– ʙᴀɴɢ ʙᴀɴɢ.

HANNA CASSIDY. irish, immigrant, incorrigable. part of freakshowhq roleplay.

[bitchcassidys-blog]

OH GOD.

E a r l y   M o u r n i n g   ; ;   C e n t r e t o w n  .  { Jacob | Ophelia | Hanna }

              he wasn’t quite familiar with most of the mutants who’d gone missing  ;  or none  ,  at least  ,  save for beatrix humphrey  ,  about whom jacob was quite concerned  ,  both for herself and for her husband  .  it was a tragedy  ,  how this town was slowly falling apart but  ,  quite frankly  ,  the young lad was most disappointed to hear that he couldn’t partake in the search - and - rescue mission alongside his most trusted mentor  ;  felix had become a sort of emotional anchor which  ,  oddly enough  ,  grounded him  .  but the people he was instead selected to search with seemed friendly at least  ,  and the bright - eyed boy was more than pleased to be partitioned into the centretown group  ,  especially since it meant the ability to bring his trusted pup  ,  angel  . 

              in fact  ,  jacob might go so far as to say the white ball of fluff was their fourth member  ,  a secret weapon  ,  and though he was definitely not the investigating sort  ,  the placebo did have a passion for helping others  ,  so he would do whatever he could  ,  as best as he could  .  except  ,  right now  ,  his best consisted of him perched on a bench in town  ,  eyes skipping from person to person as the crowd from the selection subsides until eventually it was just the three of them remaining  .  

             ❝                       i’m jakey !        ❞   offered he by way of introduction  .   ❝       and this is angel  .  i  ,  uh  .  .  .   disappear sometimes  ?  by accident  ?   things go right through me  .  .  .   like a ghost  !  or  ,  no  .  not a ghost  .  those are  s c a r y  .  .  .      ❞     a pause as the hayes combs brunet strands from his visage  ,  lakeside hues flicking between both of his search - mates  .  he knew  ,  rationally  ,  that he wasn’t the brightest of the lot  ,  that he wouldn’t be much assistant in any department  ,  really  ,  but he had spirit  ;  and that had to count for something  ,  right  ?    ❝        i’m not sure where we should start looking  ,  but  .  .  .   i’m all up for any ideas  !  what do y’all think  ?         ❞

@bitchcassidys

a child, hanna thought incredulously as jakey introduced himself to her. they’ve paired me up with a fucking child. that he was twenty-three didn’t much matter. his upbeat attitude – dare she call it optimism ? – in the face of such a tragedy had her convinced that he was nothing less than a little boy, and a heavy weight began to settle at the bottom of her stomach  as he continued on, talking about his dog, his powers, something hanna didn’t hear as she very quickly stopped listening, ears beginning to ring. it wasn’t jakey’s fault that she stared blankly at him, through him; he seemed a nice enough kid.  it just so happened that, overnight, she had lost everyone who she truly cared about on the island, and being paired with the youth didn’t exactly fill her with confidence that her lost friends would be found.

her skin crawled every time she thought about it. had ruby come home the night before ? or had she been at the circus still, helping to clean up after the first party ? had they snatched her on the way home ? had they been in their apartment, across the hall ? had ruby screamed, fought, done anything ? had she slept through the songbird’s kidnapping, ignorant and oblivious in the black of the night ? the thought of it made her sick, but oh, god, she couldn’t get it out of her mind. i could have helped her, she thought despairingly. i could have tried. i could have done something, anything, fuck –

matty had been announced missing too, and initially, hanna had seized upon it as a way to assuage her guilt. if the two were gone, they must have been together when they were taken, right ? they were inseparable. they could help each other. they could escape – but what if they had both been in the apartment, two people taken, and her none the wiser ? her thoughts chased one another around her mind, guilt pursuing anger, pursuing despair, pursuing the faintest glimmer of hope that they might be okay, that they might be found. there was another member of the search party, wasn’t there ? she didn’t know her, hadn’t known jakey ‘til he had opened his mouth – perhaps, the third person could be useful.

❛ ghosts aren’t real, kid, ❜ she managed after a long moment of silence, pulling herself back to reality, addressing the last snatch of conversation she had caught as she ran a hand through messy hair, unwashed, unbrushed, unstyled – upon realizing she was alone, and receiving the summons to the town square, she had simply thrown on her clothes from the evening before and run from the house, panic growing at the sight of the empty streets. ❛ and even if they were, there are far worse things out there. ❜ how cryptic. how true.

introductions, though – hadn’t they been making those ? their names had been called as they had been grouped together, but already, hanna had forgotten their companion’s, was forgetting jakey’s, was barely hanging on to her own. conversation could be grounding, though; could help reign in the panic she still felt before it transitioned into sheer terror. folding her arms, she looked down, lips curling back to reveal sharp teeth, growing sharper. not quite a smile – something more like a warning. ❛ hanna. people call me skeletor. ‘ dinah called her skeletor, bright, beautiful, vivacious dinah, who had disappeared overnight with everyone else, who could be dead for good this time, for all she knew. could you die twice ? would they use dinah to find out ? don’t think about it, she scolded herself desperately, but how could she not ?

❛ … skeletor, yeah. ❜ dark eyes turned upwards to meet jakey’s, teeth still elongating, sharp, pointed. feral. ❛ and i can turn into somethin’ you could really be scared of. ❜

call it dramatics; a test; a coping mechanism. a way to sound her companions out, to make sure they could hold their nerve. still, after a moment, the teeth –  the fangs – began to recede, as hanna let out a shaky exhale. as annoying as jakey’s optimism was, maybe it would be useful. negative thinking and guilt didn’t seem to be doing her much good. if only she could bottle his attitude. she looked towards jakey for a moment, trying to gauge his reaction, before turning her gaze to their companion, posing a different question, rather than echoing jakey’s much more useful one.

❛ did you … is there anyone you know who’s missing ? ❜ another empty smile, tinged with bitterness. ❛ or are you one of the lucky ones, with everyone accounted for ? ❜

(  @electricphe​  )

[bitchcassidys-blog]

LADY DI.

In years past, Sunday afternoons had been for tea, and lounging in silk robes, and deciding what tricks Dinah might introduce into her act in the upcoming week. She liked to keep herself on her toes literally and figuratively, outdoing herself again and again, remaking herself into a new spectacle every so often. She would curl up in the patches of sun that filtered through her windows, feline, and dream of golden tiaras and circles of fire, and whether or not she could be shot out of cannon mostly intact. 

Now though, as the days passed in varying degrees of strangeness, Dinah found herself dreaming of other things. Sunday afternoons were still for tea (the scent inhaled, not drunk), and lounging in silk robes (today she could only feel the pull of the fabric on her lower half; nerves died and were reborn at varying speeds), but now she found herself contemplating more dangerous topics. 

Like walking around after curfew, for example. After her death Dinah had become a creature of the night, as silly as that sounded. She had risen at dusk and wandered around in the dark, and to this day she longed to be able to walk around and do her business under the pale light of the moon. It was inconsequential. It was extraordinarily important. She should be thankful she had a job and a place to live. She should demand answers from the new, elusive ringleader. 

She should stop before she discovered if it was possible for a human to die twice. 

A knock tore her from her thoughts, and she startled, as though she’d been caught in a rebellious act (not too far fetched, as there were certainly mind readers around town somewhere). It was a Hanna kind of knock, loud and insistent and playful in rhythm. Dinah called in return, promising to be there momentarily. 

Dinah’s wide grin disappeared as she turned the knob of the front door, and she heard a sharp crack! The fingers of her right hand snapped off and tumbled to the floor, three rings popping off and rolling around. She sighed and reached to pick them up, balancing them awkwardly with her left hand. 

“And wouldn’t you know it, I’m all out of super glue,” she said dryly, turning to walk back into the room. “There’s tea in the living room. It’s called the Dancing Dragon.” 

❛ you need a new fuckin’ door. ❜ dinah’s missing fingers were initially ignored ( or rather, unnoticed ) by the irishwoman, who was fixated on the worn patch on the door, the pain radiating through her own hand – jesus christ, she really needed to stop banging dinah’s door so hard. there was a bald patch appearing on the wood, moulded in the shape of her knuckles; around it, a lighter spot, caused by her staggering up to dinah’s when she was too drunk to stand upright, let alone form a fist, and instead slapped at the door with the flat of her hand until the other woman took pity on her and let her in. she should at least offer to pay for a new door, considering she was likely the reason this one was quickly going to ruin.

should, but … wouldn’t. the library was still closed, undergoing repairs, and hanna was hoarding the money from her paid leave on the off chance they might decide not to re-open, so she could stay afloat ‘til she found something else. could she afford to buy dinah a new door right now ? probably, but – no. would she do it eventually ? possibly. ( … but no. )

still, her eyes – hidden behind dark lenses, sunglasses necessary to hide her currently awful appearance – flicked up, away from her bruised and blistered fingers, and lingered upon dinah’s face, mouth twisting itself into a frown. had dinah ever come to the door without a smile ? not once, in all the years they knew each other, if she was remembering right ( though she probably wasn’t. ) her eyes roved around, looking for the cause of dinah’s misfortune – aha. yellow, worn, cracked nubs of bone, peeking out from dark, rotting flesh, blood long since congealed upon the cartilage. her heart dropped a little at the sight of it. poor dinah’s finger bones ! they had certainly seen better days.

( so she was getting emotional about the state of dinah’s bones. blame it on the drink, or five, she’d had before leaving the apartment. )

❛ ever consider staples ? ❜ she offered as she stepped inside, letting the door snick shut behind her. the rings were still scattered on the floor, and hanna briefly crouched to snatch them up; moments later, they were rolling on the surface of the dead woman’s coffee table whilst hanna laid back upon the sofa, stretching her legs out on it. even so, she took care not to let the soles of her boots touch the upholstery; what a rare thing, to see her giving a shit about somebody else’s belongings. still, it was a long moment before she spoke – she wanted dinah to settle before she turned to face her, legs barely up on the sofa before she was swinging them down, righting herself, spreading them. resting her elbows upon her knees, hands clasped, she began to chew at her thumbnail, considering how best to broach a topic which had been on her mind for quite a while. she was sure that dinah would ( in theory ) be incredibly supportive of her, but – well, the situation was perfect, but how much of a willing guinea pig would the other woman be ?

❛ can i – can i try somethin’ ? ❜ hanna’s voice was halting, and she reached out to gesture at dinah’s hand, what was left of it. ❛ fuckin’ nothin’ might happen, like, but … dunno. just… trust me on this one. give us your hand. fingers too. i just … wanna test a theory. ❜ a smirk flickered across her face as she swept her sunglasses to the top of her head, revealing dark, sunken eyes. maybe her idea was more a product of sleep deprivation than anything else. ❛ fair dig if i fuck it up, like. ❜

[denver-ariadne-blog]

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[rrahl]

[bitchcassidys-blog]

the hospital was an uncomfortable place to be, but hanna was glad of it. there was a routine there which she was happy to settle into in the wake of what had happened, allowing herself to be guided by nurses, shuffled to one place and then another for tests, physiotherapy, whatever else they wanted of her. it was weak, and it was lazy, and it was selfish, yes – but wasn’t she entitled to a bit of that, after all that had happened ? it wasn’t going to last, anyway. doctors were already questioning her about the scars which covered the best part of her body, received long before that day, why they had healed so badly, what had caused them; already suspicious with how quickly she had recovered, how neatly her bones had knitted back together, how easily her jaw had slid back into place; and just how, they asked, was she finding physio ? and though they smiled, she could see it in their eyes – they didn’t trust that she was finding it so easy. hanna was suspicious and paranoid in return ( what if they were in league with the others, the ones who had kidnapped so many people, the ones that were rumoured to have bombed the island ? ) but … more than that, she was tired, exhaustion in her very bones. let them take her away, let them do whatever they wanted to her, but god, just let her rest first.

the nurses had come to her with discharge forms that morning, and she had dutifully filled them out, surprising herself with how regretful she felt as her pen scraped across paper, movements sharp and stiff and graceless, and utterly fake, all for the benefit of the nurses. she was to be let out the next morning, and in contemplating the return to the apartment she shared with ruby, with how nice it might be to fall into her own bed, or perhaps, dinah’s – so lost in these thoughts, she missed entirely the nurse’s proclamation that she had a visitor until the door shut quietly behind them.

out of the corner of her eye, hanna saw the silhouette, and her head jerked to the side so that she might see them properly. one moment, two, and then she leaned back upon the bed, tucking her legs up beneath her to give the other room to sit, wry grin spreading across her face. four fuckin’ years, she thought, an’ this brings you running right back.

❛ as i live an’ fuckin’ breathe. bijou demure. ❜ a snicker, at the name – still, she was convinced it was fake – and then she sat up, giving the other her attention.  no need to ask what she was there for. ❛ here’s a headline for ye, before we start. local woman loses additional shit she didn’t think she still had. if that ain’t top of the paper when you go to print, this interview is over ‘fore it even fuckin’ starts. ❜

(    @hackerspvce    )

[lindsayslohan]

Bring It On (2000) dir. Peyton Reed

[bitchcassidys-blog]

🙌

❛ jesus christ this bitch is still on this meme !

DARREN FORRESTER was hanna’s first – and so far, only –love. oh, she’s had relationships since him of course, but the ghost of thedead boy has hung over all of them, no matter how hard hanna has tried toforget him.

for a long time, darren was little more than a backgroundcharacter in hanna’s life. the two were in the same year in secondary school,and though they knew each other’s names and faces, said quiet hellos as theypassed in the corridor, they never made more of an effort to befriend eachother. hanna was having trouble with crickey burns, with the constant argumentsat home, with being introduced to alcohol, with changing who she was as aperson, and darren’s own home life was hardly idyllic – his father had fuckedoff after learning his mother was expecting, and his grandmother, an extremelyreligious woman, had been quick to threaten her daughter with a stay in amagdalene laundry. instead, his mother, still a teenager, had thrown herself onthe mercy of the first man who would take her… and oh, was mano forrester abastard. he was good at keeping it behind closed doors, but the dislike hisstep-father had for him had only increased as darren had grown, and it began tocome to a head in his teenage years.  itwas after yet another fight, about darren choosing to spend his money on amotorcycle, on something for himself, rather than mano, that hanna and darrenproperly became acquainted – darren had stormed out to a bar which wasn’t toofussy about selling alcohol to teenagers, and run into hanna at the counter. afew drinks, and they were friends. a few weeks, and they were going out. a fewmonths, and to hanna, it was true love.

her parents disapproved of darren. his parents disapprovedof her. they couldn’t have brought them closer together if they had tried, andit wasn’t long before they were spending every moment they could in eachother’s company. weekends were made for running away, packing a bag and takingoff on darren’s motorcycle, setting out for somewhere – anywhere – that wasn’ttheir home. uni, they decided, could wait. they’d take a gap year together,travel to italy, france, spain, everywhere in europe that they could. they’dtake planes, trains, boats, hitchhike if they had to, but they were gettingout, and they were getting out together. it was everything hanna had everwanted. after finalizing their plans, they had decided to spend one lastweekend away, before they’d start saving. one last trip on the bike darren wasplanning to sell to finance their journey ( or, if you believe the rumours, tobuy hanna a ring. )

well.

we all know what happened the day hanna and darren decidedto return home.

it’s not too big of a stretch to say that darren’s deathbroke hanna in some way. the truth is, if hanna’s powers hadn’t manifest whenthey did, neither of them would have walked away from the crash. they wouldhave survived, yes, but hanna doesn’t realize just how much she healed herselfafter the crash, so lost in grief; without her powers, her spine would havebeen crushed, leaving her wheelchair-bound for the rest of her life. darrenwould have lost an arm, having been mangled on impact, and would have lain in acoma for weeks, anyway. no-one is sure if he would have woken up. but despitewhat might have been, hanna is haunted by what was – how her desperation tokeep him safe ended up killing him. her bone fragments spearing him through thethroat. darren’s death is her fault, and her fault alone, as far as she’s concerned,and almost ten years on, she’s still not over it, not over him. ( she also hasuntreated p.t.s.d. relating to the accident, and is triggered by a number ofthings – loud banging noises, car & motorcycle crashes, the smell ofpetrol, explosions, being in proximity to dead bodies. the day of the bombingattack on the island was … not a good one for her, to say the least. )

hanna didn’t attend the funeral. she felt too guilty, feltshe wouldn’t be able to cope with seeing him laid to rest – as a result, she’shad no closure in regards to him, and the accident. she’s still a little bit inlove with him, even now; still compares all new potential partners to the old,and finds all who are alive lacking compared to the memory of the dead boy. sheleft dublin not long after darren was buried, and brought his ghost with her …and as a result of cutting contact with her family, and all others who knewhim, never heard of what happened after she moved.

darren’s grave, according to the official news reports, wassubject to vandalism. they were very insistent that it be called that, insteadof exhumation. no-one is quite sure why his grave in particular was targeted,with all around it left untouched, but it was a mess, and the coffin too. thebox was quietly re-buried, the earth smoothed over, the headstone cleaned up,but the coffin put back into the ground was empty. where darren’s body is nowis anyone’s guess, but there are rumours of someone who looks just like himwandering about – whether or not they’re true, though, well. nobody knows.hanna hasn’t heard them. her reaction if she did … would certainly besomething.

[lottewrites]

HAMILTON : AN AMERICAN MUSICAL  → STARTERS

❛ he was longing for something to be a part of. ❜

❛ and the world is gonna know your name. ❜

❛ there’s a million things i haven’t done, but just you wait. ❜

❛ you never learned to take your time. ❜

❛ talk less…smile more. ❜

❛ who’s the best? c’est moi! ❜

❛ the plan is to fan this spark into a flame. ❜

❛ i’m not throwing away my shot. ❜

❛ i may not live to see our glory, but i will gladly join the fight !  ❜

❛ they’ll tell the story of tonight. ❜

❛ tomorrow there’ll be more of us. ❜

❛ i’m looking for a mind at work. ❜

❛ look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now. ❜

❛ oh my god. tear this dude apart. ❜

❛ i will send a fully armed battalion to remind you of my love… ❜

❛ dying is easy, young man… living is harder. ❜

❛ then you walked in and my heart went ‘boom’! ❜

❛ you look at me and suddenly i’m helpless. ❜

❛ i am so into you. ❜

❛ i’m just saying if you really loved me, you would share him. ❜

❛ love doesn’t discriminate from the sinners and the saints. ❜

❛ i’m willing to wait for it. ❜

❛ i am the one thing in life i can control. ❜

❛ call me son one more time —…. ❜

❛ i don’t pretend to know the challenges you’re facing. ❜

❛ that would be enough. ❜

❛ and we could be enough. ❜

❛ let me a part of the narrative in the story they will write one day. ❜

❛ you have no control : who lives, who dies, who tells your story. ❜

❛ history has its eyes on you. ❜

❛ awesome. wow. ❜

❛ i’ll make the world safe and sound for you. ❜

❛ why do you assume you’re the smartest in the room? ❜

❛ what’d i miss? ❜

❛ run away with us for the summer. ❜

❛ take a break. ❜

❛ well, hate the sin, love the sinner. ❜

❛ no one else was in the room where it happened. ❜

❛ and then we’ll teach them how to say goodbye. ❜

❛ we both know what we know. ❜

❛ i will choose her happiness over mine every time. ❜

❛ god, i hope you’re satisfied. ❜

❛ i saved every letter you wrote me. ❜

❛ you built me palaces out of paragraphs. ❜

❛ be careful with that one, love, he will do what it takes to survive. ❜

❛ when you were mine, the world seemed to burn. ❜

❛ the world has no right to my heart. ❜

❛ i hope that you burn. ❜

❛ everything is legal in new jersey… ❜

❛ i’m so sorry for forgetting what you taught me. ❜

❛ it’s quiet uptown. ❜

❛ they are trying to do the unimaginable. ❜

❛ there are moments that the words don’t reach. ❜

❛ forgiveness. can you imagine? ❜

❛ i had only one thought before the slaughter. ❜

❛ i imagine death so much, it feels more like a memory. ❜

❛ what is a legacy? it’s planting seeds in a garden you will never see. ❜

❛ death doesn’t discriminate between the sinners and the saints. ❜

❛ i survived, but i paid for it. ❜

❛ have i done enough? will they tell my story? ❜

[bitchcassidys-blog]

PENELOPE.

hanna. ( @bitchcassidys )

penelope took a deep breath, probably a mistake as the heavy scent of sweat and spilled drinks immediately poured in through her nose, but she needed to center herself a bit for what she was about to do. 

– well, she needed to attempt to center herself anyways. her whole body felt sort of loosey-goosey and if she focused on any one place for too long the room would start spinning. hanna had already voiced her concerns ( somewhere around the 5th shot if she remembered correctly – that was the glass she slammed so hard down on the bar it shattered ) and had tried to pull penny as far away from where she was currently standing as humanly possible. in fact, the older woman had tried to pull her right out the door. 

but penelope was having exactly none of that.

she had yanked herself out of her friend’s grasp ( probably dislocating something in the process – she was going to have to remember to apologize for that later ) and marched herself right up to the back of the bar, before hauling herself ( not without a good bit of fumbling ) up onstage – after all, it was her turn.

the stage lights, in direct contrast with the overall dinginess of the rest of the bar, were shining a little too brightly in her eyes, but it didn’t even matter. she knew all the words.

she swayed ( well – teetered ) to the rhythm of the music as she waited for it to queue her in, and when it did, she didn’t hesitate.

❛ WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK I IS? YOU AIN’T MARRIED TO NO AVERAGE BITCH BOY ❜

a hundred thousand bad ideas in almost thirty years, and somehow, taking penelope park out for drinks seemed to be the worst one she’d ever had. it had hardly been four hours since she had walked into penny’s bakery, a shit-eating grin on her face and a bottle of vodka in her hand, lovingly dangled in front of penny’s face as she pleaded for her company – one or two drinks couldn’t hurt, could they ? hah ! hanna had assumed that, considering penny stood at four foot nothing, and was the human personification of cotton candy, that she would be a lightweight, but she couldn’t have begun to imagine just how intoxicated penny would get, or how quickly. the shattered shot glass ( and the cracked bar-top beneath it ) had been her first warning that, perhaps, she should escort the little lady home – and fuck, hadn’t that just gone well ?

hanna was no stranger to pain, or the sensation of bones shifting and grinding beneath the skin. the pops and cracks of dislocations had become familiar, almost soothing sensations to her, but that had been when she was with normal humans, or at the very least, mutants with normal strength levels. as penny wrenched her arm, dancing out of her grip, hanna felt a very real sense of alarm that this was one injury which she wouldn’t come back from, muscles & tendons & skin stretching to an uncomfortable degree, pain shooting up her arm, into her shoulder, her chest; why had she agreed to go drinking with a stubborn child with super-strength ? her arm was falling off. it had to be. fuck.

so she was a horrible friend. so she abandoned penny to stumble into the ladies room, tearing her jacket off, her shirt immediately after, heedless of anyone who might have been using the bathroom. beneath the strap of her bra, her right shoulder was bruising before her eyes, brown skin turning black and purple, the darkness spreading down her arm, just a little; towards her neck, down to her chest, fuck. touching fingertips to the bruises caused her to wince, and gripping her elbow to slide her shoulder back into the socket would have done the same, had that touch not caused her to realize that her elbow and forearm had fallen out of place too. not bad work for a living cupcake, she had to admit. caught up in her admiration of penny’s handiwork, she paid no mind to the music which thrummed through the speakers and into the bathroom – at least, until the sound of penny’s voice broke through the wall, and she remembered just what she had been trying to stop her from doing.

well, she thought, glancing towards the door. that fucking failed.

but what else could she do ? penny was already on the stage, and goddamn, she was doing good. who knew that such a voice could hide in so tiny a girl ? she was killing it. could she really go up there and spoil her fun ? ( could she risk almost losing yet another limb ? ) it didn’t take long to find an answer, one which came to her in the bastardized version of an old, and rather dark, irish proverb – ye can bate the wife, ye can bate the child, ye can bate the dog, but ye cannot bate a bitta music. upon re-dressing and emerging from the bathroom, hanna instead made her way to the foot of the karaoke stage, shouting encouragement ( and, of course, lewd comments ) to penny as she … well, dancing was a strong word for what she was doing, but she certainly was moving, anyway. for the duration of the rest of the song, hanna cheered. the second the music ended, she vaulted onto the stage, pain radiating through an arm which now seemed to be broken on a molecular level, and attempted to scoop penny up and over her shoulder.

❛ you absolute mad bastard, ❜ she told her with a laugh, warm and genuine and only slightly strained. ❛ fuckin’ yoncé would be proud of ye, girlo – but it’s fuckin’ late, and you’re like… five, at most. ‘mon. we’re goin’ home. you can take my bed f’r the night, i’ll go on the sofa, an’ please, for the love of all good fuck, don’t break my fucking arm again. ❜ she paused for a moment to look wistfully at the karaoke machine ( oh, she would do such a good version of heaven is a place on earth … ) before looking back at the inebriated toddler in her arms. no. she had to be responsible. she had to get penny home.

she was barely managing one night. how the fuck people parented for eighteen years and more, she had no idea. ❛ we’ll stop by the chippy on the way home an’ everything, ❜ she offered, a bargain, a bribe, a beg – please, let’s just get out of this bar. people were staring, but not because of penny’s singing anymore. they were drawing attention. midnight was getting close. the ringleader was going to kick her ass up and down the island, and penny was still. not. budging.

❛ ‘mon, y’wee shit ! ❜

[bitchcassidys-blog]

[ to. dickhead. ] hey.

[ to. dickhead. ] you in ?

[ to. dickhead. ] whatever. i’m coming over anyway. feel like petting your dogs for a while.

[ to. dickhead. ] bringing a bag though so get your spare room ready or whatever.

[ to. dickhead. ] … seriously though are you in i want company

( @lmmortxl )

[brooklyn99]

[bitchcassidys-blog]

someone had walked over her grave. no, not even that – someone had walked over the grave of the entire town.

an old saying, one which she had never paid much mind to before, an old granny’s saying, trotted out every time a great shiver went down her spine; still, she remembered it being cawed at her at bus stops, should any old eyes fall upon her as she trembled, a beautifully morbid reminder from those who already had one foot in the grave. it wasn’t a phrase spoken in aglæca ( or at least, not one spoken to her ) yet when she had woken that morning, it had been the first thing to pop into her mind. even in the sunshine, she had shivered wildly, unease building in the pit of her stomach. she had never been blessed with the power of precognition, but her intuition – aye, that was usually sound. the last time she had felt like this had been the morning of the crash, but she had been young then, and her apprehension easily ignored in favour of the arms wrapped around her waist, the kisses pressed to her cheeks, her neck. she was older now, wiser, and the dread was suffocating her. a minute in the library seemed to drag on for an hour, and she had barely made it to the afternoon before she decided she had to get out, before she went insane. a hundred thousand terrible scenarios had run through her head over the course of the morning, yet the sudden explosions which rocked the town had not been one of them.

had she been able to keep her senses, she might have made a sarcastic comment to help ground her, to ease the fear and anxiety, that’s the last time i take a fuckin’ early lunch break, i tell ye – something stupid, normal, calming. it was a pity that, in the midst of the smoke and screams, hanna seemed to lose her mind. flung through the air from the force of the explosion, the librarian found herself crumpled in a heap at the foot of the statue which had stood pride of place, in memoriam of a man who would weep to see the state of his town now, and eleven years in the past. a twisted, aching spine; blood pooling beneath her, under her nails, in her mouth; smoke and fire ( but where was the petrol ? she had been able to smell it, before, leaking from the motorbike’s tank, acrid and overpowering – ) but the screaming was new, it wasn’t her this time, it was someone else, how could it be someone else ? in the distance, a silhouette, still as a corpse, she had to get to him, she had to, and so she crawled, useless legs dragging behind her, skin scraping against the concrete, please, god, no, no, no –

time was lost to her. sense returned, eventually, but whether it was a minute or an hour later, she couldn’t say. the bones of her spine had knitted back together in the midst of her phantom grief, though one leg sat limp, dislocated, useless, and she could feel a slackness in her jaw, broken, mouth gaping just slightly – but what did that matter ? whoever she cradled in her arms, burned and bloody and cold, dead long before she got to them … of course, it wasn’t him. somebody had loved him, the one who had died in the midst of this horror, but it wasn’t her. she’d never seen him before. she couldn’t begin to guess at his name. there were others, though, people she could still hear screaming, yelling for help, for an ambulance, for the fire brigade. from the window of the library, bright and brilliant flames ( there had been a children’s reading corner on, before lunch, she realized with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach ); the town hall, windows shattered, the injured and the dead strewn across the steps; the police station, as badly hit as anywhere else, but still, officers pouring out of it, doing their best to help. from their radios, she caught faint snatches of news, but what were they saying ? she couldn’t tell.

get up, she urged herself, do something, you have to do something, but it was as if she was paralyzed. that she could fix her leg, her jaw, was unrealized, unremembered, her shock absolute. in another world, she might have helped, but as she heard footsteps approaching now, it was all she could do to raise her head, the body she still held, to show whoever it was – look. it wasn’t me this time.

❛ he’s dead, ❜ she offered, words thick and slurred, jaw clicking as she spoke, and her eyes filled with tears. ❛ i couldn’t … i don’t know what to do. ❜

[talesofnorth]

Ruth Negga for People Magazine

[bitchcassidys-blog]

🙌

❛ send me 🙌 and i’ll talk about someone in hanna’s life !

CRICKEY BURNS is the reason hanna is as abrasive as she istoday. full name christopher adam burns, he and hanna first met in primaryschool, though they hardly interacted then – crickey was the year above hanna,and though they would pass each other in the playground, or be lined uptogether during assemblies, they hardly exchanged two words. a sweet boy formost of his early years, crickey began to act out in primary six and seven, andhis reasons for it weren’t far off hanna’s. with an emotionally absent fatherand a mother who was quick with her hands when the boy stepped out of line,crickey was ignored unless he misbehaved, but despite the violence, he, likehanna, decided that negative attention was better than no attention at all.children do as children see, however, and it wasn’t long until crickey wasusing his fists against the other kids. the violence was toned down once hestarted secondary school, and learned from older children the art of emotionaland psychological manipulation.

hanna was in third year when crickey zeroed in on her as oneof his targets, and found herself repeatedly insulted, belittled, bullied aboutthe meek demeanor she adopted at school. she became self-conscious about howshe presented herself, about her toughness, about how much, or how little, sheswore. the bullying was relentless for five months, until hanna decided tochange – not so much to make crickey happy, as she didn’t give a flying fuckwhat he thought of her, but just so that she would be left in peace.  one friday afternoon, she challenged crickeyto a fair dig after classes, and the boy quickly took her up on the offer,never one to balk at the idea of hitting a girl. ( he had little sisters, afterall. his mother beat him, beat them, and let them beat each other. a girl fromschool was nothing. ) the fight did not exactly go well, considering it washanna’s first, but she didn’t go into it with any preconceived notions of beinghonorable, at least. eye gouging, ball kicking, biting, scratching, at onepoint hanna launched her schoolbag right at his face in the hopes it would keephim down. there was no winner. a few teachers passing in their car caught sightof the crowd around them, the blood flying in the middle of the ring, andhauled them off each other. crickey was conspicuously absent from school for a weekafterwards, returning with a black eye, though that was easily explained assimply another misadventure during his week of suspension. the animositybetween them never died down, but hanna got brave, got mouthy, got abrasive,all as a defence mechanism … and eventually, it simply became part of herpersonality.

crickey was expelled from their school before completing hisleaving cert. hanna would see him on nights out, occasionally, be hassled byhim at odd times when they were both drunk. the last she had seen of him,darren had handed him his ass when he tried to get into his face outside aclub. the last she heard, before leaving dublin, he was in prison on a chargeof assault. simply a childhood annoyance, hanna did her best to forget abouthim. as far as she’s concerned, he’s still rotting in a cell, though she doeshave some pity for him, now she’s able to look back and see he was simplylashing out at her as abused children often do. the fact that crickey mighthave a mutation never occurred to her – but he does. oh, he does, and it’s justwaiting for the opportunity to manifest.

( featuring taron egerton as crickey ! )

[bitchcassidys-blog]

🙌

❛ send me 🙌 and i’ll talk about someone in hanna’s life !

MOIRA MCGIVERN was a girl hanna met during her timevolunteering at the local library, a quiet girl who was studying history attrinity college. the librarian introduced the two of them, either unknowing oruncaring of the age gap between fifteen year old hanna and twenty-two year oldmoira, and though there was still awkwardness, the two developed an odd sort offriendship over the course of a few months. hanna would seek out books formoira so that she could work on her dissertation without having to run to theshelves every ten minutes, and moira would repay her however she could – withfood, with life advice, book recommendations. eventually, after moira startedher masters, and hanna began to approach eighteen, this turned to offering hera place to stay on nights where she got blackout drunk; being so inebriatedleft her scared and anxious when it came to going home, and moira hated thethought of her wandering the streets when she was barely able to put one footin front of the other. she didn’t approve, of course, and she often told hannaso when she woke up the next morning, beyond hungover, but despite her pointedcomments, she never did revoke the invitation for hanna to go to her place whenshe got herself into a state.

incidentally, she was the first woman hanna ever foundherself developing a crush on. nothing ever came of it, of course, as moira wasin a relationship of her own, and hanna began dating darren less than sixmonths after they began to speak, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t noticed her (or how lovely she was ) before they were formally introduced. it took almost ayear for moira to see the wild side of hanna, as there wasn’t an awful lot oftolerance in the library for swearing, or shenanigans of the wild variety.still, they remained friends – after the accident, moira was one of the firstpeople to visit hanna in the hospital, and offered herself as a shoulder to cryon whilst she recovered. hanna never took her up on the offer, closing upinstead, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t appreciate it. she traded numberswith moira before she left for aglæca, even even now, the two still keep intouch – primarily on holidays, but it’s not uncommon for moira’s name ( now moira hamilton ) to flashup on hanna’s phone. they talk about hanna’s life in the town, about moira’shusband, her two published books, her baby due in november. moira doesn’t giveupdates about hanna’s family, and hanna doesn’t ask.

( featuring dénee benton as moira ! )

[niinjas-blog]

reblog n add what wikihow article ur muse is