We Came Along This Road

x-posted @ my a03 account

Fandom: Rule of Rose
Pairing: Wendy/Jennifer
Summary: On December 20, 1930, tragedy struck the Rose Garden Orphanage, leaving only one known survivor, nine-year-old Jennifer Brown. Years after the hideous event, Jennifer seeks to reopen the orphanage. News travels fast, and quickly piques the interest of a long lost dead girl who never forgot the promise made to her by her old friend.
A/N: This story is part of a 14-part album fic challenge, in which each song from a single album will serve as inspiration for the story. The album I chose is “And No More Shall We Part” by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.

It was late, and the weather was poor. I should have been at home, half-finished with my nightly rituals, preparing myself for bed. Really, I should have been in my favorite nightgown, perhaps even crawling beneath the heavy blanket, sinking into the warm embrace of my glorious bed. Under less unusual circumstances, I certainly would have been.

Alas. I’m tired, but well awake, and instead of surrendering myself to the luxury of my soft bed, I have instead submitted myself to the indignity of the stiff, torn fabric of a bench seat at the back of a dreary bus. Trundling along at this indecent hour, looking for a girl I haven’t seen since I’d lead the dogman on the death march to the orphanage door, in the tender years of my own girlhood.


Even now, her name fills me with such terrible longing.

If only she hadn’t betrayed me… chosen that filthy creature over me. Humiliating me not once, but twice. Without even trying, I still plainly remember the feel of her palm across my face, the heat in my injured cheek. The poisonous swill coursing through me, spilling black and viscous from the cracks in my heart, as I laid pinned beneath her on the floor, like a butterfly.

The memories are automatic, and unstoppable. The anger in her voice and the furious tears in her eyes as she demanded that I “give her back her friend”, even though I had not been taken from her, at all.

No… if only she’d understood, as I had, as all of the others had, that nothing of value had been lost to her… that the only friend she truly needed – after the lengths I had gone to just to prove to her the immeasurable depths of my devotion – was there already… everything could have been so much different.

We could have been so happy. All of us.


A family.

Instead, she’d been selfish. Cruel. Unbearably cruel. And in the end, it was she who was taken away from me, a second time.

I won’t lose her a third time, however. This time, she will be mine, and no one else’s, ever again.

I have been so patient.

Through the dirty, discolored window, there wasn’t much to see. Trees, mostly. The tedious landscape stumbled past on an endless loop. Trees and bushes, bushes and trees. How putrid. I sighed and turned my head away from the glass; I’d never really been one for the supposed beauty of nature.

Finally, the bus shudders to a halt alongside a bench I recognize immediately.

Once upon a time, I’d found a Stray Dog sitting there, waiting for his son.

I do not pause to linger on those memories. They are worthless to me. I leave the bench behind me without a second glance, as I follow the worn, dirt path up to the Rose Garden Orphanage.

Continue reading “We Came Along This Road”


The Sorrowful Wife

x-posted @ my a03 account

Fandom: Rule of Rose
Pairing: Hoffman/Clara
Summary: Days, and years, and entire lifetimes have passed since Hoffman abandoned his post as the headmaster at the Rose Garden Orphanage, but those little brats are still a constant thorn in his side. But not Clara, his sweet Clara. His refuge, his salvation… his terrible sin. His sorrowful wife.
A/N: This story is part of a 14-part album fic challenge, in which each song from a single album will serve as inspiration for the story. The album I chose is “And No More Shall We Part” by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.

It has not been easy.

I have not slept well since it happened.

Since I left.

I see it in my dreams, that horrid building. It waits for me, crouched in the corners of my wandering mind, looming in the creases of my eyelids, so that when I lie down at night and close my eyes, it drops heavily into view. I see it plainly, every inch and every detail. The enormous, rusted lock on the gate. The rows of darkened windows punched into the grimy walls. That odd picture they’d drawn of the dog, candy spraying from its screaming mouth.

Stray Dog gives us sweets.

I took Diana by her shoulders and shook her until her head wobbled and her eyes filled with tears. “What is this “stray dog” nonsense?”

Stray Dog kidnaps kids.

“Answer me, damn you!” She cried out when I struck her, but only once. After that, there was only the sharp sound of my hand on her flesh, and the anger in my voice as I demanded an answer that she would not surrender.

The shame bubbles up in me, every memory is a slap to my own face. It is inescapable, what I have done.

Inescapable, yes. The irony of it. I left in the middle of the night like a coward and a monster, but I am still there. I can never go back, but I can never leave.

I am trapped there as surely as they were.

It has not been easy.

Continue reading “The Sorrowful Wife”

Mermaids, Part 2: Diana


Fandom: Rule of Rose

Summary: Diana and Jennifer are forced into a tentative partnership when the airship experiences mechanical difficulties.

Part 2: Diana

As a long time member of the upper echelon of the Red Crayon Aristocrats, Diana was not accustomed to being trod upon by anybody, let alone a miserable peon like the new girl.

Her lip curled as Jennifer continued mindlessly on her path, apparently unbothered by the prospect of collision. Her hands moved to her hips, a threatening pose she’d been working on to help better intimidate the underlings, but the foolish girl wasn’t paying mind enough to notice.

Stupid, filthy wretch. If she wrinkles my new dress, I’ll skin her alive.

Continue reading “Mermaids, Part 2: Diana”

Barefoot in the Dark – Prologue

Fandom: Rule of Rose

Summary: A child goes missing without explanation; Eleanor resolves to find her. Also available at ao3.

It was vicious cold outside on the balcony, but she didn’t mind so much. It was just as vicious cold on the inside where Diana and Meg skulked and slithered; where Miss Martha the cleaning witch scolded and complained; where Mr Hoffman petted and whispered and slipped into the dormitory to watch them undress, insisting that he was simply there to keep them on task.

Hurry up and take off your dress, there’s no time for dawdling. When was the last time you changed your underwear, you dirty little wretch? No mummy and daddy is ever going to want a child who can’t take care of themselves. Give them to me, I’ll take them to the filth room for you…

Where everyone stopped what they were doing to point at her, the new girl, and hiss and snipe to each other as they stared at her with open distrust. The new girl, as if though she’d done it on purpose.

Continue reading “Barefoot in the Dark – Prologue”

Rule of Rain, Chapter 4: Let the Games Begin

A couple of things about this “chapter”:

  1. This is actually only a half-chapter. Photoshop crashed the other night and killed the action I was using on these pictures. I really liked the action and the way it looked on this particular set of pictures, so rather than redo them in a new (and likely inferior) action set, I decided to just release the first half as is.
  2. This “chapter” uses a loooottt of game dialogue. A lot. Beware.


TW: None?

Continue reading “Rule of Rain, Chapter 4: Let the Games Begin”

Rule of Rose Gothic

( x-posted from my tumblr )

  • You wake up on the bus, your skin sticky cold from the dirty window. It’s dark outside. Was it dark when you got on? How long ago was that? You don’t know where you are; you’re not sure where you were going.
  • The little boy hands you a ragged, handmade story book. All of the pages are blank. For now.
  • You find scraps of paper, and scribbles on the walls. The legend tells of Stray Dog. Stray Dog gives kids sweets. Stray Dog kidnaps kids. There’s candy on the floor; where are the children?
  • The children greet you by name. You’ve never seen them before. They don’t bother to introduce themselves; you already know who they are.
  • The children put you in the box with your dear friend. Your dear friend is in the bag. Your dear friend isn’t moving. The box is.
  • You wake up on an airship. The airship is shaped like a whale. The whale is made of metal and glass. It swims between the clouds.
  • Money is obsolete. The currency of choice is Red. Red crayons, red roses. Red all over your dear friend. Red all over the bag. Red all over your filthy hands.
  • There is candy all over the floor. You eat it without question. They come in unpopular flavors, like “Dirty” and “Old”. You eat them, anyhow. You’re sick from the sugar.
  • The airship is massive; it’s impossibly large. Up and down the stairs, down to the belly and up through the blowhole, and all of the children are gone.
  • You search for the children. You can’t find them. The children are lost, the children are hidden. You are all alone on the metal whale, floating in the stars.
  • Animals roam the halls. Grotesque configurations. Rabbits, goats, pigs. They’re all wearing suits. They’re all holding weapons.
  • The children are behind the door. The door is locked. You ply The Door with gifts. A beautiful butterfly, but it’s not enough. A battered rabbit, but it’s not enough. The Red Bird of Happiness, but it’s not enough. An unmarried mermaid, but it’s not enough.
  • Scratchy music plays constantly. All of the rooms are empty. The record player is broken. The music is inescapable. It plays endlessly in every room.
  • The children stop talking when you approach. They look at you with those cold, expectant eyes. They lift their dresses, and bend their knees. They smile those wise, knowing smiles. They ask if you’ve found what you’re looking for yet; something dear to you. Well. Have you?
  • The Door is unlocked. Your dear friend is in the bag again. You deserve to be gobbled up.



Fandom: Rule of Rose

Summary: Diana sulking in the basement. Inspired by Jennifer’s revelation that Diana spent a lot of time in the basement, lamenting the fact that she wasn’t growing up the way she’d envisioned.

The basement was almost painfully cold, dimly lit and impervious to sound. It was filled with dolls that made the other kids nervous, and smelled of mold and decay and rodent leavings. Most importantly, it offered nothing tempting or exciting to combat the various negative aspects, which meant it was an ideal location to escape the chaos of the orphanage.

She was perched on the edge of a wooden stool more splinter than seat, one boot-clad foot dangling limply, swooping in small, lazy circles. Red hair spooled across the old, scarred workbench where her arms had been folded into a cradle of heavy fabric and bone, protecting her face from making any unnecessary contact with the filthy table surface.

The knuckles of her left hand pressed uncomfortably into her right cheek. A red crayon twirled idly between the fingers of her right hand, leaving red slashes In the ruined wood. When it accidentally slipped from her grasp, she let it; she watched it roll away until it disappeared from her line of vision, and then she closed her eyes. With nothing left to interest her, she let her fingers curl in until her nails dug into the soft meat of her palm, pressing until it hurt, squeezing until the bright sting of pain began to feel good.

She thought of the debacle still taking place upstairs. Of Hoffman, trying to piece it all together. Of the other children, scrambling to cover up their involvement.

She thought of his hands in her hair, stinking of shoe polish. Dry and grabbing and rubbing and poking and rubbing and

Jennifer watching. Staring at his hands from across the room, petting and rubbing and reeking of stale smoke, though he’d made such a scene out of it, that whole financial debacle that was supposed to force him to give up his precious cigars. All the while watching with that look of helpless stupidity that Diana had come to associate with her.

She thought of her helpless tears and of

Meg watching with clinical interest. Though she brought Diana and flowers and other worthless trinkets, though she professed her love and devotion, her eyes behind those oversized glasses had watched unblinking as their dear old headmaster had vivisected her with practiced hands, cut into her with bloodless knives, opened her up wide to reveal the writhing maggoty mass beneath the ribbons of smooth skin. She had seen Meg cry before, as often as not a direct result of something she herself had done, and she had looked away, because it was undignified, because it made her uncomfortable to have Meg snotting and weeping and tear-sodden in front of her; Meg had watched with unwavering dedication, savoring every second of her vulnerability. Craving those crumbs of humanity.

She thought of his voice, so desperate and understanding, nearly begging her to give him some explanation with regard to his stupid beloved


koi, the sole unlucky inhabitant of that disgusting aquarium that that always made his room stink of fish, begging, tell me what happened, tell me, but she wasn’t going to do any such thing, not with

Eleanor watching, or at least looking in her direction, the empty bird cage spinning half-forgotten in her hand. Clockwise, stop, counter clockwise, stop, clockwise, stop. Though the red bird it used to contain had since been lost to the ravenous demands of the Aristocracy, still it hung from Eleanor’s fist, that little prison as permanent as an appendage. Perhaps Diana would cut it off for her, and finally free her from that Forever Land foolishness that shackled her to the past.

All of them watching like Diana was something to be pitied.

They were wrong, of course.

She was

a beautiful mermaid

the Duchess, after all. Outranked only by the Princess, a bed-ridden little lump of frailty and sickness. Easily usurped should the desire arise. She didn’t expect it to, though – too much responsibility, none of which appealed to her. Let the phlegmy little worm be in charge. Diana had all she truly needed – plenty of power and ample opportunity to abuse it, and she was content with that, or at least as close to contentment as she would be able to attain.

The door opened unexpectedly, without so much as a courtesy knock to warn her that her moment of peace was about to be interrupted. Gray eyes slit open and focused on the figure standing in the door frame, empty cage in hand.

“What do you want, Eleanor?” Without waiting for a response, she turned and dropped her head back onto her arms with an audible sigh. Of course, it would be Eleanor. Her day simply hadn’t been dreadful enough.

“The Princess has called a meeting,” the Countess replied, sounding bored. It vexed Diana the way that the younger girl addressed her. It was insolent.

“What does she want, then?” Her voice sounded thick, muffled against the sleeve of her dress. She wished Eleanor would go away. She wished Wendy had sent Meg, instead. Meg would make excuses for her so she wouldn’t have to go all the way up to the attic.

“You,” she said, blandly, unoffended that Diana had balked at her proclamation. If their roles had been reversed, Diana would have been furious to have been challenged.

Groaning, she lifted her head slightly, so that she could speak clearly. “Is it important, at least?”

She supposed it was a foolish inquiry; nothing was important to Eleanor these days.

No response. Well, that was hardly surprising.

She dropped her head back into the crook of her arm with a groan. She was just so tired lately, and dealing with Wendy and her obsession with that pathetic rat Jennifer was exhausting.

She was probably going to be in trouble, anyway.

She was in no real hurry to be scolded.

Something shifted behind her. Hopefully just Eleanor finally leaving.

“Are you alright, Diana?”

Diana stiffened, shock rippling through her. Eleanor didn’t ask questions; Eleanor didn’t care.

When she looked back over her shoulder, the doorway was empty.

What —

Cold steel bumped against her bare leg, making her jump.

“Are you insane?” She hissed, resisting the urge to shove Eleanor backwards. She left that kind of unsightly behavior to heathens like the boys and Amanda, relying instead on covert brutality and more civilized punishments.

She’d just have to wait and find a good way to land Eleanor in the Onion Sack. She didn’t doubt that Meg would gladly help her in that pursuit. Once she’d dealt with Wendy, she’d find Meg.

“Get away from me.”

Eleanor cocked her head, not giving Diana an inch of space. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

Eleanor hesitated a moment, clearly undecided as to whether or not she actually wanted to pursue this conversation. Especially with the girl who had cut her bird open and filled it with rabbit shit.

Finally, her eyes locked on to Diana’s, and Diana felt the now familiar surge of contempt that Eleanor always seemed to inspire in her.

“Shhh,” she said, addressing the creepy little dolls that always got Jennifer all riled up. “The Countess has deemed us worthy and will now speak. We should be honored to be involved in this most historical of moments.”

Eleanor was unprovoked.

“Well?” Diana prompted, arms crossed. “Speak. I humbly request that you share your wisdom, Countess Eleanor of Forever Land.”

Eleanor didn’t so much as blink.

“You’re always down here by yourself. You barely talk to anyone –” Diana snorted at Eleanor’s audacious hypocrisy. “And you missed last month’s gift.” The smirk slid off Diana’s face, guilt sliding neatly into the vacancy. “Are you okay?” She repeated.

Diana glared at her. “What do you care?”

Eleanor shrugged. “I don’t. But you’re about to be demoted.”

Diana flared up, immediately indignant at the threat. “Because I missed one measly little gift?”

“Because you’re getting old.”

“I am not!” Clara’s miserable face flashed into her mind, but that pitiful creature she did shove away. “That’s ridiculous, and you know it.”

Eleanor turned her face away, twisting the cage one way, then the other. She offered Diana no opinion one way or the other. Typical.

A long moment passed, neither girl speaking. The red crayon she’d dropped earlier caught her eye, and she found herself reaching for it automatically. Rolling the thin stick of wax between her fingers, she felt an immediate wave of comfort roll over her.

It was short-lived.

“Wendy’s waiting.”

“Then she can keep waiting,” Diana snapped, thoughtfully tapping the crayon against the table before turning it over and beginning to draw. Head. Arms. Torso. “Tell her I fell on the way up the stairs and broke my elderly hip.”

The corner of Eleanor’s mouth twitched, but she remained stoic. Shrugging again, she turned her back to Diana and prepared to leave the basement, completely unimpressed by Diana’s show of defiance. She was only hurting herself. Let her.

The door shut quietly, and Diana was once more alone.

The crayon moved automatically, elongating the lower body into something almost serpentine. Two swollen petals at the bottom completed the tail.

Clara’s face swam back into her mind’s eye as she examined her drawing. Stupid, sniveling Clara with her mermaid fixation. Always babbling on about how they were all mermaids, or would become mermaids, or some other such rot.

That stupid girl, with her stupid fairy tales. All her nonsense about the King of Mer-land, drawn to the purity and beauty of mermaids.

The chimera disappeared beneath a sea of heavy red lines, the crayon clutched in her fist like a knife.

The King of Mer-land, hell. Rubbish.

She wasn’t any kind of mermaid, and never would be.

She was devoid of purity, and beauty.

She just had hands that smelled like fish.