jo-anna-marie - Tumblr blog

jo-anna-marie · 4 years

Text

Paint Me A Picture

Grace stared uncomprehending at the elderly woman standing behind the peeling, tan counter-top. However, she quickly regained her senses after glimpsing herself in the stranger’s large, square cut glasses. “How much for just the paint?” she asked, her calloused, stained fingers tightening around the meager tip money she earned from her shift at the diner.

“Um...well, let’s see. It will be 34.99 for the whole color set.” Mary, according to the magnetic tag attached to her green vest, smiled sympathetically. “Now, don’t you move. I think I might just have a coupon around here somewhere!” Mary opened and closed several drawers behind her before pulling out a pack of discount tickets.

“I’ll take the paint...just the paint, for now.” Grace blew out the breath she was holding, before handing over all the money in her hand. She was still a few cents shy of the total, but both women pretended not to notice. “Thank you...um, Mary.” Her gratitude was real but fleeting. Her mind was already wandering to the night ahead.

“You’re welcome. I didn’t get your name,” Mary replied, but the girl was already on the other side of the clear door.

Grace held her purchase close to her chest, the tubes clicking together inside the flimsy plastic bag. Just three blocks later and she was walking up the uneven steps to her apartment. Her key slid in without resistance and she opened the door to the dark, empty space. After flipping the switch, the light blinked several times before illuminating the familiar living room slash dining room. It was bare of furniture, but littered with unfinished canvas paintings, ripped up charcoal sketches, pencil shavings and mugs full of dirty water.

The microwave beeps for the third time before Grace finally pulls out tonight’s dinner. She ate greasy fried chicken from directly out of the take away container. She regrets not opting for the baked rigatoni from work. However, taking a large swig from the cheap bottle of whiskey made her meal go down easier. Sitting criss cross on the floor, her now nearly empty, glass bottle and her full, untouched tubes of colors lay in front of her. She had fruitlessly searched for a scrap of clean, white paper. How could she paint? Perhaps she could pick up an extra shift this week. Try to smile more, like her red faced, potbellied manager suggested. Her fingers stretched as if stiff from lack of movement. She needed to paint tonight, or find more whiskey.

Her head whipped behind her at the sharp sound of her neighbor slamming a door shut. Or at least she hoped it was the door. She didn’t like to stick her nose in other people’s business. She liked to keep to herself, the only trait she shared with her mother, Temperance. Though some people thought they shared a lot of physical attributes too. This was a kind of compliment for Grace and an insult to Temperance.

Peering at the thin, white wall that separated apartment number 3 from 4, Grace noticed how bare it looked. Almost like one of her canvases. But if she painted it, wouldn’t she get in some kind of trouble? It could always be painted white again, she reasoned.

Standing upright, Grace gathered her supplies and refilled a mug with fresh water from the sink. She started mixing colors and sweeping her brush one way and then the other. It was always like this for her. Never knowing the outcome until she stopped, or ran out of paint or space.

There was a sting in her right side that caused her to shift and wake from her spot on the hard floor. Pushing herself up, Grace found a paintbrush snapped in half which had left a long scratch on her arm. Her blood had turned the bristles a reddish-brown. Her head was hurting as well. The thought that she should consider giving up drinking left as quickly as it came.

Once she had committed to waking, Grace saw herself staring back. She had painted a life-sized self-portrait. It was like looking into a mirror. She was unsure if this was her best or worst piece.

She pulled her eyes away when she heard the loud, unforgiving beeping from her alarm. It was morning and she needed to hurry or else be late for work. The breakfast shift was the worst. Employees and customers tended to be tired and short on patience and money. Not to mention hungover.

No time to change, let alone clean up. Grace brushed her teeth with the last remainder of whiskey. She’d need more soon. “Well, I guess this is goodbye for now.” Grace laughed, suddenly feeling self-conscious. A quick glance at her cheap, plastic wristwatch and she was rushing out the door. It was dark when she finally returned, picking up a second shift but still short on tips. She must try to make an effort with her appearance, or at least her attitude.

Walking straight to the fridge and finding it lacking, Grace grabs a stale bag of chips for dinner. She listens to two messages, both debt collectors, and startles to a stop at the sight in front of her. She forgot, almost, about her mural.

It was eerie how precisely the image matched, from the frizzy, murky brown hair down to her scuffed trainers. She looked homeless, though she had a home. No wonder she never got any good tips. What a mess, she thought. “I’m going to paint over you when I get paid. I’m not a fan of roommates.” Grace’s laughter echoed in the empty room.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. No, wait she can breathe but it feels more like drowning. She chokes on short, shallow sips of air that barely reach her lungs before she spits it back out. Something heavy is pressing her down deep, an unmovable weight over her entire body. It is dark, but her eyes start to adjust and she can see shapes and shadows. Her body is slick with a cold sweat, making goosebumps form and fine hairs stand up. She can’t move her head, but her eyes flick back and forth. After a moment she finds another pair of dark eyes staring back at her before she jerks fully awake and mobile. Her whole body hasn’t felt this tense and sore since her art modeling days when she would have to keep still for hours at a time. Back when she was confident in her mind and body, in the knowledge that she was helping other artists, and that she was, in those moments, art itself.

Her breath slowed as the adrenaline started to fade but she didn’t know if she could sleep. Grasping at the lamp sitting on her makeshift nightstand, all at once the room became too bright and hurt her eyes. It’s been a long time since she had a nightmare. Maybe it’s because she didn’t have a drink tonight. She would head to the store tomorrow. It was her only vice, beside ink and paper.

She spent the rest of the night drifting in and out of sleep until her alarm went off. How was she supposed to go back to work? She couldn’t call out, even if she didn’t feel well.. She needed the money. She pulled the sleeve of her coat from an unstable stack of half-completed paintings. As she reached for her purse, Grace saw movement in her peripheral. Her heart thudded in her chest as she remembered her nightmare. It was herself, or rather her image. It seemed to her off center but then she didn’t trust herself. In truth she barely remembered that night. Her nerves were shot.

Today was a good day, well as good as it could get for someone like her. A drunk couple over tipped her at the restaurant which allowed Grace to buy takeout and liquor. She was almost happy, walking briskly up the cracked concrete steps to apartment number 3. Closing the door and walking straight to the kitchen for an actual glass and metal fork. Grace often borrowed food from work but it was rare that she was able to buy something she wanted. She was warm and full from dinner, before she saw it. Before she realized that her image was missing from the painting. It was impossible.

Did someone do this? Did she do this but not remember? She was sure that she saw the painting this morning, before work and now it’s gone. Grace poured herself a glass. And then a second and third before facing the empty wall once again. What should she do? Move? She had nowhere else to go. Call the police? And tell them what exactly, that she disappeared. They’d send her to some sort of hospital but then maybe she belonged there.

After a few minutes she finally noticed something. At the edge of the wall, there were a few smears of brown paint, the exact same shade as her hair. Grace came closer and reached out until her hand touched the plaster. BAM! She almost fell at the sharp snap of a door closing. It must be her neighbor again. Her heart banged against her chest as she pressed her hand against the wall again. It felt odd, almost warm like someone’s body heat after they’ve been sitting a while. But then the heating vent was directly above, so maybe that explained it. Though Grace’s heart refused to slow it’s steady beat.

For the first time in years, Grace wished for her mother. She could call her but she didn’t know what she would say to her. Temperance would not have the capacity to believe such a story. She only read memoirs and was far from the imaginative, creative type. The only paints she used were cosmetics and even then she always chose the wrong colors for her canvas. It’s one of the many reasons that they only see each on holiday. What would her mother see if she could look at her now? Would she recognize her own daughter?

Grace went to the bathroom and turned on the water, twisting the knob so that it was scalding hot. She was tired and had been drinking more than usual. That’s why she’s seeing things. Grace’s body turned pink from the soap scrub and hot water. It was a small relief when her feet touched the cool tiles, though the rest of the small room was filled with steam making her feel sticky. Her hand swiped across the mirror above her sink, wiping away a small circle of moisture. She did not see her reflection. Only the towel rack behind her.

Grace locked her bedroom door for the first time since she moved into this apartment and lay down with the lamplight still on. Her last thought before she fell asleep was that she could not find her shadow on the wall.

After Grace was reported missing, news articles and bloggers would accuse Temperance of being coldhearted. For trying to profit off of her daughter’s artwork. Temperance rather thought it was the buyers who wanted to own these drawings and paintings, even the unfinished ones, that were devoid of feeling. Grace had disappeared but her debt remained. Unpaid rent and overdue student loans were passed to her. Even Grace’s former classmates, her so-called friends, had started selling their sketches and stories. It hurt to know that her daughter’s naked body was hanging on some stranger's wall. Temperance would find it in herself to forgive these things if only she could see her daughter. Not her paintings or her likeness, but Grace in the flesh.

A year later and people still come in to buy the same paint set that the girl bought before she went missing. Mary shakes her head and does not offer any of them a coupon. In fact, she breathes a little easier when they are on the other side of the glass door.

#creative writing #fiction #original story #art vs artist #original character #writing #horror #thriller

1 note · View note

jo-anna-marie · 4 years

Text

“Bingley was sure of being liked wherever he appeared; Darcy was continually giving offence” sorry but season two Chris Traeger and Ben Wyatt are Bingley and Darcy respectively

7K notes · View notes

jo-anna-marie · 4 years

Text

9 notes · View notes

jo-anna-marie · 5 years

Photo

Hamilton and Zombies by trika88

Amazing piece by trika88 on deviantart depicting the opening scene of my fic “The New World”! This is so cool and just beautifully done! Please go check out their page–all their work is phenomenal!

31 notes · View notes

jo-anna-marie · 5 years

Text

Did he just imply...?

44K notes · View notes

jo-anna-marie · 5 years

Text

🤣🤣🤣🤣

Eliza: Thought I was meowing back to a cat for the past hour.

Eliza: Turns out it was just me and John meowing back and forth from different rooms in the house.

569 notes · View notes

jo-anna-marie · 5 years

Text

A.H & E.H.

Eliza stood outside the school counselor’s office for several minutes, before knocking once and letting herself inside. She dumped her backpack on one of the sagging chairs and sat down heavily in another. Mrs. Washington quickly recovered from her surprise, shaking her head at how dramatic teenagers were these days. “What can I do for you, Eliza?”

“Well...it’s just that I think that maybe, very probably, I’m going crazy.” Eliza laughed, but looked warily up at the school counselor. Mrs. Washington looked longingly at her unfinished crossword puzzle and half eaten raspberry tart. Next time she’ll take her break at that hipster cafe “Buddy’s Brew” down the street.

“Why would you say that? Are you feeling stressed about school work, or perhaps something is going on at home?” Mrs. Washington asked.

“What? No! I’m hearing voices.” Eliza blushed scarlet. She never raised her voice to a teacher before.

“What do you mean?” Martha sat up straighter and opened her Kate Spade notebook, which had the beginnings of a grocery list on the previous page.

“There was a pop quiz in my history class this morning and I couldn’t figure out one of the questions. But then, I heard a voice and he told me the answer!” Eliza remembered lifting her head and looking around for who had spoken. No one seemed to notice, not even her history teacher. Though he did have a hearing aid, so she supposes that’s one point in favor of her sanity. She had shrugged it off and went back to her quiz, but then it kept happening.

“You cheated on your quiz?” Martha frowned.

“I mean, I guess?” Eliza shrugged, not sure why she was being handed a slip of paper. Squinting at the paper, she read the top line and shrieked, “You’re giving me detention!

“Yes, so that you can retake your history quiz. I’m very disappointed in you, Eliza.” Martha stood up and ushered the delinquent young girl out of her office. She returned to her desk and shoved the last bite of tart into her mouth. “I earned this,” she sighed.

***

Eliza stomped on her way to detention, making sure her annoyance was visible to anyone cared to look.

“Thanks a lot!” Eliza grumbled, shifting uncomfortably in one of the wooden chairs.

“What did I do?” John asked, shooting her a dirty look from the seat next to her.

“I’m talking to myself.” Eliza clarified, though John looked even more puzzled before going back to his work.

“I didn’t mean to get you in trouble. I’ve seen that same quiz for years and I know the answers by heart now.” A boy’s voice replied.

“Are you...you know, a ghost?” Eliza tried to whisper, but still got concerned looks from the other students in detention. The young teaching assistant didn’t seem to notice, or care, and continued to play candy crush on his phone.

“I’m not sure.”

Instead of speaking out loud, Eliza picked up her pencil and wrote to him.

What’s your name?

“Alexander Hamilton.”

You know your name but you don’t know if you’re dead?

“Well, I don’t feel...It’s hard to describe. I can see and hear but I can’t touch anything. I can’t leave this tiny room.”

Am I the only one who can hear you? Why?

“I’ve been here so long, I guess I just gave up trying to be heard. I don’t know why you can hear me, but I’m glad that I’m alone anymore.”

“Eliza, are you crying?” John whispered.

She put her hand to her face and realized that she was crying. “I’m fine. It’s just, um, girl problems.” John nodded as if he understood.

***

“You want to hold a seance? What’s gotten into you!” Angelica admonished her younger sister. Angelica always regarded her as the quiet, stable sister. “Is this about a boy?”

“How did you know?” Eliza asked, triumphantly pulling the old, plastic Ouija board from their closet.

“I don’t think I approve of anyone who gets you in trouble at school. Cheating on a test, that’s not like you Eliza.” Angelica was torn between disapproval and pride. Her little sister was growing up!

“Please. I can’t do it without you!” Eliza begged.

“Aww, you still need your older sister!” She laughed, ruffling her sister’s dark, curly hair.

“Yeah. You have a car and no morals.” Eliza replied, leading the way out the back door.

***

“I told you that I can’t move anything.” Alex groaned. The first person who can hear him and he’s already disappointing her.

“Yeah, well you also couldn’t talk to anyone either. Just try!” Eliza demanded. Angelica couldn’t tell if this was some grand prank, or if Eliza was truly losing her grasp on reality. Maybe she’s stressed about her grades?

“What dead person are you trying to contact again?” Angelica stretched out on the ground, almost knocking over two candles.

“His name is Alexander Hamilton if you must know.” She huffed, putting her hands back on the board and trying to concentrate. Next time she’d bring Peggy.

“That’s not funny, Eliza.” Angelica turned white, standing up on shaky legs.

“I’m not joking! That’s his name.” Eliza insisted, tearing up at her sister’s violent reaction. Did no one believe her?

“I knew him, Alex. He was the grade above me but never graduated. He got in a fight with another student and was shot. He died in the hospital days later.” How could Eliza be so oblivious, so cruel? She must know heard about her embarrassing, unrequited crush on the sweet natured transfer student. He always seemed like he needed to prove himself to everyone. First one to raise his hand in class, never said an unkind word. Angelica had cried herself to sleep for weeks after she heard the horrible news.

Mascara streaked down her pale cheeks as she wiped at her eyes, looking around the room as if he’d suddenly appear.

“He died?” Eliza cried out, tears falling freely.

“ You really didn’t know?” Angelica asked, though she knew it must be true. Her sister wasn’t capable of cruelty. Even so she couldn’t meet Eliza’s eyes, and looked around the small room until her gaze landed on one of the desks. “Look it still has his initials carved into the corner.”

Eliza followed her sister, and saw a faint impression in the wood, A.H.

“Alex?” Eliza whispered.

“I remember sitting there but I don’t remember your sister or ...or dying?” She could hear the confusion in his voice. The fear.

“Were you friends with him?” Eliza asked her sister, who was still tracing the letters with her finger.

“I had a crush on him, but I never got the chance to talk to him. I wish I had.” Both of the girls turned at once and threw their arms around each other, trying to be comfort the other.

***

“Ms. Hamilton?” a young boy squeaked out.

“Yes, Philip?” Eliza stopped cleaning the whiteboard and turned to face one of her favorite pupils.

“Did you always want to be a teacher?” He asked, as the other students already rushing out the door to their next class.

“No. When I was younger, I pictured myself as an artist or something like that.” She smiled down at the floppy haired teen.

“Oh.” He replied, clearly disappointed.

“I didn’t always want to teach, but I love it. Especially when I have bright, curious students in my class.”

“No need to spoil the child, my love” Alex’s laughing voice bounced off the walls.

“You see, I was a student here myself. Sat at the same desk that you’re sitting in now and I can’t imagine myself anywhere else.” Eliza spoke softly, conscious of the other students filing in.

“That’s good. I, um, need to go to class. Bye!” He smiled brightly before running off. Eliza shook her head in amusement. Kids were so dramatic these days.

***

At the end of the school day, Eliza stayed late to grade papers. “You shouldn’t have dinner at your desk again. Go out with your sisters.” Alex half-heartedly insisted.

“I’ll do no such thing. I see them plenty on the weekends.” She responded, shaking her head at some of the more ridiculous answers the students provided. Eliza imagined Alex shaking his head and throwing his hands in surrender. They often had this argument and she always won. Would that man ever learn?

Once it started to get dark out and the janitors were finishing their rounds, Eliza finally started packing up her belongings. She felt a soft kiss on her cheek as she stopped at one of the old desks, smiling down at what she saw.

A.H. & E.H.

“Until tomorrow, my love.” She spoke out loud, flicking the lights off.

“Until then, my dearest.” He faithfully replied.

#alexander hamilton #eliza hamilton #hamliza #fanific #fluff #modern au

26 notes · View notes

jo-anna-marie · 5 years

Text

Yes? 🤣

Hamilton: hey, babe?

Eliza: yes?

Angelica: yes?

Maria: yes?

John: yes?

The other 51: yes?

…

Hamilton: wait what

Old repost

799 notes · View notes

jo-anna-marie · 5 years

Photo

pride and prejudice: a summary

70K notes · View notes

jo-anna-marie · 5 years

Note

If I ever get married, I'm definitely going to refer to my husband as my ex-boyfriend 😂

Hamliza for my soul?

Alexander, introducing Eliza to Washington: This is my ex-girlfriend, Eliza.

Eliza: I told you to stop calling me that!

Eliza, turning to Washington: I’m his wife.

208 notes · View notes

jo-anna-marie · 5 years

Text

Here Comes the Sun

Snapshots of Alexander, Eliza, and Philip, inspired by the song “Here Comes the Sun” by The Beatles.

Here comes the sun.

Here comes the sun, and I say

It’s alright.

Alexander held his wife’s hand tightly as he watched her face contort in pain, tears streaming down her pale face. Sweat coated her hair and stung her eyes, yet she continued to struggle and push. He did not think he was capable of loving anyone as fully as he loved his wife. With one last push, the room fell silent. Even the world outside seemed to quiet, the wind no longer breaking branches and the rain dissipating. And then suddenly, the air was filled with the sound of a child’s cries. Alexander sat with his arm around Eliza, as she held their son, watching this impossibly small being open his eyes for the first time. Alexander felt he could sit there, content, for the rest of his days. He was a father, he had a son. “Hush now. It’s alright, little darling.”

Little darling, it’s been a long cold, lonely winter.

It feels like years since it’s been here.

Here comes the sun.

Here comes the sun, and I say

It’s alright.

Eliza could not help but smile at her messy haired, sleepy boys. They were all enjoying a warm breakfast at the table on a beautiful, bright morning. Alexander, distracted by the day’s papers, kept bringing his mug to his face but stopping every time it reached his lips. Across from her, Philip was watching and copying his father. He seemed to think it was some sort of game. Eliza, catching Philip’s eye, picked up her mug. They both waited for Alexander before bringing their drinks to their mouths and then putting it back down. Their infectious laughter seemed endless, echoing off the walls and filling the room. Alexander, startled from his paper, looked back and forth from mother to son. “It’s alright, darling. Just drink your coffee.”

Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces.

Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here.

Here comes the sun.

Here comes the sun, and I say,

It’s alright.

Sun, sun, sun, here it comes.

Alexander sat at his desk, ink and paper sitting untouched. He did not usually struggle to find the right words. The sun shined through his open window, letting in plenty of light, and it was quiet outside with nothing to distract him. Philip was away at school and Alexander missed him dearly. But he was not a child anymore, he was on his way to becoming a young man. The thought both thrilled and terrified Alexander. If only Philip would stay his little boy, just a little bit longer. Shaking his head to clear away his melancholy. “It’s alright,” he said to the empty room as he picked up his pen and started to write.

Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting.

Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been clear.

Here comes the sun.

Here comes the sun, and I say,

It’s alright.

Here comes the sun.

It’s alright.

There was a chill in the air as Alexander, Eliza, and Philip walked down the grassy path. Philip kept sprinting ahead and then falling behind them. The sun was slowly rising up, casting the world in a soft glow as Alexander and Eliza came to a stop. Eliza breathed in sharply, grabbing Alexander’s hand tightly. They didn’t say anything, yet both knew intimately what each other was feeling. After a few moment, Eliza broke the silence and called out to her son. “Philip, come meet your brother.” He came running back to them and stood still before his brother’s gravestone. He turned back and lifted his arms, “Up, up!” Eliza picked up her little boy and Alexander hugged them both close.

“Hush now. It’s alright”

#alexander hamilton #eliza hamilton #hamliza #philip hamilton #the beatles #song fic #lyrics

25 notes · View notes

jo-anna-marie · 5 years

Text

Steal My Heart

Here’s a short little belated valentine fic ;)

Alex straightened his dark blue tie for the third time, his eyes scanning the small bank. It was filled with people, mostly regulars and a few unfamiliar faces. Alex circled the room, taking extra attention to anyone he didn’t recognize. He didn’t anticipate any problems, but one can never be too careful. Although the bank hired him to protect the money in vaults, he was more interested in protecting the people who worked there. Even the teller, Aaron, who always seemed to roll his eyes whenever he felt Alex was taking his job too seriously.

Just as he was making his way back, the front door opened to three women. Although this was not something that usually caused alarm, all three were dressed in men’s attire with different colored bandanas covering half their face. No one moved or spoke, too stunned by the outrageous women in trousers to be concerned. That is until one of the women barred the door and the other two produced guns from their leg holsters.

“Everybody on the ground...please.” One of the women, wearing a yellow bandana, called out.

“I’m sorry but I must ask you three to leave immediately.” Alex replied as he reached for his own gun. “Your outnumbered here. There must be at least twenty able bodied men in this bank.”

“Outnumbered but not outgunned.” The dark haired one with the blue bandana pointed her weapon at Alex’s heart and had the audacity to wink at him.

“Now that’s been cleared up, everyone get on the ground or we will put you there.” yelled the thief in pink.

“Except for you, sweetheart. I’ll take this since you’ll be needing both hands to open the vault.” Her mouth was covered, but it was clear to Alex that she was smiling. Alex blushed bright red and Aaron rolled his eyes.

Alex was at a loss. He always daydreamed of being the hero and saving everyone from the bad guys. However, this particular scenario never crossed his mind.

“You seem like a good, respectable lady. Perhaps the bank could offer you a loan. I’m sure you don’t want anyone to get hurt.” Alex scolded.

“People are being hurt everyday, usually at the hands of these wealthy, heartless bastards. I promise the money will be used for a good purpose. Please help me so I can help them.”

Alex nodded his head and opened the vault, helping her inside. She lowered her bandana and quickly kissed his cheek. The trio only took three bags of cash, even though there was plenty of money inside.

****A Few Weeks Later****

Alex was grateful that he was not fired from his job. In fact the bank hired his dear friend, John, until the robbery scandal died down. As he was making his rounds, he felt a light tap on his shoulder.

“Hello. I’d like to set up an account. Where should I line up?”

“Right this way...sweetheart.”

Eliza smiled, Alex blushed, and Aaron roll his eyes at the both of them.

The end.

#hamliza #fanfic #valetine #fluff

16 notes · View notes