#danielle!parr

Joan: You can call me Joan.

Danielle!Parr: I’d rather not.

Imagine if Aragon felt a little distant from Danielle!Parr at the start? Like she’s still incredibly proud to have Parr as her god daughter, but since Danielle!Parr is so much taller, has the more spiky metal headband and at first just comes off as tougher/more independent than any other Parr (especially Maiya Parr), Aragon just worries that she won’t have a connection with her goddaughter.

The MD had been acting up for awhile, constantly messing up, especially during shows. Something seemed to be bothering her. And nobody else was going to do something if it wasn’t yelling at her.

“Well.” Cathy said. “Talk to me. What’s been going on with you?”

For a moment, Joan said nothing. And then...

“I keep thinking I’m there.”

Cathy furrowed her eyebrows. “Where?”

“The tower. The scaffolding. The sickroom. Henry’s bed.” Joan swallowed thickly and shook her head. “I just— I close my eyes and I’m just—there. I’m always there. I see it all the time. But— but it’s more than that, Cathy.”

She looked up, tears glistening in her eyes.

“I can hear it, too. The crowd, Anne’s speech, Maggie screaming. She never stops screaming. And then the clattering of the sickroom, Edward wailing, Jane moaning in agony. She cried for so long before she—died. And even more—the crowd murmuring, the yelling, Kitty crying, that damn sound of a blade cleaving through flesh and muscle and bone—again. That sound is the worst. It’s awful. The screaming is one thing, but the sound of skin ripping apart and bones breaking...it’s sickening. But then there’s also Henry and his breathing and talking and m—”

Joan sobbed, tears running down her cheeks.

“I can also smell it. The blood. The infection. The pus coming out of Jane’s fucking ripped vagina. It’s still here, like it’s permanently glued to my body.”

Another sob, this time weaker. Joan put her head in her hands and squeezed it like she was hoping to crush her skull between her palms.

“A-and everyone a-always g-gets so mad at me. I-I don’t m-mean to mess up, I really don’t! B-but everyone c-claims I’m faking it for attention. Anne s-says I have nothing to b-b traumatized about. Th-that I didn’t go through shit.”

She looked up again, staring into Cathy’s eyes.

“If that’s the case, th-then why do I feel like this? Why do I see Anne and Kitty’s headless bodies out of the corner of my eye? Why do I see Jane, feverish and dying, in my bed? Why do I see only corpses when I look out at the audience during shows or the faces of my dead queens in the rows of people?”

Definitely a blue morpho butterfly Cimex!

Beautiful and powerful! Her wings would be MASSIVE. Like, when she unfurls them, watch out. Simply unfolding could knock you to the ground if you accidentally got in the way.

Only to see that the MD was way too exhausted to do the task.

Joan was barely even awake at her desk, but, even more than that, she looked ill, most likely from sleep deprivation. Discomfort and pain were scrawled across her face, and her eyes weren’t even open all the way. They were barley open halfway.

When Joan turned to Cathy, she could barely speak. Her words kept slurring together as if she were drunk, but she probably would have even easier to understand if she actually were drunk.

She wasn’t going to be able to work like this.

plus she is TALL, and has the hugest hands, so imagine this nearing on 6ft cimex with huge hands, wings spread, glaring at you