, hey?”

An apology springs to Anne’s lips, a protest—she’d misunderstood, thought this was based on someone come to even the score for the unconscious man she’d split open—but it dies almost as quickly as Mary continues. Right. This isn’t a place of people on their right minds, on the one hand serially threatened with extinction merely for existing in a way some fanatic or another thought abhorrent and on the other never seeing actual justice due to a meddling egomaniac playing vigilante. All while calling a prison a hospital—or worse, nice versa

They don’t just carry guns in Gotham. They look for reasons to use them.

Jack would be pissed she’d given away the game this easy. So Anne tilts her head back with another swig, thinking it over, pretending to drink. (It’s very convincing; it’d needed to be, once upon a time.) The only tell is that the level never really lowers after all the sloshing, a fact she guards by leaning on the bottle and using it to help prop up her arm, the other wrapped around her in front of it.

“‘Fraid I misunderstood the question, but now I’m curious. The way I hear, he lets very few in personally. Who’s he to you, then, that he lets ye in?”

"Was it for redemption? Was it for revenge?" (from that ROCKISDEAD album sentence starter meme)

the meme in question!

Anne doesn’t need to ask for clarification. As is the way with dreams, she somehow understands perfectly that the woman before her is a goddess, and that she’s being put on trial for transgressions against that goddess’ domain. In understanding these things, Anne further finds that she understands that she’s in a dream but, despite this, cannot seem to change it. Someone else is in control of her dream tonight.

And it doesn’t take a genius to figure out how that might be.

Tears flow silently down Anne’s cheeks, further cementing that she and the divine judge before her are in a dream: Anne Bonny never cries. It’s an oft-reinforced part of her image, her reputation amongst the crew, and she would never let it give way without one hell of a fight first. The freedom that comes in finally shedding the weight of her tears is bittersweet at best. Anne reaches around her neck and pulls the thin leather cord of her necklace off. She offers it to the goddess, not as tribute but as proof. Three rings dangle on the worn old leather, two dull, plain gold bands and a grimy ring that might bear a signet beneath the necklace obfuscating filth. Thrice a runaway: two marriages and a family.

She wonders, distantly, which exact one it is she’s on trial for.

“The first time, it was love. Puppy love, and drunk on it asides, but still love. The second time, it was revenge.” The memory sparks like flint behind her eyes, drying her tears in the blaze of fires both metaphorical and remembered. She won’t apologize for that one, because it was earned, and there’s not a cautionary tale against defying the gods out there that would convince her to bend from that truth. “The last time….”

The last time. Jack.

“I…don’t know. Both, or maybe neither.”

YOU don’t have to be perfect to be loved. but I do

bullying the traumatized

we don't wear kiddy gloves here.

"Who told you it wasn't that bad?"

"Who told you that?"

"I'll fight anyone who says otherwise."

"Yeah, well, news flash: it fucked you up. I can tell."

"It's okay to have shit that fucks you up, you know."

"Ohhhh noooo, you're feeling an emotion."

"God forbid something hurts and you do something about it."

"That's trauma for you."

"Get angry about it."

"I don't know. I expected you to feel something."

"In case it escaped your notice, I care about you!"

"Do you have a death wish?"

"And you decided you were going to stoically suffer in silence and not tell anyone?"

"Got some 'main character syndrome' in you, huh?"

"We're meant to be a team!"

"Then they can go to hell! They don't tell us what we're capable of."

"I'm going to try. I don't care whether you're gonna try with me but I hope you do."

"We've seen worse odds."

"What did you expect? Me to stand there and do nothing?"

"Oh, you have trauma? I didn't notice."

"Oh, grow! Up!"

THINGS  MY  PARTNER  SAID  AT  2AM  ;  starter pack.

feel  free  to  change  any  pronouns  or  subjects  (or  reverse).  these are real sentences spoken to me in one night from my very sleepy girlfriend,  han.

❛  do whatever you want,  i don’t believe in god.  ❜

❛  i have to like it ironically because i don’t know what it is.  ❜

❛  what would you do if you found out you were jesus?  ❜

❛  why isn't radioactivity yummy?  ❜

❛  you're depressed,  and you're high.  that's what we've figured out today.  ❜

❛  this is no time for that man.  ❜

❛  is that steve?  ❜

❛  CVS stand Child Vacation School,  because they're all children.  ❜

❛  testicle!  ❜

❛  what the fuck am i?  a bitch?  ❜

❛  i don't have a leg in this horse.  ❜

❛  who's banana?  ❜

❛  i'm not banana,  bitch.  ❜

❛  no more air.  ❜

❛  who are you to play god?  ❜

❛  i almost said arthur;  who's arthur?  ❜

❛  i'm gonna lock me and [ name ] in a room and see who happens.  ❜

❛  i'll be like their beloved grandmother,  sitting in my rocking chair.  spouting wisdom.  ❜

❛  i want pancakes.  ❜

❛  banana thigh.  you know,  like a chicken.  ❜

❛  i could have been a bitching shoe - man.  ❜

❛  you learn me how to make some shoes.  ❜

❛  i had to be in an era with choices and rights.  ❜

❛  what am i,  your cow?  that you milk?  ❜

❛  those are bees!  duuude.  ❜

❛  i should make a rug.  ❜

❛  do you think griffin mcelroy would be proud of me?  ❜

❛  why are we playing with corn?  stop that.  ❜

❛  good,  then you can't exploit me.  ❜

❛  there was a dog in the store and it was just a dog.  ❜

❛  the dog was drifting around her.  ❜

❛  the lady the dog came with asked me questions.  ❜

❛  you're profiting off of my exhaustion.  ❜

❛  i don't say that many funny things!  ❜

[ SINGS ]  for my muse to aggressively sing Kokomo by The Beach Boys at yours.

[ LAUGHS ]  for my muse to laugh at something unprompted at all.

[ MEOW ]  for my muse to meow like a cat at random to yours.

Who do you ship with my muse?

Bonus: Include why you like the ship!