Fanart for @pagingdoctorcarter's fic, Slouching Toward Bethlehem, which you should absolutely read. Treat yourself. I laughed, I cried, it moved me, Bob.
And Frodo when he saw her come glimmering in the evening, with stars on her brow and a sweet fragrance about her, was moved with great wonder, and he said to Gandalf: 'At last I understand why we have waited! This is the ending. Now not day only shall be beloved, but night too shall be beautiful and blessed and all its fear pass away!'
in all my years of working i have never, ever cared this much about who a coworker is taking to a function unless i have a big fat sloppy crush on them. food for thought.
Teenage Anna Del Amico who wanted to help her family out with the rent, wanted to feel like she was contributing and being independant and self-sufficient.
Anna Del Amico sneaking out and night, coming back before dawn with a little cash and a few easily hidden bruises and an occasional limp. Telling herself it could always have gone worse. Telling herself she’s fine. Telling herself she’s tougher than this.
Anna Del Amico sitting in the pews of a Catholic church with her family and knowing she can’t tell them what she’s been doing. They need the money. She can get the money to help. She knows they’d just worry and freak out over it. It’s fine. She’s tough. She can handle it.
Anna Del Amico growing to resent the creepy older men and their nice suits and silk ties and expensive watches that leer at her when she knows she doesn’t look anywhere close to the eighteen she tells them she is. If their watches go missing, or their wedding rings get misplaces, or a couple extra notes get slipped out of their wallet… it’s not her problem.
Adult Anna Del Amico still feeling sick about it sometimes. It wasn’t consenual. She knows that. She was too young, too desperate, and she knows they could tell. She still carries a lot of anger about it. She keeps it close to her chest. She knows there are people who would judge her, blame her for it. She doesn’t want to deal with anyone pitying her either.
Anna Del Amico hearing John Carter talk about his brothers death, absent parents, the belief that he was meant to push his feelings down to make his family happy. He talks about a maid who was nice to him. Kept him company. Made him feel loved.
Anna Del Amico listens to the way John Carter’s voice becomes a bitter whisper, the way he stops suddenly, like there’s something he thinks he shouldn’t say. A secret he’s supposed to keep. A secret that still makes him sick.
Anna Del Amico looking at John Carter’s eyes go glassy and distant as he admits he wanted a rapist to die. The way he cries quietly, seeming defeated, as she takes his hand and holds it. He squeezes it back, and she gets an awful feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Anna Del Amico knowing this is something that she and John Carter share.
origamiaround
kianamaiart
theartofmadeline
stormborns
