#miiserably

     so as i said big #1 is taylor but she’s had a lot of archived blogs so i’m not actual on the blog i tagged above lol. basically there was just a lot we didn’t get to explore with peter & myrtle. & i’ll be honest if i’d known she was going to be gone when i came back i probably would have made more of an effort to stay. it was just such a unique relationship that i don’t think i’ll find another one like that again. for like… more info on that whole thing i actually made a post about her/ peter & myrtle’s very distinct relationship over here. it was entirely for my benefit but if you’re curious it’s a v long but cute & wholesome read. i actually liked their marriage so much that i kept that verse single ship bc i can’t imagine that version of peter to be with anyone else.

one other thing to note is a copied and pasted everything and did not change any of the formatting to match my current style.

everything taylor wrote will be on a blockquote to make it easy to differentiate, though our writing styles also make it pretty obvious

also note this is long af in case anyone is interested in reading it/some of it

the first bit is actually in the typical canon verse where peter is a student and myrtle still died as a student but i wanted to include it all the same. i also want to note that their younger selves did not get along at first in the slightest. myrtle was rude and insulting and peter was easily hurt but eventually they found a rhythm and formed a sort of friendship.

the prompt was non-sexual acts of intimacy, specifically reading a book together

[ When he returns, she holds the book out to him.  The lovely book that made her smile when she  received it had made her head hurt when she  tried to read it. Fixing him with a distant gaze,  she spoke in an equally passive voice. ]

’ Turn the pages for me while I read, please. It makes my                                 head ache when I interact with the                                 living world for too long. ’

[ Without another word, she sits on the thankfully dry  ground –rather a compliment within itself, she  thinks, as she did not flood the place as she knew  he would be coming– and motions for him to join  her. ]

and the book theme leads us into this next bit

   just  before he was meant to leave hogwarts  for  the    holidays, peter  made his way over to the long since    abandoned  (  by students at least  )  girls washroom    on  the  first  floor.  it had occurred to him  during  his    christmas  shopping  that although  she  wasn’t  quite    considered a friend  (  &  she likely didn’t see him as    one either  ),  he felt  the  need,  but  perhaps  simply    want, to pick something out for myrtle  as  well.  she    was always so, herself, & he doubted there were any    that  had  gotten  her a  gift  for  christmas,  let  alone    many who visited her besides him.

                  upon  entering,  he  called  out for her.  once  he  received  no                   response, he assumed she might be elsewhere in the school                   on one of her rare excursions, & so decided to leave the very                   neatly wrapped present on on the the counters where it might                   remain   dry  should  any  flooding  occur.   in   hindsight,   he                   supposed  a book might not have been the best thing to  have                   brought to a girl that frequently flooded the room in which she                   inhabited,  but at the time,  the idea of bringing her something                   to take up at least a few hours of her time seemed nice.

   it  was  a muggle book,  which he supposed was another    unnecessary risk, but he had read it himself  &  thought    it   was  utterly  brilliant.   it  was  adventurous,   slightly    absurd,  but  extremely  entertaining  &  very funny from    what he got out of it. the book was the hitchhiker’s guide    to  the  galaxy by douglas adams,  &  he just hoped  she    enjoyed it. she was dead after all, she could use  a  little    bit  of  cheering  up.  it had a note on it as  well,  for  just    such  an  occasion  &   it  read as  follows  in  absolutely    terrible ( but for once with perfect spelling ) handwriting:

                  Happy Christmas, Myrtle.                   I  wasn’t sure what you would like,   but I thought you might enjoy                   this. Be sure to wait to open it though. I won’t know, or care really                   if you’ve opened it before you’re meant to,  but at least try to hold                   off until Christmas morning.                   From that little rat of a boy,                   Peter

[ every once in a while, myrtle had to leave. the  frozen-over black lake was always her favorite  destination, with it’s ice caps thinning in some  places just enough to see her reflection.

 she was an ugly thing, not worthy of anyone’s time.  no, she reminded herself, that wasn’t right. or  maybe it was. where she stood with peter in terms  of a relationship was an area as opaque as her  skin. she was swimming in murky waters again,  and for the first time in fifty years, she was afraid  of drowning.

 myrtle thought herself a poison as she pretended  like she could feel the glassy ice under her hand.  she traced patterns into the light dusting of snow  that settled along the top, heaving a sigh as she  realized her little drawings were just hideous eyes.

 she couldn’t sleep any more, but if she did, it would  have been in black and white. black, white and a  splash of garish yellow. any other colors didn’t  matter, they couldn’t shock her enough to die.  yellow had.

 scratching out the doodles with her nails that would  never grow, myrtle stood and wiped away any  offending tears. it was christmas, where was her  cheer?

 it was dead like her, she knew that. wandering back  to the castle, she recalled the faint memory of  firelight against the sweeping navy blue of the  ravenclaw common room. she remembered sitting  up all night, wanting to catch anyone who left her a  present. myrtle never caught anyone, for no one  ever did. her presents were given to her when she  went home for the summer.

 floating back into her bathroom, she wondered why she  bothered. so young was she when she died, and so  very scared of death itself, she remained behind. it  was curious parody of life she led, one that, perhaps,  left her a bit less empty than she had been in life.

 at least she had her books. the size of the hogwarts library  had doubled in size since she was alive, and every so  often she could find someone to turn the pages for her.

 musing over what she would read over the break, when she  might actually be able to visit the library during the day,  she nearly missed the package sitting safely on a counter.

 expecting the worst, she did not touch it for a very long  time. she had no faith in hogwarts students any more, and  rather expected some hideous prank. it was hours before  she even dared to read the note.

 her mouth fell open when she did, hanging like an unhinged  basket. she wondered if she should cry before realizing she  couldn’t. she was too busy smiling.

 it always hurt a bit to interact with the living world, but she  ran her hand down the side of the packaging. what it was,  she knew, but not the specifics.

 leaving the gift where it was, she floated to her window. myrtle  knew she would not need to make a trip to the library at all. ]

this next one was a drabble taylor wrote another huge turning point in their relationship with their younger selves. it was a kiss meme, the prompt was ‘ghost kiss’

[ He didn’t have any idea what it was like, to be so  cold and so empty. All Myrtle could feel was  pain in one form or another. She couldn’t touch  things without a searing headache, couldn’t leave,  couldn’t let it go.

 Peter had become her little rat. In him, she poured  every bit of malice and misery she had in her  unaging body. He, likewise, attempted to do the  same, but it never reached her. She could feel if  she tried, but nothing could feel her.

 It was on a Wednesday when she snapped. It was  raining buckets, the lightning flashing behind  stained glass windows that appeared to be crying.  She had been for hours and only stopped so she  could speak clearly.

 What he said didn’t matter, but it sparked a fire in her  she thought long extinguished. Not one of desire but  of unimaginable rage. She rushed at him, taking the  sides of his face in a death-cold grip.

 Myrtle pressed her lips to his. Could he feel it? Could  he feel how sad she was? How all she had left was  bitterness and pain? God she hoped so. Someone  had to, the loneliness was killing her over again.

 She pulled away, releasing him as her eyes filled up  with tears for the millionth time in that decade. ]

’ I’m sorry, Peter. ’

[ And she was gone. Safe in her hiding spot where he  —for once— could not see her cry, she hoped nothing  she said touched him either. Myrtle was sad, she was  lost, but it was a kind of melancholy that one had to  bear alone. She was not so selfish to condemn  someone else to it. ]

what started off the proper marriage. it was a meme “I will be married for 3 days to the first person in my askbox who says "Honey, I'm home"”. i sent it in, and this beautiful thread came about

’ Peter, I feel quite like this is some sick joke. You’re                                      not a child –physically, I can’t                                     say much for your mental state,                                      I truly don’t know—, you                                      wouldn’t do that, right? ’

[ She feels ridiculous either way. ]

’ Is this really binding? I think death has already parted us. ’

              “myrtle,  it’s much too late to change my mind.  i’m afraid               i was bound to you long ago.  & i don’t care if anyone else               sees it as binding. i love you. i have for a long time, & ( if               you’ll let me ) i’d like to have the honour of calling you my               wife.  the  only joke would be a cruel one being played  on               me by the rest of the universe were you to refuse me now.”

’ You bloody idiot, you’ll make me cry and                              smear my makeup! ‘

[ Despite her annoyed tone, she reaches for his  hand. It might hurt a bit if she holds on for too  long, but her need to prove he’s solid, real and  telling the truth is something she cannot  explain. After a moment, she smiles. ]

’ I’m not an idiot, I won’t let you get away. I- I                                 think you’ll make me                                 happy. ‘

    the  sensation  of  her  cool  skin  against  his  own  was     unexpected to say the very least, but to hell if he wasn’t     going to hold onto that fleeting moment of her touch.  so     rarely  was he privy to it that he had learned to  cherish     to  moments when she chose to interact with the  living     world; he knew the effect it had on her.

              “the chance to make you happy is all i’m really asking for.”

’ I haven’t been happy in so long. I imagine I                                    won’t be very good at it. ‘

[ She drops her hand, deciding not to tell him  it’s because she wants to kiss him at the  end of all this without a searing headache. ]

’ You will be able to stand me? I like to think I                                     will make you content. ‘

              “i have this long, haven’t i?”

    his  words  sounded  with  a  concurrent  ( & teasing )  smile.     after  all,  it wasn’t like their meeting had been a  recent  one.     she  had  been so cold to him at first  &  in more  ways  than     one, but for some reason  ( only merlin knew why )  he kept     coming  back.  he  was inexplicably drawn to her at  first,  &     now, he knew there wasn’t anything she could do that would     make him want to leave.

another meme!! another kiss one at that

[ She’d never kissed anyone properly before,  it was a miracle it worked out as well as it  did. It required quite a bit of concentration,  making sure that she did not simply pass  through him as she put her arms around his  neck. It was that bit of contact that gave her  enough courage to press her lips to his.  Myrtle knew she was cold —dreadfully so—  but hoped that her utter elation would be  enough for him. Pulling back, she offered a  nervous smile. ]

’ I wanted to practice before the wedding, with my luck I                                              won’t be able to do it right                                              the day of. ‘

    there  had been no forewarning.  there was just the  swift     movement  of  her  lips  to  his.  she was so cold,  &  her     touch  so light he felt as if were he to make  any  sudden     movements she might break apart. even so, he wouldn’t     trade  it  for the world.  he never expected to  be  able  to     kiss  her,  or  hold her  (  at least not in the way he might     with  a  living  woman  )  but knowing she  was  his  was     more  than  enough.  she  made him very  happy,  &  he     could only hope she felt the same.

            “i’m sure it’ll be fine.”

    &  her smile was met with one of his own,  although  his     was significantly more reassuring in nature.

here’s a couple of silly little thought meme answer  (not sure why the writing is suddenly all small but whatever)

— Silly me, and silly him. I’m dead, there’s no point in                                           getting married. But oh does                                           it feel lovely to be… well,                                           loved. So I’ll do it, I’ll do it                                           because I’ve dreamed of it                                           and because if I must marry                                           anyone, it might as well be                                           him. He would be the one to                                           give me all I’ve ever wanted,                                           wouldn’t he? 

[ She knows she loves all of him, but perhaps  loved his brain first. If nothing else, she  loved his reading list before giving the rest  of him a chance. True, he could not  remember the ways to identify a werewolf  (despite Remus being one) but he knew that  she liked every flower under the sun, and  that adventure books were her favorite to read.  That was what really mattered to her. ]

surprise kiss from peter meme

[ she’s so surprised, she nearly passes  right through him. realizing at the last  second what he’s trying to do, she  gives him a quick peck on the lips  before pulling away. ]

’ A bit of warning next time, love? ’

next is a letter myrtle “wrote” for peter followed by a sticky note she left, though completely unrelated

Peter,

Love, how do you not own a copy of Candide? Going down to my office to get mine. Very disappointed.

this is a 6 song playlist taylor made for this ship

if i didn’t care — the ink spots

easy living — billie holiday

a thousand times goodnight — abel korzeniowski

love me as though there were no tomorrow — nat king cole

blue moon — frank sinatra

moonrise — brian crain

here is a moodboard taylor made

next is another kiss meme, but one i wrote.

ϡ  for a kiss that lets you know I love you.

     a  year  had  passed  since  they  had  been  wed.  it  had     been so peculiar, but it seemed  himself  &  his love were     the  only  two that didn’t seem to care that one  was  living     &  one  was  dead.  “til death do us part”  seemed  like  an     overrated phrase anyhow.

              “happy anniversary, myrtle.”

    that  was  when  he  presented her with the  gift.  it  was  a     sunflower, still in the pot too. seemed a bit ironic to give a     living  plant  to a ghost,  knowing that eventually the  plant     would die,  no?  exactly.  this particular sunflower held up     only the appearance of living. in truth, it was neither living,     nor  dead.  it was simply charmed to uphold the image  of     itself  at  the true pinnacle of its beauty,  as if to mirror her.

              “a  sunflower.  i read somewhere that they’re supposed  to  be  a                a  symbol  of  admiration so it seemed fitting that  i  give  one  to                you. & it’s been charmed.  to always remain as beautiful as you.”

    &  with that,  their lips met in a fleeting kiss. but that was     all  they  needed.  their  love  wasn’t  conveyed   through     conventional  means like touch,  but when they  did,  the     intent  was  clear.  he believed she  deserved  the  world.

and another kiss from peter

19. forceful kiss

    he  hadn’t  the  foggiest  idea of what brought it  on,  but  he     would  certainly  be  ｌｙｉｎｇ  if  he  were  to  say  that   he     didn’t  find  the surprise  pleasant.  he was used  to  a  certain     FORCE behind her words  (  it came with the territory of being     her  ＨＵＳＢＡＮＤ  ), but the force behind her kiss was all     too unfamiliar.

    a  smile threatened to surface at the  spontaneity  of it all,     but  instead,  peter  settled  on wrapping his arms  around  her     ever fleeting form, intent on relishing  each  moment it  lasted.

here’s some little things or silly little back and forth but that’s domestic married life for you (again it’s small, don’t know why, not gonna bother )

’ Just you watch. I’ll be the next Delia Smith! ’

    the bowl  ( & it’s now freshly mixed contents )  were placed     on the counter next to her, as requested. & a laugh rung out     at the proclamation.

              “& when you do, i swear to purchase all of your cookbooks.”

SEPARATE THING

“never a dull day with you, is there?”

’ Oh shush, we had plenty of fun yesterday                    evening. Tonight I just want to                    sit here and listen to the radio. ’

SEPARATE THING

“do you have a valentine yet?” he’s joking, but how could he resist asking?

’ Valentines are for women without husbands.                           you are my valentine forever.                           And my date to any future                           Yule balls. ’

another meme prompted drabble taylor wrote. this one: crowds used to freak me out

her first deathday party is more alive than most of the school.

how she got the pins in her hair and the diamond necklace around her neck she doesn’t care, but it’s there and it’s sweeter than any sixteen.

for once, she’s happy. it’s dizzying and beautiful and just a bit like waking up drenched in cold water.

she’s smiling like she’s trying to make up for thirty years of sobbing, and in a way, she is.

her favorited records –scratched nearly beyond repair– play out a big band song that she probably had memorized when she was a teenager now. the words don’t matter, what does is that she’s dancing.

alone at first, as everyone starts that way, but then she’s dancing with him. all of a sudden, everything gets much clearer.

her laugh is drowned out in her ears and she doesn’t seem to realize that she’s the only one carrying on like she still has a heartbeat. as if she gives a damn.

she can flush, she can’t be short of breath, but she pretends she is as she winds her arms around his neck. is she dancing with him or is he just along for her giddy twirling? she doesn’t know but the rest of the guests do.

they’re all watching the horrifying spectacle of a woman gone insane.

she’s watching him again.

when she stops, everyone’s worried she’ll start to cry again. never in all their lives –or deaths– had they seen anything so embarrassing. myrtle rolls her eyes and takes peter’s hand.

’ Something slower, maybe? Where people can keep their noses out of our business? ’

she doesn’t wait for an answer before walking away with him in tow. her hand is firmly gripping his like a lifeline, even though she’s the one pulling him onwards.

’ I didn’t ask before. ‘

myrtle says when she finds an empty classroom. the moonlight’s nice, shining through the window, sectioned off by an ebony frame.

’ And I’m not asking now. Dance with me. ’

it’s not a request, but she does give him enough space to pull away. it makes her smile again when he doesn’t.

they look like they’re about to waltz when she realizes there isn’t any music. sighing in defeat, she lets her head rest on his shoulder.

there’s no music, there’s no dancing, but there could be.

pulling back just slightly, she smiles up at him. she’s not alive, but she could be.

gotta have some sad in here so here’s a drabble prompted by † for a kiss to say good bye forever.

well she’s not about to leave him, is she? she shoots a nurse a glare. obviously the woman’s never seen a ghost and her dying husband. the thought makes her stomach twist.

dies. died. will die.

it’s all so final.

it was never like that when she died, it happened so quickly. she looks to him in quiet terror. what if he goes quickly too?

without thinking, she presses a kiss to his lips. she’s in luck, he’s still alive when she does. sitting back, she does not feel accomplished.

sighing, she takes his hand in hers and ignores the stabbing pain. she kisses the back, very gently, wishing her lips were warm.

she sits with him for hours after he stops breathing, she won’t let his hand go. her head hurts so much she thinks she might scream, but she can’t even cry.

she is dead, but cannot die. she is, was and will be, all without him.

and to end on, taylor was given the prompt “peter has died and moved one without you” (obviously as an alternate ending to the above)

[ she knew it would happen one day. he was  too free to keep locked at her side for  eternity. she would never want that for him  anyway. wherever he was, he was free.  nodding, she did let a few tears spill over  onto her cheeks. she did not bother to dry  them.

 is, was, will be. and all without him, too. it  seemed she found a reason to cry again. ]