#hetrembled

[ REDACTED ] + NAMES GIVEN BY MY MUTUALS & THEIR MUSES ( PT. 1 ) 

        she’s been crying for a while now. sometimes the planets align just right & everything happens at once & suddenly everything catches up to her. she doesn’t know where to go. if she stays by herself, she thinks the doors will turn against her. it took her longer than she would care to admit just to leave her apartment, standing in front of the door & staring at it, waiting to see who would make the first move. edith had then stood in front of her car for a moment, staring directly at her own reflection to gauge its reliability. no. no, it didn’t have any. (it can’t happen any more -- she killed him; she’d loved daniel & then she had to kill him or be just like all those other girls, blind & waterlogged & unwillingly helping him. but she can’t trust it.) the rain kept getting stronger, even as she walked ... somewhere. the whole time she’s trying to create friction warmth on shaking hands, keep soaked mass of hair out of her face. 

        there was a point at which a passing car further soaked her. that was when the crying started. don’t drown. don’t drown. don’t -- she’s slipping. she can tell. but she keeps walking, almost mindlessly. it’s instinct to keep going. she’s shaking & soaked, unsure if she’s even really going somewhere at all or just walking till she can’t any more. 

         her feet finally stop on a familiar doorstep. oh. strange. but it’s another door. she doesn’t want to knock or ring the doorbell or give any indication that she’s existing outside of this house until she stops crying. but she’s standing still -- staying in the water, the one thing she’s never supposed to do, drowning in all the things she usually refused to allow to surface. she flinches when the door opens, green eyes wide like an animal caught where it shouldn’t be. she’s scared. it’s probably obvious, but it’s a rare sight to see. “ i -- ”

         she shakes her head, one hand pressing against her forehead. “ s-sorry, no, i sh’ld go, i don’t -- fuck, i’m just -- s’just -- ” a shaky exhale, arms wrapping around her chest. she won’t look up. “ i ... i don’ know why i’m here. i can ... i can go -- ”

accepting.

you don't really like me, no, & i don't really like people but you're better by default won't you come through?

        edith maslow is not the type to light up the room. even if one day, upon the true crime coverage of her mysterious & untimely death, one of the dateline hosts interviews her closest family, they will never say that about her. granted, the things people may say about her posthumously aren’t really a topic of her concern. to make a tangent short, seeing anyone be genuinely excited upon her arrival anywhere is not something she’s used to. if it were anyone else, she might have even been suspicious of it. she knows better than that, though. doesn’t she? there is a brief moment, sort of like a flicker of an expression, where she looks confused. it’s solely due to the unfamiliarity of such a genuine smile directed at her presence. 

      she makes her way over to fern, a small smile of her own finding its way onto her face. “ hey. ”

       she’s not really sure what else to say. talking to people has never exactly been something she knew how to do, & in a situation like this her ability to even bullshit her way through a human conversation diminishes greatly. so it’s very likely that her already-lacking eloquence has peaked at her hey. incredible.

from   this   cute   lil   prompt

💌   ::      i   just   think   you’re   amazing

       that catches her a bit off guard. when was the last time she was told that, & they meant it? & why does it feel warm to hear? she stops in her tracks, a bit stunned. maybe. maybe she’d never been told it genuinely. that sure is pathetic to admit, isn’t it? & the only other times it was dangerous. it was dark, & there was piano, & ah, edith, i’m so glad you’ve finally come -- a narrow escape. but that’s not what this is, not at all. it’s safe. fern is safe, this is a safe place. (she feels guilty that she has to remind herself that. she knows it, deep down; it’s the cornered animal that keeps wanting to run when the rest of her finally relaxes.) the surprise is probably clear on her face, a sad sign of her inexperience with good intentions.

         she’s maybe paused for too long, further exposing the gaps in her armor. edith maslow can handle the torture she’s faced, handle the negative side of life, but she can’t face kindness. it’s like she doesn’t recognize it when it’s given to her. what does she do with this? any of this? it’s like walking on flat land after living your life on a tightrope -- she keeps expecting to lose her balance, when there’s no way to do so. edith bites her lip in thought, realizing she’s been quiet. “ i’m glad i’m here, too. really, i -- yeah. ... yeah. ”