You called me Joker

“I was getting kind of used to being someone you loved.”

👄 Pull my muse onto the bed

He smiled a little at her. “You look real cute in your little bow tie” Jimmy told her after a moment, besotted with her. She wasn’t like the other girls who fawned over him. She was different. “Do you like workin’ there?”

“Yeah, I do. It beats working at my parent’s drug store. I get to see a bunch of movies so it’s a pretty sweet gig.” Hannah smiled at Jimmy and the way he was looking at her was enough to make her blush. Then something came to her that made her face light up. “Holy shit…we’re both wearing jean jackets. I didn’t even notice.”

“You look like you’re in need of some company, baby.” A little smile touched her lips and it might have been the alcohol talking, but Hannah was feeling rather bold. What would her mother say if she could see her?

“Yes, it isn’t exactly the most delightful of weather’s.” Francois murmurs, looking beyond the window to how dark the sky has become with the storm. A storm that has inticed rain to pour and thunder to rumble. He is grateful if anything they they are inside, and that the patients are calmer than he anticipated them to be. He knew sometimes they could awaken and scream believing themselves to be in some sort of hellish nightmare. “But with the storm comes sunshine soon after.” Abbé de coulmier tells her, a warm and gentle smile gracing his features.

“ your…your place is here is safe. But…such feelings are not to be voiced, because they incite us to act. Do you understand?” He is so gentle and kind, so wise beyond his years. Yet he knows himself that he wishes not to hear such things from her - for no other reason than the fact he feels them too, and they defy everything he has worked and committed his life to. “You are special to me too, Fantine. But…please do not speak of such a thing again.”

“Fantine,” He breathes in a whisper that matches hers. “Forgive me…did I fall asleep too soon?” He asks with a soft, peaceful smile on his lips. And he does not know why, perhaps he thinks he is part of a dream, but his hand raises to her cheek, fingertips slowly moving to her wet hair where he tucks a few strands behind her ear. “You will catch a cold if you do not find warmth quickly in this state” he whispers to her, his hand slowly retreating back to his side.

Slender fingers reach out to touch his chest. Her hands are shaking partially with cold and partially from how nervous she suddenly is. “I will…I will pray for forgiveness. I will repent in the morning…I only mean to sleep near to you. Nothing else. Nothing else shall happen.” Her dress suddenly feels heavy, a burden of cloth keeping her from merging flesh with him. And yet she claims she has no such desires.

“Sleep beside me, Fantine” an order. Does he not know why she touches him so? Is he too ignorant? Too naive and innocent of ways of the flesh and seduction? Francois isn’t used to such a thing. But he feels how cold she is compared to him and the good in him wishes her to be warm. “Y… You must tell no one of this.” A soft word. He cannot have such rumors spreading which will ruin both of their reputations. But one hand has already pulled back the sheets for her to sleep beside him, an invitation. His other hand has moved dangerously to her waist to pull her beside him.

She fixates on the sound of his pulse, a lullaby for only her to hear. It is divine and sacred, the way his heart thumps beneath his flesh, and she knows with the right movements and the right touches she could play a symphony with his heartstrings. They are at the mercy of one another, and yet they are so innocent in the way their bodies are joined. It is almost chaste. Her fingers brush against his abdomen, her leg hooked over his waist, he is a thing of great beauty and it takes every ounce of self control she has to not touch him in more curious ways.

He feels how her body moves, feels how her fingers brush his abdomen and her leg hooks over him. His heart jumps. Jolts behind his chest. “Fantine, do...do not” He whispers but does not finish this sentence as though he expects her to know of such a thing, if only because he knows he cannot withhold responding to such touches if she cares to continue. “Close your eyes and...lay your head to my chest”

“Yes, it isn’t exactly the most delightful of weather’s.” Francois murmurs, looking beyond the window to how dark the sky has become with the storm. A storm that has inticed rain to pour and thunder to rumble. He is grateful if anything they they are inside, and that the patients are calmer than he anticipated them to be. He knew sometimes they could awaken and scream believing themselves to be in some sort of hellish nightmare. “But with the storm comes sunshine soon after.” Abbé de coulmier tells her, a warm and gentle smile gracing his features.

His voice is panicked and desperate for this to not go ahead and yet, he feels as though he could have kissed her. He could have caved into her. He could have let their lips melt into one anothers. “Sansa...no. No, do not do this. We...I can’t. You know I cannot, do not...do not tempt me. Please go to your room. Quickly!” he tells her this with urgency as though to simply make her flee. So they could be sepearated, distanced from one another.

“Yes, it isn’t exactly the most delightful of weather’s.” Francois murmurs, looking beyond the window to how dark the sky has become with the storm. A storm that has inticed rain to pour and thunder to rumble. He is grateful if anything they they are inside, and that the patients are calmer than he anticipated them to be. He knew sometimes they could awaken and scream believing themselves to be in some sort of hellish nightmare. “But with the storm comes sunshine soon after.” Abbé de coulmier tells her, a warm and gentle smile gracing his features.

A smile offered her way of reassurance - of tenderness. His hand soon removes as he lowers himself down, to sit with her at the alter. He knew he couldn’t leave her here like this. In such a way of grief, shame, and exhaustion. “St Augustine says that demons and angels walk among us and sometimes they embody those who walk on earth,” he tells her softly. “All we can do is to fight against our own corruption.”

I feel absolute shit. No one understands either. They tell me I'm not fat but I've been given such a complex by my parents I don't know how to feel. I just know when I look in the mirror I look like garbage.

She's scared. She can't lose him, not like this. She would never forgive herself if she lets him die. "Arthur...I have to...I have to call an ambulance. Please...please don't tell them it was me...tell them it was an accident...please?" She leaves his side only for a moment to grab the phone, dialing the emergency hotline and waiting impatiently to tell them an accident had happened when they had been cleaning the gun. She is impatient and leaves the phone to apply pressure on his wound again, her hands shaking. "Artie baby...I'm so sorry..." She leans forward and presses a frantic kiss to his forehead.

"How are you feeling?" She doesn't want him to be in pain, she hopes he isn't hurting much anymore. "Again, I'm...I'm really sorry."

His eyes look back down at his things. There isn't much. He doesn't own much. He's glad she's included his sweater in the box though, even if she had been coming over to confirm a breakup. “Do... I don't have anything to give you. Do I... Do I have to give you something?” He cleared his throat a little, running his fingers through his hair to brush it back. “I... I hurt a little but I... The medication helps a lot.”

When he mentions the medication, she feels guilty. Guilty for being the reason he's hurting even just a little bit. "I'm glad the medication helps. Is there anything I could do to help?"

“Can we get back together and...and maybe you could...could make me some soup?” He asks in a muffled voice, face tucked into the crook of her neck.

It had been an excuse to see him. An excuse to get closure and answers on whether or not they were breaking up. She doesn't understand how he has forgiven her so easy, clinging to her now like a lost child as if she hadn't just shot him a few days prior.

“No...No I’d never...ever go. You...we said we’d be together for years. R-remember?” His green eyes say before his eyes close momentarily, feeling her kiss his jaw - feeling her rub his back. It’s all so very soothing. All so very comforting. “She...she’s home but...she’s asleep. She...she took her medication earlier and it’s knocked her out.” He murmurs quietly. “Can I...can I come home?”

Ophelia reaches out for him, her hands lovingly brushing his hair from his face. "I'm so proud of you, Arthur." She makes sure to remind him that every day now, makes sure to reassure him in case nobody else did. She wonders some days if he has gone his entire life without being properly nurtured, and some days those thoughts make her heart ache. "I'm proud of you for working so hard, but I don't want them to take advantage of you. I don't want them to hurt you. Will you...will you show me what happened? If you don't want to talk about it or tell me, will you show me?"

"O...Okay.” He’s quiet then, and his eyes don’t look at her - they look away, to the corner of the bathroom where he can see a slight discolouration on the tiles, a slight crack - small and minute - but he concentrates on it as his hands move to take off his oversized shirt. With each button that is unpopped, more bruises show. His whole body covered in thick, black, bruises.

Ophelia lowers herself to her knees beside the tub, taking a rag and dipping it into the water before wiping the greasepaint from his jaw. "You know you don't deserve to be treated like that, don't you? You're a good man, you don't deserve any of that." She moves the rag to his cheek, then his forehead, then she instructs him to close his eyes so she could wipe off the blue triangles that made his green eyes so vivid. "I'll take care of you. I won't let anyone hurt you like that anymore."

He says this all the while with his eyes closed as he has been instructed, hearing her words make him feel a tinge to his heart. Pain. I’ll take care of you. No one has ever said this to him before and meant it. “I...You don’t have to stay around for me, Ophelia. I know I’m...different.” Different. What he’d always been told by his Mother. By his Step-father. By everyone he knew. Different. And it was always used in such a bad way. He’s different, don’t go near him. He even heard it muttered between the corridors of the apartment building. He’s a creep.

Ophelia finishes washing his face paint off, her eyes sparkling with joy at what was underneath. She loved him no matter what, she thought be was handsome even in his Carnival makeup, but there was something undeniably special about him being himself. "There's my Arthur," she coos, dropping the rag into the warm water so she could cup his face in her hands. "Artie, honey. Don't let them do this to you again, please?"

“I...I heard it’s going to snow soon. It hasn’t snowed for years.” He has a sort of childlike way about him when he says this. Snow. It would look like white gold.

Ophelia reaches out for him, her hands lovingly brushing his hair from his face. "I'm so proud of you, Arthur." She makes sure to remind him that every day now, makes sure to reassure him in case nobody else did. She wonders some days if he has gone his entire life without being properly nurtured, and some days those thoughts make her heart ache. "I'm proud of you for working so hard, but I don't want them to take advantage of you. I don't want them to hurt you. Will you...will you show me what happened? If you don't want to talk about it or tell me, will you show me?"

"O...Okay.” He’s quiet then, and his eyes don’t look at her - they look away, to the corner of the bathroom where he can see a slight discolouration on the tiles, a slight crack - small and minute - but he concentrates on it as his hands move to take off his oversized shirt. With each button that is unpopped, more bruises show. His whole body covered in thick, black, bruises.

Ophelia lowers herself to her knees beside the tub, taking a rag and dipping it into the water before wiping the greasepaint from his jaw. "You know you don't deserve to be treated like that, don't you? You're a good man, you don't deserve any of that." She moves the rag to his cheek, then his forehead, then she instructs him to close his eyes so she could wipe off the blue triangles that made his green eyes so vivid. "I'll take care of you. I won't let anyone hurt you like that anymore."

He says this all the while with his eyes closed as he has been instructed, hearing her words make him feel a tinge to his heart. Pain. I’ll take care of you. No one has ever said this to him before and meant it. “I...You don’t have to stay around for me, Ophelia. I know I’m...different.” Different. What he’d always been told by his Mother. By his Step-father. By everyone he knew. Different. And it was always used in such a bad way. He’s different, don’t go near him. He even heard it muttered between the corridors of the apartment building. He’s a creep.