angel of mercy

[ratchedt]

                                         rules.  (  bio coming soon.  )

[ratchedt]

illuminans​

        keep your voice down.  it irritates you at first.  you spend every hour,  day in and day out at work,  being told to be quiet.  the voice of a woman isn’t a voice anybody would want to hear   -  that’s what the governor has spat at you more than once.  in fact,  if you had a dollar for every time he has,  you’d be one rich woman.         ❛   i’ll keep my voice down so long as you stop walking past me as if i’m nobody.  feeling invisible at work and here with you is hardly pleasant.   ❜  she forces out this vulnerable side of you.  you have feelings so deep for her that they consume you.  she haunts you,  she haunts every single thought and you can’t shake her off.    ❛    but thank you  -  for stopping to help me.  you really didn’t have to.   ❜    except she really did  …   you made it hard for her to refuse.  

you watch her,  watch as she struggles with the lock just as you had been doing.  you can’t help but feel thankful for the fact that you aren’t completely useless.  it’s nice to know that it’s a problem with the door and not you.  ❛ this place is a dump.    ❜  you feel bad as soon as you say it.  you’re not a snob,  you never have been.  but right now, what you’d love to do it take the heel of your shoe and force it right through the door.  you refrain,  however.  you possess self control.   ❛  i’d ask the woman on the desk to help but she makes me feel uncomfortable.    ❜      she’s the personification of a snake,  you’ve sussed her out already.  leering at every resident in her motel   -   obsessed with their story, with every inch of their lives.   nosy,  is perhaps the right word to use.   ❛   i guess  i’ll let you get to your room to enjoy your evening.  i’ll stay and try to suss this thing out.  it was nice of you to stop,  mildred.   ❜    there’s a hint of disappointment in your tone.  you can’t hide it,  it’s impossible.   ❛  thank you.  ❜

               you hardly thought your quiet snub would affect gwen like this. in truth, you feel a guilt welling in you. a shame. at the hint that no one else cares for gwen, that no one else listens or tends to her needs, or heeds her clever words you feel something in your throat tighten and something in your heart melt. it’s potent within you, so all you can do is say nothing. you observe instead. your eyes are careful and alert.   gwen continues :   thank you  -  for stopping to help me.  you really didn’t have to.      you give her a smile. unlike before, it is gentle. it’s genuine.    ❛   you’re welcome.  ❜     you say it softly. you like helping.                 gwen looks miserable. when she says the motel is a dump and that louise is a leer    -    which it is, certifiably, you can’t help but crack a grin. a smirk. maybe it’s to relieve the tension you feel, maybe it’s because there is something wicked and lovely about the way she admonishes things in ways no one else will.  a bright spark flashes in your mind, of gwen scandalizing you  :         THEN COCKTAIL SAUCE, IF YOU’RE A BOOR WHO LIKES HOOKERS AND CIGARS.         ❛   it’s good for this place that it’s the only one in town.   i can’t imagine it would get much business otherwise.  ❜         as always, her words are playing on your mind. she told you earlier this was the only one in town. you listen.                     you’re still on guard, of course. gwen wants something inappropriate. while gwen talks, a fantasy of her putting her arms against the doorframe and encroaching on your space and shunting against you, of kissing you gently ... your eyes widen a little while she talks, and again you feel that horrible fear mingled with something else which bursts in your chest like fireworks of revulsion and fascination. the polite thing to do would be to offer to let her sit in your room for a while .      BUT IF YOU DO, YOU’RE NOT SURE WHAT YOU’LL DO.    that is sickening. flashes of the grinding meat of the lobotomy patients flash in your mind, of the smell of scalded blistering skin from the hydrotherapy. `              ❛   i have time.  ❜      you say.      ❛   i’ll go with you to the front desk.  ❜     relief floods you, and you give gwen a small, constrained nod as you walk past her and onto the gravel again. 

[ratchedt]

illuminans​

             you don’t like to struggle.  in a man’s world,  your job is filled with struggles as it is  -  so having a war with the lock on the door?  it’s more infuriating than it should be.  and perhaps it’s down to having a long day with the governor that you’re cussing at a door lock under your breath  -  but you cannot help your stresses,  nor can you help the way your body stiffens when you hear her voice.  oh,  the effect she has on you.    ❛  mildred.  ❜   you won’t stoop to formalities.  you like her name  -  you like how it sounds on your tongue and despite the confusing events that have occurred between the two of you,  miss ratched sounds much too formal.  you turn to her,  one hand on the door that you’ve been trying to open for the past few minutes and you try  -  oh you try  -  to force a smile.  but god,  you can’t help but resent the fact that some sleaze ball of a man left her room earlier that day.  there’s tension between the two of you and it’s rife  …   you could cut it with a knife.  

❛   is that it?  ❜   you’re feeling a little  bold tonight.  your patience has drawn a very thin line and it’s told by the tightened jaw your face holds.  but still,  you manage a smile.  it’s weak,  somewhat bitter  -  but it’s there.    ❛  a simple  miss briggs and that’s that?  i’m   -   i’m locked out of my room.  could you just stop for a minute to help me?  perhaps act as though we’re actually friends and not mere strangers who only know of one another’s name.  i thought we were more than that.  just  -  just give me five minutes, mildred.  or  -   or join me for a drink.   ❜

            mildred.      your name in gwen’s mouth is ... pleasant. almost immediately you give a small, restrained smile. pleasant in return. that is, before you spot that she seems more irate and bothered than polite and pleasant.   your impersonal expression stiffens.   gwendolyn briggs wants something you have already told her, on no uncertain terms, she may not come near. the placid formality of a smile fades from your mouth as quickly as it appeared, you put your head down and quicken your pace. it’s clear to you now, this was a mistake.              your heels clack across the gravel, and you do not stop when she asks you  :   IS THAT IT ?    yes, that is it. of course that’s it. a small scoff forms in your mouth, even though you emit no sound. of course that’s it   -   do you have to repeat yourself ?   yes, she is intriguing and interesting and, yes, you think often of her   -    but it is irrelevant.  because gwendolyn briggs, as ever, ploughs ahead. the woman eschews social conventions like it’s a personal hobby. a female press manager, a woman who ... thinks of women. in that sense.   while you’re quite good at containing your facial expressions, you shut your eyes tight with your back to her.  in a sense it’s gratifying.  ( some things feel worse than nothing  and in a complicated way, you had hoped there would be a reason to dither. to stay. )   but then the feeling of her begging you, shouting this out in public ... it brings out a fear so potent that you feel it like a white hot revulsion.               ❛   keep your voice down !  ❜       you snap. it’s both more abrupt and more pleading than you would like.  you’re facing her now, a heavy silence pooling between you.   you wouldn’t care so much about people knowing you care for her if it didn’t run so horribly deep.            ❛   please.  ❜        you need a moment to think. your throat is tight and your eyes are wide. in a matter of moments you are striding toward her, towards her locked door and faulty key. you are, as always, keenly aware of the distance between you. it’s tiny now, you wedged between gwen and her door. with a look from under your brow, you wordlessly ask for the key from her hand and bend over to inspect the key as you slide it into the knob. it occurs to you that this is the second time in a short amount of time that you’ve wound up between gwendolyn briggs and a solid door of the motel. with any luck, the key will turn easily under your more sure and steady hand.           but of course, you have no luck.  your eyebrows knit together. the key refuses to work. you raise your head from key level and look back to gwen, a little displeased that you haven’t been able to help. a little nervous that you can’t now leave. 

[m-azing]

imagining your otp doing the forehead touch is literally the most important thing in the whole world. everybody take a second and stop scrolling and imagine your otp doing the forehead touch. okay. you can move on now.

[illuminans]

@ratchedt

[ratchedt]

@illuminans​  liked  for   a   starter ! 

                               in truth, mildred gets flustered when she sees miss briggs about the motel like this. whether it is to get ice, to lounge by her car, to go to the front desk for phone calls  ---- when mildred sees her, her throat constricts, her knuckles whiten, her ribs clamp down on her lungs and heart until they are fit to burst. in her most intimate moments, she has pictured ... things.  touch. warmth. intimacy.  secret things. uncontrollable things.  mildred is many things   -     uncontrolled is not one of them.                                  and so it is  a little scary, a little unnerving to see miss briggs struggle with her key late at night, after mildred’s shift at lucia. she can see how it will go :  “do you need help?” “why, yes, mildred. i’m stuck out here, so i’ll need to stay at yours until either this door unlocks or we’re making eye contact until our hands entwine and we’ve kissed endlessly.”    no.   it would never do. she can see also the motel owner, see her yellow-toothed leer, see her mouth forming horrid comments. 

                            “miss briggs.”     she says shortly, voice tight and shoulders tense. don’t stop me, don’t talk to me, don’t ask me about your jammed door or whatever is wrong. she’s taken the longway round on the walk to her room. she’s not sure why. when it comes to gwendolyn briggs, there is very little she is sure of. eyes drop to the floor, she hurries her stride.

[ratchedt]

' this can never happen again '

THIS CAN NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN.                            he’s right in every sense that doesn’t matter, mildred knows that much. that little flapping bird in the rib cage of a human, the one that fluttered and sang tragedy, had had it’s little neck wrung in her long ago. now what hurt most was seeing it in others: that horrible flash of fear, the flailing, the inevitable crack of fragile bone against gilded cage. and make no mistake: everyone found themselves caged. unlock one, find yourself thrown into another. mrs cartwright, dragged from one bath to another. mildred, dragged from one foster home to another. it was awful, perhaps. but unpredictable? no. but it will happen. it will happen again.  huck’s anger burns out of him like she’s never seen it before; he’s always seemed the quiet type, a deformity marking him to be the outsider, the monster every child in the neighborhood would make up stories about. that is also a feeling she knows nestles deep down in her somewhere, too.  that pity that brews into a thick sorrow in her has become a lightning rod in him. an explosive piece of shrapnel, almost. if the gossip among the nurses is to be believed.  he said he didn’t care - didn’t care if it cost him his job - so long as no patient ever sat scalded and scarred and delirious again.    DO YOU MEAN THAT?   she asked. when he nods, she feels something in her flutter. it has to be bitten back: life doesn’t work that way. sometimes the kindest thing is to tear away the band-aid that is hope. there are some things worse than feeling nothing at all.  no. just as this is the right place for a woman of mrs cartwright’s disposition, so too is this place, this tiled house of the sick, right for them also.                                 PEOPLE LIKE US, PLACES LIKE THIS                                  ARE MAYBE WHERE WE BELONG. 

think of your job. what’s right isn’t what’s clever.   that’s what she wants to say to him, but before she can, he has taken off. to confront bucket, to tear the baths apart, or hell, to scream blue murder and cry at the sky. she doesn’t know. before anything can ooze from her tight-lipped mouth, she is alone in the corridor, the smell of mrs cartwright’s melted skin coming from beneath her fingernails, where she accidentally dug too deep. like one might when biting into a peach.  something in huck makes her think of edmund, when he was young. before he had to do awful things. before he had skin under his nails. before he lived in an iron-cast cage. back when he needed her. he needs her now, she reminds herself. she sighs. it is an anxious, composing sigh. nurse ratched tucks the thought away. she has rounds. 

[lourdsmemes]

a collection of prompts from the first episode of american horror story: hotel.  change pronouns as needed !

tw. mild references to drug use.

“ i heard you the first time. ” “ trust me. ” “ this place will grow on you. ” “ who was that?! ”  “ i’m just as surprised as you are. ” “ i’ve got dibs on this one.  i haven’t seen one that sweet in a while. ” “ who are you looking for? ” “ i can see the pain in your eyes.  it’s very familiar. ” “ you’ve lost something and now you’re frozen in time.  can’t move forward, can’t go back. ” “ tell me you love me. ” “ what’s wrong with people? ” “ please let us go. ” “ stop your whining.  you brought this on yourself. ” “ you’re polluting your body with all that shit. ” “ don’t.  please, don’t… ” “ do you really need to be so aggressive?  can’t you have some compassion? ” “ you get the hell out of here. ” “ i’ve seen what your ‘caring’ looks like.  we’ve all seen it. ” “ at least i care about something. ” “ do you think i want to be here, surrounded by junkies and decay? ” “ well, then why don’t you leave?  go. ” “ you’ve been whining about the same thing for twenty years. ” “ you talk a good talk, but you stick around because the truth is you like it. ” “ i’m stuck in this godforsaken cesspool of pain and shit because of you. ” “ you’re the beginning and the end of all my suffering. ” “ i’m done.  done with your bullshit, done with it all. ” “ move me with your tears. ” “ run… run! ” “ this can never happen again. ” “ do you even know what this guy looks like? ” “ nobody tells me shit. ” “ where are weirdos like us supposed to live, huh? ” “ we’re going to be great friends. ” “ i’m the cleanest person you know. ” “ who invited you in? ”

[ratchedt]

give this a like for a starter with nurse mildred ratched. might include me jumping into your inbow to plot also. 

[ratchedt]

on the topic of mildred’s mexico dream, episode 8.  (  spoilers ahead.  ) 

a number of things are revealed about mildred and gwendolyn’s life in mexico. you can compare it with the dream mildred has in the same episode; the differences illustrate things she wishes for, and her worst fears.  as regards gwendolyn: in the dream, she’s absolutely glowing. when betsy visits, mildred is able to brag about her recovery, to say that gwen is a ‘star patient’. in this dream, gwen’s health is less ambiguous. not only does she look better, she feels better. doctors say she’s the best - the ‘star patient’. dream!gwen is hardly thinking about this anymore anyway; she’s already back in her old political habits, taking keen interests in the war and urging mildred to forget the past. edmund is ‘gone’, in the serene part of this dream. betsy’s visit is among the more interesting parts of the dream. she enters the dream and is highly complimentary of the grandness of the room, of mildred too. she then marvels at modern medicine beside the pool. in mildred’s fantasy of betsy, the woman laments her part in hydroptherapy. this is, of course, projection. mildred would feel more at ease with her friend if she expressed regret for the hydrotherapy - betsy never expresses this thought to mildred in the show. whether it’s to shield her own guilt or not, mildred reads it as apathy. a lack of regret. dream!betsy regrets her past participation in systemic and violent lesbophobia. dream!betsy waltzes in with talk of cures for melancholy, or ‘depression, as they’re starting to call it’. dream betsy says openly it’s nice to be without men, and is open and jocular and accepting of mildred and gwen as a couple. she’s optimistic about their current circumstances, proud of what the three of them have managed. she even waxes poetic about it.  in reality, betsy expresses no regret in canon. she compliments gwen’s appearance, but no mention is made of gwen being a ‘star patient’ - because it is not true. in reality, betsy spends a good deal of time trumping herself up instead (and don’t get me wrong - in this house we stan betsy bucket’s wicked funny demeanor and how shameless she is) by bragging about how indespensable she is, how her salary has doubled. much less is made of gwen and mildred. in reality, when mildred asks, as she always does, gwen if there is ‘anything’  -  gwen tells her. a multiple murder of seven nurses in chicago. things are not ok. the past, as mildred mentions while her dream transitions from fantasy to nightmare, can’t be disconnected from them.  charlotte wells and edmund are represented differently in dream and reality also. charlotte wells, who mildred helped release into the world & who she witnessed face trial after trail (her original trauma, the murder at the dance just when she’d begun to feel safe, the horrific and uncontrollable violence she accidentally inflicted on doctor hanover) is now herself - and in true nightmarish fashion, charlotte wells is not corrupted beyond imagination. she kills and bathes in the blood of her victims, and needs no other personality to justify this. she is rotten to the core, and a harbinger of death. contrasted with reality: that mean motel lady stuck her foot in her face in the car and she got upset, so reverted to ondine and demanded some fuckin RESPECT. it’s worth noting, dream!charlotte sees right through ratched, and knows that she’s ‘done a lot of killing’. in this nightmare, charlotte is presented as a monster, and a reflection of what mildred fears she really is. edmund is presented with much more power in the nightmare. he’s in her private, personal space. she asks him helplessly about what he wants. he smirks at her. he has a knife. ‘you and i, we can’t go on the way we are. we have too much damage on our insides. [...] you betrayed me, the one person i loved. [...] so i figure - how ‘bout we just fuckin’ end it.’ mildred is tired of running, tired of lying, tired of being in survival mode. she’s fraught from it. it seems logical, natural, even, that the unspeakable truth of it all is that neither she nor edmund are built to live in the world. like faulty grenades. she aims her last defence, her gun, at him and it does not go off. he kills her. from the horrified way she jolts awake and gwen comforts her, it’s clear that this scenario - edmund stabbing her to death like he stabbed their last set of parents - is a common one that plays through mildred’s mind.  in reality, edmund is a bit of a fuckin soft boy. he has his own vision for what to do (get a car, leave a call, kill seven nurses to hurt your sister’s feelings, an exhausting to-do-list if you ask me), but in reality he craves company. he stays, for two years, with charlotte wells and recruits motel lady (i never learned her name and at this point i’m attached to ‘motel lady’ as a title) also. in reality, he goes on to clumsily tell her his acting out is a clue. he asks mildred questions, and she smoothly answers. edmund is far, far away, and out of reach - unnerving in its own way, but not nearly the same panic-inducing feeling as him being near. he doesn’t even get to tell her he wants revenge: in reality, mildred has already steeled herself, already cut out her vulnerabilities and softness - as she so often has to do - and prepared herself once more for survival mode. ‘you are to listen to me now, sis,’ edmund begins. ‘i don’t have to. you’re going to tell me that i betrayed you and that you’re coming for me and that i should be very afraid. well let me tell you something, little brother. you are the one who should be afraid. because i am coming for you, edmund.’  in order to protect what she has, the people she loves, mildred fully intends to kill him. she is absolutely afraid of him, and absolutely certain that this only means that the destructive, lying, impulsive and painfully uncalculating boy must die, if she is ever to know peace. 

[ratchedt]

give this a like for a starter with nurse mildred ratched. might include me jumping into your inbow to plot also. 

[ratchedt]

LETTING ME INTO THIS HOSPITAL WAS THE BEST DECISION YOU EVER MADE.    ----      NURSE RATCHED ROLEPLAY BLOG. 

[chloebeale]

ma’am, your sass is simply astounding