#and i agonised about this piece for ages

[daisyblog]

Little Lad

Young Love Masterlist Summary: Louis and YN welcome their son into the world and Mia becomes a big sister.

warning: childbirth, labour, delivery, hospital

15th of January 2016

YN had woken early morning with some uncomfortable pain in her tummy and back. After how quick and uncertain her labour and birth was with Mia, YN was nervous about her delivery this time around.

She paced up and down the spare bedroom at Jay’s house, where she and Louis were currently staying for when baby decided to make an appearance. Being surrounded by family was a huge support for them both, especially with little Mia.

Although the uncomfortable feeling was barrage, YN knew it wasn’t always going to be the case. So she decided go and enjoy this time of her labour by herself downstairs where she could monitor the contractions.

---

By 9am, the Tomlinson/Deakin household was in full swing. Every room was filled with noise as Mia, Ernie and Doris ran around the place.

YN tried to breathe through the contractions and block out any noise to keep focused. Louis was by her side now, allowing her to hold onto him for extra support as he whispered words of encouragement.

“How are babies made?”. Phoebe blurted out as she sat and watched YN with fascination that she was about to give birth. “Did you kiss her?”.

Louis couldn’t believe his little sister was asking him this. He wasn’t sure what the right answer was. “Uhh…ask Mum!”.

“Mum!”. Phoebe shouted. Footsteps could be heard walking towards the room before Jay appeared. “How are babies made? Did Louis kiss YN and then a baby appeared?”.

Jay glanced over to Louis, both making eye contact wondering how they would answer this one. YN was breathing through another contraction as it ripped through her, her hand squeezing Louis.

“Um…babies are made…with love”. Jay thought quickly of an age appropriate response to her Phoebe’s curiosity.

---

As the hours passed, so YN’s contractions got more intense, closer together and more painful. But thank you to gas and air, the pain was more manageable as YN sat on the hospital bed.

“You’re incredible for doing this”. Louis spoke as he moved a loose piece of hair from her face. YN sucked on the gas and air as she felt another contraction begin. “Bringing our babies into the world”.

“I forgot how painful this was”. She cried as she tried to allow her body to relax.

Louis smiled with sympathy, as he could only imagine how painful it was. “Just think, we could meet our baby today”.

As another agonising contraction began, hitting YN with force, she brought gas and air nozzle back up to her mouth to ease the pain.

---

Sitting in the water, YN’s muscles instantly relaxed as she listened to her body, something that Jay advised her.

“I’m in awe of you”. Louis spoke the meaningful words as he sat near the birthing pool. “You’re sailing through this labour”.

“I want to try and enjoy this birth…Mia came so quick that it’s hard to remember”. YN reminded him of how distressing their first birth was.

Louis leaned over the side and held onto her hand, giving it a small peck. “We’re lucky to have you”.

---

“I’m so tired”. YN cried out as the midwife encouraged her to push. “I don’t think I can do this anymore”.

“You can do this…c’mon love…just remember to listen to your body”. Louis tried to be encouraging as he stayed by her side, the midwife at the bottom of the bed, waiting for YN to push again.

“If it’s so easy you do it!”. YN snapped at Louis as she took another breath of the gas and air. Louis knew it wasn’t personal, she was in a lot of pain and he’d never know how that felt.

The midwife took another look between YN’s legs, monitoring any progress. “Alright YN…when you feel the next contraction…I want you to give me a really big push…okay my darling”.

“Aaaaahhhhh!”. YN let out a groan as she pushed as much as she could. With Louis’ hand still in hers, she squeezed tightly.

“You’re doing amazing babe…so so proud of you…Mia would be too”. Louis spoke the words to YN hoping it would help her in any way. His lips leaving a sweet peck on her head.

Almost like mentioning Mia was something that made YN want to try even harder because after three more pushes, the midwife said the words they were longing to hear.

“Congratulations Mum and Dad…you have a baby boy…born at 7:09pm”. Lifting the newborn who was crying into the world for the first time onto YN’s chest, YN and Louis both had tears of happiness running down their cheeks as they saw their son for the first time.

YN placed a gentle and sweet kiss to the top of the little one’s head. “I love you so much my baby boy”.

“Welcome to the family little lad”. Louis placed his lips to the same spot YN’s had been a few seconds before.

YN looked up at Louis for a moment, both wearing tear stained cheeks along with matching smiles. “I love you”.

“I love you!”.

---

The next morning, there was a little knock at the hospital room door where YN and Louis were. The door opened quietly and in peaked two heads. Jay and Mia.

Louis was cuddling his son in his arms as YN was still recovering and resting in the bed. Jay couldn’t stop her tears from falling as she looked at her family. Her son holding his own son.

Jay gave YN and Louis a big hug and couldn’t emphasise enough how proud and lucky she was.

Mia had made her way over to the hospital bed for a much needed Mummy cuddle. “I’ve missed you so much”. YN held her first born close.

“Do you wanna meet your new baby brother?”. Louis asked as he could see Mia glancing over at the tiny baby in his arms. The eager nod made the room laugh as they watched Louis gently place the newborn in his big sisters arms.

Mia held her baby brother closely but with such gentleness considering she was only five. The small kiss she placed on his head, was enough to cause more tears to spill from YN and Jay’s eyes.

“Mia…meet your new little brother…Noah Louis Tomlinson”.

---

louist91

liked by mrsjohannahdeakin, lottietomlinson and 7,863,522 others

louist91 Mia and Noah❤️ View all 7,322 comments

yninstagram my babies😘❤️

mrsjohannahdeakin my beautiful grandbabies💖💙

lottietomlinson ❤️❤️❤️

liampayne Congratulations guys!!xx

niallhoran Welcome to the world Noah❤️

annetwist A big congratulations to you and YN❤️and big sister Mia💞

gemmastyles Too cute☺️👶🏼

5sos congratulations!!

louisfan7 it’s a boy!!

louisfan3 THIS IS TOO CUTE❤️❤️❤️

louisfan5 LOVE LOVE LOVE

Taglist:

@ell0ra-br3kk3r @slaymybreathaway @wh0s-nadii @peterholland04 @lillisummers

[dq-avenquire]

I've been playing DQIX since 8th July 2011. I've always imagined my DQ9 player character aging with me, so starting her adventure a sweet 10 year old apprentice, saving the world at 12-ish (2013), and then being an on-and off adventurer for the next nearly 10 years (300 hours of gameplay, and I don't have the DLC even). She misses her halo and wings, even though she's now spent most of her life without it, and whilst the fake halo helps, it doesn't quite fill that void.

its been over a year and a half since i got this ask and i got close to about 95% finished with this piece, got hit by my "finishing is the hardest and most agonising part" fatigue beam, and used this current fixation as fuel to finally finish it. im still really pleased with it, and for what its worth i was gently touched by your celestrian concept, and wanted to do smth more. illustrative ? for it. something like that!

[thelightsandtheroses]

Two: there goes the fear again

Your Hand In Mine | Joel Miller x female reader

Summary: When Joel finds you on your self-assigned insomnia bench one night, it sparks an unexpected friendship that quickly develops into more. Finding peace in the middle of an apocalypse always seemed impossible, but being with Joel feels natural, like a missing piece has fallen into place at last. When a ghost from your past threatens to destroy the peace you’ve found in Jackson, everything will change.

Word Count – 4.3k Chapter Warnings - 18+ blog minors DNI, description of a nightmare, insomnia, mentions of Salt Lake City, reader had a backstory and her age is not specified but an age range is lightly implied in this chapter, secondary characters and ocs, reader is a parent. Notes: Thank you so much for the kind feedback and comments so far - I’ve been honestly quite blown away by it all. As it's Joel's birthday today, I wanted to push myself to get this chapter out. So happy birthday Joel, sorry about the outbreak? 😂 Chapter title is from There Goes the Fear Again by Doves.

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The memories come back to you in flashes, framed with distorted static like an old VHS. They usually start in the years Before, nostalgia tinged memories that lull you into a false sense of security that tonight may not be so bad.

Sometimes you welcome it, the reminder of your family and life before. It was normal, it was filled with love and normality and peace. You had problems, like anyone else, but schoolyard bullies, your roommate and class assignments seem so trivial compared to what the world is now.

You’re by the beach, listening to the soothing rhythm of the waves, watching Sean surf as you pretend to study, scrunch your toes in the sand. You can feel the heat of the sun of your skin, the way you scrunch your toes in the sand and want to soak in every moment of this summer. You daydream of what’s going to happen once you start college. Will Sean still be your best friend as your paths start to digress? Will anyone even like you there?

You were still agonising about those trivialities on the night that the world ended right in front of you. In hindsight, you’ll notice the signs in front of you that day that something was coming, something was wrong. It was just a normal day though. The last one. You remember it all. So much loss, so many mistakes, so much fear. The memory of your family; of the last conversations you had with them, of how unsatisfactory that was.

Then it’s you and Sean and his little sister, Isabella, and you’ve got to find a new path. College feels like lifetime ago now.

It’s here the replay of your past becomes distorted; all black and white static and poorly compiled edits after that, time jumps and skips and sequences completely out of order. 

You’re in the woods and there’s blood stains on your clothes and you’re running and it’s never going to be far enough, it’s never going to leave you. It doesn’t matter how far you run; it’s buried under your skin now.

And then your mind goes to that place. To every nightmarish thought and the memories you avoid. It’s too much.

The blood. The flames. The shame.

It’s the fact you’ve bought a child into a world where monsters are real and you don’t know if you can keep them safe.

More memories.

Then it’s the fear; the unspoken terror that one day soon you’ll lose everyone, that you’ll just watch it unfold in from you. That you’ll be the only one left, doomed to loneliness and emptiness. That you’ll watch as everyone you love is taken from you; by illness, or violence, or such an innocuous looking fungus.

You’ll be left all alone and then they’ll find you.

Tendrils of anxiety twist around your body, constricting with each thought, each memory, each possible future, until you feel like you’re suffocating and your heart is racing and surely you can’t wake up from this.

It’s not real.

It’s not real.

It’s not real.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Joel asks placidly as you walk over to the bench, your rucksack casually slung over one shoulder. It’s clear that he’s been here for a while already but he’s left one side clear and ready for you.

“Just here for the view,” you say calmly, stuffing your hands into your pockets as you try and push away the lingering unease from your sleep.

“Aren’t we all?”

You sit next to him, playing your bag by the edge of your feet.

It’s been more than a week since he first came to your bench and since then you’ve had more run-ins with Tommy’s brother.  The two of you have seen several sunrises together in a wordless peace. Neither of you have truly acknowledged each other outside of the bench, nothing beyond polite nods in the community hall at mealtimes and the pleasantries you both would surely afford to any other member of this community.

You’ve spent each night on the bench observing Joel. You’ve quietly noticed his features; the freckles and sun marks, the way his eyes warm when he smiles or and the depths in them when he’s avoiding a subject.

There’s a lot you still don’t know about him.

Neither of you have talked much about the substance of your lives before Jackson. It’s to be expected though. These days, it’s safe to assume that if you’re still alive, it came at a cost and perhaps you don’t need to dwell on that.

You know Joel a little more now - each of you have given small hints about the person you are. Not a lot, not everything, but it’s just enough that Joel feels more real to you.

“I heard it was a rough patrol yesterday,” you say after a moment. Beau had told you all about the horde of infected they’d bumped into. He told you that him, Bonnie, Tommy, and Joel had almost been surrounded at one point.

Sometimes you almost forget about the infected. For a little while anyway.

For the past twenty years, most of the true terror you’d felt was at the hands of humans, not cordyceps. Were you frightened of losing people to it? Of course. Had your few encounters with clickers or runners been terrifying? Yes. Were you terrified of the world you’d leave your son one day? Naturally.

It was just in the QZs, in the worlds you’d moved in between then, you always encountered more humans than infected. The outbreak had changed everything and it had amplified so much; there was no court of law now, no shallow allusions of propriety no order outside of dictatorial QZs, so in some places, the anticipated lawlessness and loss of humanity was your true fear.

Jackson is an exception.

Joel looks down for a moment after you speak and you wonder if you shouldn’t have bought up the patrol at all.

“It was fine,” Joel says gruffly.

“Okay.”

“Do you go on a lot of patrols?” he asks.

“Sometimes,” you say. “Only when it’s my rotation. I’m mostly based in the library and sometimes I help Sean in the greenhouses too.” You pause and wonder if you should add more that you’re good with a bow and arrow now, but you still freeze in close contact.

After a while, as the breeze reaches your fingers and you regret not packing gloves, you reach down and pull a thermos out of your rucksack. You take a long sip, savouring the hot liquid and warming your fingers on the container.

You look over at Joel and then down at the flask in your hands.

“It’s just chicory coffee,” you say, offering the thermos to him politely. “A little dandelion root too I think.”

He looks at you curiously.

“Why?”

“I’m getting chilly, and it seems rude to sit here and drink coffee and not offer any to you.” Jackson has burrowed its way under your skin now; there’s no way you would have done this a year ago. Or perhaps it’s the bench, the magic of this place in the middle of the night. It’s like the rules you’ve built over the years can ease slightly here. The air feels just minutely lighter.

“Thanks.” Joel accepts the battered thermos, takes a long look at it, and then takes a tentative sip of the drink.

“Still nowhere near as good as the real thing,” you say wistfully. “And it’s caffeine free, but sometimes I can pretend it isn’t.”

“Better than nothing, I guess.”

“Exactly.”

“Where do you get it from? I know FEDRA had regular supplies and they grew it out in one of the QZs.”

“It grows wild around Wyoming and Sean’s cultivated a patch of it in the gardens too. Esther, in town, she makes it all. Esther’s definitely a good person to befriend if you want to keep a supply of it. She’s nice too.”

“Yeah, Tommy mentioned her.”

You smirk, imagining exactly the nature of the conversation between the two brothers.

“What’s that for?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure it is. Just you really seem to be settling into Jackson now.”

Joel shakes his head with a smile. “Don’t you start.”

“Okay, I won’t. So, how’s Ellie? I saw her in the library today, well, yesterday now,” you say lightly.

“Oh yeah?”

“Uh huh, she’s going through our space section pretty quickly. We’ll have to see what we can find on patrols.”

“Yeah, she’s really into space.” You can hear the affection in his voice; the deep love he has for her and that sense of pride that he knows this about her, knows about her interests.

“If any new books come in, I can put them aside for her.”

He looks at you with an unreadable expression. “Thanks.”

“It’s nothing.” You pause. “I think I get it. I never had a space phase, but I spent several months really fascinated with deep sea exploration when I was a kid. We moved to the coast and suddenly it was right there and I’d never thought about it before. I mean that I get where she’s coming from.” You have no idea where this sudden burst of honesty came from and you feel your face heat at what you’ve said.

“We’re a long way from the coast now,” he says softly. “Don’t think I’ve seen a beach in years.”

“No?” You smile sadly. “Me either. We’ve mostly only travelled inland since - well, since everything and sometimes I really miss it. Sean and I, we’ve been friends since we were kids and we used to just spend every weekend by the water.” You remember the start of your dream and fold your arms around yourself.

“What about you?” you ask, eager to change the subject and curious about the man beside you. “What was your thing?”

“I um,” Joel pauses as though he’s genuinely bewildered by being asked this question “I was into, uh -” He looks away from you. “The usual stuff, football and uh, all that.”

“Really? Just football?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Joel asks, folding his arms.

“Nothing, nothing at all.”

He exhales and stretches his long legs out on the bench more. You follow the line from his feet up to his body and eventually his face. He looks uncertain, as though there’s something he wants to add, but he’s not sure.

“I wanted to be a writer, or to work with books, or words in some way. Had all these ideas about being an investigate journalist, or an editor, or just ... I think I just wanted to make art of some type. It’s probably why I’m so focused on the library now.”

“Music,” he whispers. “I was really into that.”

“So, you played … something? Guitar?” You look at him and decide he was most definitely a guitarist. He has the look, might even have the hands for it.

“Maybe,” Joel says,

“Please tell me you were in a terrible garage rock band at one point?” You smile at the image this conjures of the broad and elusive man next to you.

“In high school, for a brief moment. Then uh, things changed for us all and I - I had other priorities in my life than music.”

“That’s a shame.”

“It was the right call.”

“Still, if you loved it … it’s never too late? Did you know, they sometimes do open mic nights at the Tipsy Bison, but it’s … ropey, some of it.” You grimace at the memory of the last one that Sean and Beau had dragged you to a few months ago.

“You’re really selling this to me, sweetheart.”

“Hey, until you’ve heard Seth sing karaoke, you truly haven’t hit rock bottom.”

Joel scoffs, a small smile on his face that crinkles his eyes and warms every feature.

You thought you would hate sharing your bench, or having an intrusion on your solitude, but you don’t.

Over time, you’ve perfected sneaking back into this house. There’s a way to shut the back door just so to prevent anyone hearing you wander in. You avoid the bottom stair which creaks, and the other creaky floorboards on the landing.

Every time you do this, you feel like a teenager again. You grew up reading books and watching movies where teenagers snuck out to and from parties, but that had never been your life. You were studious, deferent to the rules. Your focus was singular; college, success, making a name for yourself. Sean used to try and persuade you to join him at parties or even just when he and his friends would hang out at the beach in the evening after surfing. You had thought you had time.

The world had different plans for you all though.

By the time you’ve crept back to your room, changed, and got ready for the day ahead, you can hear the familiar sounds of cupboards being opened and closed in the kitchen below.

“Mornin’ sweetie,” you say, squeezing Gabe’s shoulder as you walk into the kitchen.

Your son squirms but smiles lightly when he meets your eyes. The last twenty years have been an unending endurance test, painful and exhausting, but now you have Gabriel. You weren’t ready for him; you felt too young, too scared, too everything. He means everything to you now though.

He wears so many of your features and mannerisms, or features you remember seeing in your family. You find it uncanny; that mix of uniqueness and familiarity all at once.

“Is anyone else up yet?” you ask, stifling a yawn as you scan the kitchen for additional cups or plates, any sign the others are awake.

“Beau’s still asleep but Sean said he’d be down in five -”

“Which means he’ll be down in ten,” you both say together.

You were offered separate houses when the four of you first arrived in Jackson. There was an entire house that Maria told you could just be for you and Gabriel.  After almost a decade of living in a small, crapped apartment in Kansas with too thin walls and continual threats it had seemed unbelievable. Sean and Beau had been offered the house opposite you too. Maria had recognised how close you all were.

There’d been too much death along the way though; too much loss. You and Sean had been together so much of it all too. You were close friends before the outbreak and now hopelessly and hideously co-dependent on each other. Even back in Kansas, your apartment had been next to his and Beau’s. For more than a decade, you haven’t had more than a single wall separating you.

The idea of being so separate, of being more than a wall away, in a new community prettified you. You were frightened about what Jackson really could be; what it could be hiding, how quickly you may need to run. You felt like a deer in the headlights, a wild animal being stalked by prey. For the first weeks in Jackson, the town itched your skin and filled you with anxiety. There had to be a dark side, it couldn’t be that simple. You all needed to be ready to run.

The four of you had decided to stay together, to stay close, just in case. It was meant to be temporary.

It’s been two years now.

It also means you never have to worry about Gabe when you sneak out at night, it means your son has his uncles in his life every day. It means you’re not alone throughout everything.

They’re only people you have left now - the family you both found and made. They are the ones who have shaped the last twenty years of your life.

You take a sip of your tea and smile at your son.

“So, small bit of news I asked if Uncle Beau could take me on patrol next week,” he says quietly after a moment. “He said yes.”

“No. Gabriel, you’re -”

“I’m sixteen.”

“I know.” You swallow and look at him carefully. You remember him being so small you could hold him in one hand but now he’s sitting opposite you and he looks both so young and like a man all at once. Patrols? That’s normal for him now, that’s the way of life in Jackson. He’s still so young though.

You hear a creak on the staircase and listen carefully as your son continues making his case.

“It’s time I started learning about this and Beau will watch out for me if you’re worried. He said the route next week is the best to get started with,” he says, brow furrowing with concern at your reaction. “I’m ready though.”

“I’m sure you are. I know Uncle Beau will be there with you, I’m glad of that.” It’s better if he goes with Beau. You know him, you trust him and he will ensure that your son is safe.

“So how do you feel about that, patrol? Is this your idea or have you been volunteered?” Your son starting on this path is one thing if it’s his choice, but if he’s only going along with this because he thinks he’s supposed to, or because of teenage peer pressure? Well, the consequences are a lot worse in your son’s world, than chunky highlights or double denim could ever have been.

“It’s my idea. I’m fine with it,” he says quickly, avoiding your gaze.

You put your cup down and raise an eyebrow at him.

“Ergh, look, okay Jesse did his first patrol last week. Please - I can do it, I know I can. I want to.”

You’re tempted to reply, ‘and if Jesse walked off a cliff, would you?’ If you say it out loud though, there is no way you can deny you are turning into your mother, so instead you take a long sip of your drink.

It feels like a losing battle. Patrols are part of normal life in Jackson. However, if he’s with Beau then maybe that’s okay.  If you know anything about Beau it’s that he is fiercely protective of the people he cares about. These days, that’s pretty much only Sean, you, and Gabriel.

“If you feel you’re ready and if Uncle Beau agrees and it’s a sensible patrol route … It needs to be in daylight, and just a short one.”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay.”

He beams in response.

“I’ve got classes, I better go.” He stretches and stands up, downing the rest of his drink.

“Okay, I’ll see you later. Love you. ”

“Yeah, you too, mum.” he says quickly, looking around as if one if his friends could secretly be listening by the window. He looks back at you and his face turns softer before he quickly moves away. “Hey Uncle Sean,” he says as they cross in the doorway.

“Morning Gabe.” Sean looks over at you and says good morning to you, says your name with a cheerful smile as he pours himself a tea and then sits down opposite you at the kitchen table. 

“How much of that did you hear?”

“I started eavesdropping when Gabe mentioned Beau and patrols. I thought you handled it beautifully, by the way.”

“You’re only trying to make me less mad at Beau.”

Sean raises his hands in mock surrender and then leans back against his chair.

“Anyway, are you going to tell me about where you went last night?”

“Where I went?”

“Heard you leave, sweetie.”

“I … shit. Sorry, I thought I was quiet.”

“You are.” He sighs heavily. “So, where’d you go? Got a late-night Jackson booty call I don’t know about?”

For some unknown reason an image of Joel fills your mind, his unruly hair particularly. He often comes to the bench with mussed up hair from where you imagine he was in his own bed, trying to sleep. You imagine other ways his hair could get messy like that; your hands in his hair as he ...

No.

No.

Absolutely not.

“You do have a hook up?” Sean asks incredulously.

“No. No. I don’t. I just go for a walk is all.”

“Alone?” Sean waggles his eyebrows mischievously.

“Yes.” Technically you walk to the bench alone and then you and Joel only walk back together so that doesn’t count … and his house is before yours anyway  It really doesn’t count, right?

“Okay,” Sean says, frowning. “Are you having nightmares again? Do you need to talk about it?”

You shake your head, biting your lip. “Do you?”

“I’m okay.”

You and Sean have been friends since you first moved to the beach town you spent your teenage years in. The bond between you is irrevocable. He’s your brother, your best friend, one of the people you love most in the world.

You share scars.

The same turmoil and trauma and ghosts have buried under both of your skins in different ways. He’s been there through it all for you. You’ve been there through it all for him.

He’s the only person in the world who will ever understand the parts of you that you keep locked in boxes you can never open. And for him? For him, you know the secrets that he hasn’t even told Beau.

“Gabe … he’s been asking me and Beau about … before. He’s asking questions again,” Sean says after a moment, looking around the kitchen carefully and speaking in a low voice. “I wondered if this patrol thing was about that at first, about what we all said and … it’s getting harder to not give him any specifics.”

“Me too, but I think it’s because Jesse went on his first patrol recently.” That’s what you’re hoping anyway.

“Huh, how about that? Look, it doesn’t matter because this isn’t going away. He’s going to keep asking.”

“This all seemed so much easier when he was a baby.”

Sean raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, I remember sixteen years ago, I wouldn’t say any of it was easier back then. It’s just the kid believed whatever we said with no questions.”

“Sean, tell me he still thinks …”

“Yeah. He just needs some details, honey. I know it hurts to talk about, but you have to give him something. He’s almost a man now and he’s got valid questions. I can - I would have been the same, so would you.“

You swallow and look out of the window. “I’ll handle it, Sean.”

You don’t flinch when you hear the crunch of Joel’s boots. You’ve come to expect it, anticipate the sound.

It makes you smile.

The bench doesn’t quite feel the same without him anymore.

“Howdy,” he says, the slight twang of his southern drawl more pronounced than usual.

You wave for him to come and join you on the bench.

“I didn’t see you here yesterday,” Joel says softly.

“Oh, I uh - was wiped out and I - I guess I just slept?” You notice how surprised your voice is there; you’re surprised you had a good night’s sleep for once, and you’re surprised that Joel noticed you weren’t there. In fairness, you had been due a night’s sleep as the exhaustion from your insomnia finally won out over your overthinking and anxiety. Gabriel had been on patrol with Beau that day and you’d worried yourself to the point of complete exhaustion.

Joel noticed though. He noticed you weren’t here.

“Were - were you here?”

Joel nods.

“Guess I’ve got sorta used to you being here too now.”

“I mean, it’s more the other way around. This was technically my bench first.”

“Really?” he says your name in a low, teasing voice. “You really wanna go there, huh?”

“I’m just saying. I’ve been here longer, technically and I’m saying this as a mere technicality, I have dibs on this bench.”

“An’ here I thought no-one truly owned anything in Jackson.”

“Benches are exceptions, everyone knows that.”

The two of you laugh, it’s light and somehow more soothing to you than the cup of herbal tea you’d drank before bed in the hope of repeating the night before and sleeping for once.

“I’m willing to consider joint custody or a small timeshare though,” you say.

“Oh wow, I’m real lucky.”

“I know. I wouldn’t bestow that right on just anyone.”

“I hope not.” Joel smiles and oh, you love it when he smiles. It’s so captivating.

“It got me thinkin’ though-“

“Sounds dangerous.”

“You know it. Anyway, I was thinking,” Joel looks away from you, towards the horizon and he wrings his hands together. “I guess it reminded me we have this whole world outside this bench.”

You’d thought the same thing, but you can’t say it. The words fall heavy on your tongue, your mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton.

“I wondered if maybe, you wanted to get a drink one day?” He’s not looking at you. “It’s a stupid idea.”

“No, no, it’s not. Why? Why would you want that with me?”

“Maybe I just want a drink with you,” he says.

You pause. Deflection is your standard response to something like this. The idea that Joel could want to spend time with you outside of your insomnia ridden nights surprises you. Why would he want that?

You can’t lie to yourself  though; there’s something about Joel that draws you in. He’s easy to talk to and despite appearances and town mumbling, you can tell he’s not a bad person. He’s kind to you, thoughtful and you’ve thought about him.

You’ve thought about him a lot.

“Technically we’ve shared my thermos of coffee multiple times now,” you say weakly.

“That doesn’t count, sweetheart.”

“Wow, now you’re spurning my chicory coffee now, huh? That’s not good enough for you?”

“A real drink.” You can hear the meaning behind his words and it doesn’t fill you with the caution you would normally anticipate.

“And does this drink happen to be served somewhere this isn’t this bench?”

“As long as it ain’t karaoke night.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Joel Miller.” You pause for a moment, tilt your head in mock contemplation. “Okay, a drink.”

You meet Joel’s smile this time.

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[girlbloggersfolly]

DELTA DAWN - part 2// Bee in your bonnet

Pairing: camp counselour!joel miller x camp lifeguard!afab!reader

Rating: E!!!!! 18+ MDNI

Word count: 4.8k

Summary: (1979 summer camp AU) Things go south one morning after a particularly catty argument between Joel and our lifeguard in Joel's boat shed/self proclaimed 'man cave'. - Pictures in the moodboard are simply to get the imagination racing and for me to spill my pinterest all over your screens, the reader is at no point described!

Chapter warnings: age gap (20 + 49), enemies to loves - i mean it, mean!joel, lowkey mean!reader but we love them both, slight vouyerism, cigarette smoking, talk of pornographic magazines, complicated relationship (billy and reader dw), oral (fem receiving), semi-public sex (door open but thats it, degrading, pet names (kiddo, sweetie, doll - the good stuff ykyk), fingering idk, slow burn, fem!masturbation dirty talk, no descriptors of reader except she has hair and is a similar height to joel cause im tired of the lack of tall girl representation in fics, sorry... if that ruins it for you just imagine i never said that), NO USE OF Y/N.

a/n: eekkkk ok you can probably tell from his horrific piece of writing that ive never done proper smut and i went a little overboard but i'm sure you'll like it anyway. i've probably got one or two more parts of their story left in me, depending on how happy i want the ending to be. Id love to get requests if anyone has any bright ideas! I love the 3 people who are reading this, it really makes me blush and you don't even know it.... also lmk if you want to be on the taglist for any future writings xxxx

-----

You were up in the chair early. Waking especially to sit and watch as the sun rose higher over the lake and above the pines, hoping to get there before Joel, just so you had time to ground yourself. You toyed with the cigarette between your fingers, a habit of yours that had really been getting you through the last agonising couple of days of avoiding Joel Miller, but there was no putting it off this morning. 

Kayaking. Something you’d never really specialised in and were not convinced you'd know how to deal with if things were to go south.However, as always, you kept your doubts to yourself. Joel was taking the kids today, he was good with them and obviously knew what he was doing on the water. You hoped that meant no accidents.

“No smoking in the chair, cupcake.” Here we go again.

“Good morning to you too, cupcake.” You rolled your eyes, not bothering to turn around to see the one thing on your frazzled mind, not bothering to put out the cigarette either, 

“Kids’ll be here soon, Lou’s bringin’em” He said coldly in reply, standing beside your chair, his face level with your hips as he looked out to the water.

 Even being raised above him like this you still felt vulnerable, what was it about him? He turned to look up at you with his big arms crossed against his torso, “so, be a doll and put that thing out f’me will’ya?” The chair rocked slightly as he patted it, condescending as ever. 

You rolled your eyes yet again and dropped the cigarette down beside his feet, raising your eyebrows. It was bratty and yeah probably a little crueller than required, but it felt damn good. “Happy?” you were pushing it, really pushing it, you could see it in Joel's hard expression. his impressive profile was only defined by the hot mid-morning sun as he glared up at you through narrowed eyes. He put on his ray-bans and turned away. =

The kids hung onto every word he said as he stood in front of you explaining to them how to kayak, in a way they never did with Billy or Abel, or even Sharon. You tried to listen, tried to look out at the lake, tried to do something that wasn't blatantly staring at his tight ass, the muscles in his back under his t-shirt. It was torture, adjusting in your chair, shifting around like a bitch in heat. 

“Eyes on the water, lifeguard,” He taunted you from the deck, you’d really needed to remember your sunglasses next time. 

If you thought the other day was bad, this was worse, sitting there melting into your lifeguard chair watching Joel being the hottest man alive and not caring how it might make you feel. The kids were playing capture the flag in the woods by the light of the setting sun, giving you a minute to cool off against a tree, the cigarettes lighting themselves at this point. 

Your skin was lit up by the orange light that dotted through the trees as it sunk below the horizon. It was the first moment of mercy you’d gotten from this god-awful day of Joel Miller and his stupid tanned skin, the little sweat droplets on the back of his neck, his salt and pepper scruff, the thought of how it would feel against your inner-

“Found you,” You smelt Billy before you saw him, his freckled arms embracing you from behind, knocking you out of your dreamy state. 

“You know this thing? It's called a shower, real cool I hear?” You chuckled, trying to laugh a little to disguise it as a joke, the last thing it was.

“Haha, very funny,” Billy smirked, planting wet kisses across your neck from behind, the moustache he’d been trying to grow tickling your jaw. 

“Quit it,” You raised your hands, your shoulders tensing like an alarmed cat as he grinds messily against you, “There's kids around you little shit.”

Billy murmured a chuckle against your skin, his tongue tracing against it, a sensation that had the hairs on your arms standing up. “I’ll make it quick,” Now there was something you could count on. 

“I said quit,” you turned abruptly to look at him, brushing yourself off, realising the harsh tone of voice you’d used. He looked pained, his eyebrows furrowed, eyes darting around your face quizzically. 

“You know what,” Billy folded his arms, looking you up and down bitterly, “Im tired of you being a fuckin’ prude the whole time,” His voice was raised, whiny, trying to sound like his father. 

You scoffed, putting your head in your hands and shaking your head in disbelief, this kid was insane. “Its not my duty to fuck you whenever you so wish, christ, you really are an entitled son of a gun,” 

Billy stamped out his cigarette onto the ground, “Nasty bitch,” he shook his head, spitting on the floor, charming. “Don’t know why I even bother.” He marched off, back to his cabin probably, off to write another song about how much he hates women you’d have the pleasure of hearing at his next gig.

The day was dragging, it seemed unceasing, like this spiralling, horny, angry mess that was your body. The forest was quiet again without Billy’s cursing, often you’d hear a distant shout from a kid who’d been caught or a group of them running around, but it was hard to differentiate from a bird call, or the wind in the trees.

“Trouble in paradise.” Great. 

“Look, I am not in the mood, so be a sweetie and kindly fuck the fuck off.” 

That earnt an impressed chuckle from behind you, another pair of broad shoulders leaning beside you on the tree. “S’ my darn woods, ‘do whatever the hell i like, thank you missy,”

“Joel I'm serious, whatever witty little jabs you're cooking up, save them for another day,” You looked to him, it was hard to look away whenever you did. 

“Wasn’t,” He shrugged, there was that gruff, southern nonchalance yet again, christ how it got to you, the complete opposite of Billy’s incessant bitching. You almost wished he cared enough to go off on you the way Billy tried to. 

“Well…” you paused, eyes darting over his face, the strong profile, low set brows, those pouty lips you’d gotten pretty damn used to this week. “Dont,” you concluded.

“You really do have a bee in your bonnet don't you, kiddo,” there it was, just as you’d predicted, calm and collected and making you want to blow his brains out.

You shrugged. “Its Billy,” You shook your head, well that was only one of the bees in your very buzzy bonnet, Joels fucking face was the other. “You heard?” 

He nodded, “I heard enough,” you both stood in the ambience of the evening, kids whooping, birds sounding from the trees. “Billy’s a dick you know that, ‘don’t know a single fucker from here to Timbuktu that dont know that,”  

You couldn't help but chuckle, relaxing further against the tree, your shoulders untensing for the first time in weeks, forgetting who the enemy was. “You know fuckers in Timbuktu?” 

“I bet I do,” he nodded, crossing his arms against his broad chest, the camp staff t-shirt barely accommodating his largeness. 

Joel sighed, looking over at you, “got one of them cancer sticks you're always suckin’ on?” you had a whole pack of them in your back pocket. 

He thanked you and lit one with the janky lighter you'd stolen from Abel, smoke muddying your view of him. There was a lull. “I don't know why you lead that bastard on,” he said through the smoke. 

“Im hardly leading him on,” You scoffed, lighting a cigarette for yourself. “He was the one who wanted to keep this to strictly fuck-buddies,” Lucky for you, imagine being Billies girlfriend, jeepers.

“Sounds like you can’t even do that?” he smirked, and there he was again. 

“You know, as I find myself repeating these days, s’really none of your business,” you laughed, turning to him, sighing through the familiar heat in your abdomen, the butterflies that felt more like horse flies in your stomach back and buzzing harder than ever. 

“You're makin’ it my business, havin’ your lover's spat in my earshot.” he retaliated calmly.

you opened your mouth to bite back with something that attempted to match his condescension, but that was an impossible task. “You know what,” you settled on, again grasping for something to finish that sentence. “Fuck,” again you were gotten the better of.

“I’m stuck with him for the next three weeks, so, gotta keep sweet for that long I guess, maybe put out a couple times.” 

He nodded, stamping out his cigarette next to billies, “S’a damn shame,” The eye contact felt like glass in your eyes, felt a big hand twisting your throat till it turned blue, it was those eyes of his in that permanent, laboured squint which you assumed came with age, they killed you. A damn shame. The words played on repeat like a song on Sharon's broken radio, the static soiling his voice in your mind. A damn shame. He was right, it was a damn shame. 

“Would you make sure to deal with those kayaks tomorrow morning’, lifeguard? Just gotta pile em’ up in the shed,” He said over his shoulder as he turned to saunter away. 

Before you could get your bearings, you were alone again, admittedly less grateful for it too. 

Morning, kayaks, shed. Sounded like a relatively agreeable task that wasn't asking too much right? Wrong. You were lucky your body had gotten into the rhythm of waking up at sunrise cause this was a goliath task. Hauling 15 kayaks from one side of the lake to the other wasn't something you’d factored into your morning of rest and relaxation. You’d planned to take a secret dip, maybe grab a coffee, take a shower if you had time. But no, you were out sweating under the morning sun, huffing like a workhorse.

When the last kayak was hauled into the dirty little shed you reclined on the desk, all dusty and grotty but it didn’t even matter. Heck, you weren't even perturbed by the smug house spider that was perched close to your palm, not even giving a second thought to the porn magazine discarded beside your head. All you could think about was how this wasn't what you’d bargained for when you agreed to go on this little jaunt up to the northwest, oh yeah, and how much you hated Joel Miller. 

After a couple of minutes of huffing and puffing, grumbling to yourself about how you were meant to be in LA by now, living a rich and famous life as some kind of starlet, a model, an actress maybe. The shed was a mess, every surface littered with junk. There was fishing equipment, books, more beer cans than you could count, the whole thing screamed Joel. 

Soon, without even meaning to, your nimble fingers were straightening objects, tossing the cans into the bin, dusting, flicking through boxes, you even took the spider outside. 

“Hey,” You heard a jumpy voice from behind you, clearly receiving the same fright you’d got from the sound of his voice. “What are you-” It was Joel, an accusatory expression all over his knitted brow. He saw the small desk bin behind your back, the cans in it, he saw the neat shelves and dusted desk with all his papers stacked orderly. 

“Hey hey hey, I have a system..” Joel bolted over to where you stood, snatching the bin out of your hands, his knuckles grazing yours, you were in deep if such a small gesture made your heart drop so far down. “There's a system,” he repeated, running a hand through his hair and leaning back on his uncluttered desk, looking… pained, addled by the whole thing. 

You scoffed, enjoying seeing Joel off guard, it was always you getting snuck up on, getting caught in a vulnerable situation. “Is the system complete chaos, cause wow Joel, im impressed,” you put your hands on your hips, your little red shorts riding dangerously high. 

“No one asked you to go messing in my affairs,” he tutted, rubbing his brow, god he was a drama queen. 

“Your affairs?” you laughed maniacally, “By your affairs do you mean a few dozen beer bottles, some dusty kayaks and your crusty spank bank mag?” 

He scoffed, looking down at the magazine down on the desk. He'd been got, he’d give you that. “Just clear off, don’t need your bitchin,” He turned his back on you, tampering with your neat new order on his desk, “too damn early,”

You were furious, not even a thank you? If not for drastically improving his workspace, at least for stacking the kayaks, a lot of work if you did say so yourself. “Are you kidding,” you whined, walking up to stand behind him, trying to get his attention. 

“I’ve been doing hard fucking labour, sleepy head, what were you doing? Jerking it into a porn mag I'm guessing?” he chuckled at this, turning over his shoulder to look at your exasperated expression. “Hard labour?” he murmured, audibly amused by your claim.

“Oh you poor thing,” he mocked, turning round fully to look at you, “Doll, you ain’t done a day of hard labour in your pretty little life.” He smirked wildly.

“You don’t know a thing about my life Miller,” you said, sounding like some cheesy cowboy movie, his accent rubbing off on her a little. This caused a full belly laugh to erupt from him, it caught you off guard.

“Your life ain't nothin’ but sunshine and rainbows, sugar, maybe a day’a ‘hard labour’ would do you some good.” He chuckled, walking across the room and correcting the ‘mess’ you made of his ‘system’. “Fuck you,” you bellowed, crossing your arms, your eyes wide and full of fury as you watched him in all his casual, condescending glory. 

“You are maybe the most infuriating motherfuck on this damn earth,” you said through your teeth, so mad, so hot, so done with it all. He just chuckled again, raising his eyebrows, you were starting to just want his attention, wanting him to reciprocate your anger, not caring how you got there. 

“And by the way, I don't care how you see it, I've been up all morning slaving away at something I am certainly not paid for and I don't even get a thank you?” You blurted out, the words falling out of you, you convinced yourself you felt sweat actually drip from your chin. 

He turned to you, annoyingly amused, but there was something else, an underlying rage that really disrupted the usual sedate presence he provided. “Thank you?” He smirked, quirking an eyebrow. 

You paused, never had you ever felt so damn angry at a man. “Listen up-” you began with a huff before being interrupted by Joel stalking over to you with a hostile smirk on his face. Towering over you even though you were a similar height, you backed up against his desk very slightly, trying to keep your chin raised cockily. 

“Are you always this fuckin’ cranky?” he shook his head in amused disbelief and let out an exasperated scoff at the stuttering look on your face. 

You could feel your heart beating like that of a hamster, hammering against your chest. He was so close you could smell him, old spice deodorant, campfires, the slightest tang of sweat and lake water, also the musty dust smell of the shack, you thought you might faint like some Victorian chick. 

He was close, too close for comfort, his muscular frame, the threat of a non-sedate Joel wasn't something that settled you. You gazed into those eyes of his, narrow and all-seeing under a thick, heavy brow. “How’re we gonna cheer you up, huh kiddo?” He raised his eyebrows in mock concern, your mouth was left agape, eyes so wide they might pop. Joel was closer now, looking down at her very slightly, his breath fanned over her face. Holy fuck.

“Can’t have you all bitchy after doin’ me one little task, now can we?” He said after a beat, placing his hand on your jaw, wiping away a caked bit of dirt, probably from all that ‘hard labour,’ his big thumb moved from your jaw to swipe across your lips softly, gently feeling the plush, pillowy skin, freshly chapstick-ed from the Carmex in your pocket. “Can we, sugar?” he repeated the rhetorical question down at you. She shook her head lightly, the obedience hitting her like a 10 foot wave. 

“That's better, that's it, that's better,” He said softly, like he was talking to a jumpy animal. “Not so hard being a nice girl is it now? Not so bad?” he cocked his head and raised her brow, she shook her head absentmindedly once more, completely entranced by whatever was happening to her right here against Joel's desk. 

He nodded, his hand darting between your teeth, his other fingers holding your jaw still underneath. The other hand rested precariously on your thigh, leaning closer so you were sat up on the desk, right beside the dirty mag. 

He let his hand trace drowsy circled under the hem of your shorts, his eyes following, “Think you're cute?” he smirked, his eyes told a different story, taunting, stormy. “walkin' round in those little damn shorts, all prissy, like you own the place?” He said darkly, almost to yourself, holding your eyes with his, his thumb swiping between your teeth, pressing the pad against your tongue. “Suck,” You did it straight away, hollowing your cheeks out and letting whatever this was happen.

You convinced yourself it was some kind of gross fever dream, being out in the heat for the last few days had given you hallucinations, but it felt real, the taste was real on your tongue, his taste. you lapped it up like medicine. 

He clenched his jaw and gazed at your lips wrapping around his thick thumb, fuck. His fingers grazed the seam of your bikini bottoms under your shorts, he could already feel how warm you were down there, how much this was getting to you. He held eye contact with you as he pulled your shorts off, motioning for you to lift your ass, you were feeling compliant, a rare feeling. 

Your bikini bottoms followed, leaving you bare on the desk, the lifeguard top riding up your midriff revealing your glistening (very 70s (interpret that however you like)) cunt to the daylight that streamed in through the open door - a risk Joel seemed to be taking, or something he probably hadn't even considered. 

He rolled his neck, his hands on his hips, he seemed to be considering his options, weighing up the consequences. You pushed your knees together, hoping for a little modesty, the answer was no as Joel's big hands reached down and parted your legs once again. 

“Ah, ah, baby,” he smirked wildly, truly a man starved. He reached down and dragged his finger between your folds, holding the wet digit to the light. It was all achingly slow, he sucked his finger clean, his eyes on yours as he tasted you, letting out a gruff, guttural groan. 

“This gonna keep you sweet?” he said with an icy smirk, her skin was like a furnace; a sweaty, wet, flustered, confused puddle on this desk, dripping everywhere. “Keep you outta my way for a couple days maybe, kiddo?” He chuckled, looking at her domineeringly. “How’s that sound?” 

You nodded eagerly, your expression desperate, whiny, you needed this bad. “When you touch yourself, whadd’ya think 'bout?” he taunted, leaning a hand either side of your hips on the desk, “You,” you gave in, it was just too easy when he talked to you like that. 

“Show me,” He smirked, his words almost a growl, you raised your eyebrows. “Your a pretty little idiot aren'cha?” Now he was just being mean. “Touch yourself the way you do when you're in your cabin, up in your bunk, squirmin’ around,” 

It was so easy, to let him order you around, to succumb to it. The heat, all the bantering, it had melted you into putty in his hands, it’d get to anyone. So there you were, on Joel Miller's desk, bare on the bottom half, your hand drawing tight circles around your aching clit. 

“Fuck,” you bit down on your lip, it was all overwhelming, the feeling of an orgasm coiling around your spine, the blistering, green-house-type heat that had you all rosy and sweaty, the fact that Joel was stood right there, crossing his arms, watching you like a hawk. You knew he’d be a voyeur. 

You watched as his wire snapped and he’d had enough of just watching, adjusting the tent in his shorts. He knelt down in front of you, his eyes looking bigger than usual from this angle, wilder almost feral. he pulled at your hips violently, hoisting you around so your back was flat against the desk, your head leant up against the wall so you could watch exactly what he was going to do to you. 

His mouth was hot against you, licking a stripe up your seam. You could’ve sworn you heard him moan at the taste, felt the vibrations against your core. “This cunt is wasted on Keenan,” He chuckled, not even pulling away from you to lay his jab at Billy, he never could resist the chance. 

You moaned loudly, your hair flying into his hair, feeling the chocolatey, salt and pepper ends in your fingers and you pulled hard, close now. “Don’t fucking stop,” you whimpered, grinding your hips against his face, nose deep in your pussy. 

“Fuck, does he kiss it this good, doll?” He murmured, the vibrations of his baritone drawl against your aching clit were enough to make you toss your head back in sheer ecstasy, that coil winding uncomfortably tight, threatening to snap. 

“He doesn't.” you chuckled through moans, Billy had never ever eaten you out, no matter how many killer blowies you’d served to him on a silver platter. This seemed to appal Joel, who only licked deeper, slower against you, it was agonisingly good, toe curling. He scoffed down there, his thick index finger working at your hole now, dipping in easily despite how tight you were.

 “Poor thing, thas’ why you're so wound up,” He mewled from below, his voice patronising, taunting, but it touched you, “haven’t had someone take care of this pretty cunt in too long hmm? shit, I’d be mean too.” He said with a wet smirk, pulling away to slot another finger in, but you wouldn't give. “Won’t be able to take my cock if you can take two fingers down here,” He chuckled, taunting you further.

“Please don't stop Joel,” you squealed, pulling his hair painfully tight between your fingers, his condescending words only making you hotter, you weren’t usually into that, but shit, Joel could be wearing a fucking tutu and you’d be into it, come to think of it… 

He was grinning smugly as he pushed his fingers into you at a gruelling pace, the desk shook underneath you, your head thrown back against the wall. “Billy hasn't done me any damn favours down here, you're tight as a virgin, baby,” you could see the smirk on his stupid face even with your eyes clenched shut. 

Your release hit harder than it ever had before, your leg shook hard, a string of ‘fuck’s and ‘holy shit’s, laced with a fair pinch of ‘Joel’s and ‘baby’s, blurted out of your lips, you felt your abdomen clench and moaned incoherently, but Joel wasn't quitting, still kitten licking at your inflamed core, fingers curling up and into you, finding a new depth with every push. 

“Joel stop, it-its,” you panted, not even recognising your own voice now, your vision blurred. Overstimulated didn't even sum it up, that shit hurt. 

He didn't care, lost in your taste, lost in the feeling of you clenching around his digits. “Cocky little lifeguard, you're the bane of my life, you know that sweetie?” He said against your wetness, not giving a flying fuck how uncomfortable this was getting, knowing soon you’d ride it into another earth-eating orgasm. 

“Really shouldn't be doin’ this with’ya, Can’t be,” He said over your moans as the discomfort bled into insatiable pleasure, the desk hard against your clammy ass, your release leaking down your thigh and pooling below you. “Holy fuck-” you squealed, your hand on his shoulder to stop yourself from collapsing, the other interwined in his thick hair, that must’ve hurt. 

“How old even are you?” he asked with a mischievous chuckle, pulling his face away and slowing his hand movements, no no no no no. Your brain was fuzzy, all you could process was that Joel had stopped and that felt like death. “20,” She said quickly, needing him to continue. He knew what he was doing, taking a moment to process, watching the way you were squirming, so desperate for him yet again. 

“You're too young for me, kiddo,” He said as he dove back into your crotch, a very contradictory statement when reflected against his actions so far this morning, i know. “I am not,” you bit back through a whimper, pouting, your eyes fluttering shut once again.

 “How old’re you anyways,” you panted, your words all broken and high pitched, too fucked-out to feel humiliated. “76?” You chuckled, feeling your second orgasm of the morning chasing after you. 

He bit down ever so slightly on your clit, causing you to wince and buck your hips, it didn't cause any damage or hurt, just hard enough to shut your bratty ass up. “49, missy,” he replied coldly from below you. “Watch it,” 

“You wanna take my 76 year old cock next? think you can take it?” He smirked, pulling away to focus on his hand movements, in and out, hitting that spongy part of you, deeper than you could ever get. You nodded, words almost escaping you for the first time in your smart-ass life. He chuckled deeply at this, a hearty sound you were starting to crave like a meth-head. “She’s a trooper, ain’t she?” He breathed in your ear, planting a small, firm kiss on your neck, his fingers gaining a bruising pace, loud wails escaping your quivering lips.

“Fuck j-joel,” you stammered, your hot breath fanning against his neck, “want, need your cock,” you were getting needy, washed up by the incoming wave of your orgasm, ready to hit just as hard as before, if that was physically possible. “Don't get greedy now,” He smirked down at you, eyes wild. Hot tears were rolling down your cheeks, salty and stinging, your body shaking, giving way to another tortuous release. 

He pulled his hand away and sucked eagerly at his drenched fingers, watching as you came apart on the desk, moaning and whining for him. 

He sat you up, grabbing a coke from his outdoor refrigerator and leaning against it as he opened it, muscles flexing he clicked it open, tossing the bottle opener to the side and handing it to you. You grasped it with clammy palms, your vision slowly coming back, your body still fucked-out and trembling, cock-dumb for a cock you hadn't even had. 

“Welp,” He put his hands on his hips, like some suburban dad done with a barbecue, “that was real nice, weren't it?” He patted you on the shoulder, ignoring the bewildered expression on your face. 

“Duty calls, kids’ll be down here in an hour or so,” he slapped his thighs and raised his eyebrows, it was as if he’d just given you a friendly handshake, not eaten you out and made you cum twice. 

“Aren’t you going to..” you stopped yourself, you’d been awaiting the next round, (even if you weren't sure you could take another round) the one he’d talked about with that same smug look on his face as he finger-fucked you. 

He grinned down at her, ruffling your hair, “another time hey kiddo?” he said kindly, but it was perhaps the furthest thing from kind you’d ever seen. You glared up at him in disbelief, mouth agape, cheeks rosy, skin glassy from tears of pleasure, you didn't even know that was a thing. He patted you on the shoulder, smiling earnestly, that glint of mischief turned to one of absolute cruelty in his eyes. 

“Atta’ girl.” 

And he was gone. Joel was out the door as quickly as he’d entered, leaving you panting, bottomless and flushed and sweaty, your shorts half way across the room, the coke bottle dampening your fingers.

 He’d really done a number on you, gotten you all needy and riled up, then done something to you that no one had ever bothered with. Then he’d just left, like it wasn't the best you’d ever felt, like you hadn't been imagining how many babies you were going to give him, what colour flowers’d be in your bouquet at the wedding.

 It was embarrassing; being humiliated yet a-fucking-gain by a man well over twice your age, legs trembling on the soaked desk, the model on the front of his porno magazine beside you grinning up at you smugly, fucking bitch. 

[carabalism]

lucky penny

pairing(s) michonne x teen!reader, prison group x teen!reader (platonic)

synopsis michonne finds a prisoner in the governor's apartment instead of penny.

warning(s) abuse, canon typical violence/gore, reader is aged 15-16

a/n do not force yourself to read this if you are uncomfortable with the topic of abuse. i may make a part two but im not too sure tbh

masterlist

with what little strength she had, y/n began to push her body against the metal gate in front of her. it was always locked. the governor wouldn't be so careless with something that could tarnish how woodbury saw him. a door on the other side of the gate was kicked down and y/n instinctively flinched back, falling down onto her back. her breathing was raspy from being denied food and water for a while.

the sound of the gate being unlocked caught her attention. she was almost free.

"oh my god..” after only hearing the governor’s voice for so long, it was a relief to hear a woman’s voice, "it's okay, come here."

y/n hesitantly stepped forward, stumbling ever so slightly. she was malnourished, dehydrated and hadn't properly walked longer than she could remember.

"it's okay, you're fine, i'll get you out of here." the woman reassured y/n again, lifting the bag over her head. y/n stared at the woman with wide eyes, but michonne wasted no time releasing y/n from her chains and bounds.

“hey!" y/n turned back to the governor in horror, her mouth opening and closing, trying to speak, but nothing was coming out. she was petrified by the man and michonne knew it.

“hey now... don't hurt her..." the governor held his hands up, “i know this looks bad, but i promise ya' there's an explanation for this little misunderstandin’.”

y/n moved michonne's arm, making it seem like she was threatening y/n. y/n may have been weak and completely vulnerable, but she was smart. she knew what strings to pull with the governor, she knew how sick men's minds worked.

"michonne, we can be reasonable people about this!" the governor flashed a smile. the one thing y/n always noticed is how his smile never reached his eyes. his eyes remained cold and lifeless. he'd mastered the skills to manipulate an entire town, but the mask he wore was poor - anyone could tell how he felt if they just payed attention to him for longer than a second. he couldn't help but let his mask slip every time he didn't get his way his annoyance was evident with every obstacle he faced.

"you run when i say, you hide and i'll find you," michonne whispered through gritted teeth, keeping her voice quiet enough to not be caught by the governor, but just loud enough that y/n could hear.

"michonne... you don't want to do this," he laughed, wiping a hand over his mouth, "a kid killer? is that really who you are?"

"at least i'm not a sick bastard." michonne hissed back, venom dripping from her tongue. she noticed the governor reach for something behind him. a gun.

"now." michonne whispered, shoving y/n towards the door, knocking the governor off his balance. his gun misfired and y/n immediately ran for cover, hiding behind a piece of furniture. instead of going for y/n, the governor lunged at michonne. y/n listened to the sounds of the two struggling, her eyes filling up with tears as her body filled to the brim with fear and adrenaline. this could go only two ways. michonne lives and she was free, or the governor kills michonne and something much worse happens to y/n. it had been a long time since y/n had prayed for anything, but in that moment she clasped her two hands together and prayed for the governor's death. not a quick death. a slow, agonising death that would reveal only but a sliver of the pain the governor had put her through, forced her to endure. the governor's screams only brought a smile to her face. the governor was far from being worthy of her sympathy. it wasn't the world that turned to shit, it was the people. the governor had been cruel to others far longer than he would ever admit.

the apartment door burst open and y/n stared at the blonde woman with wide terrified eyes. the woman only ran past her, not even sparing a glance at her. y/n peaked her head out, watching the blonde woman hold a gun to the woman that had saved her. she then glanced at the crying governor, who had a shard of glass lodged into his eye.

"what have you done?" andrea questioned, her heart breaking at the sight she had ran into. the image of the fish tanks would forever be in her mind. a few quiet words were exchanged between the two women, but they were barely audible to y/n. she tucked herself back into her hiding spot waiting for michonne.

"come on." michonne muttered, making her way to the door. y/n didn't hesitate and followed after michonne, but she wasn’t fully there with her. her mind was busy taking in the things she hadn't felt for a very long time: the feeling of the ground on her feet as she walked, walking in general was foreign to her at this point.

"can you run?" michonne questioned y/n, leading her outside, "there's a group i'm with. they're not dangerous, but you stay with me unless i say so, got it?”

y/n nodded, "i trust you.”

"you shouldn't." michonne began running down to a spot in the fence that she had broken while she was in woodbury, she never stayed in a place without a backup plan.

"go." michonne nodded towards the gap, holding the metal back to widen the gap. y/n quickly slipped through the fence and michonne followed.

"stay close and stay quiet." michonne led y/n around the walls of woodbury and then through a bush, but when y/n reached the other side of the bush she was met with the sight of a bunch of weapons pointed at her face.

"where were you!" rick hissed, careful to keep his voice down to avoid being heard, "you get what you came here for?"

the man approached michonne, his body posture telling y/n that this man was likely not a friend to michonne. she remained behind michonne, gripping onto the back of her shirt for any sort of comfort.

"rick..." y/n stared at the woman who spoke up, "she's got a kid."

rick's head snapped back to maggie and then back to michonne. he stepped back and finally noticed the young girl cowering behind michonne.

"who is she?" rick questioned, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes squinted.

"she's with me." michonne instinctively put an arm out in front of y/n, who had not said a word in a while. rick saw the terrified look on the girl's face and lowered his gun, but still just as frustrated with michonne.

"you may be pissed with me, but you know you need me." michonne glared at rick. she was right. he knew that.

"what's your name kid?" glenn asked, leaning on the car, next to where y/n had sat down. y/n looked up at him and took in his injuries and stayed silent for a moment, unsure if she wanted to deal with her throat hurting from speaking, but she assumed she owed them something at the very least, "what'd he do to you?"

glenn scoffed, amused, "so you speak."

y/n rolled her eyes and looked back at the ground, "the governor do that to you?" she repeated.

"yeah, but it was mostly this other guy," glenn frowned, the images of what he had just experienced flashed through his mind, "asshole.”

"watch your mouth." y/n muttered, pulling her socks further up her legs.

"sorry," glenn lowered his voice, trying to keep his aggression at bay. judging by what the girl looked like, glenn knew she must've been put through some serious shit. her clothes were torn and she was filthy, but her eyes is what glenn noticed the most. she was exhausted, maybe even something beyond that.

“y/n..." she looked back up at glenn.

"y/n," he nodded, "it fits."

y/n frowned and looked back at the ground, "haven't been called that name for a while..”

"can i ask what he did to you?" glenn squinted his eyes, a nervous habit he had developed as a child. it was how his sisters knew when he lied.

"i don't think you want to know," y/n looked up at the sky and tried her best to will her tears away, "it's been a long time since i've seen the sun."

"I'm sorry you went through that."

"don't be," y/n looked back at him, "she got me out, i owe her everything."

glenn glanced towards michonne, who had already been watching him with a cautious stare, he nodded at her - a silent acknowledgment to the good deed she had done.

"you rest in the car, you look like you need it." glenn reached over and pulled the car door open for her, "you're safe, get some rest."

"you look like you need to rest yourself." y/n replied, but crawled into the car anyways. the road wasn't the smoothest of surfaces for her to be standing on with just socks to protect her feet.

"nah, i'm fine."

y/n nodded, understanding why he had suddenly closed himself off. from what she gathered, glenn had been tortured by the governor and someone else, but his girlfriend had also been held captive with him. y/n could only guess what the governor had done, but she knew from experience it must have been cruel.

michonne leaned against the car door y/n had just shut, hoping that her presence would allow the girl to relax enough to get some rest.

"who is she?" glenn asked, looking up at michonne from the ground. he was far too tired to stand up and wait around for the rest of the group, but also far too exhausted to complain about the discomfort the road brought him.

"don’t know," michonne revealed honestly, "when i was in woodbury, i saw them through a window. hadn't seen her around woodbury and he never mentioned her, i knew he was up to no good."

"did he..." glenn frowned, not wanting to finish his question. everything inside him wanted michonne to say that nothing had happened to the young girl, but he knew after what had happened with maggie, that the governor was not to be trusted. he was a twisted, sick man.

“i think so.” michonne glared at the sky, the fact someone could harm a child in such a way burned her insides. she wanted to kill the governor for what he had done, what he will continue to do.

“glenn!” rick yelled from the woods, glenn stood up and ignored the aches in his body.

“rick.” he groaned, his body struggling to support his weight while he limped uphill, “oh thank god.”

“now we got a problem here, i need you to back u-“ rick was interrupted by glenn as soon as he spotted merle.

“what the hell is he doing here?!” glenn yelled, his gun raised and pointed at merle. michonne had similar ideas, as her sword was out and ready the moment the cocky redneck was in her field of vision.

“hey, hey, hey!” rick yelled at the two, putting himself in front of them to stop them from attacking merle. if it had been up to him, merle wouldn’t have been there in the first place.

“hey put it down!” daryl yelled, whilst maggie rushed towards glenn asking him to put his weapon down, “put it down!”

“he tried to kill me!” michonne cried, her sword pointed at rick’s chest, whilst his gun was pointed at her head. the sound of michonne yelling had woken y/n up and she had exited the car, her feet ached and the ground was anything but gentle to her skin. the only barrier between her feet and the ground was a pair of fluffy socks she had from before the turn had happened. her walk was wobbly, unsteady and she struggled to stay upright, but she wanted to see what was happening. she hid behind a tree and peaked at the group of people with weapons raised.

“if it wasn’t for him-!”

“he helped us get out of there!” daryl defended his brother.

“yeah right after he beat the shit out of you.” rick growled.

“hey, we both took our licks, man.” merle scoffed. y/n squinted her eyes at the man, his voice was familiar - she was sure she had heard him in the governor’s apartment before.

“jackass.” daryl shook his head at his brother.

“hey, shut up!”

“enough!” rick had finally had enough, but the second he turned his back michonne took a step forward with her sword. the group erupted into several small arguments and y/n blinked at them from her hiding place. what an odd group of people.

“get that thing outta ma face!” daryl yelled at glenn, who backed off slightly.

“man, looks like you’ve gone native, brother.” merle chuckled, making daryl turn around with as much fury as he had done when glenn held a gun to his head.

“no more than you hangin’ out with that psycho back there.”

“oh yeah man, he is a charmer i got to tell ya that.” merle’s words made y/n cringe, she turned around and sat on the ground, waiting for the adults to finish their argument. now that the governor had been brought up, y/n had no interest in eavesdropping. she already knew far more than she wanted about the man.

“been putting the wood to your girlfriend andrea,” merle smirked at michonne, “big time, baby.”

“what?” glenn hissed, “andrea’s in woodbury?”

“right next to the governor.” daryl confirmed.

michonne stepped forward again with her sword and rick instantly stood in front of her, “i told you to drop that!”

“you know andrea?” rick narrowed his eyes at michonne, “hey. do you know andrea?

y/n narrowed her eyes at rick as he got closer to michonne’s face, there was nothing she could do to stop the man, but if anything happened to michonne there wasn’t a soul in the group that y/n would trust.

“yep, she does.” merle answered for michonne, “her and blondie spent all winter cuddling up in the forest, mh-mmm-mmm, yeah. my nubian queen here had two pet walkers, no arms, cut off the jaws and kept them in chains. kind of ironic now that i think about i-“

“shut up!” daryl yelled.

“hey man, we snagged them out of the woods, andrea was close to dying.” merle shrugged.

“is that why she’s with him?” maggie asked.

“yeah.” merle nodded, “snug as two little bugs… so what y’gonna do now, sheriff, huh? surrounded by a bunch of liars, thugs and cowards.”

“shut up!” rick’s eye twitched in annoyance, his patience was running thin. merle came up in rick’s mind every once in a while, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the pain in the ass merle dixon was.

“oh man, look at this. pathetic.” merle laughed, “all these guns and no bullets in them.”

“merle shut up!” daryl got close to merle, threatening his brother. he knew if he didn’t shut merle up soon, someone else was going to do it.

“shut up yourself! bunch of pussies you roll-“ y/n gasped as rick hit the back of merle. glenn turned around at the sound and saw y/n crouched behind a tree.

“asshole..” rick grumbled.

glenn walked away from the group, staring at y/n for a moment as he past him. michonne was the next to notice y/n was out of the car and ran over to her.

“you should be resting. you can’t even walk.” michonne hissed, her eyes scanning over y/n’s body to check for injuries.

“sorry.” y/n apologised, letting michonne help her walk back to the car. michonne opened door to the backseats and sat y/n down.

“you okay?” she asked, putting a comforting hand on y/n’s knee.

“thank you..” y/n whispered, her throat still scratchy from a lack of water, “thank you for getting me out.”

“don’t mention it,” michonne nodded, “i’ll keep you safe, don’t worry.”

michonne shut the door and leaned against it, watching the group talking - most likely about her. she could tell there was a disagreement between the three of them with the archer.

and then the archer was gone.

“we patch you up and then you are gone.” rick growled at michonne. she nodded and looked at the ground and then at the girl sitting in the backseat, staring back at her with wide, fearful eyes. michonne got into the backseat next to y/n once rick had moved out of her way. the car started and y/n gripped onto the seat tightly, it had been so long since she was last in a car. michonne noticed her fear and wrapped an arm over her shoulder, keeping her glued to her side. michonne noticed that y/n trusted her more than the other people, she knew when she had to leave the prison y/n would want to go with her, but the prison would be a safer option. they couldn’t send away a child. they weren’t those kinds of people.

“she’s out like a light.” y/n watched the older man examine michonne. she was thankful that there had yet to be any questions thrown her way, but with michonne asleep she knew it was only a matter of time before the old man’s attention was on her, “must be days since she slept, you look pretty shot yourself.”

“how long before she can travel?” rick interrupted hershel, his tone snappy and frustrated. y/n stared at him in disgust, michonne had saved her life and he was here treating her like a pest.

“have to keep an eye on her, pretty sure she has a concussion,” hershel made his way out the cell, the clicks of his crutches moving sounded eerily similar to the sound of the governor’s boots on the wooden floors of his apartment, “couple of days if she’s up. need to examine the girl as well.”

rick shut and locked the cell door, making eye contact with y/n briefly before he walked away with hershel. y/n looked back down at michonne and frowned, the poor woman was exhausted and injured. y/n couldn’t believe that rick wanted to send her away, not only was she injured, but she surpassed them in combat abilities. michonne could be an asset to him, but he was clearly not in the right mind to be thinking straight. y/n listened to the group talk about the governor, the sound of his name made her feel sick, but she knew she would have to fill michonne in after she woke up about what she had missed.

it was only when she heard yelling that she looked away from michonne and stood up. her legs were shaky under her, she could buckle at any moment and she wouldn’t be surprised. leaning against the cell door, she peered between the bars trying to catch a glimpse of what was causing commotion. there was nothing to see, but she could hear rick.

“i can’t help you. get out!”

y/n flinched away from the bars and stumbled over her feet, falling onto the ground. she pushed herself backwards until she felt the steel from the bed frame press against her back. she tucked her knees against her chest and wrapped her arms around them, burying her face in the gap between her chest and her knees.

“get… get out!” rick yelled again, “you don’t belong here! get out! please!”

y/n heard the click of a gun and she whimpered in fear. she was trapped in another cage by another man who had lost his way. her breathing became labored and if she wasn’t so dehydrated, she was sure she would’ve been crying.

“get out! get out!” rick cried, his voice cracking, “why are you here!“

“just go! go! go!” glenn yelled at the strangers, a part of him felt guilty for sending them out the prison, but rick was in no state to accept new people. he was far too unpredictable and glenn didn’t want someone to accidentally get shot.

y/n didn’t hear much of anything else, sounds around her blended together and she could almost hear the sound of her pulse racing. it wasn’t until she felt a hand on her shoulder that she realised someone had walked into the cell. she flinched from the touch and her head shot up to look at the person stood in the cell.

“are you okay?” hershel asked, a sad smile on his face, “let’s get you sat on a chair and checked, that okay?”

y/n didn’t trust him yet, she couldn’t trust him, but she nodded and stood up anyways. the last thing she would want is to upset the group, so she complied with their demands. it was what she was used to doing. complying. obeying.

“can you tell me your name?” hershel dragged a chair to sit across from y/n, leaning his crutches on the side of michonne’s bed.

“y/n..” y/n answered, her gaze fixated on his leg.

“i’m hershel,” he smiled again, trying to create a comfortable environment for the clearly scared girl, “do you have any injuries for me to look at?”

y/n shook her head, “not a scratch.”

he hummed in acknowledgement, nodding as he noticed her staring at his leg, “i was bit, rick saved my life.”

y/n looked away from hershel’s leg and into his eyes, he seemed like a genuine man, there were no manipulative undertones to his words and no glint in his eyes that hinted he was not what he portrayed.

“these people here are good people,” hershel looked out of the cell, “you may not trust us, i understand, but we’re good people.”

“your man wants to send an injured woman back out there,” y/n looked back at michonne, “how can you justify that.”

“i don’t,” hershel chuckled, shaking his head, “rick recently lost his wife, he’s not quite there at the moment, but he’ll bounce back in his own time i’m sure. he always does.”

“you have a lot of faith in him.”

“he’s the reason i still get to see my daughters everyday,” hershel gestured to his leg, “he’s an honest man, give him some time and he’ll prove himself.”

“how did he lose his wife?” y/n questioned.

“childbirth,” hershel sighed, “is it okay if i ask some questions of my own now?”

y/n looked down at her hands, she knew this was coming, but she hoped that she could stall the man, “go ahead.”

“how do you know this woman?” hershal looked at michonne.

“her name is michonne,” y/n whispered, “i don’t know her, but she saved my life. she could be an asset to your group… i know you see that.”

“i do,” he nodded in agreement, “rick needs to come around to the idea first.”

“you should never put a man like that in charge.” y/n hissed, “you never know what they’re capable of.”

“may i ask what happened to you?” hershel sighed, he had figured out that she was deflecting the conversation and he wouldn’t get anywhere with her if he wasn’t direct.

y/n looked him in the eyes and he could see the pain in her e/c eyes, “the governor.. he saved me from a group of men and took me to woodbury. the same day some scouts had brought back a massive haul of food and water… his lucky penny. that’s what he called me.”

“what happened next?” hershel questioned, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“he took me to his apartment and fed me. that was the last time i saw the sun.” y/n felt a shiver run down her spine and she wrapped her arms around her.

“i’m sorry you went through that,” hershel paused, “i’ll get you some new clothes and some shoes to wear, but i want to make sure you haven’t got any injuries that you’re hiding from me.”

y/n shook her head at the man and he nodded, “alright then. i’ll go get you those clothes.”

y/n looked at the ground and hershel slowly made his way to the cell door, “thank you.”

“no need to thank me, you make sure to get some rest too,” hershel nodded at the girl, a soft smile on his face, “i’ll make sure to bring you and your friend some water ‘n food.”

“thank you.” y/n expressed her gratitude again, but hershel could tell she wasn’t thanking him for the clothes, or the food, but she was just grateful to be away from the governor.

[mrs-snape5984]

“How can you miss someone, you've never met? 'Cause I need you now, but I don't know you yet…”

“But can you find me soon because I'm in my head? Yeah, I need you now, but I don't know you yet…” (“IDK You Yet” by Alexander 23)

Being devoted to a fictional character for about 21 years can be challenging from time to time. Sure, it’s called “having a comfort character” for reasons, and I can’t deny, that my long lasting love for Severus Snape has given me the much needed comfort and consolation all over those years. He was by my side, whenever I felt the urge to escape from my traumatic reality…and fuck…there was way too much in my life, which made me flee to Severus. Don’t worry, I won’t mention all these experiences in this text (I’ve already done this in one of my other pathetically whiny posts).

But there’s another issue, that comes with the adoration for a fictional character…something torturous, heart-wrenching and devastatingly painful: It’s the piteous longing for someone, who will never be mine in real life….a goddamn feeling, which is eating me alive! Of course, I’m still coping with my current situation of being doomed to a life in darkness (fuck you, ME/CFS!!!!!) by writing my own ridiculously self-inserting fan fictions about Sevy and Jules…only for myself…solely to soothe my troubled heart. Furthermore, the many artists of Snapedom might know me as someone, who’s requesting immensely personal artworks for my blog…always using them to emphasise my journal entries here.

But there are times, when this isn’t enough anymore! I’m surrounded by Severus in my dark room… one could say, that I’m living in my private Snape-and-Wizarding-World-in-general-Museum. 😅 Everything here feels like my very own comfort blanket, which I’m pulling tighter around my trembling body to create a sensation of warmth and safety. And yet… yeah… and yet, I’m fucking lonely! Lying in darkness and solitude all day makes this cruel longing for Severus become agonising and almost unbearable. I’m bawling my eyes out for someone, who will never be able to hear my heart crying out for him. And to be honest: In my age, this is a sentiment, which I’m absolutely ashamed of!

For the past 21 years, I’ve known this miserable emotion only in this exact context. But now, something happened, which made the confines of my heart and the walls, I’ve built around myself, shatter into pieces…leaving me vulnerable and emotionally churned up like never before. Becoming close and trusting friends with someone, who’s living so far away from me - separated by the ocean - turns out to be blessing and curse at once.

Suddenly, I feel confronted by the same emotions, which my pining for Severus provokes in my heart…a yearning for a deeper connection - regardless of the relationship’s nature between us friends. And just like in the song, which I’ve mentioned above this text, I’m asking myself: “How can you miss someone, you’ve never met?”

Fortunately, I’m able to reach out to my friend in these occasions. I don’t have to weep over my fan fictions or my art collection…no, I can just grab my phone and annoy the fuck out of my beloved confidant. And I think, this is beautiful! 🥹

For this heartwarming piece of art, I’ve commissioned my friend @alinearthp once again. I asked her to draw Severus and my undeniably self-inserted OC Jules as young adults…going out to grab some butter beer in “The Three Broomsticks”. Whenever my longing for Severus becomes too strong, I’m trying to imagine him doing something casual like that with me…and now I’m doing the same with my long-distance-friend. For this reason, I’d like to dedicate this loving post to him. @preciousthelmadonna, you’re in my heart and in my thoughts every single day, since I got to meet you on tumblr. Despite those 6095 kilometres, which separate us from each other, it seems as if you’re right beside me, whenever we’re talking about everything and nothing at once. I’m beyond grateful for our connection, my love. Thank you for being you.

Oh, and @alinearthp, you made me smile with this cute drawing of Sevy and Jules! Thank you for your understanding of my ideas and for each of your lovely and kind messages! Feel hugged, my dear!

🖤Severus & Julia🖤

🖤Sevy & Jules🖤

[creepling]

hi! happy 1k <3 may i request a piece with johnny x single mom reader + the prompt “will you stay?” “of course, i’m not planning on leaving anytime soon.”? i thought it’d be interesting if reader was formerly captured by the sawyer family, while she was on vacation with friends, but johnny relented and decided to let her go because of how badly she begged for her life & at the time her baby was only 2 months old, which she told him. so johnny being johnny as well, he was able to track her down a month later — at first just to check up on her, but he decided he wanted to help her raise her kid & kind of switch up his life since the baby’s father is (willingly) out of the picture. also reader is a young mom (early 20s), around the same age that johnny is, he’s just a lil older. they’re still warming up to each other/developing their relationship but to the reader’s surprise, johnny’s really good with kids & has done a lot to help reader out to give her a break? AAAA THIS IS A LOT OF INFO IM SORRY but i hope it makes sense & that you have fun with making something out of this <333

AAAA ok no but i love this, idk it makes sense for the sawyers to spare a victim if they have a kid?? the whole "family" motto would get to them lol. i love all your info but i apologise if i've missed out on anything. i've made this drabble more like a time passing sort of thing so i could include everything.

tags: angst. single-mum!reader. reformed!johnny. kid is gn (use of they/it). descriptions of trauma. johnny feels a lot of guilt. mild blood ment.

“Drop the god-damn knife, Johnny. She’s got a kid for crying out loud!” Drayton barked.

Johnny’s adrenaline shot through his body, tensing his muscles and trembling his hands. “Is that true?” He growled, eyes shot out at your petrified stare.

You pulled a Polaroid picture out of your pocket, your bloody hands staining the corners. You beheld it to Johnny, trying to steady your shakes. Johnny gazed at the picture, the newborn clouded in white, its eyes closed in a peaceful sleep.

“My baby . . . My baby. I need to go home to my baby,” You sob, begging on your knees, hysterics maddening all parts of your manner.

Johnny’s knife dropped to the floor, and he thought about every bad thing he had done. There was no coming back from this.

It had been a month of silence. A month of sleepless nights and looking over your shoulder. Breastfeeding became agonising. Your baby’s cries sent you into uncontrollable alertness. Your hair was brittle and your skin shallow, the stress shivering through your body like a ghost entering your soul.

The letters came around that time. Off-white envelopes with a few dollars in cash. All that was left was a note,

For the Baby, I’m sorry.

Meeting him again after the kidnapping was an anxiety-driven step, bouncing your baby on your lap as you waited in the diner booth. You convinced yourself you lost your mind, wanting to rekindle with your kidnapper. But you hadn’t heard from anyone since the birth; the baby daddy became non-existent. Your family refuse to return your calls. The only person willing to help you was Johnny.

He was silent across from you for a while. The only words he uttered were to order from the menu. He shovelled down an apple pie while you bottle-fed your child, lulling them to their afternoon nap.

“Why are you helping me?” You remember asking. Visioning Johnny’s deep gaze, his subtle glances at your first-born, a tinge of sadness glazing his eyes.

He said he owed you too much. Your baby deserved to grow up with a male figure in its life, and you deserved someone to protect you. The sight of your youthful features withering away from stress, the permanent damage he inflicted on you, ached your eyes and down-turned your smile. It kept him up at night thinking about you, struggling with the fussing cries and flashes of his brute force. He wanted to step up. He was ready for redemption.

He drove you back home, watching over his new companions with careful eyes. His arm outstretched as he turned the wheel, hoping not to disturb the baby’s slumber. The rascal woke up eventually, full of energy the minute you invited him inside. “Would you like to hold them?” You asked, unable to ignore his loving stares.

He felt like crying, holding something so precious. Knowing he nearly orphaned this child, ridding it of a beautiful mother. He swore to protect the kid, holding its gentle head and leaning it into his chest. His gentleness surprised you, the warmth filling your smile for the first time in months.

Johnny never left the house. He hadn’t seen his family in months and had no plans on returning. Your little one was proliferating, and Johnny got used to using his strength to pry the ankle biter from dangerous objects. He ditched the knives and retired into swinging the kid until they were out of breath from laughter. He stepped up, got a job, and brought money in to keep you secure.

He was a different man, and he changed you as a mother. He repented for his sins. He begged for forgiveness with every stare your way, with every gentle touch. You finally forgave him, praying that his presence is destined to be everlasting.

“Will you stay?” He held you in his arms as you choked up, clinging to his body. 

“I’m not plannin’ on leavin’ anytime soon.” Johnny kissed the top of your head, his arms around you. Your loving touch soothing the aching heart he’s adorned for decades.

[ogdoadfates]

#10 Person C helping Person A & B with the grieving process of a loved one. Vaxleth. Sometimes fire means love au. The long since awaited second short story for @ravendruid that took me way too long omg I am so sorry.

The thing about grief is that it never truly leaves you, like the phasmatic pain that keeps reminding you of the limb you lost ages ago. Even when used to the loss it still hurts.

There is different ways it hurts, a physical pang when you find yourself in a situation where you need it most and emotionally like when you find a thing you once loved to do but due to the loss you no longer can.

And sometimes it’s an anniversary, a date in time that causes all the anguish to rear it’s ugly head and hurt those around them.

It was today all those years ago when Vex and Vax’s mom died in a fire that consumed their old family home after a faulty wire finally sparked something it shouldn’t have. 

The twins have been checking every nook and crany of their small apartment, making sure everything is working correctly and that their are zero chances of anything catching fire. They even refuse to cook for the most part but Keyleth guesses thats where she comes in. 

When the twins overwork and worry themselves she’s the one to call Percy in to do an

impromptu inspection of everything and she’s the one to make sure the two get proper meals in. Speaking of which the pizza arrived and Percy has finished checking every possible fire hazard possible in the apartment, giving Vex a hug and a nod  to both Keyleth and Vax as he heads out back to work, taking a slice of the pizza due to Keyleth’s insistence. 

The twins sat on their old couch, shoulder to shoulder, leaning on each other as Trinket lays at their feet. Kayleth sat next to Vax, staring ahead at the pizza slowly getting cold on the twins small coffee table. This part is always draining, silence or gut wretching cries always fill the air when the buzz of movement finally ends and as Vax grabs her hand, giving it a tight squeeze, she could tell today was going to be a day of silence. And in truth words don’t have to be spoken, they’ve by this point told her in the comfort of silence and certainty all thats happened to them, their mother and her passing and in turn Keyleth told them pieces of her past horrors. Not a lot granted, but they didn’t need to have more troublesome thoughts. Not to mention Keyleth would rather suffer in silence, she shouldn’t burden them.

Time passes both in a blink and in agonising length, whenever one of them moved it sped up and whenever movement ceased it lengthened. But it only took a few hours before Trinket decided he needed out and like always Keyleth takes full advantage of it, dragging both twins out of their home and having them join her on a walk throughout the city. All of them including Trinket are silent for the begining half of the walk but as they make more and more distance the more and more life returns to their steps. She can hear Vex snicker as Vax slightly trips due to being distracted by something, she can hear the movement of shoes skidding across the pavement from the soft shove Vax throws Vex’s way. 

Bit by bit, piece by piece, the space around them begins to light up with conversation and laughter is soon to follow along with a few delighted barks from Trinket. Keyleth doesn’t dare hide her smile as the twins tension finally leaves them, the two playfully teasing each other and sometimes Keyleth herself as they finally head back, all of them silhouette in the setting suns golden glow.

[undertheopensky]

No One Will Find You (i can find myself) 2

Whumptober Day 18: Alt #10 Shaking

Characters: Four, Minish

Trigger warnings: Minor injuries

Read on Ao3!

Missed the first instalment? Read here!

-----

He jolts awake to ringing silence.

It shouldn’t be silent he’s never silent there’s always someone breathing nearby or knocking shit over in the kitchen or hammering away in the forge way too early in the morning and his head is so empty it’s like everything was scooped out –

It’s dark. It shouldn’t be this dark did he hit his head –

Pain, from his head; mild. Pain, from his leg, not mild, holy fuck what happened there – his ankle’s a tight lump in his boot and something in his brain finally connects and he remembers canyons shattering running falling hands on skin and head screaming apart and his hands are shaking and his breath is gasping and it’s making his head hurt so much worse, fuck, he’s gotta calm down but it’s so hard when he keeps reaching for an outstretched hand in the dark and missing.

After far too long of being curled up in a shaking, agonised ball, Four’s breathing steadies. His head hurts. His foot hurts, broken glass-hot. For a long moment he’s tempted to just - lie down, and hope he falls asleep again. Let someone else deal with the problem that is existence.

(But there’s no one else, and no one will find you, and he’s never been one to expect others to do things he can do for himself.)

From close by his hip, a chittering sound rises up from the dark.

Four’s too exhausted to startle. Instead he just blinks, slow and confused, as the Minish chatters on about how excited they were to find out their hero was visiting, and how cross they all were when they realised the people who lived here had hurt him! That was terribly rude of them and no one was going to do nice things for them for ages! Imagine! The Hero of the Minish, and they throw him in a cell!

Bemused, Four listens to the diatribe winding down, as more little feet scurry across stone and more Minish join in the scolding and promise to help however they can.

There’s nowhere for him to change down to their size, they tell him, and the bad people took the key with them when they left. But they can still bring him other things! What does he want?

He wants his head to stop hurting. He wants his leg to stop hurting. He wants his brothers. He wants to see.

He wants, he wants, he wants.

…if he had something to strap up his ankle with, he’d be more mobile. “Is there any - rope, or old fabric nearby?”

Yes! they say, and many tiny footsteps go scurrying off. How many of them are there? Four wonders, briefly distracted.

One of them stays with him. They hop up on his leg and perch there, chittering about how Irie and Maty had been going around retrieving all the useful things they’d hidden in the bedrooms. They were very upset about the bad people hurting their hero! It’s nice, not thinking about the pain or the dark or the lurking emptiness for a few minutes, until the gathering party starts returning in twos and threes, dragging their finds behind them.

Four blindly measures the strips of fabric and the one piece of rope they’d found, considering the problem. If he pulls his foot out of his boot now he’ll never get it back in. Instead, he loops the fabric around the outside of it in a series of figure-eights, locking it into place with the rope over the top.

It still hurts like hell, but the extra support keeps it from shifting while he crawls, unselfconscious, to the door. Then he has to get up again, because he can’t reach the handle from here.

He stands there confused for a few seconds, before slowly realising - locked. Of course it’s locked, stupid.

For a second despair and confusion make things hazy, before he remembers his tiny allies. “They - they took my sword and pack. Do you know where they put them?”

Yes, yes! They put the hero’s gear in the storeroom not far from here. But - Minish are too small to carry a sword.

Their regret is so intense Four can imagine the apologetic look on tiny mouse faces. “It’s okay, I don’t need my sword right now. But in my bag, there’s a rolled strip of leather with small metal pins inside. Do you think you could bring me some of those pins?”

As it turns out, they can. Piece by piece, Four’s lockpicking kit reassembles itself on the other side of the locked door.

This time, Four thinks to ask, “How are you getting these things in here?”

There’s a window in the door, they tell him, barred to prevent escape, but with gaps more than large enough for Minish to scurry through.

Four takes another moment to regret there’s no portal in the cell. Maybe next time he’s home he should ask the elder Minish if there was any way to make the shrinking spell more portable.

Still, he has his picks now. And he has to work by feel anyway, so the still-heavy darkness doesn’t matter. It just makes figuring out which piece of his kit he’s holding a little trickier.

The lock is stiff, because of course it is, but Four perseveres. If he could just get a little more leverage -

The pick slips, biting into his fingers. Four swears.

It’s okay, the Minish on his shoulder reassures him, they believe in him! Try again!

Four hunts through his picks for the thicker one with the L-crook. The fresh blood on his fingers makes them slippery; he ignores it, grips his tools that little bit tighter. It’s just this one stubborn pin. He’s so close to getting out. Working the heavier pick into position, he tries again to push it aside. Again, it resists, but he can feel it’s close. He just needs that little bit more force! Careful not to lose his tension with blood-slick hands, Four wedges the pick on top of another that’s already in place, gives it a wiggle and presses -

The pin gives way with a loud and resentful ‘click’ Four resists the urge to cheer and instead rotates his handful of picks, each holding down their own part of the lock and needing to stay that way even as he changes their orientation - and the lock clunks loose and the door swings inward, nearly knocking Four back down the stairs.

The Minish do all the cheering for him.

Sadly, it’s no brighter outside in the hall. Four vaguely remembers there being lit sconces or maybe those old fashioned torches hung from metal hooks in the walls, but the cultists must have taken them with them when they left. Fortunately Minish have better night vision than he does and are delighted to steer him.

Like. Seriously delighted. There’s at least three siblings roughhousing in his hair over who gets to tell him where to go next, two balanced on each shoulder, and several scrambling in and around his clothing, while the one clinging for dear life to his ear gives him actual directions.

Four loves Minish so much. Even when they’re murder on his headache.

The cultists don’t use this place often, he learns, so the Minish are usually left undisturbed. It used to be a military outpost, where soldiers who went out to fight monsters could come back to rest and be healed. It had fallen to dark forces so many years ago that the monsters had moved on, but no Hylians had come to reclaim it. Now, it belongs to the Minish, and to cultists who apparently use it as a hiding place for things they don’t want found.

Including people, which is concerning. The Minish say it doesn’t happen often, though.

Take this left turn, they tell him, and there’ll be a door under your left hand. It isn’t locked!

Indeed it isn’t. It follows the trend of being poorly lit, but his earring-Minish directs him to his gear. They’d just dumped it in a corner, apparently, not even going through it. A few things had shifted or been knocked aside by the Minish hunting for his picks, and they’re eager to help him collect them all again. He still wouldn’t have complained about losing the pouch of trail mix or a handful of seeds, if they hadn’t made it back in. Four’s just glad to get the Four Sword back, and his most valuable pieces of equipment. There’s no replacement in the world for the Cane of Pacci, and losing it would have been a massive blow. Maybe he should start looking into how to replicate some of the more useful enchantments?

He slowly limps along, using the wall more and more for balance, as the Minish direct him to the exit they assure him he’ll be able to use. The main one has a bar lock no Minish could open, and injured Four won’t be able to, either. But there’s a hidden door set off to the side, and that’s where they lead him. Four can almost feel the iron grip on his heart start to ease as he lays a hand on the sun-warm wood.

Some of the younger Minish belatedly realise this means Four is leaving. Noooo! one wails. Couldn’t he stay a little longer?? They didn’t get to show him around yet!

“I’m sorry. My friends will be worried about me,” Four says.

The hero also needs medical attention, one of the elder Minish explains. The Hylians who use this place hurt him, and he needs more help than Minish are equipped to give.

The youngster huffs. When they come back here we’re were gonna hide all their rupees!

“Just keep yourselves safe,” Four warns, though he knows it’s incredibly unlikely anyone will be able to see them in the first place. He still doesn’t want any of them to come to harm. They did their best to help him, and there’s so little he can do in return.

They were simply glad of the opportunity to meet the Hero of Minish, the elder tells him when Four expresses this. There were stories of heroes who walked through time, but who could say for sure if their own Hero was one of them? To see him in the flesh, and aid him in some small way - that was a dream come true for them all.

It’s sweet, if a little strange, to have Minish from such a faraway time regard him so highly. Four wonders if the Minish in other eras have similar stories of him. He’s never asked - never had much opportunity. The black-blooded monsters keep them all busy, and he has few chances to sneak off undetected. Some eras, he doesn’t even know if Minish still exist.

He’ll try harder, from now on.

Four bids them farewell, and opens the door.

After so long in the dark, the light is blinding.

Something deep within his mind aches. It’s like a bruise, bone-deep; barely visible, but painful, with no way to ease the pressure.

Through squinted, streaming eyes, Four makes his way out of the ruined fort.

[number-onekidqueen]

𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓻𝓮𝔀 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭 𝓶𝔂 𝓼𝓬𝓪𝓻𝓼

Draco Malfoy x Astoria Greengrass

angst

Warnings: mentions death, aches, depression

They say in every person that ever lived, lives and will live, there are pieces of people that live, have lived and will live.

Even if they're only tiny.

A ruler's fierce pride of a country that is carried to an international Quidditch player; a loyal soldier who passes their ocean eyes to a greengrocer.

And these things are tiny, but there.

Just as Astoria was gone, but was still there.

In the way Scorpius silently read novels, in the way he crinkled his eyes and nose at a funny yet cringey joke, even in the way he made his tea in the morning.

It sent a lovely, yet agonising pain through him.

He was reminded each day that she was still there, yet gone.

He didn't think many men of his age knew that feeling, and would ever understand the bittersweet tang of emotion it caused him to see his son; his beautiful, intelligent son, that had her eyes, that had her sense of humour, that was made of the very essence of his wife.

And yet she was gone for good.

And there was nothing he could do.

*******

He'd loved Astoria so much, ever grateful for whatever thread of fate had pulled them together that frigid night on the Astronomy Tower, stargazing. 

He still did, and he didn't think he'd ever get over her.

In everything he did, in every doubt or hate he had in himself, she had made him feel better.

She'd loved him fully. With all his imperfections, all his doubts, regrets, fears, memories and all of the horrors that came with him. All of that darkness that others recoiled from, disgusted.

She had embraced it, him, and she was the first person to have ever done so.

"Draco," she'd whispered to him, on many, many nights, "you don't deserve any of the things that happened. You deserve so much better, and you must stop punishing yourself."

If only she knew how much he still punished himself, hated himself, was still partly broken without her, even with his beloved son.

"You can't."

He still remembered how his words were choked, emotional, and he could barely shove them from his throat.

Astoria had told him that she was pregnant. And that she meant to keep it, to begin their family. He'd frozen with shock, fear, and then hurriedly began trying to convince her otherwise.

Draco had cleared his throat, attempting to school his features and not panic at the threat, the risk that this would cause.

"But what of a family?" Astoria had asked, her eyes wide, "we both agreed that when the time came, we wanted to start one."

"I-I can't let you do this," he'd whispered, "you could deteriorate, you could die. I can't let that happen."

Astoria's features softened, her lips pulling into a calm smile. She'd taken a step towards him, taking his hands and gazing into his eyes.

"I know the risks," she'd said quietly, "believe me, I know them. But this is something that I want, terribly. I know that I will die, Draco, and I know that it will be relatively soon and that it'll break your heart.

"That's why you need someone there. With you. To care for you and make sure you don't isolate yourself."

She'd brushed a hand against his cheek and given him a soft kiss.

And despite everything, despite all of the risks, threats: Draco hadn't been able to refuse, deny her. She deserved to have what she wanted, to be happy.

Her pregnancy had began. They were busy, bustling months though, full of laughter, chaos and tears. They'd planned, gone on walks together, baked, and lounged about the sofa watching romantic muggle films that made Astoria sob.

When those nine months, ended, a baby was delivered.

A beautiful, healthy baby boy.

They decided to name him Scorpius, after Astoria's favourite constellation, and also following along with the now-loose tradition of naming purebloods after stars. 

Those years with Astoria, as Scorpius grew, had been the greatest time of his life.

It was perfect. All of it.

Every second of learning, joy, pride, pain, anger, confusion, all of it. Every memory they'd shared, joke or tradition they'd created, lesson they'd taught or learned.

Why did it have to end? Why?

But it did.

The curse of the Greengrasses acted thirteen years later.

Astoria had been deteriorating rapidly ever since Scorpius had celebrated his tenth birthday, even if Draco refused to acknowledge the fact, living in fear of the truth, of the day she inevitably cracked.

It came quietly, slowly.

In the morning, she'd been tired, asking if she could be served breakfast in bed, which he happily did. But as the hours progressed, she still felt weak, faint, could barely move her legs without her face draining of colour.

And in his heart, Draco knew the day had come.

He'd come to her bedside quietly after luncheon, grasping her hands between his and simply gazing down at her. At her flawless beauty even through all her pain and fatigue.

"I'm sorry," he'd whispered simply, his heart aching.

"Oh, Draco," she breathed, beaming as a stray tear slid down her ghostly cheeks, "it was worth it. It always has been. You may be sad, but think of the beauty, the joy we've had together."

And then she beamed at him, as if he were the brightest star in the sky, as if he weren't a coward, a fool, so, so selfish for-

She squeezed his hand gently.

"I'd like to talk to Scorpius. Privately."

He nodded, numb, his thoughts swirling, every word and motion incoherent. Rising, he walked out the door, closing it softly, before turning to face the guilty eyes of his son, who'd been clearly eavesdropping.

He merely smiled, gesturing for him to go in and returning to the lounge room, sitting himself in the warm armchair his son had vacated, lost in thought.

Astoria died later that night.

He'd kissed her one last time, and they'd professed their love to each other, as they always did before they slept. He'd wrapped his arms about her, and she'd fallen asleep, her chest rising and falling softly.

He was still awake when it stopped.

When even though he'd always known it, always prepared for it, she'd slipped from the world.

Though parts of her hadn't.

And even if they were little, miniature, and gave him agony each time he witnessed them, those small pieces of hers that shone so brightly were forever treasured in his heart.

Until he could meet his Astoria again.

[yeyinde]

Hi I sent in the original moss ask and I just wanna say it turned out so much better than I could’ve even imagined, like I don’t have words to put towards how fucking important that piece is to me. You captured the feeling and vibe of forests and seas so well, I mean I literally live in Alaska but you painted such a perfect picture of it. And the fae aspects, the macabre undertones, the longing, the nostalgia,, like I really can’t even describe it all cause I get choked up. It almost feels like you wrote it for me personally, like I know I requested it but you detailed how the forest and the rivers call for you in an ancient romantic rumbling and I didn’t even mention that, I’ve felt that all my life with no words to put to it. I especially loved the part describing all the little trinkets he leaves, and how the house starts to overgrow with vines and moss. It was so so perfect. It felt like a song that manages to touch all the parts of your soul and describe how you feel perfectly even when you can’t quite decipher it yourself. I’m sorry to ramble. It just means so so much to me, thank you for writing it. Easily my favorite piece of literature I’ve ever read and I can’t believe my stupid little moss bed thought inspired such pure poetry. I can’t go visit the forests or the ocean as much as I used to because I’m chronically ill, and I miss them more than anything, so this feels like it helped heal something in my longing heart. Thank you.

Thank you so much for this. I needed to have a giant cry before I could really sit down and respond, and so. Here I am. Stuffy nosed and red-eyed and still weeping.

The imagery you used in your ask, about the soft bed of moss below your fingers and the forest arching above you, was really what made everything click into place. I could see this massive shadow over everything, enclosed by a huge canopy. The cold forest floor. The soft echos through the treeline. And when I got to Alaska, I immediately knew which forest I was going to use. It did end up becoming a mishmash of all my favourite things - especially Giant Sequoia, which does not natively grow in Alaska - but it was largely meant to capture the same hauntingly beautiful atmosphere of Tongass National Forest, particularly the inlet near Ketchikan. I'm a bit obsessed with the PNW - especially the coast with these massive trees so close to the waters.

The fae aspects were very loose, admittedly 😅 I wanted to go full out with that aspect of mythology but I couldn't really see Price giving them something to eat, so I switched it to something modern. A pub that might not even exist, and a drink you can't refuse. Little things showing up at your doorstep that are too pretty to throw away so you put them inside but now they have a life of their own, and grow up the walls and across the floorboards. The haunting sense of something urgently calling you. A whisper of your name in a quiet room. The wind howling at you between the trees.

It got a bit dark, in many places, but I loved the idea of Price pining away while you have his chiseled heart locked in your childhood jewelry box. The most precious trinket of all.

I saved the ask to my phone so I could keep coming back to it while I wrote everything down, trying to capture the atmosphere you inspired. The lush descriptions of the forest, the moss, the sense of ease and languor - it immediately ensnared my attention and made me almost desperate to write this down as quickly as a I could.

This would not have existed if you didn't send in such a beautiful ask, so it is, without a doubt, yours. I just put the words together.

I agonised a lot over whether or not you'd enjoy this, so seeing this in my inbox honestly made me so incredibly weepy. I felt like it was taking ages to put together, but ahh, the way you laid out the scene made me fall in love with the idea of this little world trapped between the unforgiving ocean and a sprawling forest full of secrets. It wasn't a want, but a need. I needed to make this come to life. I needed to try and capture an iota of beauty you painted, and to try and transcribe the feelings I felt reading it into this. I'm honestly so incredibly happy I managed to do that for you. Thank you so much! I'm gonna go cry another river now 🖤

[dragonsarecool]

Febwhump Day 21 - Unresponsive

A/N: Unfortunately for Marty, it wasn't an uncommon sight to see in their house. Set a few weeks prior to Part I.

Marty knew his family wasn't the most dysfunctional one out there, but sometimes it sure felt like it was. Once again it was just him and his mom at home; his dad was probably being bullied at the office by Biff, Dave was working the late shift at Burger King, and Linda had run off to meet whatever boyfriend she had this week as soon Marty had come home from school. It meant that the TV was off, the radio was silent, and the house felt soulless.

He'd been hard at work finishing his latest English essay when he'd heard three familiar sounds: the opening of the liquor cabinet, the wine cork doing its work, and the agonising sigh of relief his mom gave upon sipping her treasured alcohol. Great. Guess it's gonna be a shitty night then.

As Marty had grown up, it hadn't taken long for him to learn to recognise when his mom had had too much to drink. Partially because he was usually the only one home when she was at her worst, and partially because she tended to do it so often that he became very adept at managing her hangovers until his father or one of his siblings came home to take over.

They never thanked him for it, but Marty he liked to pretend he was being appreciated.

The eerie silence flooding the home also meant he knew the exact second his mom's head slammed into the kitchen table, with the heavy thunk and subsequent shattering glass making him jump. He leaned back in his desk chair, rubbing his eyes tiredly. God, Mom, I was almost finished with this!

He jumped out of his seat and walked quickly towards the kitchen, wrinkling his nose at the strong scent of spilt wine. He'd learned at around age ten to keep a spare pair of slippers near the dining room so that he didn't tread on any broken glass, and the accessories came in handy once again as he treaded across the pieces scattered over the tiles.

Lorraine was slumped in her seat, her chin and cheek resting on the wooden table being the only pieces of flesh stopping her from tumbling to the floor. Her skin was deathly pale, with her hands covered in dark red stains from the spilt wine. Constantly drinking hadn't helped her with the ageing process, and Marty realised he could see more wrinkles today than the last time she'd driven herself into this state.

The first time Marty had seen her like this as a child, he'd thought she was dead. Once he'd learnt what a hangover was (with the assistance of some kind ambulance officers), he'd continued to follow the same process of caring for his mom that he'd watch them do all those years ago.

He shook Lorraine's shoulder aggressively, watching as her head simply lolled to the side. Grabbing a piece of paper towel, he wiped the drool that had dripped down her chin with disgust, tossing it angrily into the sink. "Dammit, Mom…not again…" She hasn't been this shit for a while…

Marty pressed his fingers against his mom's neck, feeling around for the artery whose name he could never remember. He tensely waited before he felt the agonisingly-slow beat of his mother's heart thump weakly beneath the skin. At least you didn't kill yourself this time.

Satisfied that Lorraine wasn't about to die on him, Marty quickly set about cleaning the evidence. In the time that it took him to wipe down the table and sweep away the broken glass, his mother hadn't moved an inch. The only sounds she made were slow, rattling breaths as she continued dozing in her drunken state, blissfully unaware of the pillow her son had slipped under her head.

Marty grabbed his essay from his desk and returned to the kitchen table, staring despondently at the pathetic form of his unconscious mother. Only a year until I can move out. Eighteen can't come fast enough…

[delusion-of-negation]

The boy wasn't worth it, I'll find you a new one who'll let you peg him

as per my post ten fucking minutes ago, not everything is about somebody my dude. jesus christ. I just went through hell, I lost a family member to cancer, someone hate crimed me and tried to murder me, I'm having trauma flashbacks again, from the severe child abuse, sexual abuse, torture, etc, which started at the age, statistically speaking, you were still a fetus because of how early somebody shat me out, and don't even get me started on all the slowly dying of agonising health issues. oh but I'm upset that an incredibly close friend put me in a place I was horribly abused in years ago, for months, and forced me to relive it... for weeks and weeks... sleeping in the same beds. oh well, surely this means all these feelings are just you wanting to shove your dick in him. we should probably all just go get tinder since ig it fixes everything.

[thornfield13713]

okay, okay, but

toying with ideas for the Wish fic and

the thing is

I've been figuring out the best way to phrase with Wish for the while, due to ambiguities about whether mindflayer Tav is even the same person as pre-mindflayer Tav in a metaphysical sense (the whole soul thing). And I eventually settled on a wish for Excellence to be a tiefling again, just as she would have been if she had never become a mind flayer in the first place and lived to the age she would be by the point Wish is being cast, but with the memories of these last few years (I want to say 2-3 years, putting her at 40-41) of being a mindflayer, and without anything but Excellence herself being affected.

Gale and Excellence really thought they'd thought of everything with this one. They spent years agonising over the wording before they ever got a sniff of learning the spell. Except. Except they hadn't considered a few things, one of them being that, in this hypothetical world where Excellence hadn't become a mindflayer, the Absolute would've had to be defeated some other way.

And they really do think it worked...right up until Excellence looks up at Gale after the spell takes, and just breaks down in tears and nearly knocks him over in a hug, and doesn't know why. They piece together clues, over the next few days. A new tattoo intended to represent Gale that Excellence would've got in those intervening years, a couple years old and slightly faded, and very obviously a memorial to a dead loved one rather than a reminder of a living one. The fact that she's a lot skinnier than she would be if she'd been enjoying three years of Gale's cooking (especially with Excellence's appetite for good food), even with adventures to keep her in shape. Her emotional reactions, which are...sort of weird and all over the place in ways that they can't quite explain, but default to overwhelming relief and joy and grief around Gale.

All the evidence to suggest that, in whichever alternate world the new body was copied from, Gale destroyed the Absolute by detonating the Orb in his chest, and this version of Excellence has been grieving and trying to move on with her life in the meantime, probably by throwing herself into the adventuring life.

Okay. I think I have a hook for this fic now.

[springkitten]

18 and 19 for AO3 wrapped 💕

Thank you for sending this, baby, I love it and you💕

18. The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year? I'm trying to think about everyone I've written this year and it's definitely someone in it's a gang. Maybe Gumpa? remember how I agonised? or Black? I love him so much, I want to get him right. Tankhun is also tricky, and Daisy.

19. What’s one pairing you want to explore next year? I can definitely see myself writing more toddblack. If I get to writing trust fall in full, I'd like to explore the polyamoury there or perhaps write that toddblackyok piece I've had on my mind for ages.

[struggling-to-find-home]

You know, between the fog that is most of my childhood, there is one question that I always agonised about, and that is: throughout it all, how did I survive?

Because there was,,,, a lot to survive through, from my first death threat & proceeding phycological torment from my brother at age 5 to metal objects flying dangerously close to my head during abuser tantrums to family tragedies to chronic gaslighting to suicide attempts and episodes of physical violence in the later years.

I look back on it and there it lies, as clear as it can with my only memories being from trauma processing when triggers and flashbacks happen and those rare times when a memory decided to resurface all on it's own to go off of: the overbearing truth that I was abused since the time I was at least a toddler.

But there had to be something to keep the illusion going, the facade slowly cracking but not breaking, and it had to be there for a long, long time. And all I can do right now is wait out and try to piece together a puzzle with a thousand lost pieces. Which is all to say,

I unlocked a rare positive memory today - fragmented, but still.

It's something about movies - how my mother & brother wanted to drag me to some catastrophe film about an alien invasion and instead I convinced them to buy me a ticket to some animated mostly marketed towards girls movie.

It started 40 minutes after their's did, so for the first time in... A while, I was left alone (which was a rare occurrence), sitting on some couches, with nobody paying any attention to me.

I had a journal with me.

At that time I always had a journal with me, because my phone was ancient and your girl had to entertain herself with something. It had a lot of shitty ideas, and my (very unsuccessful and rare) attempts to learn how to draw, because for some reason being able to draw prettily was a beauty standard for the girls around me and my inability to do so led to,,,, a fair amount of comments and disgusted glances thrown my way (Ironically enough, now I draw much more than I used to, but for med school reasons. The drawings still suck, but for some reason, now it's much more socially acceptable. Probably because I embrace it. Though ppl who can draw well do get a bit of privileges™ in the anatomy class), and a lot of half-baked writing plots that usually went nowhere. One of them had a whole ass spread for my depressive thoughts which I put there when the trauma was a bit... Too much. I know that because I stumbled upon it before during one of the many cleanouts I did after being in extreme dissociation, every day, for 6 months. Honestly shit was terrifying to read but hey, it helped 12 year old me cope so ig it's fine.

I think I wrestled with myself about buying popcorn when they left, because my mother never allowed me to since it was too "unhealthy". I'm pretty sure I did, because I seem to remember the feeling of uncomfortable sugar-induced thirstiness at the back of my throat as we drived back from the theater, but I'm not sure. If I did, I probably spent the entire pre-film time on high alert, careful to hide it from passer-bys in case either of them decided to leave the theater.

I was bored, at first, with no way to tell time, but then I started thinking and doodling and at some point, inspiration struck - something about ocs and evil scientists and their horrible horrible experiments - and I spent the rest of the time creating, high on the euphoria of privacy, of not having to check my back every seven seconds to see if someone's watching.

I didn't even get to finish the scene, but I was still so proud for writing it.

It was so simple, but I was so happy.

I was so happy.

Because there were no abusers. Because, even for just half an hour, I was able to put my guard down and purely enjoy myself.

And it's like this for every positive memory I have - all of them happen when they are not in sight. Reading fanfiction at 2 am, feeling proud after composing my first guitar arrangement, jumping around the flat I was alone at in happiness because my favourite comic updated, learning to drive a hoverboard with my friend, feeling joyful because all of them left and now I could watch a show in peace, celebrating my birthday without them...

I guess that's the answer for me - the only reason I survived for so long are the times I could take a break from them.

Huh.

Well that's fucking depressing.