narratives of note
: some narratives have now non-canonical events in them, but these are the ones that I believe best show off Molly/Madelyne, even if they are not longer canon. This only goes up to 2018 for the moment, due to the sheer amount of narratives and shifting feelings here and there.
Also my old coding used to be fucking terrible, sorry guys!
Five of Pentacles
. Stuffed animals never appealed to her that much as a child outside of the ones she had brought her brother excitedly when her mother had announced her pregnancy.
every demon wants his pound of flesh
. "who are you?" she asks, foolish and confused. she can't help it: the last thing she remembered was leaving her apartment on a sunny day, and now she was back, hair tousled, coming to herself in the middle of rummaging through her purse with no idea what had happened in between and in the mirror, something strange.
. she's too young to see that his eyes linger on the teachers congregating close by or the fact that he only comes to pick her up on certain days where a teacher with a blue ribbon in her hair is omnipresent.
two of swords
. mark's one unharmed eye focuses on her in a way that she hasn't seen in years. she regrets it; all this time bouncing messages to and from each other and she hadn't ever taken up his offer to come see her. and he still smiles at her, wide and lopsided.
come to jesus
. "did that breakfast have mimosas?" he glides to a stop at a red light. neither of them have to go further than that remark; katherine's mom and her alcohol were always a pair.
tw: domestic abuse
you're a liability
. humiliation is what she feels by the time she staggers into molly's apartment. it's such a different from the surge of pride she'd felt before. the assurance that she, madelyne pryor, wasn't some clone, wasn't a clump of cells that had reached sentience, wasn't someone who had been created solely to birth a child. she had feltreal in a way she hadn't felt for so long, she had felt with utter conviction that she was better than the original, who was the apex of mutation.
. the dream starts out like most of your dreams: awash in black and white, the sound turned low. like always, there's a house dark, and dank.
. But there's no sharp, familiar pain, and the smell of ammonia begins to fill the room.
"Oh, fuck," she breathes.
. she wakes up in his bed, pressed against his chest, comfortable and warm, and she wonders whether or not she deserves this or him.
. “you should be proud. you did what was best, didn’t you?”
. it’s a reminder that teddy happened, and a reminder that every emotion she had, every thought that snarled around in her had merit.
. she still didn't quite know who she was at the moment.
. in movies, girls vomit. they get crazy cravings, they complain about missed periods and there are gasps and tears and sympathetic friends.
molly doesn't realize she's pregnant until she's four weeks in and she realizes, with a frown, that her jeans haven't been fitting her right.
. none of it was good. none of it made her forget the smell of sterile hospital when she'd woken up all those years ago, none of it gave her the ability to sort through her fragmented, drug hazed memories. if anything, as she toed her feet out of her shoes, and made her way to the bathroom, it made it worse. the stray thoughts she picked up, what little she could understand made her upset.
sugar, we're doing down swinging
. she doesn't know how long it's been since the warwolves last took a bite out of her except that whoever was going to be here next was going to hate this more than she had. the floor had gone from grimy and disgusting to having far, far more blood on there that madelyne could deal with. and it had looked like a horror movie when they’d thrown her in.
three am, 1985
. it's two forty five am and that green towel is draped across the sink, and you hate the look of it.
. he grins back, and then he's sliding beside you at the bar, tall but not too tall, arm on the bartop, and he sounds like someone from the movies with his accent.
he makes you roll your eyes, and laugh.
you don't go to his place. he comes to yours.
. it’s just different to assume the truth, and another to be looking at the official documents that solidify the reality of it all, to know that the woman she loved more than her mother, turned out to be more of the same.
how to be unmade
. they wonder why you became the goblyn queen. they wonder why you tried to kill scott, why you tried to kill nathan, why you tried to kill jean and life itself.
goblyn force: resurrection (pt. i)
. it isn't like the first time, full of the desert biting at every pore or the feeling of grief. she doesn't witness her husband peeling away every layer of herself to attach to jean, and she doesn't feel despair.
this time, madelyne is determined, clear headed, and most of all, armed with foreknowledge. she makes her own plans. she pores over molly's phone, sends out the letters she needs and after she's sure no one will come after her, she leaves.
goblyn force: resurrection (pt. ii)
. the darkness feels cool on her skin after the wretched heat of the basement. madelyne finds it the only thing to be grateful for as she's hurled farther and father along, unable to even scream.
plastic love: pt. i
. “baby, no. that’s not how you apologize to gryffin,” she looks at her middle son, and with a wave of her fingers, summons the ruined sheet music to her. looking at it is strange, too: scotty’s written WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP over and over again in desperate, frantic scribbles.
plastic love: pt. ii
. sometimes, she wonders if she should have said yes to coming with him under sea, to going to that kingdom beneath the waves instead of staying here at the lighthouse.
plastic love: pt. iii
. arthur is never as quiet as he means to be when he crawls into bed. it’s been years and still, maddy finds that she can hear his footfalls, can feel his warmth beside her even in the deepest of sleep. call it a sixth sense, call it magic; she always, simply, knew.